CHAPTER XV

THE GRAND RAPID

Bright moonlight touched the river, streaking the angry water with a silver track, when Scott and Thirlwell poled against the stream in the gloom of the wooded bank.  The Shadow, swollen by melted snow, rolled by in flood, swirling along the stony beach in lines of foam, and tossing about battered trunks brought down by winter storms.  Farther down stream, a shimmering haze of spray indicated the Grand Rapid, and Thirlwell meant to stem the current until they were far enough from the foaming turmoil to paddle across.  The gray trout were shy that evening and they had let the canoe drift farther than they thought.  Presently somebody hailed them from the bank, and as they let the canoe swing round in an eddy a dark figure moved out from the gloom of the pines.

“Driscoll’s voice, I think,” said Scott.  “Head her inshore; we’ll see what he wants.”

It transpired that Driscoll wanted them to take him across.  He had left his small canoe some distance down stream, because he thought he might be drawn into the rapid before he could reach the other bank.  Scott’s canoe was larger, and with three men on board they could easily make head against the current.

“I guess we’ve got to take him,” Scott remarked.  “Give her a push and run her in behind the rock.”

When the canoe grounded Driscoll got on board and picked up a pole.  As there was not another, Thirlwell paddled in the stern while they pushed the craft through the slack.  It was hard work and he noted how slowly the pines rolled past.  By and by they reached an angry-white rush of current between an island and the bank, and as they could scarcely make progress Scott suggested putting down the poles and paddling across.  Driscoll, however, grumbled that they were not far enough up stream, and getting out when they ran the canoe close to the driftwood that washed about the shingle, tracked her for some distance through the shallow water.  While the fellow stumbled among the dead branches, Scott gave Thirlwell a meaning look that the latter thought he understood.

It was obvious that Driscoll was anxious to avoid being swept into the rapid and Thirlwell admitted the prudence of this, but did not think the danger great enough to account for his rather excessive caution.  The Indians generally shot the rapid when the water was low, and although the river was now rolling down in flood, it was not impossible for men with steady nerves to take the canoe safely through to the tail-pool.  He wondered whether Black Steve had been drinking, but on the whole did not think he had, and admitting that the fellow knew the streams and eddies best, let him have his way.  At length, however, Scott threw down his pole.

“We’re far enough and I want my supper,” he said.  “Get hold of the paddles and let her shoot across.”