"Think, man! You don't know where we can get one?"
"No. Old Hiram's canoe was the only one. What's the matter?"
"Do you think there's one chance in a million of getting down through those rapids on a raft?"
Ray's eyes opened wide. "A raft!" he echoed. "Man, are you crazy? Even at this high water a canoe wouldn't have a chance in ten of making it. The river's falling every hour—"
"I know it. Do you suppose there's a canoe in town?"
"No! Of course there isn't—one that you could even dream about shooting those rapids in. Besides, by the time we got there and packed it up—it would take two days to pack it the best we could do—the river would be too far down to tackle the trip at all. And it won't come up again till fall—you know that. Tell me what's the matter. Has Beatrice—"
"Beatrice has gone down, that's all."
"Then she's dead—no hope of anything else. Only an expert could hope to take her through, and there's nothing to live on Back There. What's the use of trying to follow—?"
Neilson straightened, his eyes searching Ray's. "She's got food, I suppose. And she's got an expert paddler to take her there."
Ray's face seemed to darken before his eyes. His hands half closed, shook in his face, then caught at Neilson's shoulders. "You don't mean—she's run away?"