Washington chopped, Gist hacked and laid and bound, the Hunter hauled and dragged; and while they toiled and sweated the sun rose higher until it marked noon.
The raft was not half completed. The driftwood was frozen and heavy, the saplings rang under the hatchet strokes. Gist had much difficulty in driving the pins that held the binders. They all needs must cast many an anxious glance upon the back trail, and upon the country up stream and down stream and across. Ever the floes whirled past, with no sign of lessening, nor of jamming.
The sun was sinking into the red west. A whole long day had been spent when Gist said, straightening to ease his tired back:
“She’ll do, I think. It’s the best we can manage, anyway; if we’re going to cross before dark we’ll have to make the try, major, or will you wait ’till morning?”
“We’ll cross at once,” declared Washington, “and be ready to march. We can sleep on the other side as well as on this side. Don’t forget the setting poles. Here they are. Now to launch the thing.”
The cumbersome raft weighed tremendously. They all bent to, and shoving, tugging, hoisting, they got it down a shelving place of the bank and upon the ice.
The ice creaked warningly, but held. The sun had sunk into the western forest. The air chilled suddenly and their sweat froze. The night was going to be clear and very cold.
To drag the raft over the snowy ice took time, for the footing was slippery to smooth moccasins. But at last the black water, washing the ragged ice fringe, was close before. One more shove—heave-o! The current and the speeding floes made a dizzy sight—the ice under sole cracked—the raft slid to the edge, and hung, half in, half out——
“Aboard with the Hunter!” cried Washington. “Quick!”
And Robert, his heart thumping, was alone, crouched upon the canted raft.