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-worshipper, it was
my frozen self when I landed.
Now we tried a new scheme. A tall spruce on the shore 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 butt on the shore,
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 shore, 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 shore 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 sturdy oarsmen; but such was
the force of the stream that he did not reach the shore till a
quarter-mile below us.
