Once ashore they made their way as near to the rapids as possible. The water boiled in fury as it rushed by the rocks that opposed its way.
“Gee whiz!” ejaculated Bob. “This is worse than anything I’ve tackled before—ever!”
Jerry laughed and said, “There’ll be a lot worse than this before we’re through, I’m afraid. This isn’t much. We’ll be able to shoot it all right.”
Back in the boat Jerry took the oars, and, helped by the current, drifted swiftly towards the first rapids of the shallow and dangerous passage. Once into the white water they found the going easier than they had expected. After a struggle and a narrow escape or two from shipwreck on jagged rocks they saw smoother water ahead. But this held a new danger. Here the river made a short bend, and the current, throwing itself against the opposite bank, threatened to dash them against it before they could control their boat.
It was a ticklish moment. They shot out of the white spray and were headed for the rocky wall. “Quick, Jerry!” yelled Bob. “Pull her ’round.”
Jerry used both his arms on the right hand oar and a moment later, breathless and a little exhausted, they came to quieter water.
“Like shooting the chutes, isn’t it?” said Bob, putting his feeling into words as soon as he could speak. “Great sport!”
Jerry, however, bent to his oars, betraying his emotion only by the gleam of his eyes. No more rapids of any consequence hindered their way the remainder of the afternoon. It was not until well along the next morning that they came again to anything which really could be called dangerous.
The first intimation the boys had of the approaching rapids was the increasing speed of the boat. As they looked ahead the water seemed clear and unbroken, but some current stronger than usual was hurrying them along.
“We’re in for it again,” yelled Jerry to Bob, who was rowing. “Back water—hard!”