“He’s the boss hand at it. Seems as if the danger fired him up. Makes him feel as I do when I hunt big game. He didn’t need my help, only fetched me along to take back some truck. That’s how he picked me out to show you. He knew I knew—”
“And I wish I knew—lots of things!”
“One of ’em might be that round that next turn comes the first dip. Then look out.”
The stream was descending very perceptibly, and they needed no paddling to keep them moving. But they did require to be incessantly on the watch to guard against the rocks which obstructed the current, and which threatened the safety of their frail craft.
“You keep an eye on me and one on the channel. It’ll take a clear head to carry us through, and no fooling.”
Adrian did not answer. He had no thought for anything just then but the menace of those jagged points; which seemed to reach toward them as if to destroy.
Nor did Pierre speak again. Far better even than his silent companion could he estimate the perils which beset them. Life itself was the price which they would pay for a moment’s carelessness, but a cool head, a clear eye, and a steady wrist—these meant safety and the proud record of a dangerous passage wisely made. A man who could shoot those rapids was a guide who might, indeed, some time demand the high wages Adrian had jeered at.
Suddenly the channel seemed barred by two opposing boulders, whose points lapped each other. In reality, there was a way between them, by the shortest of curves and of but little more than the canoe’s width. Pierre saw and measured the distance skillfully, but he had not counted upon the opposing force of the water that rushed against them.
“Look—out! Take—”
Behind the right-hand rock seethed a mighty whirlpool, where the river, speeding downward, was caught and tossed back upon itself, around and around, mad to escape yet bound by its own power.