“It was about here,” Bob shouted, as he stopped paddling and swung the canoe around.
At that moment the man’s head popped above the surface of the water only a few feet away. A few powerful strokes brought him quickly to the side of the canoe.
“Jacques,” cried both boys, as the man seized the side of the canoe with his hand.
“You come der right time, oui,” he said, his teeth chattering so that he could hardly speak.
“Get in as quick as you can,” Bob ordered.
Jacques Lamont was a large man and the canoe was small, barely large enough to carry three full-sized men. Under less skillful handling it would surely have upset, but the Frenchman knew just how to go about it, and the boys were but slightly less adept, and in almost no time he was in.
“You let me tak’ paddle,” he said to Jack. “Need work keep warm, oui.” Carefully the two changed places and in another moment the canoe was speeding back. Rapidly the lake was clearing of ice and only occasionally did they have to swerve from a straight course to avoid a floe, and soon they reached the wharf.
“Hurry up to the office now,” Bob ordered, as he sprang from the canoe.
Fortunately they found a good fire roaring in the office stove. Tom Bean, the camp foreman, was at the desk doing something with a big account book as they pushed open the door.
“Bejabbers, and it looks like ye’d been in the drink, so it does,” he declared, as he got up from his chair and greeted the big Frenchman with a hearty hand shake.