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