The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1900-01-19
his fireara.-. "Ferry me- over r. u.


pointing out the way with his loaded
revolver. The terrified sheepman II led
to tell the fugitive that the river was
impossible, even at low water-thct a
little way down the Grand joined the
Green, and the two. forming the Col
orado. went leaping, 'plunging, boiling
and churning through the Cataract
canyon, through which 1.-THE Indians
said) no white man had passed and
lived. The hunted man only smiled
and twirled his pistol.
The two men would dash through
wild cataracts, over withdrawing falls.
and the next hour their fragile boat
would be drifting silently between the
soft shaded walls that gave back, in
echo, the faintest ripple of water, or
the almost whispered words, few
though they were, that passed between
the two voyagers.
Suddenly they found themselves IL.
the canyon, driving down the raging
stream. Going over falls the boat was
driven against a bowlder near the
shore. So violent had been the shock
that both men were cast upon shelf
in the curve of the river unhurt.
The walls here rose thousands of feet
almost perpendicularly. As the river
touched the wall above and below there
was no escape. The little resting-place
on which the two men found themselves
was filled with driftwood. Hanging to
the rock that had wrecked them was
long rope that. had been in the boat
this the desperate fished out.
"We'l build raft" said the outlaw.
He made the sheepman carry cedar logs,
limbless and SCARED, cross-ties and
pieces of bridge timber that had drifted
for hundreds of miles down the mad
river, and were gnawed like the hitch
ing post in front of country church.
When he had dashed lot of these
together he told the sheepman to get
aboard, and the sheepman said he'd
die first.
"All right" said the smiling villain,
and the wild report of his revolver
filled the canyon and went, on and out
through the canyons, laundering its
| echoes back to the two men there in
the awful gorge. The bullet whirred
past the shepherds ear.
Once more on the breast of the boil
| ing stream the men, now on the rude
raft, were tempting fate. They lay
flat down, hanging to the ropes, some
times beneath, sometimes far above
the mad torrent; leaping from the
crest of high falls, shooting rapids
and creeping over awful cataracts. At
the end of an hour they emerged from
the narrow canyon and entered long
stretch of deep green water, slowly
moving, s'un-kissed and quiet. So still
seemed the beautiful river that they
were obliged to take markers on the
shore to see if they really moved. Far
away, at the end of the stretch of
peaceful water, the river seemed to
end. Across it's path wall rose, red
and high. The water, running over
and flowing down the face of the cliff,
had streaked and stri ped the red sand
stone until it looked in the sunlight
like a beautiful piece of tapestry, and
the desperate called it Tapestry wall,
and so it has been called ever since.
The river, however, did not end here.
Swinging in a long, graceful curve,
growing swifter and swifter, it sucked
into narrow pass and became a
raging, frothing cataract.
For some moments they saw moth
ing and heard only the awful tumult
of the boiling river, and then with a
slam the raft hung upon big rock
that split the current near the middle
of the stream.
When the shepherd had wiped tine
spray from his eyes he saw that he
was alone. The force of the shock
had thrown his companion into the
water. He had landed, and now came
limping along the bank of the river.
The desperate smiled out over the
foam at the helpless shepherd, who be-
gan to hope that the fellow would
shoot him and end the awful suspense,
but the fearless outlaw did nothing of
the sort. 10 the shepherds amaze
from the mad river-began to an
dress. When he had stacked his wet
garments on rock he walked few
rods along the bank and plunged in.
Midway between the rock and the
shore there was a whirlpool-a suck
hole, as the shepherd said-and it was
to avoid this that the man had gone
so far upstream. He was an expert
swimmer, but he was weakened from
overwork and the long fast, and so
the current proved too strong for him.
1t carried him past the shepherd, and
suddenly his feet pointed to the suck
Round and round, faster and faster, as
he came at each turn nearer the neck
of the funnel, the doomed man
whirled, while the shepherd looked on,
powerless.
AS he drew near the fatel center the
force of the water stood him up; he
waved his hand, smiled at the shep-
the foaming river.
Knowing that to remain there was
to perish, the shepherd succeeded in
reaching the shore. Half starved, he
reached the cabin of miner who was
washing gold in the canyon of the
Colorado. There we found him-a
white-haired young man-while on our
way to the San Juan gold fields in
1893, and from his own lips heard this
story.-Saturday Evening Post.
A Land Of Promise.
Rev. Joseph Parker, the eminent
English preacher, confesses that in
his youth the sound of the name Van