“Heap good time for white boys,” the old Indian said.
“Carrying a load through the heavy woods is a different matter from carrying that same load through the streets,” Jack declared.
“Don’t I know it?” Rex laughed.
The West Branch of the Penobscot River at this point is a rapid stream of water which tumbles over hidden rocks and sweeps around bends making it dangerous canoing for any but experienced men. About fifty feet wide here it often narrows to twenty-five and a little further on opens up to as much as a hundred feet.
“Had we better launch the canoe and make a few miles or camp here for the night?” Bob asked Kernertok.
“White boy heap hurry, we go on,” the Indian said nodding toward Rex.
“Guess we might as well,” Bob agreed. “It’s several hours before dark.”
So they hastily loaded the supplies into the canoe and carefully pushed it into the water.
“You and Rex get in the middle, Jack, and Kernertok and I’ll handle the paddles.”
The supplies together with the four men and the dog made a good load for the canoe and it seemed to Rex that the water came dangerously near to the rail. But he said nothing having perfect faith in the knowledge and skill of his friends.