Here, in a sharp bend, was a narrow place where the trees on each bank interlaced their branches and hid the moon, making a dark and dim retreat.

Then came a short series of ripples, with merry, bouncing waves and foamy currents; below lay a long, smooth reach of water, deep and placid, mirroring the moon and the countless stars.
Noiseless as a shadow the canoe glided down this stretch, the paddle dipping regularly, flashing brightly, and scattering diamond drops in the clear moonlight.
Another turn in the stream and a sound like the roar of an approaching storm as it is borne on a rising wind, broke the silence.

It was the roar of rapids or falls.

The stream narrowed; the water ran swifter; rocky ledges rose on both sides, gradually getting higher and higher.

Crow rose to his feet and looked ahead.
Then he dropped to his knees and turned the head of the canoe into the middle of the stream.