Desperately they plied their paddles but if they had been useless
further up the stream they were doubly inefficient now. If they had
stroked against the rushing current with feathers they could not
have had less effect in checking the death rush of the canoe, which
was tossed along on the racing tide like a chip of wood.

Suddenly the canoe was struck a terrific blow.

Before either boy could realize what had happened they were both
struggling in the water. So dazed were they by the mishap that it
was several minutes before they understood that they were clinging
to the to the trunk of some huge tree. It was this trunk that had
wrecked the canoe and thrown them overboard.

In reality, though, they were little better off now than they had
been while the canoe was being whirled down the river. It looked as
if they had been saved from one death only to face a worse. With
all their might they clung side by side. Dripping wet, half-blinded
and bruised by the battering they got as the trunk smashed from side
to side of the narrow passage, the indomitable American pluck of the
two lads yet held good in this extremity.

"Is it good-by, Frank?" Harry found strength to murmur.

"While there's life there's hope," came Frank's brave reply in his
favorite axiom. "We'll live to fly the old Golden Eagle yet, let's
hope."

There was no time for further talk, even had the boys been in any