"Myself, I suppose. Sometimes I'm afraid I haven't the stuff in me to last."
"Dat's good sign." The speaker slipped his arms into his pack-harness and adjusted the tumpline to his forehead preparatory to rising. "You goin' mak' good 'sourdough' lak me. You goin' love de woods and de hills wen you know 'em. I can tell. Wal, I see you bimeby at Wite 'Orse."
"White Horse? Is that where you're going?"
"Yes. I'm batteau man; I'm goin' be pilot."
"Isn't that pretty dangerous work? They say those rapids are awful."
"Sure! Everybody scare' to try 'im. W'en I came up dey pay me fifty dollar for tak' one boat t'rough. By gosh! I never mak' so moch money—tree hondred dollar a day. I'm reech man now. You lak get reech queeck? I teach you be pilot. Swif' water, beeg noise! Plenty fun in dat!" The Canadian threw back his head and laughed loudly. "W'at you say?"
"I wouldn't mind trying it," Pierce confessed, "but I have no outfit.
I'm packing for wages. I'll be along when I get my grub-stake together."
"Good! I go purty queeck now. W'en you come, I tak' you t'rough de canyon free. In one day I teach you be good pilot. You ask for 'Poleon Doret. Remember?"
"I say!" Phillips halted the cheerful giant as he was about to rise.
"Do you know, you're the first man who has offered to do me a favor;
you're the only one who hasn't tried to hold me back and climb over me.
You're the first man I've seen with—with a smile on his face."
The speaker nodded. "I know! It's peety, too. Dese poor feller is scare', lak' you. Dey don' onderstan'. But bimeby, dey get wise; dey learn to he'p de oder feller, dey learn dat a smile will carry a pack or row a boat. You remember dat. A smile and a song, she'll shorten de miles and mak' fren's wid everybody. Don' forget w'at I tell you."