"Cut it out!" said Ralph impatiently.
"You ought to take me with you," Stack persisted. An indescribable, sly, cringing threat crept into his whine. "Now that I know where you're going, if they torture me I might let it out in spite of myself!"
Disgust overmastered Ralph. He sprang up. "You little cur!" he cried. "Get out of here before I hurt you!"
Stack waited to hear no more.
During the next three days the two boats seesawed on the lakes and rivers, Ralph now ahead, and now Joe Mixer's party. Ralph kept much longer working hours, but the others made it up in speed. Whenever they passed each other it became the occasion for an exchange of half-serious abuse, which was only prevented from developing into a fight by Ralph's unshakable, steely smile. Ralph insisted on making out that it was all a joke. Joe was itching for a fight, but the smile cut the ground from under him. Meanwhile Ralph gave as good as he got. Stack never took part in these contests of wit. He sat in the dugout haggard and abstracted, gripping the gunwales under his skinny knuckles. When he thought Ralph's gaze rested on him, he did his best to look meek and imploring, but succeeded very ill in disguising his hatred. Joe Mixer carried a deal of liquor in his baggage as evinced by their frequent thickness of speech.
At the end of the third day they had travelled far down the Rice River. By paddling until near dark Ralph succeeded in pitching his camp three miles in advance of the other party. It was his intention to sleep for four hours only, and then go on. According to his calculations he was within a few hours' journey of the Grand Forks, and it was essential to his plan that he get there first. He meant to watch from some place of concealment on the shore, to make sure that they turned up the Stanley River instead of continuing downstream. In case they were not deceived by his false lead, and did not leave the main stream, he had one more desperate card to play. The moon was now nearly full again, and he could be sure of a certain light until dawn.
Ralph pitched his little shelter in an opening among the willows that thickly lined this part of the bank. His boat was drawn high up on the stones below, and tied to the willow trunks. He ate a hasty supper and turned in. As he lay waiting for sleep, once again he was warned by a vague disquiet in his breast of an impending danger. He remembered this afterward. At the time he was dog-tired, and the still voice was not insistent enough to cleave the gathering mists of sleep. He soon became unconscious.
He was awakened immediately, or so it seemed to him, by a sudden outburst of drunken shouting. At the same moment his shelter collapsed on top of him. When he succeeded in freeing himself of the entangling blankets, netting, and canvas, in the dim light he saw four figures reeling about where his fire had been, kicking his belongings into the bush, and wreaking what senseless damage they could. A terrible rage nerved him in every fibre.
"You damned cowards!" he cried.
Hearing his voice, they made for him simultaneously, but Ralph retreated silently under the willows, and bided his time, peering through the branches. They searched for him, stumbling over the roots and shouting inanely.