“What!” shouted Dick and Sandy in unison. “What did you say?”
“God swim along under the water,” calmly repeated Toma, “an’ if he see man in canoe very bad he tip it over. Mebbe man not very bad, so he no tip.”
“What makes you think that God swims in the water?” Dick inquired, suppressing a smile.
“Indians see him many times—they tell me that.”
“A river manitou,” said Sandy, winking slyly at Dick. “I’ve heard of him before. Do you suppose he’ll permit Henderson and Baptiste to pass safely through the rapids?”
“No can tell.” Toma shook his head gravely. “Sometimes bad fellow from tribe get through, but not very often. This afternoon we find out about Baptiste, Henderson. You see for yourself. Indian get ready go Thunder River pretty soon. Chief’s son he like it we go along.”
“But we ought to return to the mine, Toma. Factor MacClaren and the mounted police are almost due now, and we’d hate to miss them.”
The guide’s face clouded with disappointment. From his expression and actions it was evident that he looked forward to the ordeal at the river with considerable anticipation.
“Chief’s son feel bad you no go,” he declared disconsolately.
“It can’t be helped,” Sandy interjected. “You must explain to him somehow. Tell him we’d like to stay and would gladly go with him to the river if we weren’t expecting the arrival of friends at the mine.”