Читать книгу The Sandy Steele Mystery MEGAPACK®: 6 Young Adult Novels (Complete Series) - Roger Barlow - Страница 23

CHAPTER TWO

White Water

Four days later, Sandy and Mike stood on the pine-cloaked southern bank of the Salmon River, looking down on a patch of foaming water that boiled and hissed over jagged rocks, gleaming wet with spray.

The boys stared at each other wordlessly. Sandy was the first to break the silence. “What did your father call this place?” he asked.

“Kindergarten Rapids,” Mike answered in an awed voice. “He said it was a nice easy run to start with.”

The boys turned back to the river. From where they watched, they could see a tiny flotilla of bright, orange-colored air rafts bobbing along in the quiet water above the rapids. At first the rafts seemed to float lazily downstream, but as they approached the rapids, they gradually picked up speed until they looked like miniature beetles racing along to certain destruction on the shoals ahead.

Within seconds the lead raft had entered the white water. At first contact, it veered wildly to one side and was thrown roughly into the air. Miraculously it landed right side up, but was immediately caught by the relentless current and carried with express-train speed toward a narrow ledge of rock.

Sandy started to raise his hand and strained forward. Beside him, Mike cried out a warning. But before they could move, the tiny, fragile-looking craft had skimmed past the edge of the rock, missing it by inches, and was careening wildly down the last of the rapids toward a quiet pool in the bend of the river. Scurrying gaily behind the leader came three others and finally a fourth.

Mike sighed audibly. “Wow! So that’s Kindergarten Rapids! Where do I go to get sent back a class?”

Sandy leaned down to pick up the raft and paddle he had brought with him. “Come on, boy, might as well face the music and get our first lesson.”

“All right,” Mike grumbled, reaching for his equipment. “Just write my mother a nice letter. That’s all I ask.”

They trudged along in silence for a few steps. “Say, who is it we’re supposed to look up?” Mike suddenly asked.

“Doug Henderson. He’s the son of the man who rented us the cabin. Mr. Henderson said he’d be expecting us.”

“I sure hope he knows what he’s talking about!”

“According to Mr. Henderson, he’s been running these rapids ever since he was seven years old.”

Mike shook his head. “What some people will do for fun!”

The boys scrambled down the side of a steep embankment and approached the river. Crowded around a homemade dock directly ahead of them were several boys about ten or eleven years of age. Except for the youngest ones, who had on bathing trunks, all the boys were dressed in faded dungarees and T-shirts. Sandy and Mike ambled up to the dock and hailed a sturdy lad who was busy inflating his canvas raft.

“Do you know where we can find Doug Henderson?” Sandy asked.

The boy looked up and pointed. “Sure. Hey, Doug!”

A friendly face covered with freckles popped up from the other side of the dock. “Hi!” he called. “You the fellows that Pop sent over?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Sandy saw Mike’s jaw drop. “That’s right.” He smiled. “Think you can teach us to handle these?” He held out a raft.

The boy rubbed his hands along the sides of his dungarees and vaulted over a wooden piling sunk into the ground. “Sure!” he cried confidently. “Nothing to it!”

“So he’s been running these rapids ever since he was seven years old!” Mike murmured. “That gives him about three weeks’ experience.”

As usual Mike was exaggerating. Doug, though small, was nearly eleven and he had all the assurance of a qualified expert in his field.

“You’re going down the Lost River.” It was more a statement than a question.

“That’s right.”

The boy shook his head in envy. “Lucky. It’s wonderful country. Have you got a guide yet?”

“My father’s out arranging for one now,” Mike said.

“Hope he gets a good one. It makes all the difference.” He pronounced this judgment with so much grown-up seriousness that Sandy had to fight to suppress a smile.

“You’re right,” he acknowledged, “but it won’t make any difference to us unless we can learn how to shoot some of those rapids.”

“All right, let’s have one of your rafts.”

Sandy handed over his and watched carefully as Doug Henderson flopped it on the ground.

“Now the important thing to remember is balance. Sit in the middle of the raft with your knees wedged tight against both sides—like this.” He hopped in and demonstrated.

