Two long, swallow-like
sweeps, then she plunged into the foam, to appear a moment later
fighting her way through the mass of crowding, crested waves, which,
like white-fanged wolves upon a doe, seemed to be hurling themselves
upon her, intent upon bearing her down to destruction.
"By the living, jumping Jemima!" said Fielding, in an awe-stricken tone,
"she's gone!"
"She's through!" cried Knight.
"Great Jehoshaphat!" said Fielding. "He's a bird!"
With a flip or two of his paddle, the stranger shot his canoe across the
stream, and floated quietly to the landing.
Barry ran down to meet him.
"I say, that was beautifully done," he cried, taking the nose of the
canoe while the man stepped ashore and stood a moment looking back at
the water.
"A leetle more to the left would have been better, I think. She took
some water," he remarked in a slow voice, as if to himself.
He was a strange-looking creature. He might have stepped out of one of
Fenimore Cooper's novels. Indeed, as Barry's eyes travelled up and down
his long, bony, stooping, slouching figure, his mind leaped at once to
the Pathfinder.
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