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Updated: April 30, 2025
Above the site the walls widened gradually until they formed a pocket, flat-bottomed, half a mile wide. Still farther up the creek's course these natural walls grew steadily closer together until perhaps three-eighths of a mile deeper in the cañon they drew so close together that there was scarcely more than the width of an ordinary room between them.
There's no way but swimming, and this creek's probably inhabited by the usual 'gators and snakes and things." "When one can travel only by swimming, one swims," Pedro smiled. "Leave that to us, senhores. Now the sun sinks fast and I have hunger. Let us eat." Night was at hand.
"They didn't do sech things ez these thar in Adam or Eve's times, nor in ourn. We come purty nigh walkin' plum' into a trap." "And we've got to shake 'em off. We mustn't run toward the stone hollow, because that would merely draw 'em down on all of us. We must lead away to the west again, Sol." "You're right, Henry, but that confounded creek's in the way.
"Yes," broke in several voices, "Cat Creek's an awful place unless you run through on a full ebb-tide. Oyster boats always has a time a-shoving through Cat Creek," &c. After the council with my Chincoteague friends had ended, the route to be travelled the next day was in my mental vision "as clear as mud."
Of course the creek's not so very wide, even farther up beyond the falls, and the force of their spring sent them nearly out of the current. They could both swim well, and after a struggle they got to the banks, just in time to see the canoe whisk over the waterfall!" "What hard luck!" "It was rather. They started off down-stream to find it, but for a long way they couldn't see a trace.
Doubled under the branches, crashing through a covert with closed eyes and warding arm, they fled, now and then pausing for a quick change of hands on the box or the sweep of a sleeve across a dripping brow. Nearly a half hour from the time they had started they emerged into brighter light, the trees growing sparse, the earth moist, a soft coolness rising the creek's conjunction with the tules.
He flung himself forward, and with the help of Kinnaird wriggled clear, but when they looked down there was empty blackness beneath the hole he had made. "It's a snow-bridge, I think, sir," he said. "The creek's running under it. Anyway, I didn't touch anything solid with my feet." Kinnaird's face grew graver. "If you're right," he observed, "it would be wiser to work around."
But Fairchild failed to notice either that or the fact that ancient, age-whitened water wheels had begun to appear here and there, where gulch miners, seekers after gold in the silt of the creek's bed, had abandoned them years before; that now and then upon the hills showed the gaunt scars of mine openings, reminders of dreams of a day long past; or even the more important fact that in the distance, softened by the mellowing rays of a dying sun, a small town gradually was coming into view.
"Wat's de matter on your face?" said Poleon. "You been fightin'?" "I ain't shaved in a long time, and this here excitement has kind of shattered my nerves. I didn't have no lookin'-glass, neither, in my shack, so I had to use a lard-can cover. Does it look bad?" "Not to my way of thinkin'," said Gale, allaying "No Creek's" anxiety. "It's more desp'rate than bad, but it sort of adds expression."
It was dusk when with lowered heads we charged through the scattered birches of a ravine bluff, and far down in the hollow beneath I caught the dull gleam of snow-sprinkled ice. "It's a mean-looking gully," gasped Heysham. "I guess that creek's not frozen hard, and it's pretty deep.
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