We
just looked across the lake and could see nothing, and we wondered
about those shots, and who could be there. Then Joe said: 'Look
there, up on the mountain.'
"Then we saw you, but we never thought it was you. Then Joe said:
'Why, it's a woman.' Then we only knew it was you. Even then we
could not believe it was you. Who ever would think to see you and
the little short steps that you could go away there, and so quick
too. Why, we couldn't believe it. The men got on to me too. They
said they never saw anything like the way you do. They said they
had been on lots of trips before, and where there were women too,
and they, said to me they never were on a trip before where the
women didn't do what they were told."
I laughed again, which George seemed to think was very hard-
hearted. He looked quite as if he could not understand such
callousness, and said: "Yes; you don't care a bit. Do you?"
Whereupon I laughed harder, and this time he did too, a little.
Then he went on: "Oh, I just thought I was never going to see you
again. I'm never going to forget about it. I was thinking about
how you would feel when you knew you were lost. It is an awful
thing to be lost. If I had never been lost myself I wouldn't know
what it means to be lost. And what would we do if you got lost or
fell in that rapid? Just think what _could_ we do? Why, I could
never go back again. How could any of us go back without you? We
can't ever let you go any place alone after this."
Then after a thoughtful pause. "And to see you, too, the way you
look. Just as if you would never scare anybody."
When we reached camp it was growing dusk. Joe and Gilbert had just
finished putting up my tent. They, too, had been out on the ridge.
Though I could not help being amused at the unexpected success of
my little plan to be even with them for leaving me alone in the
storm, I was really sorry. I had not meant to frighten them so
much. They were all very quiet, their faces, with the exception of
Gilbert's, were distinctly pale, and hands trembled visibly. The
brandy bottle had but once before been out, but that night, when my
bags were brought in, I handed it to George, that they might have a
bracer, and be able to eat supper.
Later on I was to learn that the game had not yet been played out.
Again the joke was on me.
They drank it all!
CHAPTER IX
MOUNT HUBBARD AND WINDBOUND LAKE
The day following no one was astir early. I think no one slept
much. I could hear from the other tent the low hum of the men's
voices far into the night. Mosquitoes kept me awake. About 2 A.M.
I got up, lighted my candle, and killed all I could find, and after
that I had a little peace, but did not sleep much. It was then
growing light.
There was a general limpness to be observed in camp that morning,
aggravated by a steady downpour of rain; but before noon it
cleared, and the men took all but the camp stuff forward. We had
supper late to avoid the flies, the still night gathering round us
as we ate. Rising close above was the dark mass of Lookout
Mountain, the lake at its foot stretching away into the gloom,
reflecting dimly the tinge of sunset light in the sky above. By
the camp fire, after our meal, the men sat telling each other
stories till Job and Joe broke the little circle and went to their
tent. Then floating out on the solemn, evening silence came the
sound of hymns sung in Indian to old, familiar tunes, and last the
"Paddling Song." With what an intense love the one who was "gone
away" had loved it all. I could not help wondering if sometimes he
wished to be with me. It seemed as if he must.
On Sunday morning it rained, but cleared before noon, and at 11.30
A.M. we were on the river. That afternoon and the day following we
passed the most picturesque part of the river. There were Maid
Marion Falls, where the river drops fifty feet into a narrow gorge
cut out of the gneiss and schists of the Laurentian rock over which
it flows; Gertrude Falls, a direct drop of sixty feet, which for
dignity and beauty is unsurpassed by any feature of the Nascaupee;
and Isabella Falls, a system of falls and rapids and chutes
extending for more than a mile, where the water poured over ledges,
flowed in a foaming, roaring torrent round little rocky islands, or
rushed madly down a chute. About half-way up there was an abrupt,
right angle bend in the river, and, standing at the bend looking
northward, you could see through the screen of spruce on the
islands, high above you and half a mile away, the beginning of the
river's wild mile race, as it took the first flying leap out over a
wall of rocks.
The rock colouring was a deep red brown, and in some places almost
purple. The perpendicular surfaces were patched with close lying
grey-green moss, and in places with a variety almost the colour of
vermilion. The country was not burned over, and everywhere the
beautiful reindeer moss grew luxuriantly, setting off in fine
contrast the tall spruces, with occasional balsams growing among
them.
A mile and a half of very rough portaging brought us at 3 P.M. to
the head of the falls, and there we found ourselves on a lake at
last.
