Again they went on in silence, the so and of the paddle behind Hugh being the only proof that he was not alone in this whole forest-covered world. Past one curve and then another they went, until they began to hear a new sound ahead of them, a dull muffled roar that he did not in the least understand. He was about to ask what it was when the Indian spoke at last, a single inarticulate word which was evidently meant as a warning. For in an instant they began to move faster and faster, the sound grew louder, and they plunged, all in one breathless second, down a foaming slope of shouting white rapids. Great black bowlders shouldered up through the water, threatening them in a thousand directions, but somehow the frail canoe threaded its way like magic in and out among the rocks and came safe into the calm pool below. Before Hugh could speak they had swept into another reach of tossing water and then another, the canoe staggering back and forth in the furious current, but coming finally out into the quiet stream again.
Then at last, warmed to friendliness perhaps
