True to her feminine nature, however, Dot lay down flat upon the raft and hauled in the chain with the loop at the end.
"You can't fling it 'cause it's too heavy, and the raft will float out further all the time—not toward shore!" objected Don, as he watched.
Dot was still down on the raft but Don was standing up when, suddenly, an immense ice-floe coming down stream struck another one and shot out toward shore striking the corner of the raft such a blow that Don measured his full length out on the logs. The raft was partially submerged but was shoved out of the way of the floe, and left within a few feet of the bank.
"Hurrah! Now we can pole back!" yelled Don, scrambling to his feet to snatch his pole. He looked about but the pole had been washed off when the corner of the raft went under water.
"Hi, there, Dot, gim'me yours—quick!" cried Don, as he saw the raft slowly turn about and go out into the current again.
Dot rolled off of her pole, upon which she had been lying, thereby saving it from the water.
Don pushed and pushed for all he was worth and managed to propel the clumsy raft further toward shore. Every foot made it easier, for the water was shallower and the current less. Within a few feet of shore, Dot flung her chain out, bound to have her way about a rescue. As the chain shot out, Dot slipped on the wet logs, and fell into the water.
Don was stupefied for a moment, but Dot had great presence of mind and was going to swim when she felt a solid foundation two feet under water. She managed to stand up and called to Don:
"See, I'm standing on something hard. Guess it's logs!"
As it was on one side of the raft, Dot held on to the edge of the raft and felt her way along the hard logs under water until she reached the extreme end of the raft. Here she let go and slowly shoved her foot ahead of her until she felt the water getting shallower as she proceeded toward shore. She was now but five feet from the bank where a huge pine log had fallen end-wise into the river. She climbed up and held on to the rough bark, scrambling, hand over hand, along the trunk until she reached the towering pile from which the pine had rolled.