Half past seven o’clock, on a cloudless Saturday morning, saw the dwellers of Wohelo Wig-wam setting jauntily off toward the lake, their packs slung over their shoulders. They were in high spirits as they tramped through the bit of woods to the lake shore, for the thought of invading fresh territory had fired their enthusiasm. Miss Drexal had demurred a little at leaving their camp with no one at home, but Blue Wolf had phlegmatically assured her: “When come back, camp him here, just same. No one see. No one steal. No one do nothing.”
In charge of the expedition, he was to pilot his crew to the island, land and leave them there for the day, while he turned about and paddled to Tower on his semi-weekly trip for supplies. In the late afternoon, a little before sunset, he was to return for them and see them safely back to camp. The problem of seating eleven persons in three canoes having been thoroughly discussed on the previous evening, it had been decided that for once a little crowding would be necessary. The canoe which the Indian had made was large enough to hold four persons. Four squeezed into one of the other two, and three in its mate, made a satisfactory division.
“You had best place us as you think wise, Blue Wolf,” directed Miss Drexal. “I would rather trust to your judgment. Girls, you must sit very still. Crowded as we shall be, the least touch is likely to capsize the canoes. Is the water very deep?” she asked, again addressing the Indian.
“Ugh! Heap deep, most way,” grunted the guide. His eyes roving reflectively over the group on the shore, he pointed to Ruth. “You smart girl. You paddle heap good. You take she an’ she an’ she.” He rapidly designated Blanche, Frances and Jane. “I take she an’ she an’ she.” He selected Emmy, Anne and Betty as his cargo. Marian was his choice of commandant for the third canoe, which left Sarah and Miss Drexal to go with her. He further selected Frances to help Ruth paddle, and accorded Betty the proud honor of assisting himself. Miss Drexal was to be Marian’s helper.
Reserving the launching of his own canoe until the last, he busied himself with starting off first Marian’s and then Ruth’s. The first principle of canoeing consists in knowing how to board one of the too-easily swamped little boats. By light and careful stepping, the girls managed to stow themselves into their limited quarters without mishap. The last to shove off from shore, Blue Wolf sent his canoe ahead of the others with a few practiced strokes of the paddle. Marian swung in close behind him. Ruth brought up the rear, and the little procession was soon well out of sight of the deserted camp and merrily following their leader along the tortuous course which gives Vermilion Lake so many miles of shore line.
So far as the old guide was concerned, he could not have selected a more amiable trio of passengers. It was quite possible that he knew it. Urged by Anne and Betty, it was not long before Emmy’s lovely voice was sending its exquisite sweetness over the sunlit water.
“How beautiful Emmy’s singing sounds,” remarked Ruth, resting her paddle for an instant to listen. Her glance falling on Blanche, who sat facing her in the bottom of the canoe, she smiled brightly, hoping to dispel the deep frown that had been in evidence on the other girl’s face since they had started. Blanche merely stared at her. An involuntary word of caution from Ruth as she had stepped into the canoe had added to her resentment at being placed temporarily under Ruth’s charge. Refusing to answer, she sulkily turned her head and began trailing one hand in the water. Slight though the movement was it set the frail shell rocking a trifle.
The smile faded from Ruth’s face as she resumed paddling. It was always the same. No matter how pleasantly she tried to treat Blanche, she was invariably rebuffed by cool or sullen glances. It was quite evident that Blanche had not forgotten, nor would she ever forgive her.
“You’d better not do that, Blanche.” Jane’s crisp tones broke up Ruth’s gloomy reverie.
“Do what?” Blanche made no effort to desist from her perilous pastime. Instead she leaned toward the hand she was trailing with an angry little jerk.