Part 10 (2/2)

”Like as not this is Paul's idea of roughing it in the wilds,” suggested Roy.

”Then there's hope,” answered his chum. ”He'll be out of the swing of this in a few days and when he learns what the real thing is, if he likes it and takes to it, he'll forget this kind of life.”

Finally the evening for the departure arrived. There was no fixed hour, but Colonel Howell's party had an early supper at the hotel and then a gang of Indians carried their newly packed equipment to the boats. All these articles were dropped indiscriminately as the Indians felt disposed, and soon after six o'clock Norman and Roy were ready for the long voyage. Count Paul had turned his camera over to the young aviators and their first step was to make a number of snaps of the boats and their crews.

Then, piling their rifles and their new blankets in the bow of Moosetooth's boat, the boys took station on the riverbank, prepared to embark at any moment.

In keeping with the methods that they had found common, it was then discovered that parts of the provisions had not yet arrived. Colonel Howell and Paul had not accompanied the boys directly to the boats. Even after a wagon had arrived with the last of the provisions, and these had been distributed by the Indians on the high heaped cargo, there was yet no sign of their patron. Nor was Count Zept anywhere to be seen.

The Indian wives of the crew sat around their little tepee fires, but between them and their husbands pa.s.sed no sign of emotion or farewell; this, in spite of the fact that no one on the boats might expect to return for several weeks.

It began to grow cooler and finally the night fog began to fall over the swift brown river.

As the sun began to grow less, the barren hills on the far side of the river turned into a dark palisade. Finally Colonel Howell appeared. He had been engaged in settling his accounts and a merchant who came with him spent some time in checking up goods already aboard the scow. But when Colonel Howell learned that the Count was not present he strolled away almost nonchalantly.

”It's the way of the North,” almost sighed Roy. ”Nothing goes on schedule in this part of the world.”

”Why should it?” grunted Norman. ”When your journey may mean a year's delay in getting back, what's a few minutes more or less in starting out?”

It was far after nine o'clock and the sun was dropping behind the southern hills--the air chillier and the fog deeper, when Paul finally appeared. His boisterous manner was all the testimony needed to indicate how he had spent the evening.

With him was his friend, the sergeant of police. He had undoubtedly been with his new comrade to celebrate the departure, but the dignified officer, being now in the field of duty, gave few signs of personal indiscretions. For the first time he was formally presented to all and in a courteous and high-bred manner extended to the voyageurs his good wishes for a safe voyage.

Before the representative of the law, each Indian at once sprang to his feet and lifted his hat. And to each of these in turn the uniformed policeman answered in salute. When it seemed to Norman and Roy that there would be no end to the long delay, Colonel Howell also reappeared. With a nod of his head to all, he spoke quickly in the Cree language to his steersmen.

Old Moosetooth grunted a command and the men ran to the hawsers holding the scows against the current. Then Moosetooth and La b.i.+.c.he, without even a look at their unconcerned families sitting stolidly in the gloom on the riverbank, took their places in the stern of each boat. Each began, as he leaned on his oar, to cut himself a new pipe of tobacco and Colonel Howell turned to the policeman.

”Sergeant,” he remarked, ”I think we are ready. Will you examine the outfit?”

The tall sergeant bowed slightly and with a graceful wave of his hand, stepped to the edge of one of the nearest scows. With a cursory glance at the mixed cargo of boxes, barrels and bags--hardly to be made out in the twilight--he turned and waved his hand again toward Colonel Howell. Then, quite casually, he faced the two steersmen.

”Bon jour, gentlemen,” he exclaimed and lifted his big white hat.

Colonel Howell and his friends took the sergeant's hand in turn and then sprang aboard the boat. While the two steersmen lifted their own hats and grunted with the only show of animation that had lit their faces, the ceremony of inspection was over and the long voyage was officially begun.

CHAPTER IX

THE SONG OF THE VOYAGEUR

Hardly seeming to move, the deeply laden scows veered more and more into the current, until at last the swift flow of the river began to push them forward. But even before La b.i.+.c.he's boat, which was ahead and farthest from the sh.o.r.e, was fully in the grasp of a swirling eddy, the bronzed steersman, his pipe firmly set in his teeth, hurled his body on the steering oar and plunged the far end of it against the oily current.

At the same moment Moosetooth dropped his own oar and almost instantly both boats straightened out before the onrus.h.i.+ng waters. It was a moment long waited for by Norman and Roy, and at the time no thought was given to any arrangements for comfort. The boys threw themselves on the forward deck, their sweaters close about their throats against the chilling fog and the cool breeze, while Colonel Howell sat m.u.f.fled in his overcoat on the edge of the deck.

Such events in the history of the Northern rivers were in the old days momentous. Their only ceremony had been the parting ”Bon jour” of the policeman.

”In the old days,” suggested Norman, ”in the days that our friend Paul would have loved, the voyageurs had a song for a time like this.”

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