When the Arrow Flies

XXVI

THE GREASIEST GREASE

THE men on the damp beach stirred. They stared into the grayness of coming dawn. Another day of fear. Another day of watching for the sinister shadow of Indians, and for arrows spinning toward them. They wolfed down burned rice and began the search for a way to pass the rapid. “Maybe we can get the canoes over the rocks if all the men are out.” “Let it go with the current. Hold the ropes!” “Let it go, I say. What’s the matter?” The first canoe had stuck fast on a boulder. Harry looked at Tom. “The proverbial last straw! Trying to escape from the Xavantes, and on the rocks!” It took four and a half discouraging hours to pass the barrier.

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