“Only saw them once, either. When I went as far as Donovan’s with the master, year before last.” “Didn’t know he ever came so far from the island.” “Why, he goes once every summer, or fall, as far as that New York of yours. Likely he’ll be going soon again.” “He does! Queer he never mentioned it.” “Maybe. I’ve a notion, though, that the things he don’t say are more important than what he does. Ever shoot a rip?” “No. I’ve tried and failed. That’s how I happened to get lost and wandered to Dutton’s.” “He’s the boss hand at it. Seems as if the danger fired him up. Makes him feel as I do when I hunt big game. He didn’t need my help, only fetched me along to take back some truck. That’s how he picked me out to show you. He knew I knew--” “And I wish I knew--lots of things!” “One of ’em might be that round that next turn comes the first dip. Then look out.” The stream was descending very perceptibly, and they needed no paddling to keep them moving. But they did require to be incessantly on the watch to guard against the rocks which obstructed the current, and which threatened the safety of their frail craft. “You keep an eye on me and one on the channel. It’ll take a clear head to carry us through, and no fooling.” Adrian did not answer. He had no thought for anything just then but the menace of those jagged points; which seemed to reach toward them as if to destroy. Nor did Pierre speak again. Far better even than his silent companion could he estimate the perils which beset them. Life itself was the price which they would pay for a moment’s carelessness, but a cool head, a clear eye, and a steady wrist--these meant safety and the proud record of a dangerous passage wisely made. A man who could shoot those rapids was a guide who might, indeed, some time demand the high wages Adrian had jeered at. Suddenly the channel seemed barred by two opposing boulders, whose points lapped each other. In reality, there was a way between them, by the shortest of curves and of but little more than the canoe’s width. Pierre saw and measured the distance skillfully, but he had not counted upon the opposing force of the water that rushed against them. “Look--out! Take--” Behind the right-hand rock seethed a mighty whirlpool, where the river, speeding downward, was caught and tossed back upon itself, around and around, mad to escape yet bound by its own power. Into this vortex the canoe was hurled, to be instantly overturned and dashed to pieces on the rock. On its first circuit of the pool, Adrian leaped and landed upon the slippery boulder--breathless, but alive! His hand still clasped the pole he had been using to steer with, and Pierre--? He had almost disappeared within the whirling water, that tossed him like a feather. [TO BE CONTINUED] FOURTH OF JULY