“Isn’t any supposin’ about it. Got to. Might as well died in the pool as starve on this rock.”
Adrian didn’t see that there was much better than starvation before them, even if they did reach shore, but he kept his fear to himself. Besides, it was not probable that they had been saved from the flood to perish in the forest. They would better look at the bright side of the situation, if they hoped to find such.
“I can jump them.”
“So can I.”
“Don’t let go that pole. I mean to keep that as long as I live—’less you want it yourself. If you do—”
“No, Pierre. It belongs to you, and doubly now. Which should go first—you or I?”
“Draw lots. If that one falls in, the other must fish him out. Only we won’t try it on this side, by the pool.”
They carefully surveyed the crossing, almost as dangerous an affair as shooting the rapids had been. Yet, as Pierre had said, they “had to.”
Adrian picked a bit of floating weed that had swept within his reach and broke it into unequal portions. The shortest bit fell to him, and with as cheerful a “Here goes!” as he could muster he sprang for the next stone. He made it more easily than he had hoped, and saw that his best chance lay in looking straight ahead to the next landing point—and the next—never down at the swirling river.
“Landed. Come!”