“Don’t tense your body but keep your legs firm. Make sure your middle is loose so you can turn your shoulders in both directions. You want to be ready to handle trouble no matter what side it comes from. Okay so far?”

Sandy and Mike nodded gravely.

“You fellows know how to handle a canoe?” They both nodded a second time. “Good. Then we don’t have to go into steering. Come on over here and I’ll tell you about the rapids.”

He led the way down to the end of the rickety dock toward the white water and launched into a lecture that took nearly twenty minutes.

It turned out that Doug knew every ripple and wave in the Kindergarten Rapids. He told them what to expect in the way of currents, where a whirlpool was likely to form, how to fight clear of the rocks and what to do if they got thrown into the water.

When he finished, he turned to them with finality. “And now you’re ready to try it,” he announced. “You’ll get dumped but don’t let that bother you. Everybody does. But you’ve got to remember to take it easy. If you stiffen all up, you’re bound to tip over. Ready?”

Mike scratched his head and shrugged his shoulders. “Nope. But I guess that doesn’t make any difference. Who’s first?”

“We’ll all go together,” their freckle-faced instructor ordered. “You two go on ahead and I’ll bring up the rear. That way I can tell you what you did wrong when we get through the run.”

“If we get through,” Mike muttered, sliding his raft into the water.

“Oh, you can’t help getting through,” Doug called out reassuringly. “Even if you’re dead, the current’ll carry you.”

“Thanks a lot,” Mike said as he got ready to cast off. “That takes a big load off my mind.” The next instant the current was carrying him into the middle of the river.

Sandy took a firm grip on the sides of his raft and followed. Even as he scrambled to keep his balance, he could feel the river tugging insistently at his tiny craft. Bracing his knees, he reached down gingerly to grab his paddle. The current was much stronger than he had imagined.

Suddenly a crosscurrent caught him amidships and sent him rolling violently, like a cork on an angry sea. Every muscle in his body tightened as he swayed back and forth to keep upright. Then he remembered Doug’s advice: “Don’t fight the current. Ride with it and relax.”

Sandy took a deep breath and forced himself to ease up. Almost immediately he felt more confident. The rocking motion continued, but he was on top of each swell, his entire body moving gracefully with the raft and not against it.

Just as he was beginning to enjoy the ride, he heard the first rushing noise of the rapids and he was catapulted forward. It crossed his mind that this was like going off a high diving board; there was no turning back. Then suddenly he was too busy to think. Everything became a series of reflex actions.

The raft spun with a snap and he was shooting off to the right. Sandy leaned back on his haunches and stabbed the paddle down into the water at his left. The shaft bit into the river and slowly hauled him back on course.

He heard a loud smack and felt himself flying through a curtain of white spray. There was a sickening bump and he was back on the river, riding furiously through a world of roaring noise and bone-jarring motion. A long ledge of rock loomed up ahead. Sandy brought the paddle up and pushed with all the strength in his shoulders.

His little raft bounced away and was flung sideways into a channel between two ledges. Doug had told them that this was the fastest point in the rapids and he was right. Sandy’s raft quivered like a live animal as it shot through the funnel of rushing water, twisting steadily to the left.

Further and further it leaned until water licked hungrily over the sides. Sandy knew he had to right himself quickly and jammed all his weight down on his right knee. As he did, an invisible hand seemed to pluck at him and he felt himself pitch over. The paddle shot from his hand, and in the next moment the waters of Salmon River closed over his head.

The current carried him, bouncing him around like an old sock in a washing machine, for another thirty yards. Finally he was swept into a pool of relatively quiet water. He cut for the surface, blinked the water out of his eyes and looked up to see a grinning Doug Henderson sitting calmly in his raft, fishing for Sandy’s lost paddle.

“Nice try!” Doug nodded approvingly. “But you got too tense toward the end. Head for shore and we’ll go through again.”

Sandy flashed the boy a grin and struck out for the near bank where Mike, looking mournful and disgusted with himself, was hauling himself out of the water. As Sandy reached shore, Mike leaned down and held out a hand.

“I won’t need a drink for a week,” Mike announced, pulling Sandy up beside him. “I just managed to swallow half the river. A couple more tries like that and there won’t be any rapids to go through.”

