They worked frantically, but soon it was apparent that the heavy raft could not be swung sufficiently to make the goal in the distance that separated them. Their position was desperate. They must gain the rock or be swept over the fall that now boomed with the rumble of thunder. Caught in the swirling eddies, the raft began to pitch and roll so wildly they could no longer stay on their feet. David grasped Miguel’s arm. The din made speech impossible. He pointed down to the water, then to the rock. The Brazilian understood and accepted the frightful challenge. They sprang from the lurching platform and struck out boldly for the rock. The swift current bore them along like chips on a millrace; curling swells dashed over them and the roaring made their ears throb. But there was no turning back, no other course to pursue, and side by side they fought the treacherous torrent with powerful strokes. The black mass loomed nearer and nearer; it was now but a few yards ahead. And almost before they realized it they had been washed upon a ledge and were crawling out of reach of the eager swell that rushed up after them. As they gained their feet, trembling from the chill of the water and the effects of their terrifying experience, a dark object sped past the rock, still a number of yards away. They followed it with their eyes. It tossed and spun as it dashed down the river. They continued to watch it in silence, facinated by the awful sight. It was their raft. Suddenly it seemed to pitch forward, and then stand on end; for a moment it hung suspended in space, the ragged ends of the bamboos of which it was made clearly outlined like a black fringe against the white curtain of mist. The bright moonlight lighted up the scene so clearly that they missed no detail of it. Then the raft, still on end, slid downward and was gone. It had plunged over the brink of the fall. “Oh!” It was Miguel. “Everything is lost. All our things were on it--my bow and arrows and your gun, too.” “Yes,” David returned mournfully. “Everything we had is gone. But we’re all right, and that’s something to be thankful for.” CHAPTER XIX THE BROWN MEN OF THE JUNGLE When daylight came, the two men cowering on the bare rock around which the turbulent water raged, were more appalled than ever at the realization of how narrowly they had escaped a terrible fate. The soft moonlight had concealed much that the bright sunlight revealed. All about them were roaring cascades, whirlpools and rapids of a formidable character. Above, the stretch of water through which they had swum was nearly as bad. It was well that the mellow light had been deceptive, for it had hidden the real nature of the river and had made it appear much calmer than it really was; if David and Miguel had been able to see what was before them it is doubtful if they could have reached the rock.