Then slowly it began to slip off the nose of the rock.
Holding to the rail with one hand and clinging to Marette with his other arm, Kent was gripped in the horror of what was happening.

The scow was slipping INTO THE RIGHT HAND CHANNEL! In that channel there was no hope--only death.
Marette was squarely facing the thing ahead.

In this hour when each second held a lifetime of suspense Kent saw that she understood.

Yet she did not cry out.

Her face was dead white.