“Well, we’ll have stories to tell when we get back,” said Rob, “and I don’t believe they’ll believe half of them, either, about the wildness of this country and the tameness of it. Anyhow, I’m glad we’ve come.”
The next day they put in, as Uncle Dick suggested, in a steamer trip down to the Vermilion Chutes. They did not get closer than three or four miles, but tied up while the party went down on foot to see the big cataract of the Peace—some fifteen feet of sheer, boiling white water, falling from a rim of rock extending almost half a mile straightaway across the river.
“I expect that’s just a little worse than the ‘Polly’ Rapids,” said John. “I don’t think even Moise could run that place.”
Even as they stood on the high rim of the rock at the edge of the falls they saw coming up from below the figure of a half-breed, who was dragging at the end of a very long line a canoe which was guided by his companion far below on the swift water. Had the light line broken it must, as it seemed to these observers, have meant destruction of the man in the canoe. Yet the two went on about their work calmly, hauling up close to the foot of the falls, then lifting out their canoe, portaging above, and, with a brief salutation, passing quickly on their way up the stream.
“That’s the way we do it, boys,” said Uncle Dick, “in this part of the world—there goes the fast express. It would trouble the lightest of you to keep up with that boy on the line, too, I’m thinking. Some day,” added Uncle Dick, casting a professional eye out over the wide ridge of rock which here blocked the river, “they’ll blow a hole through that place so that a boat can get through. Who knows but one of you will be the engineer in charge? Anyhow, I hope so—if I don’t get the job myself.”
“You mustn’t forget about that trip over the Yellowhead Pass, where your new railroad’s going now, Uncle Dick,” said Jesse, as they turned to walk again up the rough beach toward the mooring-place of the steamer.
“Don’t be in too big a hurry, Jesse,” returned his relative. “You’ve got a whole year of studying ahead of you, between now and then. We’ll take it under advisement.”
“What I believe I like best about this country,” said Rob, soberly, “is the kindness of the people in it. Everywhere we have been they’ve been as hospitable as they could be. We don’t dare admire anything, because they’ll give it to us. It seems to me everybody gets along pleasantly with everybody else up here; and I like that, you know.”
“It’s a man’s country,” said Uncle Dick, “that’s true, and I don’t know that you’ll be the worse for a little trip into it, although you come from a man’s country back there in Alaska yourselves, for the matter of that. Well, this is the northern end of your trail for this year, my sons. Here’s where we turn back for home.”
They paused at the bend and looked once more back at the long, foaming ridge of white water which extended across from shore to shore of the stream which they had followed so far.