The freeboard of the dugout was very slight when Jesse took his place, but seemed quite enough to satisfy the requirements of these voyageurs. The old man sprang into the stern of the dugout and motioned to Jesse to find a seat amidships. Meantime Moise was fixing up a towing collar, which he attached to the line. It became apparent that the plan was for him and the younger breed to double on the tracking line, the old man remaining astern to do the steering.
“That’s the way we get up a river in this country,” said Alex to Rob, who was watching all this with interest. “I would bet they would do twenty-five miles a day with that rig they’ve got there—they go almost at a trot whenever there’s an open bit of beach. When there is none, they pole or paddle.”
“I don’t see how they do it,” said Rob. “None of them have got anything on their feet but moccasins, and those men there have only pieces of moccasins at that. I should think the rocks would cut their feet in bits!”
“Well, you know, Moise and his ‘cousins’ are all ‘same like dog,’ as he would say,” smiled Alex. “Your feet get used to it in time. These men have never known anything better, so they have got adjusted to the way they have to make their living. I doubt if they would wear hard-soled shoes if they had them, because they would say the soles would slip on the rocks. They’re in the water about as much as they are out of it when they are tracking a boat up-stream. That’s the way this country was conquered for the white men—by the paddle, pole, and tracking line.”
“You forget Uncle Dick’s way,” chimed in John.
“How do you mean?”
“Railroads.”
“Yes,” said Alex, sighing, “they’re coming some day, that’s sure. But even the surveyors and engineers had to travel this way, and I think you will find even in the country where the wagons are it’s quite a way from here to home.”