canoe, made a few strokes
with the paddle, and then let her swing out with an eddy until she was
caught by the mid-stream rush. After this he crouched in the stern and
the craft began to drift down the rapid. The other man stopped and threw
out his arms, as if he meant to protest that he could do nothing more.

"Father Lucien!" said Thirlwell. "Black Steve's risking a capsize."

They sped past the man upon the bank and Agatha watched the crouching
figure in the canoe. The craft was a short distance in front of, but
outside, theirs, and she could see the danger of her being smashed or
swamped. It was plain that the only safe way down was through the slack
along the bank, but the man made no effort to reach this smoother belt.
He let the paddle trail in the water while the canoe rocked among the
angry waves. His rashness fascinated Agatha and she could not look away,
although she knew she might see him drown.

"Can't you do something?" she asked Thirlwell.

"No," he said sternly. "We're loaded and would be swamped. Steve's drunk
and must take his chance."

A few moments later the canoe in front plunged down a furious rush of
the current, lurched up on a white wave, rolled over, and vanished.
Agatha trembled, and felt cold, and the _Metis_ shouted: "_V'la! C'en
est fait--_"

A black object that looked like a head rose from the racing foam and
Agatha turned to Thirlwell imperiously--

"Go and help him."

He hesitated and she knew it was on her account. Then he lifted his
paddle.

"_Au secour!_"

The canoe swerved, swung out from the slack, and plunged into the foam.
She lifted her bows high out of the water while a white ridge rolled up
astern, and for the next minute or two Agatha saw nothing clearly. Spray
beat upon her, whipping her face; she had a confused sense of furious
speed, but felt that the canoe was controlled. Water splashed on board;
the _Metis_ bent forward and his shoulders moved in savage jerks. Behind
them, the other canoe plunged down the rapid, rather bounding than
sliding from wave to wave. In front, the black shape of the overturned
craft washed to and fro like a drifting log. Thirlwell shouted as they
sped past a rock, the canoe was swung violently sideways, and they were
out of the main rush. There was an eddy behind the rock and the water
ran round in white-lined rings. The moonlight fell across the center and
Agatha saw a man's dark head.

Thirlwell backed his paddle and as they swept