But Rob’s eyes were on ahead. He saw the boat hold its course straight as an arrow toward the great target on the farther bank. With astonishing speed it coasted down the last incline of the Grand Rapids. Then, under the skilful handling of steersman and oarsmen, the boat swung to the right, around a sort of promontory which extended around the right-hand bank. Rob looked around at Uncle Dick, who was curiously regarding him. But neither spoke, for both of them knew the etiquette of the wilderness—not to show excitement or uneasiness in any unusual or dangerous circumstances.
François, who had narrowly regarded his young charge, now smiled at him.
“Dot leetle boy, she is good man,” he said to Uncle Dick. “He’ll is not got some scares.”
Rob did not tell him whether or not this was the exact truth, but only smiled in turn.
“Well, here we are,” said he. “But what good does it do us? There’s the foot of the island up there, three or four hundred yards away at least. And how can we get a boat up against these rapids, I’d like to know? Right here is where both the big chutes join. It would take a steamboat to get up there.”
François, who understood a little English, did not vouchsafe any explanation, but only smiled, and Uncle Dick gravely motioned silence as well. Rob could see the eyes of François fixed out midstream, and, following his gaze, he presently saw some dark object bobbing about out there, going slowly down-stream.
“Look, Uncle Dick!” he cried. “What’s that? It looks like a seal.”
The latter shook his head. “No seals in here,” said he. “That must be a log.”
“So it is,” said Rob. “But look at it—it’s stopped now.”