It aint that, Shorty was saying. We dont want your money. Wouldnt touch it nohow. But my pardner is the real meat with boats, and when he says yourn aint safe I reckon he knows what hes talkin about.
Kit nodded affirmation, and chanced to glance at Mrs Breck. Her eyes were fixed upon him, and he knew that if ever he had seen prayer in a womans eyes he was seeing it then. Shorty followed his gaze and saw what he saw. They looked at each other in confusion and did not speak. Moved by the common impulse, they nodded to each other and turned to the trail that led to the head of the rapids. They had not gone a hundred yards when they met Stine and Sprague coming down.
Where are you going? the latter demanded.
To fetch that other boat through, Shorty answered.
No, youre not. Its getting dark. You two are going to pitch camp.
So huge was Kits disgust that he forebore to speak.
Hes got his wife with him, Shorty said.
Thats his lookout, Stine contributed.
And Smokes and mine, was Shortys retort.
I forbid you, Sprague said harshly. Smoke, if you go another step Ill discharge you.
And you, too, Shorty, Stine added.
And a hell of a pickle youll be in with us fired, Shorty replied. Howll you get your blamed boat to Dawson? Wholl serve you coffee in your blankets and manicure your finger-nails? Come on, Smoke. They dont dast fire us. Besides, weve got agreements. If they fire us theyve got to divvy up grub to last us through the winter.
Barely had they shoved Brecks boat out from the bank and caught the first rough water, when the waves began to lap aboard. They were small waves, but it was an earnest of what was to come. Shorty cast back a quizzical glance as he gnawed at his inevitable plug, and Kit felt a strange rush of warmth at his heart for this man who couldnt swim and who couldnt back out.
The rapids grew stiffer, and the spray began to fly. In the gathering darkness, Kit glimpsed the Mane and the crooked fling of the current into it. He worked into this crooked current, and felt a glow of satisfaction as the boat hit the head of the Mane squarely in the middle. After that, in the smother, leaping and burying and swamping, he had no clear impression of anything save that he swung his weight on the steering-oar and wished his uncle were there to see. They emerged, breathless, wet through, the boat filled with water almost to the gunwale. Lighter pieces of baggage and outfit were floating inside the boat. A few careful strokes on Shortys part worked the boat into the draw of the eddy, and the eddy did the rest till the boat softly touched the bank. Looking down from above was Mrs. Breck. Her prayer had been answered, and the tears were streaming down her cheeks.
You boys have simply got to take the money, Breck called down to them.
Shorty stood up, slipped, and sat down in the water, while the boat dipped one gunwale under and righted again.
Damn the money, said Shorty. Fetch out that whiskey. Now that its over Im getting cold feet, an Im sure likely to have a chill.
In the morning, as usual, they were among the last of the boats to start. Breck, despite his boating inefficiency, and with only his wife and nephew for crew, had broken camp, loaded his boat, and pulled out at the first streak of day. But there was no hurrying Stine and Sprague, who seemed incapable of realizing that the freeze-up might come at any time. They malingered, got in the way, delayed, and doubled the work of Kit and Shorty.
Im sure losing my respect for God, seein as he must a made them two mistakes in human form, was the latters blasphemous way of expressing his disgust.
Well, youre the real goods, at any rate, Kit grinned back at him. It makes me respect God the more just to look at you.
He was sure goin some, eh? was Shortys fashion of overcoming the embarrassment of the compliment.
The trail by water crossed Lake Labarge. Here was no fast current, but a tideless stretch of forty miles which must be rowed unless a fair wind blew. But the time for fair wind was past, and an icy gale blew in their teeth out of the north. This made a rough sea, against which it was almost impossible to pull the boat. Added to their troubles was driving snow; also, the freezing of the water on their oar-blades kept one man occupied in chopping it off with a hatchet. Compelled to take their turn at the oars, Sprague and Stine patently loafed. Kit had learned how to throw his weight on an oar, but he noted that his employers made a seeming of throwing their weights and that they dipped their oars at a cheating angle.
At the end of three hours, Sprague pulled his oar in and said they would run back into the mouth of the river for shelter. Stine seconded him, and the several hard-won miles were lost. A second day, and a third, the same fruitless attempt was made. In the river mouth, the continually arriving boats from White Horse made a flotilla of over two hundred. Each day forty or fifty arrived, and only two or three won to the northwest shore of the lake and did not come back. Ice was now forming in the eddies, and connecting from eddy to eddy in thin lines around the points. The freeze-up was very imminent.
We could make it if they had the souls of clams, Kit told Shorty, as they dried their moccasins by the fire on the evening of the third day. We could have made it to-day if they hadnt turned back. Another hours work would have fetched that west shore. Theyre theyre babes in the woods.
Sure, Shorty agreed. He turned his moccasin to the flame and debated a moment. Look here, Smoke. Its hundreds of miles to Dawson. If we dont want to freeze in here, weve got to do something. What dye say?
Kit looked at him, and waited.
Weve got the immortal cinch on them two babes, Shorty expounded. They can give orders an shed mazuma, but as you say, theyre plum babes. If were goin to Dawson, we got to take charge of this here outfit.
They looked at each other.
Its a go, said Kit, as his hand went out in ratification.
In the morning, long before daylight, Shorty issued his call. Come on! he roared. Tumble out, you sleepers! Heres your coffee! Kick into it! Were goin to make a start!
Grumbling and complaining, Stine and Sprague were forced to get under way two hours earlier than ever before. If anything, the gale was stiffer, and in a short time every mans face was iced up, while the oars were heavy with ice. Three hours they struggled, and four, one man steering, one chopping ice, two toiling at the oars, and each taking his various turns. The northwest shore loomed nearer and nearer. The gale blew ever harder, and at last Sprague pulled in his oar in token of surrender. Shorty sprang to it, though his relief had only begun.
Chop ice, he said, handing Sprague the hatchet.
But whats the use? the other whined. We cant make it. Were going to turn back.
Were going on, said Shorty. Chop ice. An when you feel better you can spell me.
It was heart-breaking toil, but they gained the shore, only to find it composed of surge-beaten rocks and cliffs, with no place to land.
I told you so, Sprague whimpered.
You never peeped, Shorty answered.
Were going back.
Nobody spoke, and Kit held the boat into the seas as they skirted the forbidding shore. Sometimes they gained no more than a foot to the stroke, and there were times when two or three strokes no more than enabled them to hold their own. He did his best to hearten the two weaklings. He pointed out that the boats which had won to this shore had never come back. Perforce, he argued, they had found a shelter somewhere ahead. Another hour they labored, and a second.