There was no reply save a vicious creak of the row-locks. The old man paused at the end of the stroke but kept his eyes fixed on the sky overhead. It seemed as if he was about to answer and then thought better of it, for, ignoring his companion completely, he leaned sharply forward, caught the water with the blades and sent a shower splashing over the stern. Dawson was wet through. He was a young man with a temper, and while he could enjoy an intellectual combat with the rough old fellow before him, he had no mind to be under dog in a physical encounter. “See here, Eben Huckin,” he said quietly, but in a voice of determination. “Just handle those oars a little more properly or I’ll take command of this craft.” There was another loud rattle of the row-locks, and the rector involuntarily closed his eyes and ducked, thinking to catch the oncoming wave on the top of his broad hat. The expected deluge did not materialize, and he looked up in surprise to see Eben leaning over the side of the boat grasping wildly at an oar which was now far out of his reach and floating rapidly away. “Oh, my Gawd!” cried the old man, throwing himself into the bottom of the boat. “We’re loss, Parson, we’re loss!” He covered his face with his hands and swung despairingly to and fro, crying, “We’re loss--we’re loss!” The boat had turned around and was being swept along stern foremost by the swift current. Dawson saw this, but the peril of their position was not yet clear to him. “Pardon me,” he said quietly, “but I don’t understand just what has happened.” “Happened!” cried Eben. “Happened? Why, your talkin’ done it. I was listenin’ to you, an’ an oar got caught in some brushwood an’ twisted outen my hand. I jumped fer it, lettin’ go o’ the other. Now they’re both gone.” “But as far as I can see the only difference is we’re going in another direction and a great deal faster,” said the rector calmly. “We’re just goin’ right fer the canal dam,” groaned the old man. “It’s only four mile straight away, an’ ’hen the river’s like this here, it’s a reg’lar Niagry.” “Hum!” Dawson glanced to his left anxiously. The mountains were now lost in the darkness. He looked to the right to see the lights of the village already far up the river. “Eben,” he asked, “is there no way we can steer her into the shore?” “All the rudders in the worl’, ef we had ’em, wouldn’t git us outen this current.” “Is there no island we are likely to run into?” “Nawthin’ but Bass Rock, an’ ez it’s only ten feet square we mowt ez well hope--no, no, it ain’t no uset.” “We might swim.” “I can’t swim.” “I can--a little. If you could we would get out.” Then the clouds broke and the rain came down in torrents. They were enveloped in blackness and could no longer see one another.