the unhappy turn of affairs, when a shout of
derision and triumph came down to them from the Ellisons. They had made
the carry successfully and were launching their canoe in the smooth
water above.

The Warren boys lost no time in paddling for shore. Tom and Bob, seeing
the discomfiture of their rivals, quickly picked up their canoe and
proceeded along the carry. Harvey looked inquiringly at Henry Burns, who
turned, smiling and unruffled.

"Well?" said Harvey, "got enough?"

"No," replied Henry Burns, and added deliberately, with a twinkle in his
eyes, "we might as well do it, now we've started. We've got two days to
get up over there in, you know."

"Good for you!" exclaimed Harvey. "Come on, if you're ready. We've got
time yet before Tom and Bob make the carry."

They bent to the paddles and got once more to the sunken ledge, panting
and perspiring, for they had worked hard and the current seemed,
therefore, even swifter now than before. There, holding their canoe in
place, they waited a little longer than on the first attempt, to rest
and study the current.

"Let's try the right hand from the ledge this time," said Henry Burns.
"Those whirls mean shallow places. Perhaps the bottom isn't so
slippery."

He pointed at some almost imperceptible breaks in the ebony surface of
the slope, and Harvey agreed.

"I can shove this canoe up over there as sure as you're alive," said
Harvey, gazing proudly at a pair of muscular arms that were certainly
eloquent of strength; "that is, if you can keep her head straight. Don't
try to do much of the poling. Just try to hold what I gain each time,
till I can get a fresh hold. What do you say--rested enough?"

"Aye, aye, captain," replied Henry Burns, coolly. "Up we go."

Again the canoe dropped back a little from the ledge, and again they
caught and held it and shoved out into the current--this time on the
right, instead of the left side.

Their comrades ashore watched anxiously. They saw the canoe strike the
swift running of the water and hang for a moment, as if irresolute,
uncertain whether it would turn its bow upstream or be swerved
broadside. The moment it hung there seemed minutes in duration. They saw
Henry Burns, lithe and agile, but cool and self-possessed, strike his
pole into the slope of the water where he had seen a shallow spot. And
the pole held.

The watchers ashore saw the canoe slowly turn and face the swift
current, lying upon its polished slope as t