The Lure of the North Part 26

"I don't know. Five miles an hour, perhaps!"

It sounded ridiculous; Agatha had felt as if they were flying. Then she saw that skill was needed to keep the canoe before the wind and Thirlwell ran two risks. If he let the craft fall off too far, the sail would swing across and she might be capsized by the shock; if he let her swerve to windward, the following wave would break on board and she would be swamped. Thirlwell looked highly strung but very cool. A mistake would have disastrous consequences; if he gave way to the strain for a moment, the canoe would sink. But she knew he would not give way, and it was comforting to see that the half-breed shared her confidence.

He was, no doubt, a _voyageur_ from his boyhood, but it was plain that he did not want to take the steering paddle.

Sometimes, when a savage gust screamed about them and whipped up the spray in clouds, Thirlwell let the sheet run round a pin; sometimes he sank the paddle deep and she saw its handle bend and the blood flush his face. Drops of sweat ran down his forehead, but his glance was fixed and calm. The strain on brain and muscle braced without exciting him; he seemed to accept it as something to which he was used. He could be trusted in an emergency, and for some obscure reason she was glad to feel he was the man she had thought.

Then she watched the other canoe, which had dropped astern. The _Metis_ had set their sail, but she was not running well. She swerved when she lifted with the waves and rolled until it looked as if she would capsize. Now and then a sea broke over the gunwale and a crouching half-breed desperately threw out the water. Another sat on a beam in the high stern and his pose was strangely tense. But for all Agatha's trust in Thirlwell, it was daunting to watch the laboring craft and the seas that threatened to swamp her. They looked worse when one saw their hollow fronts and raging crests, and Agatha fixed her eyes ahead.

The haze was thinning and now and then the blurred outline of trees broke through; but one belt of forest looked like another and she speculated with some uneasiness about the chance of Thirlwell's finding the river. If he did not find it, they would run some risk, because the men could not paddle to windward and the canoes might be smashed on a steep, rocky beach. They ran on, and sometimes the trees got plainer and sometimes vanished, but at length, when a savage gust rolled the haze away, Agatha saw an unbroken line of rocks and foam. It looked very forbidding and she wondered what Thirlwell would do.

"Sit as far as you can to windward," he shouted, and while she awkwardly obeyed the half-breed got up on the side of the canoe.

Agatha understood what this meant. Thirlwell had missed the river mouth and meant to skirt the coast, but when he tried to do so the wind would be abeam and its power to heel the canoe largely increased. So far, they had run before the gale, but to bring the craft's side to it was a different thing.

She set her lips as she watched Thirlwell haul the spritsail sheet. He was cautious and for a few moments brought the craft's head up with the paddle and kept the small sail fluttering. Then he let her go and she lurched down until her side amids.h.i.+ps was in the water. To Agatha's surprise, not much came on board; it looked as if they were going too fast and the lee bow was the dangerous spot. In the plunges, the waves boiled up there, and one could feel the canoe tremble as she lurched over the tumbling foam. Then Agatha noted that Thirlwell was not steering with the gale quite abeam; he was edging the craft to windward as far as he could, but the beach got nearer and it was plain that they were drifting sideways while they forged ahead. Agatha began to doubt if he could keep them off the rocks.

He did not look disturbed. His glance was fixed to windward and his movements were strangely quick. Agatha saw that he kept the canoe from capsizing by the skilful use of paddle and sheet. When the craft could not stand the pressure he let the sail blow slack, and then hauled the sheet again, dipping his paddle to help her over a breaking wave. Sound judgment was plainly needed and the man must instantly carry out the decision he made. Handling a canoe in a breaking sea demanded higher qualities than Agatha had thought. She was getting anxious, for the rocks were nearer and one could see the angry surges sweep in tongues of foam far up their sides. It was surprising that such a sea could rise on a small lake. She could swim, but not much, and shrank from crawling out, half-drowned and draggled, from the surf; for one thing, Thirlwell would see her. She admitted that this was illogical and she ran worse risks, but it troubled her. A few moments afterwards, Thirlwell changed his course with a thrust of the paddle and slacked the sheet.

"All right now!" he shouted. "We'll find smooth water in a hundred yards."

