that made him shudder to look down
into it. The little whirling pits were eyes peering into his, and they
raced on with the boat, disappeared, and came again, always with the
little, hollow gurgles.

The craft drifted swiftly and the roar increased. Another rapid seemed
to move up into view. It came at a bend in the canyon. When the breeze
struck Shefford's cheeks he did not this time experience exhilaration.
The current accelerated its sliding motion and bore the flatboat
straight for the middle of the curve. Shefford saw the bend, a long,
dark, narrow, gloomy canyon, and a stretch of contending waters,
then, crouching low, he waited for the dip, the race, the shock.
They came--the last stopping the boat--throwing it aloft--letting
it drop--and crests of angry waves curled over the side. Shefford,
kneeling, felt the water slap around him, and in his ears was a
deafening roar. There were endless moments of strife and hell and flying
darkness of spray all about him, and under him the rocking boat. When
they lessened--ceased in violence--he stood ankle-deep in water, and
then madly he began to bail.

Another roar deadened his ears, but he did not look up from his toil.
And when he had to get down to avoid the pitch he closed his eyes. That
rapid passed and with more water to bail, he resumed his share in the
manning of the crude craft. It was more than a share--a tremendous
responsibility to which he bent with all his might. He heard Joe
yell--and again--and again. He heard the increasing roars one after
another till they seemed one continuous bellow. He felt the shock, the
pitch, the beating waves, and then the lessening power of sound and
current. That set him to his task. Always in these long intervals of
toil he seemed to see, without looking up, the growing proportions
of the canyon. And the river had become a living, terrible thing. The
intervals of his tireless effort when he scooped the water overboard
were fleeting, and the rides through rapid after rapid were endless
periods of waiting terror. His spirit and his hope were overwhelmed by
the rush and roar and fury.

Then, as he worked, there came a change--a rest to deafened ears--a
stretch of river that seemed quiet after chaos--and here for the first
time he bailed the boat clear of water.

Jane and Fay were huddled in a corner, with the flapping tarpaulin now
half fallen over them. They were wet and muddy. Lassiter crouched like
a man dazed by a bad dream