“We are pioneers!” he whispered to himself. “Pioneers!” he repeated softly. How he loved that word. How much it meant to them all; freedom, new life, fresh hope and in the end a home all their own. “And paid for,” he declared sturdily.
Yes, when the government had announced a resettlement project in this rich valley and the Lawsons who had been driven from their farm home by drouth and dust heard of it they had joined up. And here they were: father, mother and son, with cousin Johnny thrown in for good measure.
“Been here six months,” Lawrence thought. “Got a little start. And next year!” Ah, yes, next year. His face sobered. So much depended on the future. And they needed so many things.
“We’ll not go in debt,” his father had insisted stoutly. “Not for a single thing we can do without.”
But now the boy’s mind came back with a snap to the immediate present. As he looked ahead he saw nothing of Johnny. For a second his heart fluttered. Had his good pal come upon an unsuspected air-hole? Had he gone through? Was he, at this moment, caught by the swift current, shooting along rapidly beneath the ice?
“You have to know your river,” an old-timer had said to them. “Every foot of it.” Did Johnny know it well enough, or—
Of a sudden he let out a low, happy laugh. Some distance ahead, showing among the branches of a fallen fir tree, he had caught a glimpse of Johnny’s plaid mackinaw.
“He—he’s all right,” he breathed. “Just getting a look.”
Johnny was now within a hundred yards of that dark pool, where, he hoped, their prize still lurked.
“He must see him with the naked eye,” Lawrence murmured as he glided into the shadow of a shelving bank. Here, steadying himself with one hand, he held the glass to his eyes with the other.