He saw that they were in a dug-out: it had left its furrow in the sand where it was pulled up. He saw the print of Clare’s little common-sense boot in the sand, and the sight almost unmanned him; Mary’s track was there too, that he knew well, and Imbrie’s; and to his astonishment there was a fourth track unknown to him. It was that of a small man or a large woman. Could Imbrie have persuaded one of the Kakisas to accompany him? This was all he saw. He judged from the signs that they had about five hours’ start of him.
From this point the character of the country began to change. The river-banks became higher and wooded; there were outcroppings of rock and small rapids. Stonor saw from the tracks alongshore that where the current was swift they had towed the dug-out up-stream, but he had to stick to his paddle. Though he put forth his best efforts all day he scarcely gained on them, for darkness came upon him soon after he had passed the place where they spelled in mid-afternoon.
On the next day in mid-morning he was brought to stand by a fork in the river. There was nothing to tell him which branch to choose, for the current was easy here and the trackers had re-embarked. Both branches were of about equal size: one came from the south-east, one from due east; either might reach to the mountains if it was long enough. Stonor had pondered on the map of that country, but on it the Swan River was only indicated as yet by a dotted line. All that was known of the stream by report was that it rose in the Rocky Mountains somewhere to the north of Fort Cheever, and, flowing in a north-westerly direction, roughly parallel with the Spirit, finally emptied into Great Buffalo Lake. Stonor remembered no forks on the map.
He was about to choose at random, when he was struck by a difference in the colour of the water of the two branches. The right-hand fork was a clear brown, the other greenish with a milky tinge. Now brown water, as everybody knows, comes from swamps or muskegs, while green water is the product of melting snow and ice. Stonor took the left-hand branch.
Shortly afterwards he was rewarded by a sight of the spot where they had made their first spell of the day. Landing, he found the ashes of their fire still warm; they could not have been gone more than an hour. This was an unexpected gain; some accident of travel must have delayed them. Embarking, he bent to his paddle with a renewed hope. Surely by going without a meal himself he ought to come on them before they finished their second spell.
But the river was only half of its former volume now, and the rapids were more brawling, and more tedious to ascend. However, he consoled himself with the thought that if they held him back they would delay the dug-out no less. The river was very lovely on these upper reaches; in his anxiety to get on he scarcely marked that at the moment, but afterwards he remembered its park-like shores, its forget-me-nots and raspberry-blossoms, and the dappled sunlight falling through the aspen-foliage. It was no different from the rivers of his boyhood in a sheltered land, with swimming-holes at the foot of the little rapids: only the fenced fields and the quiet cattle were lacking above the banks, and church-spires in the distant vistas.
Within an hour Stonor himself became the victim of one of the ordinary hazards of river-travel. In a rapid one of his paddles broke in half; the current carried him broadside on a rock, and a great piece of bark was torn from the side of his frail craft. Landing, he surveyed the damage, grinding his teeth with angry disappointment. It meant the loss of all he had so hardly gained on the dug-out.
To find a suitable piece of bark, and spruce-gum to cement it with, required a considerable search in the bush. It then had to be sewed on with needle and thread, the edges gummed, and the gum given time to dry partly, in the heat of the fire. The afternoon was well advanced before he got afloat again, and darkness compelled him to camp in the spot where they had made their second, that is to say, the mid-afternoon, spell.
The next two days, his third and fourth in the river, were without especial incident. The river maintained its sylvan character, though the bordering hills or bench were gradually growing higher and bolder. Stonor, by putting every ounce that was in him into his paddle, slowly gained again on the dug-out. He knew now that Imbrie, irrespective of Mary, had a second paddle to help him. It gave the dug-out an advantage, especially in swift water, that more than neutralized its extra weight.
By evening of the fourth day all signs indicated that he was drawing close to his quarry again. He kept on until forced to stop by complete darkness. On this night the sky was heavily overcast, and it was as dark as a winter’s night. He camped where he happened to be; it was a poor spot, no more than a stony slope among willows. He had done all his necessary cooking during the day, so there was no need to wait for his supper.