Читать книгу The Untamed American Spirit: Historical Novels & Western Adventures - Emerson Hough - Страница 58

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The boys all had a pleasant time visiting around the Indian village, and enjoyed, moreover, the rest after their long ride on the trail. On the morning of their start from Tête Jaune Cache they went to look once more at the boats which were now to make their means of transportation.

“I think they’ll be all right,” said Rob. “They’re heavier than the ones we had on the Peace River, and the sides are higher. You could put a ton in one of these boats and she’d ride pretty safe in rather rough water, I should say.”

“I’ll bet we’ll think they weigh a ton when we try to carry them down to the river,” said Jesse. “But I suppose there’ll be plenty of men to help do that.”

“Now, we’ll be leaving this place pretty soon,” continued John. “I hate to go away and leave my pony, Jim. This morning he came up and rubbed his nose on my arm as if he was trying to say something.”

“He’d just as well say good-by,” smiled Rob, “for, big as our boats are, we couldn’t carry a pack-train along in them, and I think the swimming will be pretty rough over yonder.”

“These are pretty heavy paddles,” said Jesse, picking up one of the rough contrivances Leo had made. “They look more like sweeps. But they’re not oars, for I don’t see any thole-pins.”

“It’ll be all paddling and all down-stream,” said Rob. “You couldn’t use oars, and the paddles have to be very strong to handle boats as heavy as these. You just claw and pole and pull with these paddles, and use them more to guide than to get up motion for the boat.”

“How far do we go on the Canoe River?” inquired Jesse of Rob. “You’ll have to be making your map now, John, you know.”

“Leo called it a hundred and fifty miles from the summit to the Columbia River,” replied Rob, “but Uncle Dick thought it was not over eighty or a hundred miles in a straight line.”

“Besides, we’ve got to go down the Columbia River a hundred miles or so,” added John, drawing out his map-paper. “I’m going to lay out the courses each day.”

“It won’t take long to run that far in a boat,” said Rob. “And I only hope Uncle Dick won’t get in too big a hurry, although I suppose he knows best about this high water which he seems to dread so much all the time. Leo told me that about the worst thing on the Canoe River was log-jams — driftwood, I mean.”

The boys now bent over John’s map on which he was beginning to trace some preliminary lines.

“Yonder to the left and south, somewhere, Rob, is the Athabasca Pass, which the traders all used who used the Columbia River instead of the Fraser. Somewhere on our way south we’ll cut their trail. It came down some of these streams on the left. I don’t know whether they came up the Canoe River or not, but not regularly, I’m sure. On Thompson’s map you’ll see another stream running south almost parallel to the Canoe — that’s the Wood River. They didn’t use that very much, from all I can learn, and that place on the Columbia called the Boat Encampment was a sort of a round-up place for all those who crossed the Athabasca Pass. Just to think, we’re going the same trail on the big river traveled a hundred years ago by David Thompson and Sir George Simpson, and Doctor Laughlin, of old Fort Vancouver, and all those old chaps!”

“I wonder what kind of boats they had in those times,” remarked Jesse.

“They seem to have left no record about these most interesting details in their business. I suppose, however, they must have had log canoes a good deal like these Indians use on the Fraser. I don’t think they used birch-bark; and if they had boats made out of sawed boards, I can’t find any mention of it.”

While they were standing talking thus, and working on John’s map, they were approached by the leader of the party with the men who were to accompany them, and one or two other Indians of the village.

“All ready now,” said Uncle Dick. “Here, you men, carry this boat down to the river-bank. The rest of you get busy with the packs.”

“There she goes, the old Fraser,” said John, as they gathered at the river-bank. “It’s a good rifle-shot across her here, and she’s only fifty miles long. It looks as though we’d have our own troubles getting across, too.”

But Leo and George, well used to navigation on these swift waters, took the first boat across, loaded, without any difficulty, standing up and paddling vigorously, and making a fairly straight passage across the rapid stream, although they landed far below their starting-point. With no serious difficulty the entire party was thus transported, and soon the heavier of the two boats, with most of the camp supplies, was loaded on the new red wagon of Leo’s other cousin, who now stood waiting for them, having his own troubles with a pair of fractious young cayuses that he had managed to hitch to the wagon.

With this last addition to their party perched on top, and Leo and George walking alongside, the procession started off up the trail across the valley, headed for the low divide which lay beyond. The remaining boat, manned by Moise and Uncle Dick at bow and stern, was launched on the little river which came down from Cranberry Lake. The boys, rifles in hand, and light packs on their shoulders, trudged along on foot, cutting off bends and meeting the boat every once in a while. They had an early start after all, and, the wagon doubling back after depositing its load late in the afternoon to bring on the second boat, they all made camp on the summit not far from the lake that evening.