Next, they built a floor of webbed sticks and then removed the pegs. Finally the bundle was slid onto the waterproof tarp which was lashed securely in place around the circle. As the last step, they attached a long rope.
“Not a bad little raft,” Jack declared, surveying the finished job. “She should carry one of us at a time without trouble.”
Mr. Livingston offered to go first, but the others would not have it so. Jack insisted that he was the strongest swimmer, and after some argument, the Scout leader reluctantly agreed that he might make the initial trip. Phillipe, meanwhile, had hacked out a crude paddle.
With Ken and Mr. Livingston holding an end of the rope, Jack settled himself firmly on the circular tarp raft, and shoved off.
The fast current caught the craft, whirling it. For a minute, Jack was afraid he was going under. Icy water splashed over his legs. The awkward craft twisted and turned in the grasp of the racing stream.
Paddling desperately, he regained control. Without disaster, he reached the opposite shore, though some distance down stream. Ken, Phillipe and Mr. Livingston promptly pulled the raft back to their side of the shore. The Scout leader next made the trip across, followed by Ken.
Phillipe, desperately afraid of the racing water, had to be coaxed before he too attempted the stream.
All went well until the miner was close to shore. Then unexpectedly, the make-shift paddle snapped, leaving him with a useless stub of wood.
A gasp of horror escaped his lips as the current viciously seized the little craft.
“Throw the rope!” shouted Jack, running along the jagged rocks at the stream’s edge.