Tracks of animals were extremely abundant on, the shore here. Large Wolves became quite numerous evidently we were now in their country. Apparently they had killed a Moose, as their dung was full of Moose hair.
We were now in the Canyon of the Athabaska and from this on our journey was a fight with the rapids. One by one my skilful boatmen negotiated them; either we tracked up or half unloaded, or landed and portaged, but it was hard and weary work. My journal entry for the night of the 18th runs thus:
"I am tired of troubled waters. All day to-day and for five days back we have been fighting the rapids of this fierce river. My place is to sit in the canoe-bow with a long pole, glancing here and there, right, left, and ahead, watching ever the face of this snarling river; and when its curling green lips apart betray a yellow brown gleam of deadly teeth too near, it is my part to ply with might and main that pole, and push the frail canoe aside to where the stream is in milder, kindlier mood.' Oh, I love not a brawling river any more than a brawling woman, and thoughts of the broad, calm Slave, with its majestic stretches of level flood, are now as happy halcyon memories of a bright and long-gone past."
My men were skilful and indefatigable. One by one we met the hard rapids in various ways, mostly by portaging, but on the morning of the 19th we came to one so small and short that all agreed the canoe could be forced by with poles and track-line. It looked an insignificant ripple, no more than a fish might make with its tail, and what happened in going up, is recorded as follows:
CHAPTER XLV
THE RIVER SHOWS ITS TEETH
"Oct. 20, 1907.—Athabaska River. In the Canyon. This has been a day of horrors and mercies. We left the camp early, 6.55—long before sunrise, and portaged the first rapid. About 9 we came to the middle rapid; this Billy thought we could track up, so with two ropes he and Rob were hauling us, I in bow, Preble in stem; but the strong waters of the middle part whirled the canoe around suddenly, and dashed her on a rock. There was a crash of breaking timber, a roar of the flood, and in a moment Preble and I and, all the stuff were in the water.
"'My journals,' I shouted as I went down, and all the time the flood was boiling in my ears my thought was, 'My journals,'—'my journals.'
"The moment my mouth was up again above the water, I bubbled out, 'My journals,—save my journals,' then struck out for the shore. Now I saw Preble hanging on to the canoe and trying to right it. His face was calm and unchanged as when setting a mousetrap. 'Never mind that, save yourself,' I called out; he made no response, and, after all, it was safest to hang on to the canoe. I was swept into a shallow place at once, and got on my feet, then gained the shore.
"'My journals—save them first!' I shouted to the two boys, and now remembered with horror, how, this very morning, on account of portaging, I had for the first time put all three journals in the handbag, that had disappeared, whereas the telescope that used to hold two of them, was floating high. It is the emergency that proves your man, and I learned that day I had three of the best men that ever boarded a boat. A glance showed Preble in shallow water coolly hauling in the canoe.