Part 26 (1/2)

CHAPTER XLVI

BRIGHT AGAIN

In an hour the other men came, back. The rest of the day we put in drying the things, especially our bedding. We used the aluminum bottle, and an old meat tin for kettle; some bacon, happily saved, was fried on sticks, and when we turned in that night it was with light and thankful hearts, in spite of our manifold minor losses.

Morning dawned bright and beautiful and keen. How glorious that surging river looked in its n.o.ble canyon; but we were learning thoroughly that n.o.ble scenery means dangerous travel--and there was much n.o.ble scenery ahead; and I, at least, felt much older than before this upset.

The boys put in a couple of hours repairing the canoe, then they studied the river in hopes of recovering the guns. How well the river-men seemed to know it! Its every ripple and curl told them a story of the bottom and the flood.

”There must be a ledge there,” said Billy, ”just where we upset.

If the guns went down at once they are there. If they were carried at all, the bottom is smooth to the second ledge and they are there.” He pointed a hundred yards away.

So they armed themselves with grappling-poles that had nails for claws. Then we lowered Rob in the canoe into the rapid and held on while he fished above the ledge.

”I tink I feel 'em,” said Rob, again and again, but could not bring them up. Then Billy tried.

”Yes, they are there.” But the current was too fierce and the hook too poor; he could not hold them.

Then I said: ”There is only one thing to do. A man must go in at the end of the rope; maybe he can reach down. I'll never send any man into such a place, but I'll go myself.”

So I stripped, padded the track-line with a towel and put it around my waist, then plunged in. Ouch! it was cold, and going seven miles an hour. The boys lowered me to the spot where I was supposed to dive or reach down. It was only five feet deep, but, struggle as I might, I could not get even my arm down. I ducked and dived, but I was held in the surface like a pennant on an air-blast. In a few minutes the icy flood had robbed me of all sensation in my limbs, and showed how impossible was the plan, so I gave the signal to haul me in; which they did, nearly cutting my body in two with the rope. And if ever there was a grovelling fire-wors.h.i.+pper, it was my frozen self when I landed.

Now we tried a new scheme. A tall spruce on the sh.o.r.e was leaning over the place; fifty feet out, barely showing, was the rock that wrecked us. We cut the spruce so it fell with its b.u.t.t on the sh.o.r.e, and lodged against the rock. On this, now, Rob and Billy walked out and took turns grappling. Luck was with Rob. In a few minutes he triumphantly hauled up the rifle and a little later the shotgun, none the worse.

Now, we had saved everything except the surplus provisions and my little camera, trifling matters, indeed; so it was with feelings of triumph that we went on south that day.

In the afternoon, as we were tracking up the last part of the Boiler Rapid, Billy at the bow, Rob on the sh.o.r.e, the line broke, and we were only saved from another dreadful disaster by Billy's nerve and quickness; for he fearlessly leaped overboard, had the luck to find bottom, and held the canoe's head with all his strength. The rope was mended and a safe way was found. That time I realized the force of an Indian reply to a trader who sought to sell him a cheap rope. ”In the midst of a rapid one does not count the cost of the line.”

At night we camped in a glorious red sunset, just above the Boiler Rapid. On the sh.o.r.e was a pile of flour in sacks, inscribed in Cree, ”Gordon his flour.”

Here it was, the most prized foreign product in the country, lying unprotected by the highway, and no man seemed to think the owner foolish. Whatever else, these Indians are, they are absolutely honest.

The heavenly weather of the Indian Summer was now upon us. We had left all storms and frost behind, and the next day, our final trouble, the lack of food, was ended. A great steamer hove in sight--at least it looked like a steamer--but, steadily coming on, it proved a scow with an awning and a stove on it. The boys soon recognised the man at the bow as William Gordon, trader at Fort McMurray. We hailed him to stop when he was a quarter of a mile ahead, and he responded with his six st.u.r.dy oarsmen; but such was the force of the stream that he did not reach the sh.o.r.e till a quarter-mile below us.

”h.e.l.lo, boys, what's up?” He shouted in the brotherly way that all white men seem to get when meeting another of their race in a savage land.

”Had an upset and lost all our food.”

”Ho! that's easy fixed.” Then did that generous man break open boxes, bales, and packages and freely gave without a stint, all the things we needed: kettles, pans, sugar, oatmeal, beans, jam, etc.

”How are you fixed for whiskey?” he asked, opening his own private, not-for-sale supply.

”We have none and we never use it,” was the reply. Then I fear I fell very low in the eyes of my crew.

”Never use it! Don't want it! You must be pretty d.a.m.n lonesome in a country like this,” and he seemed quite unable to grasp the idea of travellers who would not drink.