Gol blast it, look at her, son! What are the wild waves saying?
They're sayin', 'This is a surprise, Miss Druse.

Not quite ready for ye, Miss Druse.' My, ain't she got the luck of the old devil!" It seemed so.

More than once the canoe half jammed between the rocks, and the stern lifted up by the force of the wild current, but again the paddle made swift play, and again the cockle-shell swung clear.

But now Fleda Druse was no longer on her feet.

She knelt, her strong, slim brown arms bared to the shoulder, her hair blown about her forehead, her daring eyes flashing to left and right, memory of her course at work under such a strain as few can endure without chaos of mind in the end.
A hundred times since the day she had run these Rapids with Tekewani, she had gone over the course in her mind, asleep and awake, forcing her brain to see again every yard of that watery way; because she knew that the day must come when she would make the journey alone.