“Then there’s hope,” answered his chum. “He’ll be out of the swing of this in a few days and when he learns what the real thing is, if he likes it and takes to it, he’ll forget this kind of life.”
Finally the evening for the departure arrived. There was no fixed hour, but Colonel Howell’s party had an early supper at the hotel and then a gang of Indians carried their newly packed equipment to the boats. All these articles were dropped indiscriminately as the Indians felt disposed, and soon after six o’clock Norman and Roy were ready for the long voyage. Count Paul had turned his camera over to the young aviators and their first step was to make a number of snaps of the boats and their crews.
Then, piling their rifles and their new blankets in the bow of Moosetooth’s boat, the boys took station on the riverbank, prepared to embark at any moment.
In keeping with the methods that they had found common, it was then discovered that parts of the provisions had not yet arrived. Colonel Howell and Paul had not accompanied the boys directly to the boats. Even after a wagon had arrived with the last of the provisions, and these had been distributed by the Indians on the high heaped cargo, there was yet no sign of their patron. Nor was Count Zept anywhere to be seen.
The Indian wives of the crew sat around their little tepee fires, but between them and their husbands passed no sign of emotion or farewell; this, in spite of the fact that no one on the boats might expect to return for several weeks.
It began to grow cooler and finally the night fog began to fall over the swift brown river.
As the sun began to grow less, the barren hills on the far side of the river turned into a dark palisade. Finally Colonel Howell appeared. He had been engaged in settling his accounts and a merchant who came with him spent some time in checking up goods already aboard the scow. But when Colonel Howell learned that the Count was not present he strolled away almost nonchalantly.
“It’s the way of the North,” almost sighed Roy. “Nothing goes on schedule in this part of the world.”
“Why should it?” grunted Norman. “When your journey may mean a year’s delay in getting back, what’s a few minutes more or less in starting out?”
It was far after nine o’clock and the sun was dropping behind the southern hills—the air chillier and the fog deeper, when Paul finally appeared. His boisterous manner was all the testimony needed to indicate how he had spent the evening.