In this way it made the descent, for, perhaps, fifty feet, when the stern, probably retaining the momentum longer than the lighter bow, advanced so much further that the canoe turned a complete sommersault, both it and the boy shooting from view in the roaring, plunging and churning hell of waters at the bottom of the falls. “Lost! lost! gone to his last account!” gasped Little Rifle, recovering from the paralysis in which he stood up to this instant. “He showed that he was a brave lad, and he deserved a better fate-- There! can it be?” Although, as we have shown, the efforts of the poor boy to work his canoe in to shore and out of the frightful current failed, yet it resulted, despite the appearance to the contrary, in getting quite a distance toward the bank whereon Little Rifle stood, and he noted the fact, with some surprise, as it came over the falls. As he stood on the wet rock, looking at the foaming abyss before him, something dark shot up to view almost at his feet. Looking downward, he had just time to see that it was a part of the canoe--about a half--when it drove out of sight again, in the resistless grasp of the current. And the same glance that showed him this, showed also the face of the boy who had made the fearful plunge, only for an instant, like his view of the canoe. The face, white and motionless, rose from the water, and then sunk out of view, as it sped down the current, with scarcely less speed than the river possessed directly above the falls themselves. That one look was sufficient for Little Rifle. A sudden hope came to his heart that the lad might still have the breath of life in his body, and placing his gun upon the rock at his feet, he concentrated all his strength and made a leap directly toward the spot where he had seen the face, shouting at the same time, with all the strength of which he was capable, in the hope of arousing him to do something for himself. The most skillful swimmer can not fight his way through froth and foam, its specific gravity being too slight for it to support his weight, while the danger is that he will be strangled before he can reach the water that will support him. Little Rifle fully understood this before he made his daring plunge, but the glimpse that he had obtained of the boy had proved that he had something in his favor that fully counterbalanced this. The very violence of the foamy waters was such that it drove all foreign bodies to the surface for a second or two, without any effort upon their part. Little Rifle kept his senses about him, as he felt himself sinking downward, downward, in the resistless grasp of the current. He had taken a deep inspiration during the instant he was making his flight through the air, and he now held his breath until he could gain the chance to renew it.