“Oh, oh!” cried Mike. “Sounds like another portage!”
“You’re right. Feel the river picking up speed? That’s Cutthroat Rapids. We’d better move over a little closer to the shore.”
An hour later they were tied to the roots of a stranded drift log. Mr. Cook and Joe were busy unloading gear for the night, while Sandy and Mike inflated two small rubber rafts and checked over their fishing equipment. When Mr. Cook saw the rafts, he raised an eyebrow. “How come?” he demanded.
“I thought we could move up and down along the shore a little easier with these,” Sandy explained.
“I guess you’re right. But isn’t it a little dangerous? We’re just above Cutthroat Rapids.”
“We’ll be careful,” Mike assured him. “Don’t worry about that.”
“All right,” Mr. Cook agreed reluctantly. “But wrap a length of rope around your middles. In case you start to drift, it might come in handy.”
“Okay,” Mike said breezily. “But now it’s time for us fishermen to go to work. We’re bringing back tonight’s supper, you know.”
“I’ll go grease up the frying pan right now,” Mr. Cook said, grinning at his son. “It won’t take you more than ten minutes, will it?”
“Give us fifteen.”