122 THE LOG OF A TIMBER CRUISER 
Later, as we neared the bottom and were begin- 
ning to breathe more freely, Whitey, who carried the 
dufflebags belonging to Conway and myself, slipped 
and went down hill end over end for a distance of 
some sixty yards, bringing up with a sheer drop of 
at least thirty feet. He landed on his back with a 
tremendous thump, the pack between himself and 
the creek bed, and lay there wedged between two 
rocks, waving his feet in the air and unable to turn 
over until we arrived at the bottom. 
‘There goes our ‘snake bite cure,’ ’’ groaned Con- 
way, as we witnessed Whitey’s catastrophe. For 
each of us kept a flask in his bag against emer- 
gencies and it certainly seemed as if nothing break- 
able could have withstood the disintegrating force 
of that whirlwind descent. Strange to say, however, 
everything was found in good shape, including the 
whiskey and Whitey himself, who trotted off when 
released with no apparent injuries. 
This ended our chapter of accidents and the worst 
leg of the move. The rest was comparatively easy. 
The canyon soon widened and we struck a very fair 
trail that led us about five o’clock to a first rate 
camping ground. 
