“Almost,” however, is a hopeful phrase. They were not quite beyond the influence of the eddy when they reached the end of the tail. A superhuman effort might yet save them from being swept back to the point far below that from which they had started. Mozwa was just the man to make such an effort. Nazinred and the others were pre-eminently the men to back him up.
“Ho!” cried Mozwa.
“Hoi!” shouted Nazinred, as they bent their backs and cracked their sinews, and made the big veins stand up on their necks and foreheads.
A few seconds more and the canoe was floating under the shelter of the black-headed rock, and the Indians rested while they surveyed the battleground yet before them.
The next reach carried them right across the river to a place where a long bend produced a considerable sweep of eddying water, up which they paddled easily. Above this, one or two short bursts into the tails caused by nearly sunken rocks brought them to a point full half-way up the rapid. But now greater caution was needed, because anything like a miss would send them downward, and might hurl them with destructive force against the rocks and ledges which they had already passed. A birch-bark canoe is an exceedingly tender craft, which is not only certain of destruction if it strikes a rock, but is pretty sure of being swamped if it even grazes one.
With the utmost care, therefore, and consummate skill, they succeeded in pushing up the rapid, inch by inch, without mishap, until they reached the last shoot, when their skill or good fortune, or whatever it was, failed them, for they missed the last eddy, were swept downwards a few yards, and just touched a rock. It was a very slight touch. A boatman would have smiled at it; nevertheless it drew from the Indians “ho’s!” and “hoi’s!” such as they had not given vent to since the voyage began. At the same time they rushed the canoe, with all their strength, for the nearest point of land.
They were scarcely a minute in reaching it, yet in that brief space of time their craft had almost sunk, a large piece of the bark having been torn from its side.
The instant they touched land the two leaders stepped quickly out, and, while they held the craft close to the bank, their comrades threw out the bundles of fur as fast as possible. Then the canoe was turned over to empty it, and carried up the bank.
“That is good luck,” said Mozwa quietly, as they stood looking at the large hole in the canoe.
“I have seen better luck,” remarked Nazinred, with something that might almost have been mistaken for a smile on his grave countenance.