Great cliffs rose
up on their right, the last reaches of the granite ridge. To the north
the gray rock was not as steep, but its effect on the river was the
same. All its wide and lazy waters now issued with great force through
a deep, narrow channel scarcely sixty yards wide, falling nearly twice
that distance in less than a mile. The result was a horrific,
white-water chute, now drawing them swiftly to itself. Kalus' harsh
voice cut through the growing roar.
'Tie down the cub,' he commanded, 'And then yourself. Take
solid hold of the paddle; we've got to keep the boat running
straight. And for anything short of death, DON'T LET GO OF THE PADDLE.
Now!'
Half stunned, hardly knowing where she was, Sylviana obeyed him. She
made the whimpering pup lie down, and bound her securely. Then with
shaking hands she tied the waist-rope about herself. She straightened
and took hold of the shaft, both knuckles and face turning coldly white.
She glimpsed at Kalus, who nodded gravely. This danger they both
understood.
Several times through the roar and spray of their passage, the boat
tried to whip about and dash itself against the rocks, or turn sideways
to be rolled and lost. But each time, one of the rowers would pull
forward with desperate strength while the other steered or slapped back
at the water till the blade finally dug in against the fume: straight
ahead, blocking out the screaming fear, determined.
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