On
it went, and Sam closed his eyes in expectancy of an awful shock
which would pitch him headlong, he knew not to where.
But then came a swerve to the left, and the tree grated along the
edge of the rock. Before Sam could recover his breath, down it
went over the first line of rapids. Here it stuck fast for a
moment, then turned over and went on, throwing Sam on the under
side.
The boy's feet struck bottom, and he bobbed up like a cork. Again
he clutched the tree, and on the two went a distance of ten feet
further. But now the tree became jammed between two other rocks,
and there it stuck, with Sam clutching one end and the water
rushing in, a torrent over the other.
For the moment the boy could do little but hold fast, but as his
breath came back to him he climbed on top of the tree and took a
look at the situation.
It was truly a dismaying one. He was in the very center of the
rapids, and the shore on either side of him was fifty to sixty
feet away.
"How am I ever to get to the bank?" he asked himself. "I can't
wade or swim, for the current is far too strong. I'm in a pickle,
and no mistake. I wonder if Dick and Tom are on solid earth yet?"
He raised his voice into a shout, not once, but several times.
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