He knew the only chance was to arouse the sleepers and try to work the raft in toward shore without a moment’s delay.
But the only answer he received was the sullen roaring of the falls, sounding like the knell of doom.
Again he shouted; again there was no answer. Then Pombere ran into one hut after another and tore at the blankets. Not one of the huts contained a living being.
“Where are they?” yelled Sullivan.
“Gone!” answered Pombere.
Then a wild cry of despair broke from the lips of the foreman, a cry that was heard far away on the shore by the ones who had escaped death by a piece of rare fortune.
The foreman began to strip off his clothing and his boots. Pombere saw what he was doing. The Canadian could not swim a stroke.
“You to go an’ leave me now?” he screamed.
“Yes,” snarled Sullivan. “Look out fer yerself now! You got me inter this! It was your plot!”