CHAPTER V

THE POOL OF DEATH


"Say, Frank, have you noticed that we are going to have a hard
paddle back against this current?"

The boys had been fishing about an hour when Harry spoke. So
engrossed had they both been pulling in fish of a dozen strange
varieties and brilliant hues that neither of the lads had noticed
that the canoe had drifted down stream far from the starting point
and that in fact when they looked up they were in an entirely
strange part of the river.

"You are right, Harry," rejoined Frank, as he looked up at the steep
banks on either side of them, "we have drifted a considerable
distance. Come on, out with the paddles and we'll be getting back."

But it was one thing to talk of getting back and quite another thing
to do it. The boys, after an hour of paddling, were dismayed to
find that although their arms ached with the exertion and they were
dripping with perspiration, they had made hardly any progress
against the current.

"It's too much for us," gasped Frank.

"What on earth are we going to do?" asked Harry with blanched