A great deal of work was required to pass these, and then we ran three or four in good style, which brought us, in the late afternoon, to where the whole river spread out amongst innumerable rocks and for more than half a mile the water was a solid sheet of milky foam, sending up the usual wild roar, which echoed and echoed again and again amongst the cliffs around and above us.

Some one proposed the name of "Hell's Half-Mile" for this terrible place and the idea was at once adopted, so appropriate did it seem.

The turmoil of the dashing waters was almost deafening, and, even when separated by only a few feet, we could only communicate with each other by shouting at the top of our lungs.

It was a difficult task to get our little ships safely below this half-mile, but it was finally accomplished, and on we went in search of the next dragon's claw.

At our camp the fire in some way got into a pine grove and soon was crackling enough to rival the noise of the rapid.