Then Lem Fisher, who always was handy with his memory, happens t' think of a canyon 'bout three mile away, with a bridge over it.

Sort o' like that place at the water tank, where them boys was strung up this mornin', only deeper, an' th' stream under it swifter an' rockier.
"Well, we conducts our three friends to this here canyon.

They draw lots t' see who goes first, an' a feller named Red Mike wins--- or loses, rather--as he gets number one.

The noose of one of these common manilas is attached to Mike's neck, th' other end is fastened to th' bridge, an' he's dropped over.
"An' would you b'lieve it?
When Mike comes to the end of that there rope with a jerk, th' rope breaks, an' Mike goes cavortin' down that swift stream, at th' rate of 'bout thirty miles an hour, bumpin' against th' rocks an' everythin'.

An' he sure must 'a' disliked that, for he hated water.
"The next feller on th' programmy was called 'Sure Thing' Jones.