The boys were awakened in the morning by Indian Jake entering the tent
with a kettle of water for the tea. The candle was lighted, and the
half-breed, in better humor, or at least more talkative than on the
previous evening, greeted them with a cheerful enough:
“Mornin’, lads.”
“Mornin’,” said they, and David added: “Did much snow fall?”
“Just a light fall, and it’s clear and fine, and the wind’s about
gone.”
There was no time for dawdling in bed, and the two lads sprang up and
made their simple toilet. Already the tent was warm, and they rolled
their sleeping bags and tied them into neat bundles, and then sat by
the cozy, crackling stove while Indian Jake fried the pork and made
the tea.
“Will we get to the rapids today, Jake?” asked David, when finally
Indian Jake, after removing the pan of pork from the fire and placing
it before them on the ground, poured tea into the tin cups they held
out to him.
“If the wind don’t come contrary to us,” said Indian Jake, dipping a
piece of bread into the pan and bringing it forth dripping with hot
grease. “It’s a long pull from the mouth of the river ag’in’ th’
current, but we’ll try for it. We’ll be losin’ no time, leastways, for
there’s no time t’ be lost if we gets t’ Seal Lake before th’ freeze
up, with our late start.”
“We’ll work hard for it, _what_ever,” declared David. “’Twould be a
bad fix t’ be caught by th’ ice before we gets to Seal Lake.”
“That it would,” agreed Indian Jake. “But you lads are goin’t’ find
the work gettin’ there harder’n any work you ever had t’ do.”
The first hint of dawn was in the East when they broke camp and set
forward upon their journey again. The air was brisk and frosty, but
when the sun rose it shone warm and mellow, and the snow melted and
trickled in glistening rivulets which ran down everywhere over the
rocks to join the river. That day they reached the rapids, and then
followed many days of tedious, back-breaking toil as they ascended
into the higher country--days when the boys needed all the grit that
was in them, and stout hearts, too.
Sometimes Indian Jake and David pulled the boat at the end of a rope,
while Andy, with an oar as a rudder, or standing in the bow with a
long pole, steered it away from the shore and prevented its running
afoul of rocks. Thus they traversed a brook for some miles, when it
became necessary to circumvent a section of the river where it
thundered down through the hills in a great white torrent no boat
could stem.
From the head of the brook there was a carry, or portage, as they
called it, of nearly two miles. Over this portage the boat must needs
be hauled foot by foot, overland. Several round sticks were cut for
rollers, and the boat drawn over them by David and Indian Jake, while
Andy attended to placing the rollers and keeping them in position.
Then the provisions and other equipment were carried on their backs to
the place where the boat was to be launched. Indian Jake bore
tremendous burdens, with his voyageur’s tumpline, which is the
Indian’s way. And David and Andy, with combined shoulder and head
straps, staggered after him with as heavy loads as they could carry,
and did their best. Even then it was necessary to make three journeys
over the trail before the last pack was delivered at the place where
the boat had been carried. A whole day was occupied in transferring
the boat, and the larger part of another day in transferring the
goods, but Indian Jake cheered the lads with the assurance that it was
the longest portage, and therefore the hardest work they would
encounter on the journey.
“I’m glad enough of that,” declared David. “I’m about scrammed, and
I’m feelin’ like I couldn’t go much farther till I rests.”
“That’s just like I feels, too,” admitted Andy.
“We’ll make camp here for the night,” said Indian Jake, “because ’tis
the best place to camp we’ll come to before dark finds us. But every
time we feels weary we can’t stop to rest. Travelers must keep goin’
often enough when they’re tired. There’ll be tired days enough, too,
before we reach Seal Lake, and there’ll be tireder days on th’ fur
trails in th’ winter, and you lads promised you’d keep your grit.”
“Aye,” admitted David, shamed by the rebuff, “we promised, and we’ll
be keepin’ our grit. I was forgettin’, when I made complaint.”
“And I was forgettin’, too,” said Andy.
Indian Jake never complained, and never admitted he was tired, and
never again did he hear complaint from either David or Andy, though
often enough they were almost too weary of evenings to eat their
supper.
Whether Indian Jake appreciated their self-restraint and sturdy
tenacity, or accepted it as a matter of course, he never commented
upon it or uttered a word of approval, though he presently began to
treat them more as companions and veterans than as novices. Sometimes
he even asked David’s opinion upon some point, and when he did this
David felt vastly complimented, for there was no better woodsman in
the country than Indian Jake.
The nights were growing frosty. The ground was hard frozen, and the
bowlders at the water’s edge were coated with ice. But the river
itself, too active to submit so early to the shackles of approaching
winter, went rushing along in its course, now quietly, with a deep,
dark, sullen current, now thundering over rocks in wild, tempestuous
rapids that made the heart thrill with its force and power. Day and
night the rush of waters was in the cars of the travelers, but withal
it was a pleasant sound. They thought of the river as a mighty living
thing, and as a companion, despite the toil it demanded of them.
“Th’ river roarin’ out there makes me solemn, like,” remarked Andy one
evening after they had eaten supper and sat by the crackling stove
while Indian Jake quietly puffed at his pipe.
“How, now, does she make you solemn?” asked David.
