It was now about the middle of the afternoon. The sky was still gloomy overhead, and Bob had fears that the rain would set in again.
"Another reason why we ought to try to cross before darkness comes," he said, when they spoke about this.
"I only hope it does not start when we are out on that flood," answered Sandy, with a shiver.
"That would be a misfortune," declared Silas Hemphill. "Surely we will not be deserted in the eleventh hour. I hope to shake David Armstrong's hand to-night."
Sandy hurried the finishing of the third paddle. He did not relish the voyage they had before them; but there seemed no other course open.
Before starting out they made all things as secure as possible. Hemphill had by this time fully recovered and professed himself not only willing, but able, to do his share of the paddling. The canoe would carry three, though one might find it necessary at times to stop paddling in order to bale out what water dashed over the sides.
Bob had taken as good a view as possible of their expected course. As he could not see a great distance down the river he might only surmise what awaited them there.
Of course the one prime necessity was to make as quickly as they could toward shore, taking advantage of every eddy to gain a few inches or feet at a time.
"I believe I have learned something from our past experience," he remarked, as he took his place in the stern, ready to push off.
Sandy occupied the bow, while Silas Hemphill was a fixture in the centre, where he could assist with his blade, or dip water over the side, as occasion arose.