A steep rock, washed by spouting foam, detached itself from the others and a narrow channel opened up between it and the beach. Agatha thought it looked horribly dangerous, but Thirlwell headed for the gap. They lurched through on the top of a curling wave, and she saw the mouth of the river behind the rock. The current rose in crested ridges where it met the wind, but the ridges were smaller than the waves on the lake and gradually sank to splas.h.i.+ng ripples as the canoe ran up stream between dark walls of forest. The trees did not cut off the wind, which followed the channel, and by and by Thirlwell looked at Agatha.

"We have made a good run, but it isn't often one gets a fair wind like this, and poling against the stream is slow work. Still we'll stop and pitch camp when you like."

"Shall we save a day for our prospecting if we go on until dark?"

"Yes," said Thirlwell, "we'll certainly gain a day."

Agatha was cold and wet and cramped. She longed to stop, but it was important to save time and she wanted Thirlwell to see that she had pluck.

"Then go on as far as you can," she replied.

She had half expected the _Metis_ to grumble, but they did not. It looked as if Thirlwell had carefully chosen his men, and she found out later that no fatigue she could bear troubled them. After a time, the wind dropped as they ran round a bend, and getting close to the high bank, they began to pole. At dusk they ran the canoe aground on a sheltered beach, and Agatha landed, feeling very tired and cold. When supper was over and they sat by the fire she did not want to talk, and, going to her tent, soon fell asleep.

Next day they poled against the current and paddled, in bright suns.h.i.+ne, across a lake. At noon they camped among short junipers, and the next morning carried the empty canoes, upside down, across a rocky point. It cost twelve hours' labor, relaying the loads, to make the portage, and then they launched upon another lake. After two more days they left the canoes, covered with fir-branches, on a beach, and pushed inland. A narrow trail led them across a high divide, seamed by deep gullies, where stunted pines and juniper grew among the rocks, and they portaged the loads by stages, carrying part for an hour or two, and then going back. Agatha was surprised to see how much a man could carry with the help of properly adjusted straps.

When the divide was crossed they found two canoes by the bank of a small creek, down which they drifted with the swift current. Then there was a chain of lakes, veiled in mist and rain, and after making a portage they reached a wider stream. They followed it down through tangled woods and when they camped late one evening, Agatha sat silent by the fire, trying to retrace their journey and speculating about what lay ahead. For the most part, her memory was blurred, and hazy pictures floated through her mind of lonely camps among the boulders and small pine-trunks, of breathless men dragging the canoes up angry rapids, and carrying heavy loads across slippery rocks. Their track across the wilderness was marked by little heaps of ashes and white chips scattered about fallen trees.

But some of the memories were sharp; there was the evening she found Thirlwell carrying her belongings a double stage in order that she might have all she needed when they camped. He panted as he leaned against a tree and his face and hair were wet; she felt moved but angry that he had exhausted himself for her. She did not want him to think she knew what her comfort cost and was willing to let him buy it at such a price.

She remembered that she had begun to speculate rather often about what he thought.

Then there was the morning they saw a half-covered rock a few yards off in the foam of a furious rapid. She had tried to brace herself for the shock, expecting next moment to be thrown into the water, but Thirlwell with a sweep of the paddle ran the canoe past. So far, he had never failed in an emergency, and she felt that she could not have chosen a better guide and companion. He was resourceful and overcame difficulties; he seemed to know when she would sooner be quiet and when she liked to talk. They had talked much beside the camp-fires, and although he was not clever, she remembered what he said.

But she had something else to think about that gave her a sense of loss and a poignant melancholy. Indeed, she had forced her mind to dwell upon the other matters in order to find relief, and she was glad when Thirlwell broke the silence.

"We ought to make the Shadow by to-morrow noon, and the mine in the evening."

"I think we go down the Grand Rapid before we reach the mine?"

Thirlwell made a sign of agreement, and after a moment's hesitation she gave him a quick glance.

"I wonder if you know what day to-morrow is? I mean the a.s.sociations it has for me?"

"Yes," he said in a sympathetic voice. "I thought you would sooner not talk about it; but I remember. In a way, it's curious you should be here now."

"Ah," she said, "I wanted to be in the North when the day came round, but I did not imagine I should go down the rapid in the evening. It was in the evening the canoe capsized!"

"Dusk was falling; the smoke of a bush fire blew across the river, and there was a moon."

