The stern swung around, and the craft went broadside, striking a large boulder. Pedro was spilled into the boiling waters.
In trying to save him, Jack and Ken lost their paddles, and also were thrown into the stream. The former grasped a rock, and managed to extend a helping hand to Pedro, who clung desperately.
But in assisting the guide, Jack lost his own grip on the rock. The current swept him on. He swam frantically, exerting all his strength. Exhausted and grasping for breath, he finally pulled himself out on shore.
Dragging himself to his feet, he peered back to see what had become of Ken and Pedro. Both were clinging desperately to the rocks, but at any instant might be swept on over the falls. The balsa and all their vitally precious stores were gone.
“Hold on!” he shouted hoarsely. “Don’t let go!”
Jack had no rope. He knew he could expect no help from the Indians.
“Stay back!” Ken shouted, as he started to wade toward the boulder. “You’ll be swept off your feet!”
Feeling the vicious tug of the current, Jack retreated to the fringe of trees. His gaze fastened upon a long, tough vine which hung within reach.
Ripping it down, he waded as far as he dared out into the shallow water. He floated the vine rope toward the boulder, but it was only after a fourth desperate try, that he reached his objective.
Ken seized one end and tied the vine about Pedro’s waist. Working fast, and fearful that at any instant the make-shift rope would snap, Jack pulled the guide to safety.