“I were thinkin’ how she keeps rushin’ on an’ roarin’ that way,
always,” Andy explained. “She were goin’ that way before we were born,
and she’ll keep goin’ that way after we’re dead, no matter how old we
lives t’ be. She’ll keep goin’, and goin’, and goin’, and there’s
never like t’ be an end t’ her goin’ till th’ world comes to an end.
And I were thinkin’ how much she’ll see that none of us’ll ever see.
Other folks’ll be comin’ in here t’ trap just like we’re comin’
now--after we’re dead--and we won’t know it, but th’ river will.”
“And there’s no end t’ th’ water that feeds her,” added David. “I
wonders where it all comes from.”
“I wonders, now,” mused Andy.
“There’s no doubtin’, now, she’s been runnin’ like that since th’ Lard
made th’ world,” continued David. “’Tis hard t’ understand where all
th’ water comes from.”
“I’m thinkin’, now,” and Andy’s voice was filled with awe, “th’ Lard
made un that way, and fixed un so there’d never be lack o’ water. I
wonders, now, if th’ Lard keeps watchin’ her all th’ time, and if
she’d go dry if He didn’t keep lookin’ out for un.”
“Th’ Lard watches un all th’ time,” said David. “There’s no doubtin’
that. Th’ Lard watches out for everything, and He even knows what
we’re thinkin’ this minute.”
“I wonders if He does, now?” and Andy’s eyes were filled with wonder.
“Do you think, Jake, th’ Lard made th’ river, and keeps watch that
she’s always got plenty o’ water?”
Indian Jake shifted uneasily, and reaching over to snuff the candle,
grunted:
“Hugh! I think sometimes the devil made her, th’ way we have t’ fight
her t’ get up t’ Seal Lake.”
“’Tweren’t th’ devil!” objected Andy, horrified at the suggestion.
“’Twere th’ Lard made she. We couldn’t get t’ Seal Lake without she,
though she is a bit hard t’ go up sometimes.”
“Pop says th’ Lard makes it hard for us t’ master th’ good things He
makes for us,” said David. “That’s so we’ll know how good they are
after we masters un.”
“You lads’ll be gettin’ homesick, and you talks about such things,”
broke in Indian Jake, knocking the ashes from his pipe. “It’s time t’
turn in.”
And so the days of toil continued, until one morning they entered a
lake, and David gave a shout of joy and announced to Andy that the
work of long carries and hauling the boat through rapids was at an
end.
“We’re ’most to th’ Narrows tilt,” said he. “This is th’ lower end of
Seal Lake, and just above here is th’ Narrows.”
And so it proved. When presently the lake narrowed down into a short
strait and directly opened into a far extending expanse of water,
David pointed excitedly to the eastern shore, some four hundred yards
above, with the exclamation:
“There ’tis, Andy! There ’tis! See un?”
And a few minutes later the boat’s prow grounded upon a sandy beach at
the point David had indicated and at the mouth of a small river which
emptied into Seal Lake at the head of the Narrows, and there in the
edge of the forest that bordered the beach nestled the little log hut
they called a “tilt.”
“Here we are at last,” said Indian Jake, who was in an amiable state
of mind, “and I take it you lads are glad enough t’ be here.”
“’Tis fine!” exclaimed Andy.
“’Tis that,” seconded David, “and fine t’ get here ahead o’ th’
freeze-up.”
“Now we’ll tidy th’ place up and get it ready to stop in,” said Indian
Jake, “and store our outfit away.”
Even Andy had to stoop to enter the low door, though, within, the
ceiling was amply high for Indian Jake to stand erect. The room was
about ten feet square, and was fitted with low bunks on two sides. It
contained a sheet-iron tent stove, with the pipe, which answered the
double purpose of pipe and chimney, extending up through the roof.
They set about at once to make the place hospitable and comfortable.
Rubbish was cleared away and the earthen floor swept clean with a
handful of twigs, which answered well enough in lieu of a broom. Then
fragrant balsam and spruce boughs were spread upon the bunks for a
bed, and finally the outfit was carried up from the boat and
conveniently disposed of, and a fire kindled in the stove.
The relaxation after the long, hard journey, was doubly acceptable.
The wood crackling in the stove, the spicy perfume of balsam, and the
sense of a secure retreat, gave the tilt an air of coziness and
comfort the boys had not experienced since leaving The Jug. This was
to be their headquarters and their home for many months, and their
place of rest and relaxation.
David brought a kettle of water from the lake and set it on for
dinner, while Indian Jake turned some flour into a pan, and began
dexterously mixing dough for hot bread.
“We made good time,” he remarked good-naturedly, as he fitted a cake
of dough into the frying pan. “It’s the second day of October, and the
lake won’t fasten for another week, _what_ever. There’s some geese
about yet, and we’ll get some of ’em. They’ll make a good change now
and again, later on.”
“That’ll be fine!” exclaimed David.
“We’ll do all th’ huntin’ we can in daylight,” said Indian Jake, “and
of evenings get our stretchin’ boards in shape for the time when we’ll
need ’em. And I expect there’ll be some pa’tridges--”
Indian Jake suddenly paused in his work to listen. He had but a moment
to wait, when there broke forth startlingly near a heart-rending howl.
It rose and fell in mournful cadence, dying finally in a long-drawn
“Woo-oo-oo,” so near that it sent the blood tingling in shivering
waves up the spines of the boys.