Below
the falls the river made a wide eddy, then swept down in a turbulent
rapid for some miles. The landing was a smooth and shelving rock that
pitched somewhat steeply into the river.
The unfortunate Harry, who after the day's march had exchanged his heavy
marching boots with their clinging hobnails for shoes more comfortable
but with less clinging qualities, in making preparation for the evening
meal made his way down this shelving rock of water. No sooner had he
filled his pail than his foot slipped from under him, and in an instant
the pail and himself were in the swiftly flowing river.
His cry startled the camp.
"Hello!" shouted Duff, with a great laugh. "Harry is in the drink! I
never knew he was so fond of water as all that. You've got to swim for
it now, old boy."
"Throw him something," said Knight.
Past them ran Barry, throwing off coat and vest.
"He can't swim," he cried, tearing at his boots. "Throw him a line, some
one." He ran down to the water's edge, plunged in, and swam toward the
unfortunate Harry, who, splashing wildly, was being carried rapidly into
the rough water.
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