water to save the canoe from some 

 rocks. He looked at the storm- 

 clouded sky, the rolling white-capped 

 waves, at Nimrod, and finally at me; 

 but we said nothing, not realising 

 as he did, the danger of such a sea in 

 a heavily laden canoe. Besides to 

 turn back or give up is the last thing 

 to commend itself to us. 



Cat-like he jumped into the bow, 

 and the two paddlers battled against 

 the waves for the open. The wind 

 storm increased. The white-crested 

 waves rose higher and higher. We 

 were drenched with the spray and 

 began to ship water, no light matter 

 when the gunwale was barely three 

 inches from the water line. Then 

 the black raincloud burst, emptied 

 itself in a deluge, and we were fairly 

 caught in a perilous place. 



The Indians exercised all their 

 skill, fortunately great, in keeping 

 the canoe in the wind. But the craft 

 was filling and nothing apparently 

 to bale with. 



"Can you swim?" I shouted to 

 Clifford above the gale. He shook 

 Iris head without turning around, 

 his eyes glued on the approaching 



