The boy's feet struck bottom, and he bobbed up like a cork. Again
he clutched the tree, and on the two went a distance of ten feet
further. But now the tree became jammed between two other rocks,
and there it stuck, with Sam clutching one end and the water
rushing in, a torrent over the other.

For the moment the boy could do little but hold fast, but as his
breath came back to him he climbed on top of the tree and took a
look at the situation.

It was truly a dismaying one. He was in the very center of the
rapids, and the shore on either side of him was fifty to sixty
feet away.

"How am I ever to get to the bank?" he asked himself. "I can't
wade or swim, for the current is far too strong. I'm in a pickle,
and no mistake. I wonder if Dick and Tom are on solid earth yet?"

He raised his voice into a shout, not once, but several times. At
first only the echoes answered him, but presently came a reply
from a distance.

"Sam! Sam! Where are your?" It was Dick calling, and he was
running along the bank alone, Tom being too exhausted to accompany
him.

"Here I am -- in the middle of the falls!"

"Where?"