The raft, when finished, did not amount to much.
"It won't hold all of us," puffed Fat Bear. "You get on. I'm the heaviest. I'm the best swimmer, too. You-all paddle, and I'll swim alongside."
They tumbled aboard, with branches for oars. Little Fat Bear shoved off and began to swim and push. They had no time to spare—
"Listen!"
Shrill whoops sounded. The Miamis were on the fresh trail.
"Hurry!"
Fat Bear kicked and pushed mightily; the others dug with their boughs. The clumsy raft moved slowly, and was carried down stream by the current. Would they never get away from shore! Would the Miamis swim after them, or shoot! They made a good target.
"Look! Somebody's coming to meet us!"
That was so. From the opposite shore a boat—two boats had put out. The raft was drifting badly, but the danger shore gradually receded, the rescue boats neared, and the home shore grew plainer. Swimming, Little Fat Bear was getting blue around the mouth, his face was pale and pinched. The November water had chilled him to the bone.
"Can you keep going?"