Beyond the sheltered bight a good breeze was blowing and presently, as
the sun arose and the mist lifted from the water, Shad and Bob,
keeping close to shore, discovered the boat a half-mile away with
sails hoisted, bowling along at good speed.
"We'll be makin' rare time, now," said Bob. "We'll be passin' Rabbit
Island in an hour, an' makin' the Traverspine t' boil th' kettle for
dinner."
"No rapids to-day?" asked Shad.
"No, th' portage at Muskrat Falls is th' first," answered Bob, adding
uncertainly: "I'm 'feared you'll find th' work on th' river wearisome,
not bein' used t' un--th' portagin' an' trackin'. I finds un hard."
"That's a part of the game," said Shad. "I expect to do my share of
the work, old man, and I don't think you'll find me a quitter."
"I were knowin', now, you were that kind, ever since I picks you out
o' th' Bay," exclaimed Bob. "You weren't losin' your head, an' by th'
time I h'ists sail you was wringin' th' water outen your shirt, just
as if 'tweren't nothin'. An', Mr. Trowbridge, I likes you ever since."
"Thank you, Bob, but if you want me to be your friend drop the handle
from my name and call me 'Shad.' We're on an equal footing from this
on."
"'Twill be wonderful hard, Mr. Trow--"
"Shad!"
"'Twill be wonderful hard t' call you 'Shad '--it sounds kind of
unrespectful, now."
"Not in the least," laughed Shad. "All the fellows call me Shad."
"I'll try t' think now t' do it, Mr.--I means Shad. But 'tis a rare
queer name."
"Shadrach is the full name. It is pretty awful, isn't it? But doting
parents cast it upon me, and I'll have to hold my head up under it."
"'Tis a Bible name, now. I remembers readin' about Shadrach somewheres
in th' Book o' Daniel."
The canoe and boat had been gradually drawing together and now, within
speaking distance, Bob called out:
"I'm thinkin' me an' Shad'll go on t' th' Traverspine or handy t' un,
an' have th' kettle boiled when you comes up. We ought t' make clost
t' th' Traverspine by noon."
"You an' who?" bawled Dick.
"Me an' Shad--Mr. Trowbridge."
"Oh, aye," answered Dick, "'twill save time."
"Bob's gettin' wonderful unrespectful, callin' Mr. Toobridge 'Shad!'"
remarked Ed.
"'Tain't 'Toobridge,' Ed!" exclaimed Dick, in disgust. "Can't you
remember, now? 'Tis Towbreg--T-o-w-b-r-e-g. You'll be callin' he wrong
t' his face again."
"I'm thinkin' you be right this time, Dick," Ed reluctantly admitted.
The lighter and swifter canoe had already shot ahead and was out of
hearing. Bob's mind filled with plans for the future, Shad enjoying
the wide vista of water and wilderness, they paddled in silence.
The brilliant sunshine, the low, rocky shores, the spruce-clad hills
rising above, with now and again a breath of the perfumed forest
wafted to them upon the breeze, inspired and exhilarated the young
voyageurs. Shad was conscious of a new sense of freedom and power
taking possession of him. The romance of the situation appealed to his
imagination. Was he not one of an adventurous band of pioneers going
into a vast wilderness, an untamed and unexplored land, to battle with
nature and the elements?
For several hours they paddled, finally entering the wide river mouth.
Here the first indication of a current was encountered, and the
northern bank was followed closely that they might take advantage of
counter eddies, and thus overcome the retarding effect of the
midstream current.
"'Twill be noon when th' boat comes, an' we'll stop now t' boil th'
kettle," Bob finally suggested. "Th' Traverspine River is handy by.
She comes into this river just above here a bit."
"Good!" exclaimed Shad. "I'm nearly famished, and I've been hoping for
the last hour to hear you say that."
"Paddlin' do make for hunger," admitted Bob, as he stepped ashore on a
sandy beach near the mouth of a rushing brook. "I'm a bit hungry
myself. I'll be puttin' a fire on now, an' you brings up th' things
from th' canoe."
In an incredibly short time the fire was lighted, and when Shad
brought up a kettle of water from the river Bob had already cut a
stiff pole about five feet in length. The butt end of this he
sharpened, and, jamming it into the ground, inclined it in such manner
that the kettle, which he took from Shad and hung by its bail upon the
other end of the pole, was suspended directly over the blaze.
Bob, who installed himself as cook, now sliced some fat pork to fry,
while Shad gathered a quantity of large dry sticks which lay
plentifully about and began piling them upon the fire.
