The Boy Ranchers of Puget Sound

by Harold Bindloss

The sound drew nearer, growing in a steady crescendo until he wondered that a duck's wing could make so much noise, and at last a number of shadowy objects broke out of the mist, flying low and swiftly in regular formation. The gun flashed, and the ducks swept on and vanished, all but one which came slowly fluttering down out of the mist.

Frank spent nearly a minute fumbling with stiffened fingers while he crammed in another shell, and then saw that the duck was running across the sand some way off. Closing the breach he set off after it, and had got a little nearer when it rose, fluttered awkwardly, and fell again, though it was able to make good progress on its feet. Twice he got within sixty yards of it, but on one occasion it flew a little way, and on the second it swam across a long pool which he had to run around. Indeed, it led him a considerable distance before he brought it down.

Picking it up he stopped and looked about him. It was pleasant to feel a little warmer, but there was nothing to guide him toward the other fork of the channel except the drift of the mist and the chill of the wind upon one side of his face, and he could not be sure that the wounded bird had led him straight. The flat was level and bare except for little pools of water on which were glistening filaments of ice. It was, however, too cold to stand still with wet feet and consider, and deciding that the sooner he got down to the forks the sooner he would be back on board the sloop, he set off briskly. He had had enough of wandering about that desolate waste.

At last, to his relief, he saw a faint silvery glimmer ahead in the mist, and turning off he struck the channel a little lower down. There was no sign of a duck or anything else, but he was by no means sorry for this, for his one idea was to get back to the forks as soon as possible, and the surest way of doing it was to follow the creek. It appeared to be a considerable distance, though he walked as fast as he could, splashing straight through shallow pools and slipping in half-frozen mud, and when at last he reached the spot where the channels branched off he could see nothing of Harry or the canoe. What troubled him almost as much was the fact that the stream was now flowing inland, and after a quick glance at it he shouted with all his might. His voice rang along the water and level sand, but though he called again no answer came out of the drifting mist. Then he slipped his hand into his pocket to get a cartridge and drew it out again with an exclamation of disgust, recollecting that he had only picked up three or four loose shells in the canoe.

For a moment he stood still considering, and it occurred to him that the situation was not a pleasant one. The flood tide was making and he did not know how far off the beach was, while he had no desire to spend the night in the woods. He could not see the island, and in order to reach it he would have to cross the main channel, which, as he remembered, was moderately deep. On the whole it seemed wiser to wade through the smaller fork and, if Harry did not overtake him in the meanwhile, try to get on board the sloop. She would float in very shallow water with her centerboard up, and he had touched bottom with the canoe paddle a few yards away from her.

When he had arrived at this decision he plunged into the water, which immediately rose above the top of his long boots. It was horribly cold, but this caused him less concern than the fact that it rippled strongly against his legs, which made it clear that he must get down to the sloop as fast as possible. He was over his knees before he got across, and then he ran his hardest along the edge of the channel, which seemed to be growing wider at every moment. The palely gleaming water was perfectly smooth, but it was moving with an ominous speed.

He grew breathless, but he did not slacken the pace. He went straight, splashing through trickling water and into pools, while he strained his eyes for the first glimpse of the sloop, but he could only see the mist which hid the sand thirty or forty yards in front of him. At last he made out a strip of something solid low down ahead and then what seemed to be a mast, and a few moments later he stopped at the water's edge. There was nothing but water in front of him and it was no longer quite smooth. Little ripples ran along the sand, and one broke about his feet while he gazed at them. It did not recede but splashed on, and when he looked around there was at least a yard of water behind him. Then he struggled with a paralyzing sense of dismay, and strove to keep his head. It was necessary to think and think very hard.

He could not wait where he was with the water deepening about him; while, if he went back and did not find Harry before he reached it, the creek, which he would no longer be able to cross, would head him off. If he followed it up on the near side it would take him away from the canoe, and he did not know how far off the beach was. There was evidently only one thing to be done and that was to get on board the sloop even if he had to swim.

She seemed a horribly long way out, but he splashed in hurriedly, afraid to wait a moment lest his resolution should melt away, and he was soon waist-deep with a strong stream swirling around him. It was almost impossible to keep his feet, the gun hampered him, and the coldness of the water seemed to check his breathing and take the power out of his limbs. He could not go back, however, and face a journey through the mist across the waste of sand, and setting his lips he struggled on. Twice he was almost swept away, but at last making a savage effort he clutched the stern of the craft and scrambled up on to her deck.

The first thing he did was to light the stove, and when a pleasant warmth began to fill the cabin he was conscious of a strong desire to sit still and dry his clothes. That, unfortunately, was out of the question, and he reluctantly crawled out and stood up on deck. There was nothing but water around him now. It stretched back on every side into the mist, and the only sounds were the soft lap of the tide and the ripple it made flowing over thinly covered sand. Then having already decided that Harry would have some difficulty in paddling against the stream, he set about getting sail upon the craft to go in search of the canoe.