How they got to the bottom Dorothy was never able to determine.  She only knew that when she got there her boots were torn to pieces, and any respectable dealer in rags would hardly have demeaned himself by bidding for her clothes.  Pepin was a curious sight, for his garments looked like so many tattered signals of distress.

The two found themselves in a great gloomy canyon with frowning sides and a broad, leaden-hued river surging at its foot.

But the canoe, where was it?  Had it been sunk by the rock from above?  If so, they had absolutely no hope of escape.

But Pepin’s sharp eyes saw it riding securely in a little bay under a jutting rock.  Dorothy and he hurried down to it.  There was a narrow strip of sand, and the water was shallow just there.  The painter was wound round a sharp rock, and they pulled the canoe to them.  Just at that moment a shower of rocks and debris passed within a few feet of them and plunged into the water, throwing up a snow-white geyser.

“Jump in, my dear,” cried Pepin, “we will escape them yet, and that fool of a Jumping Frog will swing at the end of a long rope or die like a coyote with a bullet through his stupid head.”

Dorothy got in, and Pepin rolled in bodily after her.  He seized the paddle, seated himself near the bow, and dipped his blade into the eddying flood.  “Now then, Mam’selle, have the big heart of courage and the good God will help.  One, two!”

The canoe shot out into the stream.  Like a child’s paper boat or a withered leaf it was caught up and whirled away.  There was a look of exultation on the dwarfs face; his dark eyes flashed with excitement.

“Courage, my dear!” he cried again.  “Move not, and do not be afraid.  Think of the good father and the sweetheart who will meet you at the Croisettes lower down.  Think of them, dear heart, the father and the lover!”

Dorothy did think, and breathed a prayer that God would nerve the arm of Pepin and give them both faith and courage.

But the river was in flood, and the current rushed like a mill-race.  Dorothy fairly held her breath as the canoe rode over the surging waters.  The river seemed to narrow, and great black walls of rock wet with spray and streaked with patches of orange and green closed in upon them.  They came to a bend where the water roared and boiled angrily, its surface being broken with great blue silver-crested furrows.  Suddenly Pepin uttered a strange, hoarse cry.  There had been an immense landslide, and the entire channel had been altered.  Right in their path lay a broad whirlpool.  Pepin paddled for dear life, while the perspiration stood out in beads upon his forehead.  His face was set and there was a strained look in his eyes.  Dorothy clasped her hands, praying aloud, but uttering no word of fear.

“Courage, courage,” Pepin cried.  “The good Lord will not forsake.  Courage!”

The muscles stood out like knots on his great arms.  His body inclined forward and his paddle flashed and dipped with lightning, unerring strokes.