“Now, now, nonsense,” said Mr. Hampton. “Nothing is too good for you, old man. I want you to keep that to remember me by.”
“I don’t need the watch for that, sir,” said Dick gruffly, sticking it in his pocket nevertheless.
CHAPTER XVI.—REINDEER SIGHTED.
The big canoe which Dick and Art had captured from the Indians was turned over to MacDonald. It was easily capable of transporting five—the three prisoners, MacDonald and Dick. With the two latter in the bow and stern respectively, and the prisoners unarmed between, there was little danger so long as MacDonald and Dick maintained reasonable watchfulness. Two of the half-breeds were cowed and broken in spirit, moreover, while Long Tom was hors de combat on account of the injury to his arm, and would be for some time to come. MacDonald’s skin kayak was to be towed behind, containing his slender outfit, and one of the prisoners could carry the whole business alone at portages.
MacDonald had entered the lake by a considerable stream flowing into it from the southwest, and not the stream down which the Hampton party had come. He set out for this other stream before the others quit the island, with the intention of retracing his steps into the wilderness in large measure. This would facilitate his travel. Farther to the south, he said, was a large river which could be reached by a ten-mile portage, and down which they could travel for many miles.
“If you ever want to join the Mounted,” he said to Bob, to whom he had taken a great fancy, “let me know. I’ll fix it for you.”
Bob laughed, but he was young enough to be flattered by the sincere compliment.
“I may take you up on that some day,” he said. “Who knows?”
Then MacDonald stepped into the canoe, goodbyes were said, and the craft shot away.
“There go a couple of good men,” commented Farnum, as under the powerful strokes of the paddles the canoe drew swiftly down the lake.