Then the Indians, alive to this new danger, disregarding bullets, rose to their feet and paddled desperately, the one in the stern seeming not to know that the broken stick he held was useless. They knew that the evil spirits had reached up for their canoe and were drawing them down--down--to something worse than death. Their faces became drawn and terror-stricken.

Faintly, and as a voice far away and unreal, they heard Manikawan's taunts as she ran down the high banks of the river, keeping pace with the doomed canoe and its occupants going headlong to destruction:

"The men of the South are cowards. They are afraid to die. The evil spirits are hungry, and soon they will be fed. Their voices are loud.

They are crying with hunger. The men of the South will feed them."

XII

THE TRAGEDY OF THE RAPIDS

The two adventurers marooned on the island ate their first meal of rabbit, grilled over the coals, with keen relish, though they had neither salt to season it nor bread to accompany it.

"It might be worse," remarked Shad, when the meal was finished.

"Rabbit is good, and," he continued, lolling back lazily and contentedly before the fire, "there's always some bright spot to light the darkest cloud--we've no dishes to wash. A rinse of the tea pail, a rinse of our cups, and, presto! the thing's done. I detest dish-washing."

"Aye," admitted Bob, "dish-washin' is a putterin' job."

"Yes, that's it; a puttering job," resumed Shad. "But now let's come to the important question of the day. Continued banqueting upon rabbit, I've been told, becomes monotonous, and under any conditions imprisonment is sure to become monotonous sooner or later. I have a hunch it will be sooner in our case. I'm beginning to chafe under bonds already. What are we going to do about it?"

"I'm not knowin' so soon," confessed Bob, "but I'm thinkin' before this day week d.i.c.k an' Ed an' Bill will be huntin' around for us, an'

they's like t' find us, an' when they does they'll be findin' a way t'

help us. They might build up th' place down there with stones, so's t'

make a footin' t' land on, an' then 'twill be easy goin' ash.o.r.e."

"But suppose they don't come around this way and don't find us?"

"Then I'm thinkin' we'll be bidin' here till ice forms."

"Till ice forms! And when will that be?"

"An' she comes on frosty, ice'll begin formin' th' middle of October on th' banks. But th' current's wonderful strong, an' I'll not be expectin' ice t' cross on till New Year, whatever."

"January first! October! November! December! Three months on this G.o.d-forsaken bit of rock! Great Jehoshaphat, man! That'll be an eternity! We can't endure it!"

"I'm not thinkin' we'll have to. I'm thinkin' they'll find us in a fortni't, whatever," rea.s.sured Bob, rising and picking up the axe.

"We'll be needin' a shelter, an' I'm thinkin' I'll build un now."

"And we have no blankets with us!" exclaimed Shad. "Oh, we're going to have a swell time!"

"We'll be fair snug with a shelter, now. I'll be cuttin' th' sticks, an' you breaks boughs."

"All right, Bob, I'll get the boughs," agreed Shad, languidly rising, and as he went to his task singing:

"'Old Noah, he did build an ark, He made it out of hick'ry bark.

"'If you belong to Gideon's band, Why here's my heart, and here's my hand, Looking for a home.

"'He drove the animiles in two by two, The elephant and the kangaroo.

"'And then he nailed the hatches down, And told outsiders they might drown.

"'And when he found he had no sail, He just ran up his own coat tail.

"'If you belong to Gideon's band, Why here's my heart, and here's my hand, Looking for a home.'"

A full stomach sometimes wholly changes one's outlook upon the world.

Shad was beginning now to view his adventure from a whimsical standpoint, a result induced partially by his dinner, largely by Bob's philosophical att.i.tude.

It was not antic.i.p.ated the shelter would be required for long, and a comfortable lean-to under the lee of the hill, with back and ends enclosed, and closely thatched with boughs and moss, was considered sufficient. A thick, springy bed of spruce boughs was then arranged, and the temporary home was completed.

Then Bob proceeded to set deadfalls, utilising flat stones and raising them on a figure 4, which he baited with tender birch boughs. Several rabbits were started in the course of the afternoon, giving a.s.surance that the deadfalls would yield sufficient food for their needs, though no results could be expected from them until the following morning.

"Now for supper, Shad, we'll have t' be usin' some sh.e.l.ls," he announced. "Supposin' you tries un. I were goin' t' make a bow an'

arrows t' save th' sh.e.l.ls, but they's nothin' t' feather th' arrows with, an' no string that'd be strong enough for th' bow."

"All right," agreed Shad. "I'll get them;" and within half an hour he returned with a bag of two fat young rabbits.

Their fire was built before the lean-to, and a very small blaze was found sufficient to heat it to a cosy warmth. Here they sat and ate their grilled rabbit and drank their tea, quite as comfortably as they would have done in their tent or tilt, though during the night one or the other found it necessary to rise several times to renew the fire.

Bivouacking in this manner was more or less of an ordinary circ.u.mstance in Ungava Bob's life. He looked upon it as the sort of thing to be expected, and as a matter of course. He felt indeed that they were very fortunately situated, and for the present he had small doubt that their imprisonment would prove but a temporary inconvenience.

The deadfalls yielded them the first night three rabbits; another was shot. They had quite enough to eat the next day, and Shad took a brighter view of the matter.

"By Jove!" he laughed, after breakfast, "I wonder what the fellows at home would say if they should see me now, playing the part of Robinson Crusoe?" and then he began to sing:

"'Fare thee well, for I must leave thee.

Do not let the parting grieve thee, And remember that the best of friends must part, must part.

Adieu, adieu, kind friends, adieu, adieu, adieu, I can no longer stay with you, stay with you, I'll hang my harp on a weeping-willow tree, And may the world go well with thee.'"

But when another morning came, with no sugar remaining for the tea, and no other food than the now monotonous unsalted rabbit, Shad rebelled.

"See here, Bob!" he exclaimed irritably, "I can't eat any more rabbit!

It nauseates me to even think of it! We've got to do something."

"We can't help un, now, Shad," answered Bob soothingly. "Rabbit ain't so bad."

"Not once or twice, or even three times in succession--but eternally and forever, I can't go it."

"It does get a bit wearisome, but 'tis a wonderful lot better'n no rabbit, when rabbit's all there is."

"Wearisome! Wearisome! Confound it, Bob, it's disgusting! Now we've got to do something to get ourselves out of here, and that quick."

"I'm not knowin', now, what t' do till th' others comes, an' I'm knowin' they will."

"Come, Bob, let's make a try for that wall down there. Even if the canoe does get away from us, we can make the wall--I know we can."