It was perhaps fortunate for the lad that he was not too well-informed in the customary ways of the burro, and was entirely unaware of the animal's intense objection to running water. Had he known this, in all probability he would have left the burro behind, which would have resulted grievously. But this old burro, as it fortunately chanced, must have belonged to some prospector working in a mountain country, for he evinced no fear of or dislike to the stream. One hundred and seven times did Roger and the burro cross Bright Angel Creek, each crossing growing swifter and deeper than the last. Dusk was falling as they reached the bank of the Colorado River at the base of the Canyon. Before it became entirely dark, the boy climbed up a peak of rock to make sure of the direction of his objective point, a matter hard to be determined because of the windings of the river, and on descending laid several stones in a row pointing to the direction sought. Then, supperless and almost spent, he resolutely refrained from eating the few last morsels he had brought with him, and flinging himself down beneath an overhanging ledge he fell asleep. In spite of the strangeness of his position it was bright daylight when he awoke and the burro was standing patiently near by. Taking from his wallet the solitary crust of bread and the few biscuits that remained, and noting that Jack had found some grass just at the water's edge, Roger put on his shoes and walked gravely to the edge of the river. There is only one Colorado River in the world, and it is perhaps the most violent stream in the two hemispheres. It was not at its height at this time, but it ran like a mill race with a vicious swirl and spume, and was ugly to look at. Roger was no mean swimmer, but his heart sank at the thought of plunging into it. "Jack," he said, "I'd as soon try to swim the Niagara gorge," and the burro looked wonderingly at his master. So up and down the bank for several hundred yards he went, striving to find some rapids that might be forded, but only at one place did it even appear possible and that, the boy thought, had large odds against it. Still, it was all he saw, and he put the burro at it. But Jack refused, point-blank, and as the obstinacy of a burro needs some considerable persuasion to overcome, things looked black for the boy. There was just the river between him and safety, for Roger had heard the men speak of an Indian trail which paralleled the river on the southern side and whence he could reach one of the three trails that ascended the plateau, and not only safety, but the welfare of the party, which he felt was intrusted to his care. The burro would not try the ford. Very well, then, he would cross himself. On this side of that torrent, hunger, defeat, and death, on the other food, success, and reputation. Come what might, he would cross! CHAPTER VII SAVED BY HIS NERVE