Conacher whispered in her ear: “You are all right?”
“I . . . I think so,” she stuttered.
“Put your two hands lightly on my shoulders and I’ll tow you. Do not splash.”
He swam softly down with the current.
In the first moment there was only silence from above. Then they heard Gault’s excited voice:
“Quick! the canoes! Search for them in the river!”
The men came tearing pell-mell down the hill, and Conacher swam with all his strength for the mouth of the little stream.
They gained it none too soon. Finding firm ground underfoot they waded up-stream under the arching willows. The water was up to their waists. They had to move at a snail’s pace to avoid splashing. As soon as the upper part of their bodies was exposed to the air, they realized the numbing cold of the water. Loseis clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering.
Meanwhile the two dug-outs had been launched. The men shouted confusedly at each other. Such a search was hopeless in the dark. They could hear Gault savagely cursing his men. It was quite clear that he was not bent upon rescuing the two, but upon making sure that they did not escape. The voices softened in the distance, as the current carried the dug-outs down. Conacher and Loseis could now permit themselves to move faster through the water.
Conacher drew Loseis along with one hand, and held the other straight over his head as they proceeded through the dark tunnel. An exclamation of satisfaction escaped him as his hand came in contact with the hanging packs. He took them down. A short distance further along there was a break in the willows on the right-hand side, and a back-water whence they climbed out in the grass. Streaming with water, they set off at a jog trot to warm up.