“You ask my two mates,” he said.
“No, I asked you,” said Dallas.
“Not a stroke, my son. If we get capsized I shall trust to being six foot three and a half and walk out. I don’t s’pose it’ll be deeper than that. If it is, I dessay my mates’ll lend me a hand.”
“Then we mustn’t capsize,” said Abel.
“Well, it would be as well not,” said one of the other party drily, “on account of the flour and sugar and tea. I always said you ought to swim, Bob, old man.”
“So you did, mate,” said the big fellow, with a chuckle. “And as soon as it gets warm enough I’m going to learn.”
That night they reached the foot of the lake where the rocky walls closed in, forming a narrow ravine, through which the great body of water seemed to be emptying itself with a roar, the aspect of the place being dangerous enough to make the party pole to the shore at the first likely landing-place and camp for the night.
The evening was well upon them by the time they had their fire alight, and after a hearty meal their couch of pine-boughs proved very welcome.
“Sounds ominous, Dal,” said Abel. “I hope we shall get safely through in the morning.”
“We must,” was the reply. “Don’t think about it; we ought to be hardened enough to do anything now. How’s your head?”