He sat now, staring into the fire, vaguely wondering what the morrow would bring forth. He was in a much happier frame of mind than he had been for many days. Things looked brighter somehow—after that bannock. In the morning he would build a raft and cross the Wapiti. After that there would be fairly smooth and open country until he came to the Little Moose. More trouble there. A day or two crossing the divide—then Keechewan Mission less than thirty miles away.
A short time later, Rand stirred himself and hobbled down to the river. He would bathe his aching feet in ice-cold water before turning in. They were in terrible condition and required immediate attention. If only he could get the pain and fever out of them. Tomorrow morning he would tear up his shirt and make soft cushions to wear inside his moccasins.
For several minutes he sat, dangling his feet in the glistening, gurgling flood of the turbulent Wapiti. It was so dark now that he could scarcely see. It was chilly sitting there on the rock with a north wind whipping across his face and the water, like ice, around his ankles. Much as he hated to admit it, the weather was not promising. In fact, there was an indefinable something in the air, a vague, mysterious portent that caused him to shiver with apprehension.
Suddenly, above the sound of the river and the moaning of the wind, startled and alert, Rand heard a splashing out in mid-stream. A moose or caribou, was his first thought. Too bad he didn’t have a gun. In his half-famished state a moose-steak now would be his salvation.
A human voice carried across the water. Another voice. Rand could not credit his senses. He rose, forgetting about his bare feet, and strained his eyes until they hurt in the hope that he might be able to see something. He was all atremble. It was dark out there, dark as black midnight. The water rippled and the wind moaned in the pines. Surely he was mistaken about those voices. He couldn’t hear a thing now—not even a splash.
“Pull out! You’re gettin’ too close tuh shore,” warned a voice, deep and resonant.
There was no mistaking it this time. Rand’s heart leaped. In the tremendous excitement of the moment he forgot himself completely. Like one daft, he sprang from the rock and raced wildly along the shore, cutting his already bruised and battered feet. He screeched at the top of his voice—one long and prolonged screech that shattered the silence.
“Yip! Yih!” shouted Rand, waving his arms.
“Did you hear that?”—from the river.
“Look out! Look out! You plagued fool. Look out! Now you’ve done it. There!——”