THE RAPID

In the morning Jim started with three canoes and a few Indians whom he had engaged at the settlement, because the Siwash are clever river men.  Sometimes they tracked the canoes, floundering along the rough bank with a line round their shoulders; sometimes they poled against the rapid stream; and now and then carried the craft and cargo across a rocky portage.  The canoes were of the Siwash type, cut out of cedar logs and burned smooth outside.  The high bow was rudely carved like a bird’s head; the floor was long and flat.  They paddled well and a strong man could carry one, upside down, on his bent shoulders.  Jim had loaded them heavily, and the tools and provisions had cost a large sum.

His progress was slow and he was tired and disturbed when one evening he pitched camp after toiling across a long portage.  Speed was important and he had been longer than he thought, while he did not know if he could force his way up the dark gorge ahead.  Besides, an Indian had shown him the print of somebody’s foot on a patch of wet soil.  There was only one mark and in a sense this was ominous, since it looked as if the fellow had tried to keep upon the stones.  Moreover, he wore a heavy boot, and Jim could not see why a white man had entered the lonely gorge where there were no minerals or timber worth exploiting.

After supper he got ready to start again at daybreak.  This was his usual plan, because one’s brain is dull when one rises from a hard, cold bed at dawn, and in the wilds to leave tools or food behind has sometimes disastrous consequences.  He saw he had forgotten nothing, and when dusk was falling rested for a time on the bank, although he thought it prudent to sleep on board.  Up stream, the water threw back faint reflections, but its surface was dull and wrinkled where it narrowed at the top of the rapid, round which he had carried the canoes.  Then it plunged down into gloom that was deepened by a cloud of spray and its hoarse turmoil echoed among the hills.  A few charred rampikes rose behind the camp, and Jim sat beneath one, with his back against a stone.  He had thrown off his jacket and his thin overalls were wet.  His back and arms ached and his feet were bruised.

He pondered about the footstep.  The pack-horse trail running North was not far off, and while he slowly poled up stream the freighter could have reached the river in front of him.  When they talked at the hotel, the fellow’s manner was threatening, but Jim hardly thought he would meddle.  His party was strong, and if the other had meant to do him some injury, it was hardly probable he would have uttered his dark hints while the landlord was about.  After all, the hints might forecast the difficulty Jim would have to engage transport another time.  Still, somebody had passed the spot not long since.

The gloom deepened, and although some light would linger in the sky all night, it was nearly dark at the bottom of the gorge.  The packers lay about the fire, and by and by Jim, calling one of the Siwash, hauled the first canoe to the bank.  When they got on board, he let the craft swing out with the eddy, and the row, curving as the current changed, rode behind a half-covered rock a short distance from the stones.  Blurred rocks and trees loomed in the mist up stream; below, the foaming rapid glimmered through the spray.  The river, swollen by melting snow and stained green by glacier clay, was running fast.

There was not much room in the canoe, for bags of flour occupied the bottom and a grindstone and small forge were awkward things to stow.  Jim, however, found a spot where he could lie down and the Indian huddled in the stern.  He was a dark-skinned man, dressed like the white settlers, except that he wore no boots.  As a rule, he did not talk much, but by and by he put his hand in the water as if to measure the speed of the current.

“Contox hiyu chuck,” he said in Chinook.

Jim imagined he meant the river was rising and did not know if this was a drawback or not.  A flood might make poling harder, but it would cover the rocks in the channel and probably leave an eddying slack along the bank.  He agreed with the Indian, because the rock to which they had moored the canoe was getting smaller.  It made a kind of breakwater, but it would be covered soon and the craft would feel the force of the current.  Still they ought to ride safely, and an angry wash now beat against the bank of gravel where they had landed.  There was no other landing, for, below the camp, the river ran in white waves between the rocks.

Although Jim was tired, he could not sleep.  For one thing, he had lost time at the settlement and on the river; Jake was waiting for the tools, and since wages were high, delay was costly.  Then the gorge echoed with pulsating noise.  The roar of the rapid rose and fell; he heard the wash of the eddy against the bank, the sharp ripple where the current split upon the rock, and the rattle of gravel striking the stones.  The canoes rocked, swung to and fro, and brought up with sudden jerks.  He did not know if the Indian slept, but if he did, a new note in the confused uproar would waken him.

