“This is easy,” said Uncle Dick, as they emerged on the western side. “But three miles ahead we come to the Moose River, and that’s apt to be a different proposition. You can’t tell anything about any of these rivers until you try them. One thing is sure, we can’t get any wetter than we are.”
“I’ve noticed all these streams are highest in the afternoon,” said Rob—“a lot higher, too. We’ve often mentioned that.”
“Yes; that’s because the snow melts in the morning and starts the water down the high slopes. It takes some time for it to get down to the lower levels. Morning is the best time to ford any of these mountain rivers, as I have told you.”
The trail was none too good on to the Moose River, and they were none too cheerful as they paused to look over the situation at the bank of this stream.
“When I crossed here the last time I marked a stump with an ax,” said Uncle Dick. “That was barely below swimming-line. Ah, there it is, I see—we’ve got six inches to the good, and that means we can get across, I think. It’s lucky it isn’t worse. There are some falls up this river a little way, and perhaps we could get across the narrows there, but in any case we would have to get the horses across down here, and we had better all make it together. Anyhow, I’ll go ahead on Danny and see how it works. Moise, you’ll bring up the rear; Rob, you go next ahead of Moise, and you, John and Jesse, follow just behind me a little way back. If Danny loses his footing, all of you stop at once and wait for further orders. Well, here goes.”
He spurred his plucky little horse into the roily, turbulent flood, closely followed by the others as he had instructed. Fortunately, the pack-train, by this time well broken into the work of the trail, made no disturbance, but followed along stolidly in the rear of the leader. Thus, little by little, they edged on across and at last crossed the dangerous middle part of the river. Here Uncle Dick angled a little down, following the shallow water indicated by the light ripples. As the boys saw Danny begin to show more and more above the surface of the water, until he was walking no deeper than his knees, they swung their hats and shouted exultantly, for now they were safely to cross one of the most dangerous rivers on the whole trail.
“Well,” said Uncle Dick, as at last they pulled up on the farther side, “that’s done, at any rate. From here it’s only a couple of miles or so to the head of Moose Lake. The trail is fierce along there, but once beyond that lake we can safely call the worst of our whole journey past and done with. We can make it in a few hours’ steady work if we have luck.”
They pushed on, and after a time paused at a point near the head of Moose Lake, from which they could see it lying before them, seven miles or so of slaty gray water, now wrinkled under the downpouring rain. It was a prospect not in the least cheerful, to be sure.
“The Fraser River runs straight through this lake,” said Uncle Dick, “and, as you see, it is getting more water every mile out of these hills. This is the only quiet place on the whole Fraser River that I know of. But we can’t get across it, couldn’t even if we had boats, for here are the horses.