"Oh, don't make such a big fire, now!" exclaimed Bob, when he
discovered what Shad was about. "'Twill be too hot t' cook by. A small
bit o' fire's enough;" and he proceeded to pull out of the blaze the
large wood which Shad had placed upon it.
[Illustration: Two boys cooking over a campfire.]
"If there's nothing else for me to do, I'll see if there are any trout
in that brook," said Shad.
Shad made his first cast in a promising pool a little way from the
fire, and the moment the fly touched the water, "zip!" went the reel.
The result was a fine big trout. Within twenty minutes he had landed
eighteen, and when presently the boat drew up a delicious odour of
frying fish welcomed the three hungry men as they sprang ashore and
made the painter fast.
"Shad got un," explained Bob, in response to an exclamation of
pleasure from Ed.
"You means Mr. Towbridge, Bob," corrected Dick, with dignity.
"No," broke in Shad, "Bob's right. Shad is my front name and I want
you fellows to call me Shad; leave the handle off."
"An' you wants, sir," agreed Dick. "'Tis a bit more friendly
soundin'."
"Them trout makes me think," said Ed, as he cut some tobacco from a
plug and filled his pipe after dinner, "of onct I were out huntin'
pa'tridges. I gets plenty o' pa'tridges, but I finds myself wonderful
hungry for trout, when I comes to a pool in a brook where I stops t'
cook my dinner an' sees a big un jump.
"'Now,' says I, t' myself, 'Ed,' says I, 'you got t' get un somehow,'
an' I goes through my pocket lookin' for tackle. All I finds is a
piece o' salmon twine an' one fishhook. 'I'll try un, whatever,' says
I, an' I cuts a pole an' ties th' salmon twine t' un, an' th' hook t'
th' salmon twine, an,' baitin' th' hook with a bit o' pa'tridge skin,
throws in.
"Quicker'n a steel trap a trout takes un, but he's a little un, an'
I'm so disgusted-like I don't pull he right in. Then before I knows it
a big trout takes an' swallows th' little un."
Ed paused to lend effect to the climax, while he lighted his pipe and
began puffing vigorously.
"Well?" asked Shad. "Did you land him?"
"Not very prompt," continued Ed. "I was so flustrated I just looks at
un for a bit, skiddin' around in th' water. Then, while I lets un
play, quicker'n I can say 'boo' an old whopper up an' grabs th' big un
an' swallows he. Then I yanks, an' I lands th' three of un.
"Th' outside un were two foot and a half long an' a fraction over. I
measures he. Th' next one were nineteen an' three-quarters inches
long, an' th' little un were ten inches long. Th' little un an' th'
next weren't hurt much, an' not wantin' they I throws un back, an' th'
big un does me for dinner an' supper an' breakfast th' next mornin',
an' then I throws a big hunk that were left over away, because I don't
want t' pack un any longer."
"Ed," said Dick solemnly, "you'll be struck dead some day for lyin'
so."
"Who? Me lyin'?" asked Ed, with assumed indignation.
"Yes, you. You'm always yarnin', Ed. You never seen a trout moren't
two foot long, no more'n I have," declared Dick.
"Oh, well," sighed Ed, while the others laughed, "they's no use
tellin' you of happenin's, Dick, you always were a doubtin' o' me."
The following day at noon the Muskrat Falls were reached, and here the
real work and hardship of the journey began. Day after day the men
were driven to toil with tracking lines up swift currents, more often
than not immersed to their waists in the icy waters of the river, or
for weary miles they staggered over portages with heavy loads upon
their backs. To add to their difficulties a season of rain set in, and
hardly a day passed without its hours of drizzle or downpour. But they
could not permit rain or weather to retard their progress.
Always between sunrise and sunset they were tormented, too, by myriads
of black flies and mosquitoes, the pests of the North. There was no
protection against the attacks of the insects. The black flies were
particularly vicious; not only was their bite poisonous, but a drop of
blood appeared wherever one of them made a wound, and in consequence
the faces, hands, and wrists of the toiling voyageurs were not alone
constantly swollen, but were coated with a mixture of blood and sweat.
Shad, less toughened than his companions, suffered more than they. He
was actually made ill for a day or two by the poison thus inoculated
into his system, though with his characteristic determination, he
still insisted, against the protests of the others, upon doing his
full share of the work. Dick advised him, finally, to carry a fat pork
rind in his pocket and to occasionally apply the greasy side of the
rind to his face and hands. This he discovered offered some relief,
though, as he remarked, grease, added to blood and sweat, gave him the
appearance of a painted savage.
