When the two canoes had rounded the bend in the river the one which John and George occupied had been a trifle closer to shore. Consequently it had just that much advantage over the other. The occupants of the two canoes were too engrossed in their own struggles to take much notice of their companions, but out of the corner of his eye Grant saw that the other canoe had nearly reached its goal.
A moment later he heard a call from the shore sounding above the roar of the rapids below. It was George’s voice.
“Keep it up, Grant!” he shouted. “You’ll make it yet.”
“Stick to it, Fred!” cried Grant, encouraged by the knowledge that their companions had reached safety. “We can make it.”
“I’m sticking to it all right,” replied Fred grimly.
Closer and closer to shore they came. Nearer and nearer sounded the noise of the rapids. Could they win out? Certainly they could if nerve and determination were to count for anything.
Ahead of them Grant could see George frantically urging them on. He was so excited that he had run down into the water, where he stood knee-deep, begging and imploring his comrades to come to him. Inch by inch they seemed to move towards shore. Their muscles were aching from the strain now and it was agony for both boys to keep up the fight, but neither one gave even the slightest thought to quitting.
It almost seemed as if they were going to win out now. George was scarcely ten feet distant; arms outstretched he eagerly awaited a chance to seize the bow of the canoe and draw it and its occupants to safety. His chance did not come, however.
Just out of his eager reach a whirlpool caught the canoe. The bow swung suddenly around and Fred’s paddle was almost wrested from his grasp. In vain he and Grant fought. Twice the frail little boat spun around and then seized by a sudden eddy in the current was borne swiftly and relentlessly towards the rapids below.
“We’re goners!” cried Fred.