But I could not remember that there was a boat about the place. I had not seen one. As I thought all this in a wild, excitable way, I snatched up some of my clothes, slipped them on partly as I ran; and even then, incongruous as it may sound, I could not help thinking how the wet hindered me. Then running on, I came upon Gunson, with his face cut and bleeding, struggling back from among the trees.
“Boat! boat!” he shouted, hoarsely. “Is there no boat?”
His words brought out the settler’s wife, and a couple of men from one of the shanties.
“No boat here,” said one of the men. “Anything the matter?”
Gunson tried to speak, but no words came, and in a despairing way he pointed down the river in the direction poor Esau had been swept.
The man looked as he pointed, but nothing was visible, and just then the woman cried out—
“Why, where’s your mate?”
Neither could I say more than one word—“Bathing,” and I too pointed down the river.
“Bathing, and swep’ away,” said one of the men. “Ah, she runs stronger nor a man can swim. None on us here don’t bathe.”
“No,” said the other man quietly; and they stood looking at us heavily.