At the little town he made his own arrangements for the building of his cabin in the fall, and cashed a draft for himself and one for Mr. Lyndsay. The seven hundred dollars of Canadian notes he rolled into a tight bundle and put in his breeches-pocket. Then, after a hasty meal and a little rest, he turned back for the journey up the river.
There was some paddling to do until they reached swift water, and here he “spelled” his bowmen, taking a turn at poling, and pushed on. Three miles an hour is very good speed at this business, and thus, as the way was long, it was far into the night before they reached the Cliff Camp. Every one else but Jack was in bed. He had taken his blanket and gun, and settled himself patiently at the foot of the cliff.
“Is that you, Nimrod?” said Carington.
“Yes.”
“You have had a long wait. Is your father up?”
“No.”
“Then I must keep this money until Ellett can give it to him to-morrow. Jump in. It is late.”
In five minutes the boy was asleep in the bottom of the canoe. Carington began to think over what he should do next day about the tombstone business.
At his own camp-ground it took him some five minutes to restore Jack, for a time, to the world of the wakeful, and Carington himself was glad enough to find his own couch.
Before dawn, Michelle touched him on the shoulder.