Thunder rolled across the woods, but the lake sparkled in the sun. A light wind ruffled the shining surface and dark-blue smears broke the silver reflections. For three or four hundred yards the dusty cars curved along the bank, and the locomotive pump’s sharp throb pierced the languid splash of water.
Not far from the engine the track was cut. Gravel and ties and rails had gone down, and two broken freight cars blocked a swollen creek. Sweating, bare-armed men labored in the gap the flood had made. The shovels flashed and the gravel they threw about rattled noisily. Behind the train, rocks and woods rolled back to Hudson Bay.
Alison, under a slanted pine, occupied herself with some sewing. Kit helped the workmen who unloaded the broken cars, but by and by he climbed the bank.
“In Canada, the main thing is to get on a move. Economy’s not important,” he remarked. “I supposed they’d carry the undamaged goods back to the line, but the foreman’s orders were to fire the blamed stuff into the creek. It’s now going in. I wonder whether the company will meet the bill.”
“When do we start?” Alison inquired.
“They expect a construction train in two or three hours, but we may not get off for some time afterwards. Suppose we light a fire and picnic by the lake?”
Alison agreed, and he carried the basket along the line. The day was hot and groups of passengers sat on the car steps and lay about in the shade. For the most part their clothes were threadbare and dusty and their faces were lined. Kit thought they had known poverty in the countries from which they came, and after the stormy voyage they had sweated and jolted in the crowded Colonist cars. To rest by the way was some relief, and nobody was keen to resume the journey. In hot weather a Colonist car has drawbacks, and one gets train-sick.
Other groups loafed about the woods and picked wild berries. Where a smooth rock sloped down to the water, women washed clothes, and garments thrown down to dry dotted the stone. All but the children were quiet, and their shouts were spiritless. It looked as if a pilgrim caravan had stopped to rest in the lonely wilds. The locomotive pump and the noisy shovels struck a jarring, modern note.
Kit lighted a fire behind a rock and thin blue smoke floated across the water. The pine twigs snapped and one smelt the resin in the wood. In front, languid ripples beat the stones. Alison brewed coffee and unpacked the basket.
“Our stock gets low, but it ought to carry us to Winnipeg,” said Kit in a sober voice. “I expect another meal is all we’ll need.”