Page:Toilers of the Trails.djvu/248

 Indian was swept below them, his arms clasped about his head, as a protection from the rocks.

Frantically the crew struggled with their poles, finally swinging the canoe off the ledge, then swiftly snubbed down-stream on the road they had come and landed half full of water below the rapids.

There on the shore stood David wringing out his clothes.

"Dees rapeed no good for beeg boat," he volunteered to Gordon.

"Are you hurt, David?"

"Naw, not one leetle rock bite me."

The bottom of the canoe was badly slashed and most of the flour wet. The flying survey must be made without delay. No excuses were accepted by McDuff.

"Patch her up the best you can and drop back to camp, boys," he told the crew. "David and I will take a few days' grub and strike into the bush. I want to see what the country looks like from that big hill up-river."

As Gordon spoke the eyes of the old Indian narrowed and the muscles of his lean face set hard, but he said nothing.

That night, miles above the rapids, Gordon and David sat smoking in front of their camp-fire.

"I thought you knew this river pretty well, David?" Gordon essayed after a long silence. But the Indian smoked on with eyes averted, as if he had not heard the question.

As they ate their supper, Gordon's mind had been