“We had almost made up our minds to spend another year on the island, for I never heard from you, and thought you had given up coming to the Indian country. Then about six weeks ago something happened. One morning I went up the island after a young caribou and my partner, Pierre Landeau, [[265]]took out the canoe to catch a few trout among the big rocks south of the island. And that was the last I ever saw of Pierre Landeau and his canoe.
“The first night I spent alone in camp I didn’t worry much as I came home very late myself. I thought Pierre had just run in somewhere and lain down to sleep. We often did that, because black flies and mosquitoes never bothered us on our island. Next day I circled the island in search of Pierre. I spent a week looking for him in every corner of the island. He might be somewhere with a broken leg. I was beside myself with grief, for Pierre and I had become close friends. When I regained my balance of mind, my clothes had been torn to shreds in my search through the brush and thickets, but I never saw a sign of him.
“Pierre was one of the best canoeists in the country, but he had the habit of ballasting his canoe with rocks when he went fishing alone. I had often asked him to use logs instead of rocks. I have thought it all [[266]]out many times, and I think this is what happened: A squall filled his canoe, it sunk to the bottom, and Pierre drowned in the ice cold water. He had left our ax in the canoe. I was marooned on an island, which nobody ever visited. I had no canoe, and no ax to build even a raft. I had my gun and ammunition, but my only tool was a hunting-knife.
“For a few days I was in despair. I thought of building a raft of driftwood, but most of the material was too small. The large logs were still attached to the roots and I had no way of cutting and clearing the trunks. Then I braced up. ‘I am going to get off,’ I said to myself. ‘I will find a way.’ I had no ax, but I had fire; for each of us always carried flint, steel, and tinder. I found a place where lightning had started a fire and killed two or three dozen black spruces big enough for a raft. These dry logs were just what I needed. I built a fire around a tree near the ground, and when the tree fell, I burnt off the top. [[267]]With rawhide I tied a handle to a sharp rock, and with my stone ax I knocked off any remaining branches. After I had worked on this plan a day, I was sure that I could build a raft. I planned to tie the logs together with watap, spruce roots. Rawhide stretches when it gets wet, but watap does not. I wanted dry logs because they float much better than green ones, and they are not nearly so heavy. Remember I could not use logs that were too heavy for one man to drag or carry.
“I figured that it might take me two days and a night to reach the mainland with a favorable and gentle west wind. I intended to hoist a sail, and I had planned to build a kind of bunk above the wash of the waves, so I might snatch a little rest and sleep, if necessary. I don’t know how my raft would have worked, but in about a week I should have been ready to start, if you had not found me.
“Now, friends, come along to my camp. We’ll make feast and celebrate.” [[268]]
CHAPTER XXXIV
A BOLD VENTURE
The feast lasted until the morning sun reddened the waters of Lake Superior and awoke the white-throats and thrushes of the island, for Ganawa and his sons had as much to tell to Jack Dutton as he had to tell to them.