“I hope we don’t hit a waterfall,” shouted Sandy as he ceased bailing water and drew a long breath.
“Let ’er come,” responded Dick daringly, swerving the canoe this way and that with a lusty stroke of his paddle.
“Look out, another rock!”
Sandy turned from his bailing and grasped his paddle just in time. In a crouch he met the boulder with the end of the paddle and pushed. The canoe forged off to the left, dodged in between two other rocks, and once more they reached a space comparatively straight and free from obstructions. Like an arrow they shot onward.
The noise of the foaming water was fast increasing in volume. Dick feared a waterfall, and silently he nerved himself for it, and none too soon. Dashing down a narrow channel and bobbing around a curve like a cork on ocean waves, he saw ahead a mist of spray and the rumble of falling water burst upon his ears.
Sandy could not suppress a cry of terror, but white-lipped Dick managed to hold his breath for what was to come. “Hold tight!” he shouted to his chum. “I’ll hold her straight, and we’ll dive over. We’ve a chance. It’s not high.”
Straight toward the edge of the waterfall the canoe shot with terrific speed. The rumble of the water was frightful. Then they went over. One glimpse they had of the whirlpools boiling below the falls as the prow of the canoe swept over and the light craft leaped into the misty air, like a ski jumper.
It was only a short drop of about five feet, but when the canoe struck the churning water, it spun and spun about, wallowing in the foam. Dick and Sandy were drenched to the skin in a moment. All they could do was cling to the canoe, hoping against hope.
“Hang to that rock ahead, if we go under!” Dick cried, above the thunder of the falls.
“I can’t see!” Sandy shouted back, rubbing the water from his eyes and coughing.