“That’s one way too many,” Pop remarked, bending over to see if the patch he had put in place was still firm. It was, and he leaned back again. “There’s a straight trail through to the Border, branchin’ left from the river,” he continued. “They’ll head for that, sure as shootin’. Course I ain’t sayin’ they’ll make it, but they’ll try to.”
“No such word as ‘ain’t,’” Bug Eye said absently. “But Pop, how far is it to the Border? Good eight days’ ride, ain’t it—isn’t it?”
“All of that. But what’s eight days? I been in saddle longer than that many a time. I remember, back in ’97—stop that splashin’, Bug Eye! I had my bath!”
“Back in ’97?” Bug Eye grinned.
Pop became absorbed in the shore line and refused to answer. Bug Eye winked, and, resting his head on his arm, started to snore loudly. A sharp dig in the ribs from Pop convinced him of the error of his ways, and he sat up, an innocent look on his face.
“Me, I’m tired!” he proclaimed. “When do we hit those rapids you been talkin’ so much about, Pop? Last time I came over here they was nothin’ but a few waves. I craves excitement, I do.”
“You’ll get it,” Pop said laconically. “They’ll be more than a few waves this time. An’ that reminds me. Roy, you an’ Teddy been workin’ long enough. What say you give me an’ Bug Eye a crack at it? The rapids are just below here, an’ I want to do the steerin’ as we hit ’em. I been over ’em many times, an’ I think I can put us through all right.”
“Yo’re a great thinker,” Bug Eye murmured, as he changed places with Teddy and received the board he was to use as a paddle. “Pop, what am I supposed to do with this here barrel stave, or whatever it is? Cheer you, or somethin’?”
“When I say left, you paddle on the left. When I say right, you shift. That’s all.”
“An’ when you say ‘here she goes,’ I take my little bath,” Bug Eye snickered. “All right, Pop. O.K.! Me an’ my flat board is ready.”