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The two boys, refitted with a makeshift equipment and
a tarpaulin to be used as a lean-to shelter, in lieu of the tent they
had lost, made ready to leave us in their crippled canoe directly after
breakfast, upon their return to Grand Lake to get the baking powder.
“Do you want Poppy?” asked Murdock as they were
stepping into the canoe.
“You can take him,” said Gilbert.
And Poppy, who had been watching the preparations
with keen interest, seemed to understand, for without further invitation
he sprang aboard, and as the canoe disappeared down the rapids we saw
his head rising in the bow where he had installed himself as a lookout.
The proportion of outfit which had been cached here
for Murdock and Henry to take forward upon their return was much smaller
than formerly, for the carrying powers of their canoe had been
considerably reduced by the accident. The load, therefore, which our
much larger canoe was called upon to transport was proportionately
increased. The bronze tablet, the little flag and pennant wrapped in
it, was placed on top, that there might be no danger of bending or
defacing it, and in this position the load was lashed into position.
The additional outfit made so bulky a cargo that it rose, amidships,
considerably higher than the gunwales, and the canoe naturally sat
deeper in the water than formerly.
We began our day’s work in the old way, sometimes
wading, sometimes tracking from the boulders of the shore. Steadily the
rise in the river grew steeper, and steadily the water grew swifter and
therefore stronger.
The Beaver has a bend of about fifty degrees at the
place where the Charles Riley River enters it, swinging in to meet the
waters of the latter river as though to welcome them. Just below the
junction of the two rivers, the southern bank of the Beaver—the side on
which we were tracking—had a steep, crumbling bank rising to a height of
about fifty feet, and almost perpendicularly, from the water. At the
base of the bank, a narrow deposit of boulders which had rolled down
from above and lodged here, offered precarious footing. The water had a
good depth close in by the uncertain pathway, and upon this we walked,
in tracking past the spot.
As we approached the Charles Riley River, however,
the bank receded and for a hundred yards or so opposite the mouth of the
river the water steadied to no more than a good strong current. This
made it possible for us to get into the canoe and paddle across the
mouth of the Charles Riley River.
It became necessary for us to begin tracking at once,
however, and presently we found ourselves contending with a heavier
rapid than any we had yet encountered. The river became, indeed, an
unbroken caldron of dashing white water with dangerous cross-currents
where rocks occurred below the surface to divert its course.
For a half mile there was a very perceptible rise in
elevation. Along this section of river a mass of boulders formed a
steep-sloping wall about eight feet in height. The deep water ran close
to the base of the wall, which retarded somewhat its rushing
impetuosity; but directly outside the slower shore water, white and
tumultuous the river roared past with terrific force.
Walking along the slope of the boulder wall called for great care, and
at some points not a little bit hazardous. The boulders were loose, and
now and again one would turn under our weight with the hint that very
little movement might set some of the rocks rolling down upon us, not
only to our own peril, but with danger of crushing the canoe; for here
the canoe was kept close inshore, as near the rocks as possible, that
the heavier outside water of the rapid might be avoided.
Next: Chapter XXIII:
Disaster In The Rapids |