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paths, where he was sure the map had shown easy stretches.
One of the worries was that there were virtually no places along the endless
southerly gorge where they could hope to safely land. Most of the time there was
only the steep cliffs, towering up to five hundred feet high on either side, plunging
clear down into the rushing water.
Occasionally they'd be the target for dozens of small, white-breasted blue birds
that dived at them, whistling shrilly at the invasion of their territory. Once or
twice they spotted fish, leaping upstream over the foaming rapids, with the silver
glint of scales, iridescent in the rainbow spray.
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As Jak recovered he began to take a more lively part in the adventure, standing
balanced in the pitching bow of the raft, shrieking orders to Ryan at the steering
paddle, his hand waving them to left or right.
Around midafternoon, they came down a great slide of rock and water, hopelessly
out of control, trusting only to luck to get them through. Their luck nearly held.
But near the bottom a slicing piece of jagged boulder snagged one of the starboard
flotation chambers and cut it open as neatly as a good steel knife. The inflatable
immediately rode lower in the river, allowing waves to break in over Mildred and
J.B. on that side.
The next mile or so was calmer, though the river still flowed fast, carrying them at
a good twelve to fifteen miles an hour.
"Can we repair it?" Ryan called.
The Armorer shook his head. Despite the relative quiet, the water was still giving
a constant soft roar, making conversation difficult. "No way. Even if we beached
her we don't have anything that could mend a tear in this stuff."
"Still got freeboard," Doc said, trying to ring water out of the sleeves of his frock
coat.
"As long as we don't lose another part," Mildred said, shaking her head so that the
tiny, tight plaits all moved together, throwing off beads of water. "Any lower and
we'll be sailing under this damned river, instead of on top of it."
Ryan looked at the bank. There was a gently shelving beach of golden sand, lined
with clumps of sycamores and oaks, the wall of seamed rock rising steeply behind
them. It would make a safe camping spot, but there were still hours of good
daylight left and Strasser would be going on.
Even though the sun had gone behind the cliff to their right, the passage through
the long canyon was still navigable.
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"We keep going," he said. Nobody seemed to be at all surprised.
Rafe lay huddled in the bow, eyes squeezed shut, hands clasped between his
thighs. He was trying to keep himself warm and stop the shuddering that racked
his lean body. He'd reached the end of his limits of strength and then gone on even
beyond that.
Strasser had given up trying to rouse his lieutenant with words and abuse. The
river was never still and safe for long, so he was denied the opportunity to leave
the steering position in the stern to go to flog Rafe with the steel-braided quirt.
The light was now fading fast. Ahead of them on the right he'd spotted a narrow
strip of sand, but he lacked the power to beach the awkward raft. After the sandy
stretch there was a jagged headland, which marked a sharp bend in the river.
Strasser began to maneuver the inflatable closer to that bank. He'd noticed that
there was often a small landing place on both sides of similar jutting crags, and he
knew that he, too, was near to the end of his tether.
If they missed a chance to land and camp for the night, they might drift helplessly
until they reached another of the sheer drops that they'd already portaged. But this
time they would slide silently over the brink to their deaths. "Coming in!" he
shouted in a croaking voice.
Not all that far behind, Ryan was reaching the same conclusion. The day of rafting
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