She set her lips as she watched Thirlwell haul the spritsail sheet.  He was cautious and for a few moments brought the craft’s head up with the paddle and kept the small sail fluttering.  Then he let her go and she lurched down until her side amidships was in the water.  To Agatha’s surprise, not much came on board; it looked as if they were going too fast and the lee bow was the dangerous spot.  In the plunges, the waves boiled up there, and one could feel the canoe tremble as she lurched over the tumbling foam.  Then Agatha noted that Thirlwell was not steering with the gale quite abeam; he was edging the craft to windward as far as he could, but the beach got nearer and it was plain that they were drifting sideways while they forged ahead.  Agatha began to doubt if he could keep them off the rocks.

He did not look disturbed.  His glance was fixed to windward and his movements were strangely quick.  Agatha saw that he kept the canoe from capsizing by the skilful use of paddle and sheet.  When the craft could not stand the pressure he let the sail blow slack, and then hauled the sheet again, dipping his paddle to help her over a breaking wave.  Sound judgment was plainly needed and the man must instantly carry out the decision he made.  Handling a canoe in a breaking sea demanded higher qualities than Agatha had thought.  She was getting anxious, for the rocks were nearer and one could see the angry surges sweep in tongues of foam far up their sides.  It was surprising that such a sea could rise on a small lake.  She could swim, but not much, and shrank from crawling out, half-drowned and draggled, from the surf; for one thing, Thirlwell would see her.  She admitted that this was illogical and she ran worse risks, but it troubled her.  A few moments afterwards, Thirlwell changed his course with a thrust of the paddle and slacked the sheet.

“All right now!” he shouted.  “We’ll find smooth water in a hundred yards.”

A steep rock, washed by spouting foam, detached itself from the others and a narrow channel opened up between it and the beach.  Agatha thought it looked horribly dangerous, but Thirlwell headed for the gap.  They lurched through on the top of a curling wave, and she saw the mouth of the river behind the rock.  The current rose in crested ridges where it met the wind, but the ridges were smaller than the waves on the lake and gradually sank to splashing ripples as the canoe ran up stream between dark walls of forest.  The trees did not cut off the wind, which followed the channel, and by and by Thirlwell looked at Agatha.

“We have made a good run, but it isn’t often one gets a fair wind like this, and poling against the stream is slow work.  Still we’ll stop and pitch camp when you like.”

“Shall we save a day for our prospecting if we go on until dark?”

“Yes,” said Thirlwell, “we’ll certainly gain a day.”

Agatha was cold and wet and cramped.  She longed to stop, but it was important to save time and she wanted Thirlwell to see that she had pluck.