With the evening camp-fire, however, came a respite to the weary
travellers, and recompense for all the hardship and toil of the day.
Here they would relax after supper, and with vast enjoyment smoke and
chat or tell stories of wild adventure.
Shad contributed tales of college pranks, which never failed to bring
forth uproarious laughter, while his vivid descriptions of battles on
the gridiron or on the diamond, illustrated with diagrams drawn with a
stick upon the ground, and minutely explained, held his hearers in
suspense until the final goal was kicked or the last inning played.
Dick and Ed described many stirring personal adventures, the latter
embellishing his stories with so many fantastic flights of imagination
that Shad would scarcely have known where fact ended and fiction began
had Dick not made it a point to interject his warnings of the eternal
vengeance that awaited Ed if he did not "have a care of his yamin'."
One morning during the third week after leaving Wolf Bight, a
beautiful sheet of placid water opened before them in a far-reaching
vista to the northwest. On either side of the narrow lake rose
towering cliffs of granite, their dark faces lighted at intervals by
brooklets tumbling in cascades from the heights above. A loon laughed
weirdly in the distance, and from the hills above a wolf sounded a
dismal howl. It was a scene of rugged, primeval grandeur, and Shad,
taken completely by surprise, caught his breath.
"'Tis Lake Wanakapow," explained Ed. "There'll be no more trackin' or
portagin'. 'Twill be straight sailin' an' paddlin' from this on. Th'
first tilt o' th' Big Hill trail's handy, an' if th' wind holds fair
we'll reach un by th' end o' th' week, whatever."
For the first time since their departure the voyageurs were enabled to
don dry clothing, with the assurance that they could remain dry and
comfortable throughout the day. The evenings were becoming frosty and
exhilarating. The black flies and mosquitoes had ceased to annoy. Wild
geese and ducks upon the waters, and flocks of ptarmigans along the
shores, gave promise of an abundance and variety of food.
With the changed conditions, in marked contrast to the toil and
hardships of the preceding weeks, Shad's desire to remain throughout
the winter grew. The lure of the wilderness had its power upon him.
The first tilt of the Big Hill trail was reached on Saturday, as Ed
had predicted. Here camp was pitched, the boat finally unloaded, and
preparation made for Dick and Bill to begin their return voyage on
Monday morning.
When supper was eaten and they were gathered about the evening
camp-fire in blissful relaxation, silently watching the aurora
borealis work its wild wonders in the sky, Shad suddenly asked:
"Are you certain, Bob, I'd not be a burden to you if I remained here
all winter, You know, I'm a tenderfoot in the woods."
"Oh, no!" Bob assured enthusiastically. "You'd be no burden! An' when
your feet gets tender you can bide in th' tilt an' rest un."
"I don't mean that my feet are tender in that way," laughed Shad, "but
I'm a novice in woodcraft and I've never done any trapping. You'd have
to teach me a great deal about these things, and I don't want to stay
if I'll hinder your work in the least."
"Oh, you'd never be hinderin' th' work! An' you'd be a wonderful lot
o' company, whatever! I hopes you'll stay, Shad!"
"Thank you, Bob. I'll stay. It will put me back a whole year in
college, but I'll stay anyhow. My experience with you will be worth
the sacrifice of a year in college, I'm sure."
"Now that be grand!" exclaimed Bob, his face beaming pleasure.
"An' Shad stays, Ed, he'll give Bob a hand with th' tilts," suggested
Dick. "Can't you go back, now, with me an' Bill, t' help us up with
our outfits? 'Twill be a wonderful hard an' slow pull for just th' two
of us."
"Be you thinkin', now, you can manage th' tilts?" asked Ed, turning to
Bob.
"O' course me an' Shad can manage un," assured Bob.
"I'll go back, then, Dick," consented Ed. "'Twould be hard t' manage
with just two on th' boat."
Arrangements were made for the three trappers to bring Shad some
adequate winter clothing upon their return, letters were written home,
and at daylight on Monday morning adieus were said. Bob and Shad stood
upon the shore watching the boat bearing their friends away, until it
turned a bend in the river below and was lost to view.
"We'll not see un again for five weeks," said Bob regretfully, as they
retraced their steps to the embers of the camp-fire over which
breakfast had been cooked.
"And in the meantime," began Shad gaily, with a sweep of his arm, "we
are monarch, of all--" Suddenly he stopped. His eyes, following the
sweep of his arm, had fallen upon two Indians watching them from the
shadow of the spruce trees beyond their camp.