Thirlwell drew a deep breath and gripped his paddle hard.
He could never remember much about the next few minutes.

Sometimes he shouted to Scott, and thought Scott called to him, as a wedge of stone suddenly split the rushing foam, and sometimes when the current boiled in fierce rebound from a hidden obstacle.

The canoe plunged until the water stood up above her bows, and now and then leaped out half her length.

When they dared, they checked her with a back-stroke as some danger loomed ahead, but oftener drove her faster than the current to steer her round a reef or dark, revolving pool.

Yet, for the most part, she must be kept straight down stream, for if she swerved across a breaking wave its crest would curl on board and bear her down.
Thirlwell was vaguely conscious that his hand had galled and bled, but this did not matter.