rowing every
moment more elated with our triumph over the others and in thinking how
we would ride them down when they finally had to abandon their lead and
follow ours, when all at once Del, who had been looking over the side of
the canoe grew grave and stopped paddling.

"There seems to be a little current here," he pointing down to the grass
which showed plainly now in the clear water, "yes--there--is--a
current," he went on very slowly, his voice becoming more dismal at
every word, "but it's going the wrong way!"

I looked down intently. Sure enough, the grass on the bottom pointed
back toward the lake.

"Then it isn't the Shelburne, after all," I said, "but another river
we've discovered."

Del looked at me pathetically.

"It's the Shelburne, all right," he nodded, and there was deep suffering
in his tones, "oh, yes, it's the Shelburne--only it happens to be the
upper end--the place where we came in. That rock is where you stopped to
make a few casts."

No canoe ever got out of the upper Shelburne River quicker than ours.
Those first old voyageurs of that waste region never made better time
down Irving Lake. Only, now and then, I fired some more to announce our
coming, and to prepare for the lie we meant to establish that we only
had been replying to their shots all along and not announcing anything
new and important of our own.

But it was no use. We had guilt written on our features, and we never
had been taught to lie convincingly. In fact it was wasted effort from
the start. The other canoe had been near enough when we entered the trap
to see us go in, and even then had located the true opening, which was
no great distance away. They jeered us to silence and they rode us down.
They carefully drew our attention to the old log dam in proof that this
was the real outlet; they pointed to the rapid outpouring current for it
was a swift boiling stream here--and asked us if we could tell which way
it was flowing. For a time our disgrace was both active and complete.
Then came a diversion. Real rain--the usual night downpour--set in, and
there was a scramble to get the tents up and our goods under cover.

Yet the abuse had told on me. One of my eyes--the last to yield to the
whisky treatment, began to throb a good deal--and I dragged off my wet
clothes, got on a dry garment (the only thing I had left by this time
that was dry) and worked my way laboriously, section by section, into
my sleeping bag, after whic