A Daughter of the Forest by Evelyn Raymond (superbooks4u .TXT) 📕

the birch. He realized that the pluckiest way of putting this disagreeable spot behind him was by doing as he was asked. He was hopeless of influencing the other by any change in his own feelings and wisely kept silence.

But they hunted no more that day, nor did they make any further progress on their journey. Pierre busied himself in erecting a rude frame upon which he stretched the moose skin to dry. He also prepared the antlers and built a sort of hut, of saplings and bark, where he could store his trophies till his return trip.

“For I shall surely come back this same way. It’s good hunting ground and moose feed in herds. Small herds, course, but two, three make a fellow rich. Eh?”

Adrian said nothing. He occupied himself in what Pierre considered a silly fashion, sketching, studying “effects,” and carefully cutting big pieces of the birch-bark that he meant to use for “canvas.” To keep this flat during his travels was a rather difficult problem, but finally solved by cutting two slabs of cedar wood and placing the sheets of bark between these.

Whereupon, Pierre laughed and assured the weary chopper that he had had his trouble for his pains.

“What for you want to carry big lumber that way? Roll your bark. That’s all right. When you want to use it put it in water. Easy. Queer how little you know about things.”

“All right. I was silly, sure enough. But thanks for your teaching. Maybe, if you were in my city I might show you a thing or two.”

Both lads were glad, however, when night came, and having cooked themselves a good supper and replenished their fire, they slept as only such healthy lads can sleep; to wake at sunrise, ready for fresh adventures, and with the tragedy of the previous day partly forgotten even by Adrian. Then, after a hearty breakfast, they resumed their trip.

Nothing eventful occurred for some time after. No more moose appeared, and beyond winging a duck or two and fishing now and then, Pierre kept his hunting instincts down. In fact, he was just then too lazy to exert himself. He felt that he had labored beyond all reason during the past summer and needed a rest. Besides, were not his wages steadily going on? If Adrian was silly enough to paint and paint and paint—all day, this old tree and that mossy stump, he was not responsible for another man’s stupidity. Not he. The food was still holding out, so let things take their course.

Suddenly, however, Adrian realized that they were wasting time. He had made sketches on everything and anything he could find and had accumulated enough birch-bark to swamp the canoe, should they strike rough water; and far more than was comfortable for him to carry over any portage. So one morning he announced his intention of leaving the wilderness and getting back to civilization.

“All right. I go with you. Show me the town, then I’ll come back.”

“Well. As you please. Only I don’t propose to pay you any longer than will take us, now by the shortest road, to Donovan’s.”

“Time enough to borrow that trouble when you see it.”

But Pierre suggested that, as Adrian wished to learn everything possible about the woods, he should now take the guidance of affairs, and that whenever things went wrong he, Pierre, could point the way. He did this because, of late, he fancied that his young employer had taken a “too top-lofty” tone in addressing him; and, in truth, Adrian’s day-dreams of coming fame and his own genius were making him feel vastly superior to the rough woodsman.

They had paddled over dead water to a point where two streams touched it, and the question rose—which way?

“That!” said Adrian, with decision, pointing to the broader and more southern of the two.

“Good enough.”

For a moment the leader fancied there was a gleam of malice in his hireling’s eye, but he considered it beneath his notice and calmly turned the canoe into the thoroughfare he had chosen. It was wonderfully smooth and delightful paddling. In all their trip they had not found so level a stream, and it was nothing but enjoyment of the scenery that Adrian felt, until it seemed to him that they had been moving a long time without arriving anywhere. “Haven’t we?” he asked.

“Oh! we’ll get there soon, now.”

Presently things began to look familiar. There was one curiously shaped, lightning-riven pine, standing high above its fellows, that appeared like an old friend.

“Why, what’s this? Can there be two trees, exactly alike, within a half-day’s rowing? I’ve certainly sketched that old landmark from every side, and—— Hello! yonder’s my group of white-birches or I’m blind. How queer!”

A few more sweeps and the remains of the camp they had that morning left were before them, and Pierre could no longer repress his glee.

“Good guide, you! Trust a know-it-all for making mistakes.”

“What does it mean?” demanded Adrian, angrily.

“Nothing. Only you picked out a run-about, a little branch of river, that wanders out of course and then comes home again. Begins and ends the same. Oh! you’re wise, you are.”

“Would the other lead us right?”

“Yes.”

“But it turns north. We’re bound south.”

“That’s no matter. Can’t a river turn, same as runabouts?”

“I give up. You guide. I’ll stick to my brush.”

This restored affairs to the ground which Pierre considered proper; and having paused long enough to eat a lunch, they set out afresh. The new track they followed ascended steadily, and it proved a difficult stream to get up; but the ascent was accomplished without accident and then the surface of the land altered. Again they reached a point where two branches met and Pierre explained that the waters of one ran due north, but the other bent gradually toward the south and in a little while descended through one of the most dangerous “rips” he had ever seen.