After a time, the fellow moved, and as his dark figure rose Jim became alert.  The Indian was looking fixedly ahead, but Jim could see nothing in the gloom.  He noted mechanically that the rock had vanished; its location was marked by a wedge-shaped streak of foam.  He signed to the Indian, who grunted but did not speak.

Then there was a crash as something struck the rock and a vague dark mass rebounded from and swung round the obstacle.  It rolled, and half-seen projections vanished and appeared again.  Jim got on his knees and seized a pole, because he imagined a big log with broken branches was driving down on them.  A river canoe is unstable, and to stand on the cargo might capsize her.  He found bottom with the pole and saw the Indian paddling hard.  The row of canoes swung towards the bank, but the backwash caught them and it looked as if they would not swing far enough.  Jim felt the veins on his forehead tighten and the pole bend as he strained with labored breath.

The log came on; its butt under water, its ragged top riding high and swinging round.  There was a heavy shock, the canoe lurched, and a broken branch began to drag her down.  Jim could not push off the grinding mass and, letting go the pole, seized an ax.  He cut the mooring line to ease the strain, but when the rope parted and the log swung clear he was faced by another risk; unless they could reach the gravel bank, they would go down the rapid.  He could not find bottom now, and while he tried the log struck the next canoe.  His canoe swerved outshore, the row was drifting fast, and he shouted as he felt for the ax.

It was, however, obvious that the men in camp could not help much and he nerved himself to make a hard choice.  If he held on, all the canoes would go down the rapid; if he let two go, one might be saved.  He cut the line made fast astern, the log and canoes vanished, and he and the Indian strained their muscles.  They had lost ground they could not recover; the gravel bank was sliding past, and angry waves leaped about the rocks below.  Somehow they must make the bank before they were carried down.  There was some water in the canoe; Jim heard it splash about.  She was horribly heavy and his pole would not grip the bottom.  When it slipped the current washed its end under the craft.

He threw the pole on board and found a paddle.  The canoe rocked on a white eddy, but he got her head round and the revolution carried her towards the shore.  They must drive her in before the backwash flung her off, and for some moments he labored with weakening arms and heaving chest.  Then a packer plunged in, the bow struck ground, and Jim jumped over.  He was up to his waist in the white turmoil, but another packer seized the canoe and the Indian thrust hard on his bending pole.  The bow went farther into the gravel and with a savage effort they ran her out.  Jim leaned against a rock, trying to get his breath, and when he looked about the other canoes had vanished.  His tools and stores had gone for good.

Now there was no need for watchfulness, he could sleep, and he lay down by the fire.  When he wakened day was breaking, and beckoning the Indian he set off up the gorge.  He had an object for his dangerous climb across the slippery rocks, and he noted that the stream flowed evenly along the bank.  This implied that if a log were rolled into the water on his side of the straight reach, it would probably strike the rock behind which the canoes had been tied.

After a time, when the roughness of the ground forced them high above the water, the Indian indicated a clump of willows through which somebody had pushed.  He declared two white men had gone through and one had carried an ax.  Jim had been looking for a white man’s tracks and his face got stern as they climbed a neighboring gully.  At the top he sat down and sent the Indian to look about.  It the other men had gone down again to the water, they must have had some grounds for doing so, and Jim thought he knew what the grounds were.

The Indian found steps in a boggy patch, and Jim, descending a ravine farther on, came back to the river bank.  Here and there a tree had fallen into the ravine and two or three battered trunks lay on the gravel at the bottom.  A hollow in some disturbed gravel at the water’s edge indicated that another log had rested there, and Jim let the Indian examine the ground.  By and by the latter began to talk.

He said the marks had been made by a trunk with branches broken short; one could see where it had rolled into the stream.  The ravine was steep, but the other logs had not slipped down; the missing trunk had been helped on its way.  In one place, the top had been lifted; in another, a pole had been pushed under the butt.  Some of the gravel was scratched, as if it had been trodden by nailed boots.  A man using a lever would push it back like that.

