Читать книгу The Saint of the Speedway онлайн

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He laboured steadily, creeping up the hither shore to avoid the full race of the tide. He hugged the granite walls of the canyon through which the river cut its way to the ocean. The swirling waters revealed the presence of a chain of sunken rocks through which he was threading his way, and only skill and keenness of vision could hope to save him from sheer disaster. But he pursued his course without hesitation, without a moment of shaken confidence, often dallying with death by a margin of less than inches. And so it went on for nearly an hour.

At the end of that time the change he had awaited took place. The pace of his progress materially increased. The head pressure lessened. It was then for the first time he permitted himself a glance up at the smiling sky in the direction of the distant hills towards which he was heading.

A sigh of satisfaction escaped him. The sign of clemency he was seeking was there in the perfect cloudlessness. The whole breadth of the sky was a brilliant azure. And, furthermore, the critical moment of slack water had arrived. Now he knew that the hill squalls intended to remain quiescent, and he swung his craft clear of the frowning granite cliffs for the deep waters.