“Only saw them once, too. When I went as far as Donovan’s with the master, year before last.”

“Didn’t know he ever came so far from the island.”

“Why, he goes once every summer, or fall, as far as that New York of yours. Likely he’ll be going soon again.”

“He does? Queer he never mentioned it.”

“Maybe. I’ve a notion, though, that the things he don’t say are more important than what he does. Ever shoot a rip?”

“No. I’ve tried and failed. That’s how I happened to get lost and wandered to Dutton’s.”

“He’s the boss hand at it. Seems as if the danger fired him up. Makes him feel as I do when I hunt big game. He didn’t need my help, only fetched me along to take back some truck. That’s how he picked me out to show you. He knew I knew——”

“And I wish I knew—lots of things!”

“One of ’em might be that round that next turn comes the first dip. Then, look out.”

The stream was descending very perceptibly; and they needed no paddling to keep them moving. But they did require to be incessantly on the watch to guard against the rocks which obstructed the current and which threatened the safety of their frail craft.

“You keep an eye on me and one on the channel. It’ll take a clear head to carry us through, and no fooling.”

Adrian did not answer. He had no thought for anything just then but the menace of those jagged points which seemed to reach toward them as if to destroy.

Nor did Pierre speak again. Far better even than his silent companion could he estimate the perils which beset them. Life itself was the price which they would pay for a moment’s carelessness; but a cool head, a clear eye, and a steady wrist—these meant safety and the proud record of a dangerous passage wisely made. A man who could shoot those rapids was a guide who might, indeed, some time demand the high wages at which Adrian had jeered.

Suddenly, the channel seemed barred by two opposing bowlders, whose points lapped each other. In reality, there was a way between them, by the shortest of curves and of but little more than the canoe’s width. Pierre saw and measured the distance skilfully, but he had not counted upon the opposing force of the water that rushed against them.

“Look—out! take——”

Behind the right-hand rock seethed a mighty whirlpool where the river speeding downward was caught and tossed back upon itself, around and around, mad to escape yet bound by its own power.

Into this vortex the canoe was hurled; to be instantly overturned and dashed to pieces on the rock.

On its first circuit of the pool Adrian leaped and landed upon the slippery bowlder—breathless, but alive! His hand still clasped the pole he had been using to steer with, and Pierre——? He had almost disappeared within the whirling water, that tossed him like a feather.

CHAPTER XV SCIENCE AND SUPERSTITION

For an instant Adrian closed his eyes that he might not see the inevitable end. But—was it inevitable? At the logging camp he had heard of just such accidents as this and not all of them were fatal. The water in its whirling sometimes tossed that which it had caught outward to safety.

He flung himself prone and extended the pole. Pierre’s body was making another circuit of that horrible pit and when—if—should it—— The drowning boy’s head was under the current, but his legs swung round upon its surface, faster and faster, as they drew nearer the centre.

Then—a marvel! The long pole was thrust under the invisible arms, which closed upon it as a vice.

“Hold! Hold! I’ll pull you out!”

But for the hard labor of the past few weeks Adrian’s muscles could not have stood the strain. Yet they did, and as he drew the nearly senseless Pierre upon the rock beside himself his soul went up in such glad thanksgiving as he had never known, or might know again. A life saved. That was worth all things.

For an hour they lay there, resting, recovering; then Pierre, himself, stood up to see what chance there was for a fuller deliverance. He was a very sober and altered Pierre, and his drenched clothing added to the forlornness of his appearance.

“Nothing left but—us. Came nigh bein’ only you. Say, Adrian, I shan’t forget it.”

“How are we going to get ashore?”

“’Tisn’t much harder’n Margot’s stepping-stones. Done them times enough.”

Again Adrian was grateful for his forest experience, but he asked with some anxiety:

“Suppose you are strong enough to do it?”

“Isn’t any supposin’ about it. Got to. Might as well died in the pool as starve on this rock.”

Adrian didn’t see that there was much better than starvation before them even if they did reach shore, but he kept his fear to himself. Besides, it was not probable that they had been saved from the flood to perish in the forest. They would better look at the bright side of the situation, if they hoped to find such.

“I can jump them.”

“So can I.”

“Don’t let go that pole. I mean to keep that as long as I live—’less you want it yourself. If you do——”

“No, Pierre, it belongs to you, and doubly now. Which should go first—you or I?”

“Draw lots. If that one falls in, the other must fish him out. Only we won’t try it on this side, by the pool.”

They carefully surveyed the crossing, almost as dangerous an affair as shooting the rapids had been. Yet, as Pierre had said, they “had to.”

Adrian picked a bit of floating weed that had swept within his reach and broke it into unequal portions. The shortest bit fell to him and with as cheerful a “here goes!” as he could muster