On the other side was an old scow moored to the bank.
"Are we going across in that ?" I asked Emmett, pointing to the boat.
"We'll all be on the other side before dark," he replied cheerily.
I felt that I would rather start back alone over the desert than trust myself in such a craft, on such a river.

And it was all because I had had experience with bad rivers, and thought I was a judge of dangerous currents.

The Colorado slid with a menacing roar out of a giant split in the red wall, and whirled, eddied, bulged on toward its confinement in the iron-ribbed canyon below.
In answer to shots fired, Emmett's man appeared on the other side, and rode down to the ferry landing.

Here he got into a skiff, and rowed laboriously upstream for a long distance before he started across, and then swung into the current.

He swept down rapidly, and twice the skiff whirled, and completely turned round; but he reached our bank safely.
Taking two men aboard he rowed upstream again, close to the shore, and returned to the opposite side in much the same manner in which he had come over.
The three men pushed out the scow, and grasping the rope overhead, began to pull.