"Keep a stiff upper lip, Bob, old man," whispered the "poet."
Bob Somers drew a long breath. It took all the courage he possessed to deliberately launch himself into Canyon River, but he waved his hand to the others, and took the plunge.
In an instant he was buffeting the powerful current. Again he saw the gray walls flying swiftly by; again the water lapped and splashed around him and murmured and sang.
The swimmer kept his eyes fixed on the opposite cliff and its rugged outline rising from the ledge where Howard Fenton and his companion awaited him. Already he was approaching it; the boom of the falls suddenly seemed to grow louder.
"Here comes the rope—look out for it!" he heard a voice cry.
Bravely battling, Bob Somers caught a momentary glimpse of the lariat hurtling through the air. With a hiss, it fell a few feet in front—the one thing which stood between him and the dreaded cataract.
But the throw had been well-timed, and the captain, with his nerves set to the keenest tension, grasped the line just as it was beginning to sink.
Desperately, he clung to it.