Suddenly there was a gasp from the boys crowded along the shore. Mike’s eyes widened with horror. The boy behind Sandy had stopped steering his raft. He had shifted his position and was leaning ahead recklessly, a paddle in his outstretched hand.
“What’s he doing?” Mike yelled.
“He’s trying to tip Sandy over!” Doug shouted. His voice trailed off as he watched the paddle snake out and jab at Sandy’s raft.
Mike stared with growing uneasiness as the two rafts slowly began to spin. Faster and faster they whipped around, both boys now trying desperately to keep their balance and stay on course.
At that distance, with both rafts floundering through towering walls of water, it was difficult to tell which raft was Sandy’s. Mike fought down an impulse to yell a warning when he saw one of the rafts steadily tip higher in the water.
“He’s going to spill!” came a cry.
Almost as if that were a signal, the raft shuddered and flipped over. There was a flash of a figure flailing the water and then, over by the deadly rocks of Dog Leg Falls, a head appeared.
“He’s caught!” Doug’s face was white and frightened. “He’ll drown!”
The second raft, meanwhile, was still afloat and coming around the turn fast. With a final leap, it shook itself free of the white water and skidded to safety.
Mike forced himself to hunt for the figure in the water. Was it Sandy? Or the other boy? There was a movement of color in the seething foam near the rocks, and then out into the quiet part of the river popped a paddle, an overturned raft and, following close behind, the head of a swimmer, striking for the far shore.