"The moon will be out to-morrow," Agatha said quietly. "It is strange; I couldn't have arranged that things should happen like this!"

She paused for some moments and then resumed: "Perhaps it is ridiculous, but I imagine now I am going to find the lode. The doubts I started with have gone; I feel calmly confident."

Thirlwell noted the emotional tremble in her voice and thought he had better use some tact.

"I must see the load that got wet is properly put up," he said, and moved back into the shadow; but Agatha sat still, watching the smoke curl among the dark trunks.

She had not exaggerated, for a feeling of quiet confidence had been getting stronger all day. There was no obvious reason for it and the difficulties she must overcome were greater than she had thought; but she felt that she would succeed. After all, her father had loved her best, she was making the search for his sake, and when she reached the scene of his efforts she would find some help. The hope was, of course, illogical and she was a teacher of science; but it was unshakable and comforted her. Then she mused about her father's life in the wilds.

Something had happened to him, for she had noted Thirlwell's reserve.

Perhaps bitter disappointment had broken him down; she did not know and would not ask. It was enough that he had loved her; she was satisfied with this.

CHAPTER XXIII

STRANGE'S LEGACY

It was afternoon when the canoes slid out from the forest on to the broad expanse of the Shadow River. The day was calm and hot, although the sky was covered with soft gray clouds, that subdued the light. The river had shrunk, for the driftwood on the bank stood high above the water level, and Thirlwell had only known it sink so low during the summer when Strange was drowned. For all that, the current ran fast and the long rows of pines rolled swiftly back to meet the canoes as they floated down. The trees had lost their rigid outline and melted gently into the blue distance, while the savage landscape was softened by the play of tender light and shadow.

Agatha was glad that Thirlwell did not talk and thought he knew she wanted to be quiet. This was a day she set apart from other days when it came round, for it was in the evening her father's canoe capsized. Since they drifted out on the Shadow, she had followed the track of his last voyage, and wondered with poignant tenderness what he had thought and felt. Somehow she did not believe he had come back embittered by disappointment, and it was perhaps strange that she did not feel sad.

Indeed, she felt nothing of the shrinking she had feared. Although her eyes filled now and then, her mood was calm, and sorrow had yielded to a gentle melancholy.

In the meantime, the current swept them on, past rippling eddies and rings of foam about half-covered rocks, and presently a gray trail of smoke stretched far along the bank. Thirlwell said the woods were burning; they often burned in summer, though n.o.body knew how the fires were lighted. By degrees the trees got dimmer, but the water shone with a pale gleam and presently the moon came out between drifting clouds.

Then as they swept round a bend a throbbing Agatha had heard for some time got suddenly loud and she glanced at Thirlwell.

"The Grand Rapid," he said. "The water's very low; it's quite safe."

Agatha knew he did not think she was afraid; he had tactfully pretended to misunderstand her glance, and she fixed her eyes ahead. The shadows were deeper and the forest was indistinct, but it was not dark. Besides, the moon was getting bright and threw a glittering beam across the river. She could see for some distance and not far in front the water was furrowed and marked by lines of foam. The stream ran very fast and the throbbing swelled into a deep, sullen roar. There was a smell of burning, and now and then a trail of smoke drifted out from the bank, beyond which a red glow glimmered against the sky. It was like this, she thought, on that other evening when her father returned from his last journey, but the melancholy she had felt had given way to a strange emotional excitement. Somehow she knew the pilgrimage she had made for his sake would end as she had hoped.

For all that, she set her lips and grasped the side of the canoe when they came to the top of the rapid. Spray that looked like steam rolled across the water, blurring the tops of the crested waves that ran back as far as one could see, and here and there in the smooth black patches a wedge of foam boiled behind a rock. Outside the furious mid-stream rush of the current, dark eddies revolved in angry circles and their backwash weltered along the bank. Thirlwell seemed to be steering for this belt and Agatha thought he meant to run down through the slack. As they swerved towards the rocks she looked round sharply, for there was a shout from the canoe astern--

"_Voici qui ven!_"

An indistinct figure scrambled along the rough bank, turning and twisting among the driftwood and boulders. For the most part, the bank was in shadow, but in places where the trees were not so thick the moonlight pierced the gloom.

"But he run!" exclaimed the _Metis_ in Thirlwell's canoe. "Lak' caribou, _vent' a terre_."