"Yes," said Seaforth. "Still, no man has ever gone down it."
"No. But the water's lowest in winter, and a canoe once came through. I can't see why another shouldn't do as well with men in it. It's easy getting in, anyway."
Seaforth laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, yes. The question is, will any of us come out again alive?"
As he spoke the sound of the river's turmoil swelled in a great pulsation about the tent, and Seaforth involuntarily drew in his breath. The curious glow he had seen there before, however, grew a trifle brighter in his companion's eyes.
"That," he said solemnly, "only the Almighty knows, but if we stop here there'll be an end of Harry. Now, there are some folks in the old country who'd be sorry if you don't come back?"
Seaforth smiled a trifle bitterly. "I don't think there are. They had an opportunity of showing their affection before I came out to Canada, and didn't take it. I found the best friend I ever had in this country—and as there seems no other way we'll try the canon."
Okanagan sat down again, and hacked away with Alton's knife at a piece of redwood he was fashioning into a paddle. Both of them knew that the effort they were to make on their friend's behalf might well cost their life, but big, untaught bushman and once gently-nurtured Briton were in one respect at least alike, and that was a fact which would never again be mentioned between them.
It was an hour or thereabouts later when Alton opened his eyes.
"I don't know that I asked you, though I meant to, but you and Tom staked two more claims off?" he said.
Okanagan appeared a trifle embarrassed, but Seaforth laughed. "I'm afraid we didn't. You see, we started in a hurry, and I forgot."