Summary

Edward Sylvester Ellis Old Ruff, the Trapper; or, The Young Fur-Hunters

The trapper felt the need of haste, and he now used the paddle with all the power and skill of which he was master. The current was quite rapid, the stream being narrow and deep, and the light canoe seemed to speed over the surface like a swallow.
There was a chilliness in the air, and gathering the thick blanket about him, Harry lay back, too tired to sleep, but so utterly used up, that he wished the Blackfeet would keep up their rowing for several hours yet, so that by the time they halted, he would be in a better condition to do something. He was sure that he was useless for the present.
Source: Gutenberg

Edward Sylvester Ellis Old Ruff, the Trapper; or, The Young Fur-Hunters

The eyes of Harry Northend were naturally fixed upon him, and he watched his movements with an intensity of interest that can scarcely be imagined. He observed that as he drifted southward, he aimed directly for the shore, swimming with a steady and powerful stroke. He made no attempt to prevent the foam of the breakers from going over his head; for the simple reason that he knew no mortal man can support himself in spray and foam. All that he can do, is to hold his breath, and wait for a chance to get another mouthful of air.
Source: Gutenberg

Edward Sylvester Ellis Old Ruff, the Trapper; or, The Young Fur-Hunters

As Harry entered the ravine, in which the odd, fantastic home of old Robsart was located, while gathering peltries, he found his heart beating violently and his face flushing, as is the case when one walks forward to hear his doom pronounced by the stern and inflexible judge.
“Suppose she has not returned,” he repeated to himself, “what will he say? What will he do? What will I do?”
Source: Gutenberg

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