“Keep your nerve!” shouted Grant fiercely. “You do the steering from the bow. You can see the rocks from there.”
At racehorse speed the canoe shot forward. With every second its momentum increased until it seemed fairly to fly over the water. White-lipped and with jaws set the two boys sat and awaited their fate. From the shore George and John watched with feverish anxiety.
Now they were almost in the rapids. An eddy caught the canoe and it nearly upset. It escaped, however, and again sped on. Around it the water foamed white and hissed and snarled as it raced along. Black rocks stood out along the treacherous pathway. It seemed as if the canoe must surely come to grief on any one of a dozen of them.
Seated on the bottom of the canoe and with his eyes riveted on the rapids below, Fred wielded his paddle like a madman. First one side and then the other he dipped it, changing so swiftly sometimes as almost to bewilder the onlookers.
They were half way through the dangerous passage now. Was it possible that they could come through those angry waters untouched? It was out of the question; they had merely been lucky so far. At least that was the way George and John felt about it. Any moment they expected to see their comrades upset and disappear from sight beneath those terrible foaming waves.
Still the canoe raced on. One moment it had the speed of a locomotive and the next, caught by some eddying whirlpool, its momentum almost ceased, only to shoot forward suddenly again at a bewildering pace an instant later.
“I believe they’ll get through,” exclaimed George excitedly. He and John were standing on a large boulder which afforded them an excellent view of the rapids.
“Wait,” cautioned John quietly.
“‘Wait and see,’” smiled George.
“Please don’t joke,” muttered John. “I don’t feel like it.”