In a few minutes his work was hard. Short, white waves rolled past, the
canoe lurched and swerved, and Lister knew if she swung off across wind
and sea she might capsize. He must keep her running and let the combers
split against her pointed stern. The combers were getting large and
their hissing tops surged by some height above the gunwale, but so long
as he could keep her before them they would not come on board. When her
bows went up she sheered, as if she meant to shoot across the hollow
left by the sea that rolled by. He stopped her with a back-stroke and
then drove hard ahead, for he must have speed to steer when the next sea
came on. In the meantime, the lightning flickered about the lake and
between the flashes all was nearly dark. The tops of the waves tossed
against leaden cloud and he could hardly see the rocks for which he
steered.

By and by, however, the point stood out close ahead. The trees on the
summit bent in the wind; spray leaped about the bowlders where the white
foam rolled. He must go round and find a landing to lee, but to go round
he must cross the belt of breaking water, with the savage wind abeam.
The canoe shipped some water, and riding in on a comber's crest,
narrowly missed a rock that lifted its top for a moment out of the foam.
Then Lister drove her in behind the point and helped Ruth to land on a
gravel beach. Her eyes sparkled and he saw she had not been daunted.

"We're all right now, but we have got to stay until the storm blows
out," he said.

They found shelter in a hollow of the cliff and sat among the driftwood
while the rain that blotted out the lake drove overhead. The deluge did
not reach them and the cold was going.