eastways 'twere thereabouts. Well, I finds myself away off from th'
hole I'd dropped into, an' no way o' findin' he. The river were low
an' had settled a foot below th' ice, which were four or five feet
thick over my head, an' no way o' cuttin' out. So what does I do?"

"An' what does un do?" asked Dick.

"What does I do? I keeps shallow water near th' shore an' holdin' my
head betwixt ice an' water makes down t' th' Porcupine Rapids. 'Twere
a long an' wearisome pull, an' thinks I, 'Tis too much--un's done for
now.' After a time I sees light an' I goes for un. 'Twere a place near
a rock where th' water swingin' around had kept th' ice thin. I gets
t' un an' makes a footin' on th' rock. I gets out my knife an' finds
th' ice breaks easy, an' cuts a hole an' crawls out. By th' time I
gets on th' ice I were pretty handy t' givin' up wi' th' cold."

"'Twere a close call," assented Dick, as he puffed at his pipe
meditatively.

"How far did un go under th' ice?" asked Bill, who had been much
interested in the narrative.

"Handy t' two mile."

For several days after this the men worked very hard from early dawn
until the evening darkness drove them into camp. The current was swift
and the rapids great surging torrents of angry water that seemed bent
upon driving them back. One after another the Horseshoe, the Ninipi,
and finally, after much toil, the Mouni Rapids were met and conquered.

The weather was stormy and disagreeable. Nearly every day the air was
filled with driving snow or beating cold rain that kept them wet to
the skin and would have sapped the courage and broken the spirit of
less determined men. But they did not mind it. It was the sort of
thing they had been accustomed to all their life.

With each morning, Bob, full of the wilderness spirit, took up the
work with as much enthusiasm as on the day he left Wolf Bight. At
night when he was very tired and just a bit homesick, he would try to
picture to himself the little cabin that now seemed far, far away, and
he would say to himself,

"If I could spend th' night there now, an' be back here in th'
mornin', 'twould be fine. But when I _does_ go back, the goin' home'll
be fine, an' pay for all th' bein' away. An' the Lard lets me, I'll
have th' fur t' send Emily t' th' doctors an' make she well."

One day the clouds grew tired of sending forth snow and rain, and the
wind forgot to blow, and the waters became weary of their rushing. The
morning broke clear