After going up the river for a few miles the boatmen came to a difficult part of the voyage. Here the river was divided by an island. The dark waters moved with great swiftness, and with the smoothness of oil, over the concealed rocks, breaking into foam at the foot of the rapids. Now for the first time the Indians had hard work. For quite half an hour they paddled as if in despair, and the canoe moved upward inch by inch. It was not only hard work, but it was work that did not allow of a moment’s rest until it was finished. Should the paddles pause but an instant, the canoe would be swept to the bottom of the rapids. When at last the craft floated into the still water above the rapids, the boatmen rested and mopped the perspiration from their brows. Then, without a word, they resumed their steady, easy swing of the paddle. In a short time the canoe drew up at a landing, from which a path ascended the steep hill among the trees. The silence was broken only by the deep, distant, low roar of the Shawenegan Falls. Mr. Trenton sat in his place, while the half-breeds held the canoe steady. Miss Sommerton rose and stepped with firm, self-reliant tread on the landing. Without looking backward she proceeded up the steep hill, and disappeared among the dense foliage. Then Trenton leisurely got out of the canoe.
“You had a hard time of it up that rapid,” said the artist in French to the boatmen. “Here is a five-dollar bill to divide when you get down; and, if you bring us safely back, I shall have another ready for you.”
The men were profusely grateful, as indeed they had a right to be, for the most they expected was a dollar each as a fee.
“Ah,” said the elder, “if we had gentlemen like you to take up every day,” and he gave an expressive shrug.
“You shouldn’t take such a sordid view of the matter,” said the artist. “I should think you would find great pleasure in taking up parties of handsome ladies such as I understand now and then visit the falls.”
“Ah,” said the boatman, “it is very nice, of course; but, except from Miss Sommerton, we don’t get much.”
“Really,” said the artist; “and who is Miss Sommerton, pray?”
The half-breed nodded up the path.
“Oh, indeed, that is her name. I did not know.”
“Yes,” said the man, “she is very generous, and she always brings us tobacco in her pocket—good tobacco.”