d the dark gaps in the pines open up
and close he heard Driscoll shout. Next moment Scott leaned over the bow
and plunged his arm into the water. It looked as if he had dropped his
paddle and Thirlwell backed his in order to stop the craft.

The paddle floated past, too far off for Driscoll to reach, and signing
to Thirlwell, he swung the canoe round, but the water was getting broken
and they missed the paddle by a yard. Then they drove her ahead in a
semi-circle, and a minute or two had gone when Scott, leaning over
cautiously, seized the paddle-haft. In the meantime, they had drifted
fast, and Thirlwell saw that that patch of shingle was now up stream.

"That's awkward," Scott remarked, and the canoe rocked as Driscoll
dipped his paddle.

"Drive her! You have got to make the beach," he shouted in a hoarse
voice.

There was something contagious in the man's alarm, and knowing his
physical courage, Thirlwell made his best effort. The sweat ran down his
face, he felt his muscles strain and his sinews crack, and the canoe's
bow lifted as the paddle-blades beat the water. Driscoll leaned far
forward to get a longer stroke and urged the others with breathless
shouts, but the shingle they were heading for slowly slipped away.

"Try along the bank," Driscoll ordered, and Thirlwell, turning to pick
up a pole, saw his face in the moonlight. It was strangely set, and he
was not looking at the bank, but at the rapid. His gaze was fixed and
horrified.

For some minutes they scarcely held the craft against the stream.
Indeed, Thirlwell afterwards wondered why they kept it up, since it was
obvious that they could not reach the landing, but imagined that
Driscoll urged them. The fellow seemed resolved not to be drawn into the
rapid.

"We can't make it; I've got to let up," Scott gasped at length, and
Thirlwell, breathing hard, wiped his wet face as the canoe drove away.

It was galling to be beaten, and there was some danger unless the craft
was handled well. Steadiness and skill were needed, but after all the
risk was not greater than he had often run in the mine and on the frozen
trail. The daunting thing was that Driscoll, whom they had expected to
steer the canoe, looked afraid. He crouched astern, paddling in a slack,
nerveless manner. There was no chance of landing now; they must run
through the mad turmoil into the eddies of the tail-pool.

The roar of the flood rolled in confused echoes along the wall of pines.
Ang