Morning brought rain, and we were afoot with the light, avoiding the trail itself, slinking by preference through the woods parallel with it. It was a weary day of physical discomfort and cautious progress, but we had our reward. In the late afternoon we splashed out of a backwater to emerge upon a shelving bluff, grassy and well-timbered. From its western edge we stared at a vast yellow sea, its farther shore dim under driving sheets of rain.
"The Father of Waters," said Tawannears.
I gasped. Miles wide the yellow waters rolled as far as the eye could see. Sullen, threatening, overpowering in its surge and breadth, the river pulsed along with a majestic rhythm almost like a living thing.
"But how shall we cross it?" I stammered.
Tawannears waved a hand toward the saplings that crowded the bluff.
"We have our hatchets. We must build a raft."
We chose for our camp the site the Chippewas had occupied, a recess under the bluff that had been dug by the Spring freshets when the water was higher even than now, and the débris of their raft-building told my comrades that they had not numbered more than twenty or thirty, an ordinary raiding party of young warriors. It was too late to begin work then on the raft, but in the morning, with sunshine to hearten us, we fell to with our hatchets and chopped down a score or two of sturdy young trees, dragged them to a point just above water-level, and left them there, whilst we invaded the backwaters to collect grape-vines and other creepers, which we carried back to the bluff by the armload.
These were Tawannears' materials, and under his direction we formed them into a remarkably buoyant raft. His theory was to take a number of saplings and bind them one to another. On these transversely he placed a second layer, which were first bound together and then staunchly fastened to the bottom layer. Two additional layers were superimposed upon these, with the result that he had a high-riding, practically water-tight conveyance, ample to float the three of us. The one difficulty we foresaw was in forcing our way across the current, and we met this as well as we could by whittling crude paddles and poles for pushing in shallow water. We were vastly proud of our achievement when we wiped the sweat from our eyes after two days of labor and admired the raft as it rode to a withe cable hitched to a convenient stump.
"She floats as grandly as a frigate," I exclaimed.
"And no snag can sink Her," added Tawannears. "The Father of Waters is conscious of his might. He is jealous of those who would travel him. He has knives hidden in his bosom to wreck the unwary, but we——"