right-hand
bank. Under a willow-flanked ledge was a sand-bar. To Joe there
seemed nothing hazardous in drifting through this pass.

"Bad place ahead," said Bill, observing Joe's survey of the river.

"It doesn't look so," replied Joe.

"A raft ain't a boat. We could pole a boat. You has to hev water to
float logs, an' the river's run out considerable. I'm only afeerd
fer the horses. If we hit or drag, they might plunge around a bit."

When the raft passed into the head of the bend it struck the rocks
several times, but finally gained the channel safely, and everything
seemed propitious for an easy passage.

But, greatly to Bill's surprise, the wide craft was caught directly
in the channel, and swung round so that the steering-oar pointed
toward the opposite shore. The water roared a foot deep over the
logs.

"Hold hard on the horses!" yelled Bill. "Somethin's wrong. I never
seen a snag here."

The straining mass of logs, insecurely fastened together, rolled and
then pitched loose again, but the short delay had been fatal to the
steering apparatus.

Joe would have found keen enjoyment in the situation, had it not
been for his horse, Lance. The thoroughbred was difficult to hold.
As Bill was making strenuous efforts to get in a lucky stroke of the
oar, he failed to see a long length of grapevine floating like a
brown snake of the water below. In the excitement they heeded not
the barking of Mose. Nor did they see the grapevine straighten and
become taut just as they drifted upon it; but they felt the raft
strike and hold on some submerged object. It creaked and groaned and
the foamy water surged, gurgling, between the logs.

Jim's mare snorted with terror, and rearing high, pulled her halter
loose and plunged into the river. But Jim still held her, at risk of
being drawn overboard.

"Let go! She'll drag you in!" yelled Joe, grasping him with his free
hand. Lance trembled violently and strained at the rope, which his
master held with a strong grip.

CRACK!

The stinging report of a rifle rang out above the splashing of the
water.

Without a cry, Bill's grasp on the oar loosened; he fell over it
limply, his head striking the almost submerged log. A dark-red fluid
colored the water; then his body slipped over the oar and into the
river, where it sank.

"My God! Shot!" cried Jim, in horrified tones.

He saw a puff of white smoke rising above the willows. Then the
branches parted, revealing the dark form