“Leap just before we are opposite the rock, Forr,” directed Milton.  “When that rough water catches us, we’re going to rip through at top speed.”

Forrester nodded and, after shipping his oars, he clambered up onto the forward compartment.

“Now,” shouted Milton.

Forrester leaped, jumped a little short, and splashed into the boiling river.  The Ida, in spite of Enoch madly backing water, shot forward, dragging Forrester, who had not let go the rope, with her.  Milton relinquished the steering oar, dropped on his stomach on the compartment deck, his arms over the stern, and began to haul with might and main on the rope.  Now and again Forrester, red and fighting for breath, showed a distorted face above the waves.  The Na-che shot by at uncontrollable speed, her crew shouting directions as she passed.  Milton at last, just as the Ida entered a roaring fall, brought Forrester to the gunwale, but having achieved this, the end of the rope dropped from his fingers and he lay inert, his eyes closed.  Forrester clung to the edge of the boat and roared to Enoch: 

“Milt’s fainted!”

But Enoch, fighting to guide the Ida, dared not stop rowing.  The falls were short, with a vicious whirlpool at the foot.  One glance showed the Na-che broken and inverted, dancing in this.  Enoch bent to his right oar and by a miracle of luck this, with a wave from a pot hole, threw them clear of the sucking whirlpool, but dashed them so violently against the rocky shore that the Ida’s stern was stove in and Milton rolled off into the water.  Enoch dropped his oars, seized the stern rope, jumped for the rocks and sprawled upon one.  He made a quick turn of the rope, then leaped back for Milton, whose head showed a boat’s length downstream.

Forrester staggered ashore, then with a life preserver on the end of a rope, he started along the river’s edge.  Half a dozen strokes brought Enoch to Milton.  He lifted the unconscious man’s mouth out of water and caught the life preserver that Forrester threw him.  It seemed for a moment as if poor Forrester had reached the limit of his strength, but Enoch, after a violent effort, brought Milton into a quiet eddy and here Forrester was able to give help and Milton was dragged up on the rocks.

At this moment, Jonas, his eyes rolling, clothes torn and dripping, clambered round a rocky projection, just beyond where they were placing Milton.

“Got ’em ashore!” he panted, “but they can’t walk yet.”

“Anybody hurt?” asked Enoch.

“Nobody but the Na-che.  I gotta take the Ida out after her.”

“She’s beyond help, Jonas,” said Enoch.  “Go up to the Ida and bring me the medicine chest.”

He was unbuttoning Milton’s shirt as he spoke, and feeling for his heart.

“He’s alive!” exclaimed Forrester, who was holding Milton’s wrist.

“Yes, thank God!  But I don’t like that!” pointing to Milton’s left leg.