Sandy ran a hand through his dripping hair and looked back at the rapids. Half a dozen rafts were shooting through them with ease. He shook his head in admiration. “Look at them,” he said purposefully. “If they can do it, so can we.”

Mike nodded vehemently. “Now you’re talking. Let’s go!”

Two hours and over a dozen tries later, Doug was ready to graduate both of them from the Kindergarten Rapids. “See,” he said, spreading his hands in a gesture of finality, “all it takes is a little practice. You fellows could get through there now blindfolded.”

“Maybe,” Mike admitted. “But I’ll wait for a while before I try it.”

They were standing near the dock, toweling themselves vigorously after four successful runs in a row, pleased at having mastered a new skill. The crowd had grown since early morning and, along with the younger boys, there were a number of older teen-agers dressed in flashy cowboy boots and sombreros. The older boys eyed Sandy and Mike from under their hats.

“Who are the characters?” Mike demanded.

Doug squinted over at them and made a wry face. “Oh, those! Don’t pay any attention to them. I guess they heard you were around and came over to see the fun.”

“Well, the show’s over,” Sandy said as he picked up his raft. “We’ve got to get back to your father’s.”

“I’ll go along with you,” Doug said. Suddenly he stopped and ran forward. “Hey!” he cried. “That’s my paddle!”

One of the older boys was walking away with Doug’s ash-wood paddle. He stopped when he heard the challenge and turned insolently.

“Prove it,” he snapped.

Doug planted himself in front of the boy and made a grab for the handle. “There’s a notch up there on the hand grip. Give it to me and I’ll show you.”

The older boy winked at his companions and held up one hand. “I’ll look,” he said. Carefully shielding the handle so that Doug couldn’t see it, he stared down at the wood. When he looked up, he was grinning. “You’re wrong, kid. There’s no notch. Now beat it.”

Sandy felt a sudden surge of anger as he moved forward to stand beside Doug. “Let me take a look at it,” he said slowly. He could feel his face flush in an attempt to hold down his temper.

The older boy turned to Sandy and stared at him rudely. A faint smile twisted at the corner of his mouth. “Well, well,” he drawled. “A real river expert, now, eh? Know all about rafts and paddles and such. Little Doug here got you through the course.”

“He did all right,” Sandy snapped. “Now, let’s see the paddle.”

“Are you going to fight for it?” The question came as a mocking taunt.

“If I have to.”

The older boy made a clicking sound with his tongue and shook his head reproachfully. “That’s no way to act. Suppose we settle this with a little bet.”

“What kind?”

The older boy dug the paddle into the ground and leaned on it easily. “Now that you’re such an ace in white water, let’s you and me go through some rapids. Whoever gets dumped loses. The winner gets to keep the paddle.”

Sandy shook his head firmly. “The paddle doesn’t belong to either of us, win or lose.”

“Afraid?” The question came like a slap in the face.

“No.”

“I think you are.”

Sandy breathed heavily, but managed to keep his temper. “All right,” he said, biting off each word separately. “I’ll go through any rapids with you. But we’ll settle the business about the paddle afterwards.”

“Done!”

Doug shook his head and grabbed Sandy’s arm. “Don’t do it!” he pleaded. “He’s not going to take you down the Kindergarten.”

“That’s right,” the older boy nodded. “I wouldn’t ask an expert like you to go down a playground for kids. We’ll try something more interesting.”

Mike moved up beside Sandy and grabbed his shoulder. “Take it easy, Sandy,” he said softly. “Don’t get stampeded into anything.”

Sandy’s face was white and stubborn. He shook his head doggedly. “Thanks, Mike, but this is the way I have to do it.” He turned to the older boy. “Where is this white water of yours?”

“It’s right down the bend of the river near a place called Dog Leg Falls.”

There was a gasp from Doug. “Don’t do it, Sandy!” he begged. “Forget about the paddle. You don’t know that part of the river. Two men got drowned there last year.”

Sandy looked steadily into the older boy’s grinning face, then walked over and picked up his raft and paddle.

“I’m ready whenever you are,” he announced in a quiet voice.