The boat shot out and down, to alight with a heavy souse. Then it leaped into the swift current. George got his hands on it first, and went down like a ninepin. The boat floated over him. The bow struck Hal, and would have dragged him away had not Pepe laid powerful hands on the stern. They waded to the lower ledge.
"Didn't ship a bucketful," said Hal. "Fine work, Ken."
"I got all the water," added the drenched and dripping George.
"Bail out, boys, and repack, while I look below," said Ken.
He went down-stream a little way to take a survey of the rapids. If those rapids had been back in Pennsylvania, Ken felt that he could have gone at them in delight. If the jungle country had been such that damage to boat or supplies could have been remedied or replaced, these rapids would not have appeared so bad. Ken walked up and down looking over the long white inclines more than was wise, and he hesitated about going into them. But it had to be done. So he went back to the boys. Then he took the oars with gripping fingers.
"George, can you swim?" he asked.
"I'm a second cousin to a fish," replied George.
"All right. We're off. Now, if we upset, hang to the boat, if you can, and hold up your legs. George, tell Pepe."
Ken backed the boat out from the shore. To his right in the middle of the narrow river was a racy current that he kept out of as long as possible. But presently he was drawn into it, and the boat shot forward, headed into the first incline, and went racing smoothly down toward the white waves of the rapids.
This was a trying moment for Ken. Grip as hard as he might, the oar-handles slipped in his sweaty hands.