Slowly, with a one-armed backstroke, Biff towed the native boy toward the shore. The current slackened below the falls, making Biff’s task possible. Foot by foot, Biff propelled himself and Chuba toward the riverbank. At long last, he felt one of his kicking feet touch bottom.
“Okay, Chuba. I think you can stand up here. Try it.”
Chuba’s feet touched bottom. The two boys staggered through the shallow water to safety. Chuba stretched out on the bank, gasping and trembling.
“You save my life, Biff. How can Chuba ever thank you?”
“Skip the thanks, Chuba. You’ve done plenty for me. And I know you’ll do plenty more. But how come you never learned to swim?”
“Not many Chinese boys swim. Not in rivers where I grow up. Crocodiles.”
“I get it. Too dangerous.”
Chuba nodded his head.
“Look, Chuba. You rest here. I’ve got to get the boat. All our supplies are in it.”
Biff jumped up and ran along the bank downstream. The boat was drifting slowly, lazily toward the bank. Biff plunged back into the water. He reached the boat, pulled himself in over the side, and rowed to shore. Chuba had moved down the bank, and waded out to grab the boat’s bow. He pulled it up on the bank.