Close as they now were to the outlet, no signs of any current were yet visible. The colonel called attention to this strange fact, but Guy explained it by remarking that the current probably passed directly through the center of the lake and that dead water continued to the very edge.
"I can see a white gleam ahead," he cried suddenly; "now paddle off from shore a little more and head the canoe as I tell you."
His orders were obeyed in silence. Straight out from the shore the canoe shot deftly. A couple of quick strokes forward and backward and its bow faced the angry waters that raged and foamed thirty yards distant.
The radius of the torch cast a faint gleam on the very edge of the glistening spray. It seemed to beckon them onward.
"Now give way," cried Guy. Four paddles dipped and rose as one, the shining drops rolled from their blades like so many diamonds in the torch-glare, and then Guy sprang to his feet with a loud cry.
The paddles wavered in mid-air. "Go ahead," he shouted fiercely. "Paddle with all your strength."
Once more they dipped the water, the canoe moved slowly—with an effort, and as the paddles a second time paused in air, the canoe shot swiftly—not forward to the embrace of the angry waters, but back—back at dizzy speed into the dark and dismal recesses of the lake.
Even then the awful, unspeakable horror of the situation never flashed upon them, Guy alone perhaps excepted.
"We've blundered again," cried the colonel in hollow tones. "We have returned to the starting point. In some manner we have missed the outlet, and now all must be done over again."
"Could the canoe have been turned completely about during our journey?" exclaimed Forbes.