The boys turned back to the river. From where they watched, they could see a tiny flotilla of bright, orange-colored air rafts bobbing along in the quiet water above the rapids. At first the rafts seemed to float lazily downstream, but as they approached the rapids, they gradually picked up speed until they looked like miniature beetles racing along to certain destruction on the shoals ahead.
Within seconds the lead raft had entered the white water. At first contact, it veered wildly to one side and was thrown roughly into the air. Miraculously it landed right side up, but was immediately caught by the relentless current and carried with express-train speed toward a narrow ledge of rock.
Sandy started to raise his hand and strained forward. Beside him, Mike cried out a warning. But before they could move, the tiny, fragile-looking craft had skimmed past the edge of the rock, missing it by inches, and was careening wildly down the last of the rapids toward a quiet pool in the bend of the river. Scurrying gaily behind the leader came three others and finally a fourth.
Mike sighed audibly. “Wow! So that’s Kindergarten Rapids! Where do I go to get sent back a class?”
Sandy leaned down to pick up the raft and paddle he had brought with him. “Come on, boy, might as well face the music and get our first lesson.”
“All right,” Mike grumbled, reaching for his equipment. “Just write my mother a nice letter. That’s all I ask.”
They trudged along in silence for a few steps. “Say, who is it we’re supposed to look up?” Mike suddenly asked.
“Doug Henderson. He’s the son of the man who rented us the cabin. Mr. Henderson said he’d be expecting us.”
“I sure hope he knows what he’s talking about!”
“According to Mr. Henderson, he’s been running these rapids ever since he was seven years old.”