ping billows at the foot, then
the swirl of the eddy caught him, and lifted him clear over into the
quiet water. One minute of wild thrills and the Long Rapid was left
behind.

"Didn't take that quite right," he grumbled. "Ought to have lifted her
sooner. Next time I'll get through dry. Next time?" he repeated. "God
knows if there'll ever be any next time of that water for me." He
paddled round the eddy toward the shore, intending to dump the water
out of his canoe. "Hello! What in thunder is that?" Up against the
driftwood, where it had been carried by the eddy, a canoe was floating
bottom upwards. "God help us!" he groaned. "It's his canoe! My God!
My God! Dick, boy, you're not lost! He'd run these rapids. That's his
style. Oh, why didn't I call him? We could have done it together
safe enough!" He stood up in his canoe and searched eagerly among the
driftwood. "Dick! Dick!" he called over and over again in the wild cry
of a wounded man. He paddled over to the canoe and examined it. "Ah,
that's where he hit the rocks, just at the foot. But he shouldn't drown
here," he continued, "unless they hit him. Let's see, where would that
eddy take him?" For another anxious minute he stood observing the run
of the water. "If he could keep up three minutes," he said, "he ought
to strike that bar." With a few sweeps of his paddle he was on the sand
bar. "Ha!" he cried. A paddle lay on the sand just above the water mark.
"That never floated there." He leaped out and drew up his canoe, then,
dropping on his knees, he examined the marks upon the bar. There on the
sand was stamped the print of an open hand. "Now, God be thanked!" he
cried, lifting his hands toward the sky, "he's reached this spot. He's
somewhere on shore here." Like a dog on scent he followed up the marks
to the edge of the forest where the bank rose steeply over rough rocks.
Eagerly he clambered up, his eyes on the alert for any sign. He reached
the top. A quick glance he threw around him, then with a low cry he
rushed forward. There, stretched prone on the moss, a little pile of
brushwood near him, with his match case in his hand, lay his brother.
"Oh, Dick, boy!" he cried aloud, "not too late, surely!" He dropped
beside the still form, turned him gently over and laid his hand upon his
heart. "Too late! Too late!" he groaned. Like a madman he rushed out
of the woods, flung himself down the rocky bank and toward his canoe,
seized his bag and scrambled back again. Agai