Jim nodded, because he knew something about woodcraft and thought the Indian had read the marks correctly.  Now and then the fellow said “Contox,” and Jim understood the Chinook word, which, roughly, means to know, rather implied supposition than certainty.  For all that, if the Indian doubted, he did not.  He knew the log had been launched where the current would carry it down on the canoes, and when he went back to camp his mouth was set hard.

After breakfast he broke up the party and, sending the Indians off, started again with the two white men.  The canoe would not carry all, but this did not matter, since, for the most part, she must be tracked from the bank, and when they poled her one man could travel through the bush and overtake them at the next rapid.  It was a strenuous journey and Jim was worn out when he climbed the hill to the telegraph camp.  It was about six o’clock in the evening and the men had not returned from work, but Carrie was cooking and got up with a cry of welcome when he came out of the woods.  She stopped, however, when she saw his gloomy face.

“What’s the matter, Jim?” she asked.  “Are you hurt or ill?”

He dropped the heavy bag of flour he carried and forced a smile.  “Does it look as if I were ill?  I’ve lost two canoes and their loads.”

“Oh, Jim!” said Carrie, and added:  “After all, it isn’t so very important.”

“Not important?” Jim exclaimed.

Carrie hesitated.  “Oh, well; never mind.  Where are the boys?  You haven’t lost them?”

“They’re coming,” said Jim, who sat down on a log, feeling embarrassed.

He was dull.  Carrie had been disturbed about him because he had been away longer than he thought, and her obvious relief when she saw he was not injured was soothing.  He needed soothing, since the loss of the canoes and stores weighed heavily, but Carrie had made him feel this did not matter much so long as he was safe.  Although he could not agree, it was a comfort to know her satisfaction was sincere.  Carrie always was sincere.

She was quiet and he resumed in an apologetic voice:  “I felt mean about coming back like this; losing the truck is going to make things harder for you.  Then I bought some new cookers; the steam went through a row of pans and I thought they’d save you work.  There was a piece of stuff at the dry goods store the girl told me would make a dress; but it went down the rapid with the cookers.”

Carrie gave him a gentle glance.  “You bought them:  the rest was an accident.”

“It was not an accident, but we’ll talk about that again.  I’m glad to get back; I’m always glad to get back now, though I didn’t bother about it much when we camped in the bush before.”

Carrie took off the lid of a cooking-pot and while she was occupied the packers arrived with their loads.  Soon afterwards Jake and the other men came up and they got supper.  When the meal was over Jim told his story and Jake looked thoughtful.

“The obvious explanation is, the freighter tried to stop you by turning loose the log,” he said.  “I don’t know if we ought to count on this; but we’ll take it first.”

“I’m doubtful,” Jim replied.  “Somehow I feel the fellow was bluffing; he wanted to scare me so I’d agree to his terms.  Although I reckon he meant to charge me high when I came to him next time, I don’t think he sent the log down.  I haven’t much ground for the conclusion, but there it is.”

“In some ways, you’re not a fool,” Jake remarked with a twinkle.  “I’ve known judgments you hadn’t much ground for turn out sound.  Very well; we come to the big contractors.  Did they hire somebody to stop you?”

“It looks like that, but I imagine Martin’s playing straight and he declared the Cartner people wouldn’t use a crooked plan.”

“Then who did try to stop you?”

Jim shrugged and his face got hard.  “I don’t know yet.  We must wait.”

“Very well,” said Jake.  “We’ll trust our luck and hold on while we can, although I expect it won’t be very long.”

Jim did not answer.  He was tired and now the reaction from the strain had begun, was glad to indulge his bodily and mental lassitude.  The springy branches on which he lay were comfortable and the camp, with the red firelight flickering on the trunks and Carrie sitting by the hearth-logs, had a curious charm.  She, so to speak, dominated the tranquil picture and gave her rude surroundings a homelike touch.  On other expeditions, when Carrie was not there, Jim had thought about his camp as a place at which one slept.  Now it was something else; a place from which one drew strength and cheerfulness.  There was something strangely intimate about it; he was glad to get back.