Kent was conscious of hearing a little cry from the girl at his side, and then her fingers were gripping tightly again about his thumb.

No longer possessed of the power of guidance, the scow swung sideways.

It swept past the wooded point.

The white maelstrom of the lower rapids seized upon it.

And Kent, looking ahead to the black maw of the death-trap that was waiting for them, drew Marette close in his arms and held her tight..