“Water’ll be warmer t-t-than the air,” says he.
“It could do that and still freeze you to death,” I says, as cross as two sticks. “Gimme the letter.”
I wrapped a blanket around me to keep me alive till I got to the water. Mark had the dishpan all ready with the towels and my shoes tied into it, and the letter under them.
“Now,” says he, “git off the end of the island and s-s-slide in cautious. Likely we’re bein’ watched every second.”
I went off alone into the dark and for once I wished I’d never seen Mark Tidd. I wished he hadn’t moved to Wicksville, and I wished he wasn’t fat, and I wished he didn’t stutter. I just wished he wasn’t at all. But when I got into the water I felt better. It was surprising how warm and comfortable the water was, after the air. I swam easy and slow till I could get my bearings. It was pretty dark, but not so dark but what I could see the black shape of the old hemlock against the sky. When I had it located I laid low and steered for it.
It was a good long swim, but I had swum distances enough to know better than to tire myself out at the start. I just mogged along, stopping to float every once in a while, and before I knew it I was across. It hadn’t been anything. The worst part was the lonesomeness of it and the thought that came a couple of times; what would I do if I got cramps? Ugh!
But I didn’t. I made it—and then had to get out into that air again. Wow! Cold? It was as cold as Greenland multiplied by Iceland, with Hudson’s Bay thrown in to fill the basket.
You better guess that I grabbed those towels and began to rub myself. I rubbed and scrubbed till the skin was ready to come off like the peel of an orange. But it did warm me just like Mark said it would. After I was tired rubbing I picked out an open space and capered up and down in it. I expect I looked like a luny there in the woods without anything on but a towel tied around the middle of me, and me doing some sort of wild Injun dance all by myself. I almost had to laugh.
Pretty soon it began to grow light and I made for the road, going pretty careful. There was no telling where those Japanese might be. It was lucky I did go careful, too, for I hadn’t gone a quarter of a mile before I smelled smoke and in a minute saw the glow of a fire.
Right there I stopped navigation. When I went ahead again it was at quarter speed with my hand on the throttle. You’ve heard about Injuns and how still they can go through the woods. Well, that morning I beat any Injun Cooper ever read about. I made so little noise that the woods were stiller than if I hadn’t been there at all.