To The West Part 41

As I reached the bank, I just caught a glimpse of Gunson running along the clearing beyond the little settlement, and my feeling of despair increased, for I knew that at the end of the opening the forest went down to the water's edge, and that any one would have to struggle through the tangle of branches and fallen trees.

"No," I thought; "he will get a boat."

But I could not remember that there was a boat about the place. I had not seen one. As I thought all this in a wild, excitable way, I s.n.a.t.c.hed up some of my clothes, slipped them on partly as I ran; and even then, incongruous as it may sound, I could not help thinking how the wet hindered me. Then running on, I came upon Gunson, with his face cut and bleeding, struggling back from among the trees.

"Boat! boat!" he shouted, hoa.r.s.ely. "Is there no boat?"

His words brought out the settler's wife, and a couple of men from one of the shanties.

"No boat here," said one of the men. "Anything the matter?"

Gunson tried to speak, but no words came, and in a despairing way he pointed down the river in the direction poor Esau had been swept.

The man looked as he pointed, but nothing was visible, and just then the woman cried out--

"Why, where's your mate?"

Neither could I say more than one word--"Bathing," and I too pointed down the river.

"Bathing, and swep' away," said one of the men. "Ah, she runs stronger nor a man can swim. None on us here don't bathe."

"No," said the other man quietly; and they stood looking at us heavily.

"But is there no boat to be had?" cried Gunson, hoa.r.s.ely. "The Indians.

A canoe!"

"Went down the river last night, after bringing the fish," said the woman wildly, and then--"Oh, the poor boy--the poor boy!" and she covered her face with her ap.r.o.n and began to sob.

"And we stand here like this," groaned Gunson, "shut in here by these interminable trees. Is there no way through--no path?"

"No," said the man who had spoken first, "no path. Only the river. We came by the water and landed here."

"Gordon," said my companion bitterly, "I'd have plunged in and tried to save him, but I knew it was impossible. Poor lad! poor lad! I'd have given five years of my life to have saved him."

"But will he not swim ash.o.r.e somewhere lower down?" I cried, unwilling to give up all hope. "Where the stream isn't so strong. Let's try and find a way through the trees."

"Yes; let's try a way along by the river if we can," he said, wearily.

"Poor lad! I meant differently to this."

He led the way back to the end of the clearing, and then hesitated.

"If we could contrive something in the shape of a raft, we might float down the river. Hark! What's that?"

For there was a faint hail from somewhere down the river--in the part hidden from us by the trees. "Ahoy!" came quite distinctly this time.

"He has swum to one of the overhanging branches, and is holding on," I cried, excitedly. "Can't we make a raft so as to get to him?"

Gunson turned, and was in the act of running toward our stopping-place, with some idea, as he afterwards told me, of tearing down two or three doors, when more plainly still came the hail. "Ahoy! Gordon. Ahoy!"

"Why, he is swimming back," I cried. "Ah!" shouted Gunson, running back. "The Indians! It was about their time."

Almost as he spoke, the end of a canoe propelled by four Indians came into sight slowly from behind the trees, and as it drew a little further into view, I could see Esau's head just above the side right back in the stern, and this was followed by one bare arm, which was waved in the air, and he shouted--"Gordon. Ahoy! Got my clothes?" Gunson gave his foot an angry stamp, and walked back to the settler's house.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

WE START UP THE RIVER.

"Esau!" I cried, half hysterically, as the canoe was paddled up to the wharf; "you frightened us horribly."

"You?" he said, coolly, "frightened you? Why, you should have been me."

I said nothing then, but made signs to the Indians, who, partly from my motions, and partly from their understanding a few words of English, paddled the boat up to where we had undressed; and as Esau leaped ash.o.r.e, and hurried on his clothes, he went on talking readily enough, though I could hardly say a word.

"Yes, I did begin to get a bit scared when I found I couldn't do anything to paddle ash.o.r.e," said Esau quietly. "It does run fast. And as soon as I was in the full stream, away I went. Didn't have no trouble about swimming, only a stroke now and then to keep one's head right; river did all the rest. I could have gone on for an hour, I dare say, if I could have kept from being frightened, but--don't tell old Gunson--I was scared, and no mistake."

"Till you saw the Indians with the canoe," I said huskily.

"What?" cried Esau, staring at me in astonishment. "Why that made me ever so much more frightened. How did I know but what they wanted to pull all the hair off my head? Why, I tried to swim away from them, and dived down when they were getting close, so as to let them paddle right by. I stopped under too as long as I could, and when I came up, if they hadn't managed their boat just so as one of 'em could duck his hand down and catch hold of my curly hair."

"Esau!"

"I shouted and struggled, but he held tight, and another came to help him, and they dragged me over the side into the boat, where I durstn't kick for fear of poking my feet through the bottom, for it's only skin stretched over a frame, just as you might make a boat as one would an umbrella, only I don't think they could shut it up."

"But they didn't attempt to hurt you."

"No; they were civil enough their way, and kept on jabbering at me, and saying something about Si wash, si wash. I'd had si wash enough, but they never offered to lend me a towel, and I had to get dry in the sun."

"Esau," I said, as he was finishing dressing, "you ought to be thankful that you have had such an escape."

"Ought I? Well, I suppose I ought, lad; and I am thankful, though I take it so easy, for my poor mother would have broke her heart if I'd been drowned. She thinks a deal of me."

"Of course," I said.

"I say, what did old Gunson say?"

"Don't ask me; don't talk about it," I said, for I felt half choking, I was so overset by the whole scene.

"Why, Mayne Gordon," said Esau softly, as he laid his hand on my shoulder, "don't go on like that. I ain't nothing to you, and--"

"Esau," I cried angrily, "will you hold your tongue? Hush! don't say another word. Here's Mr Gunson."

"Yes," said Esau, in rather an ill-used tone, "it always is 'Here's Mr Gunson!'"

"Breakfast's waiting, my lads," he said. "Make haste; I don't want to keep the Indians long."

"Keep the Indians?" I said. "Ah, you mean we ought to pay them something for saving him."

"Yes, for one thing; but that is not all. They will easily be satisfied."