She walked on some distance, and then sat down to wait until he came up with her, and when half an hour had slipped by and he failed to appear, she strolled toward the edge of the wall of rock.
The river swept furiously down a long declivity just there, and the strip of deeper water flown which one could run a canoe was on the opposite shore.

It would, she fancied, be almost impossible to reach it from the foot of the rock on which she stood.

Then, to her astonishment, she saw Weston letting the canoe drive down before him close beneath the rock.

There was a short rope made fast to it, and he alternately floundered almost waist-deep through the pools behind the craft and dragged it over some thinly-covered ledge.

He was very wet, and looked savage, for his face was set, while by the way he moved she fancied for the first time that he had hurt himself in his fall.