He saw with a kind of despair that it was steep and had no trees; yet his keen eyes also saw, not far below, the dwarfed bole of a tree jutting out from the rock.

There lay the chance.

Below this was a great turmoil of rapids.

A prayer mechanically passed the priest's lips, though his thoughts were those of a warrior then.

He almost enjoyed the danger for himself: his fear was for Iberville and for the motherless boy.
He had guessed and hoped aright.