The Wilderness Castaways Part 6

Three days later found the _North Star_ in the lat.i.tude of Richmond Gulf, and with much careful maneuvering under the guidance of Kuglutuk, and with frequent heaving of the lead, a safe anchorage was found in Nastapoka Sound, behind the islands which shut out the wider sea beyond.

The entrance to Richmond Gulf is an exceedingly narrow, treacherous channel, through which Kuglutuk declared no vessel so large as the _North Star_ could pa.s.s in safety. Through this channel he said the rising and ebbing tide poured with so terrific a rush of the waters that dangerous whirlpools were formed, which rendered its safe pa.s.sage for kayaks and small craft impossible save at the time of the turning of the tide.

It was late afternoon when the ship made her anchorage, and it was decided to prepare for the pa.s.sage of the dangerous strait in the power boat when the tide should reach flood at ten o'clock the next morning.

Kuglutuk, Tom Hand and Dan Rudd were to accompany the three sportsmen, and it was planned that the party should carry a full camping equipment, and remain at the head of Richmond Gulf one week.

The weather was propitious--mild, clear, delightful. This was to be Paul's first experience in camp. Before him lay a rugged, unpeopled, unknown wilderness. He was to enter it and be a part of it. The romance of it thrilled him, and he lay awake that night a long while, feasting antic.i.p.ation and imagination, too restless to sleep.

CHAPTER IV

THE WILDERNESS PRIMEVAL

The pa.s.sage of the channel leading into Richmond Gulf was accomplished without adventure, and within the gulf the power boat took a northeasterly direction, pa.s.sing several small islands. Many wild ducks, gulls and other water fowl and birds flew about the islands, hovered over the water or rested upon the waves.

Presently Kuglutuk turned the boat into the mouth of a river, and ascending the stream for a little distance, against a strong current, made a landing near the foot of a rushing, tumultuous rapid.

"Tom," declared Remington, when they were ash.o.r.e, "I'm as hungry as seven bears. Fry some bacon and make some coffee, won't you, before you pitch the tents?"

"Aye, aye, sir. We'll put on a fire an' have un ready in a jiffy. Dan, b'y, bring up the things from the boat."

"Come fellows, we'll get our rods up while Tom's getting dinner,"

suggested Remington. "I'm aching to try my luck."

"Which of these rods shall I use?" asked Paul. "I never used a rod in my life, and I guess you'll have to show me."

"Try this one," selecting a good weight steel fly rod. "That's got strength, and if you strike a big one you're not so likely to break it as that lighter one. You'll be able to handle the lighter one after some practice."

In the meantime Tom cut a pole about eight feet in length, sharpened the b.u.t.t, which he jabbed firmly into the earth, inclined it at an angle over a fire which Kuglutuk had kindled with moss and dead sticks, and in such a position that the upper end of the stick came directly over the blaze. On this he hung a kettle of water. Then he sliced bacon. In ten minutes the water had boiled, coffee was made, the kettle removed from the stick, placed close to the fire on the ground, and the bacon sizzling in the pan.

"Oh, cracky!" said Paul, sniffing the air, "that's the best thing I ever smelled."

"Doesn't it smell bully!" exclaimed Remington. "I thought I'd have time to make a cast or two before Tom was ready for us, but he's been too quick for me."

"Now," said Remington, when they were through eating, "we'll see if there are any hungry fish in that pool."

Paul looked on while the older sportsmen made one or two casts. Then he attempted it, at first very clumsily, but gradually improving. He was not very enthusiastic, however.

"I don't see any fun in this," he said finally.

"Keep at it, and you'll learn," encouraged Remington.

At that moment "whiz-z-z" and Ainsworth's reel fairly hummed, with forty yards of line run out before he could check it--a flash of spray--a great silver bar in the air! The leap was full two feet!

Splash! It doubled, demanded more line, fought as only a salmon can fight, the supple steel rod bent and curved, but the angler, his face tense with excitement, held his advantage.

"Good! Bully!" shouted Remington with each play. "Look out! That's the way! Easy! That's it!"

Again and again the fish fought for the head of the rapid, but at length, conquered, it was drawn in, and with Remington's a.s.sistance landed--a fine big salmon.

"That was great!" exclaimed Paul. "Guess there is some fun in it after all."

"Fun! Just strike one, and you'll say it's the best ever!" Ainsworth was justly proud.

A few minutes later, "Whiz-z-z" again, and "Whiz-z-z!" Two silver flashes! Two fountains of spray! Two mighty splashes! Paul and Remington had each hooked a salmon at nearly the same instant! And then there was fun! Ainsworth could hardly contain himself as he watched the play, shouting directions and cautions to one and the other. There was danger of getting their lines tangled when both fish darted up stream at once, or made dives for the bank at the same time, in efforts to free themselves. Finally Paul's fish rushed in upon him, gained slack line, shook loose the hook and was free.

Paul could have cried with disappointment and vexation.

"Just my luck!" he exclaimed, as he saw Remington land a fine salmon.

"Oh, no, don't get discouraged. You did mighty well for the first time," encouraged Remington.

"I notice you landed yours, all right," said Paul pettishly.

"But I may lose the next one. The uncertainty of whether you'll land them or not after you've hooked them is half the fun."

"I can't see that----"

"Whiz-z-z"--away went his line again before he could finish. For half an hour, directed by Remington, he played the fish, and was at length rewarded with as fine a salmon as Ainsworth's--considerably larger than Remington's.

"What fun! Oh, but it's great!" he exclaimed as, all a-tremble with excitement, he examined his catch.

"They're here all right, and they're taking flies. We've got all the fish Tom can take care of today, and we've had a week's fun in two hours. What do you fellows say to climbing that barren hill?"

suggested Remington. "I'm anxious to see what the country is like behind those cliffs."

Paul was loath to go. The sport had set his blood a-tingling with excitement and he would much have preferred to remain behind and fish, but Ainsworth agreed with Remington, and his sense of courtesy to his host bade him join them.

"We'll stretch our lines to dry before we go, Paul. Never put your line up wet or it will rot, and some day you'll lose a fine fish,"

advised Remington, who had noticed Paul lean his rod against a tree.

Their lines stretched, they wandered up the defile down which the river plunged in its mad impatience to reach the sea. Here they were in a dark forest of stunted spruce, but very quickly, as they began the ascent of the hill, trees gave way to straggling brush, and brush at length to bare rocks.

"There's a view for you," said Remington when the summit was reached.

"Magnificent!" exclaimed Ainsworth.

"Pretty rough country."

"But grand! Stupendously grand!"

To the west, a shimmering vista, lay Hudson Bay; to the east, to the north, to the south, stretched a tumbled, boundless ma.s.s of rocky ridges, interspersed with starved forests of spruce. Here and there a lake sparkled in the distance. Below them the river, a twisting, winding thread of silver, coursed down to the sea.

The sensations that had come to Paul in Hudson Strait when he first beheld the distant wilderness and the sailless sea, thrilled him again--first fear and shrinking, then an inward, inexplicable sense of power and freedom.

"And no one lives there," he said, more to himself than to his companions.