“But it was better than nothing,” said Sandy, as he carefully placed his musket in the canoe before even thinking of attempting to get aboard himself.
Bob did not make a single move until he had seen his brother safely over the side. Indeed, to judge from his actions, one might be inclined to think that he even kept himself in readiness to clutch Sandy, should the other manage to slide down the side of the log into the water, instead of gaining a lodgment in the boat. Then Bob copied the other’s actions, his precious gun being first made secure before he would think of himself.
It was rather a ticklish business leaving the log, and entering the canoe that, being made of birch bark, was so light in build that it careened under the passage of the boys, and might have tipped over had not both Pat and the young Shawanee brave leaned far to the opposite side while the embarkation was taking place.
“Good-bye, old log!” said Sandy, now in an exultant frame of mind that contrasted strangely with his recent gloomy spirits. “We hope you will have a good voyage down to the great Mississippi. Tell them that, perchance, the Armstrong boys will be navigating that way to see some of the wonders they have so long been hearing about. You were a pretty fair kind of a log, though we are not sorry to part with you.”
Already was the paddle, in the expert hands of Blue Jacket, busily employed in sending the craft toward the southern shore of the swollen river. Pat O’Mara had his share of curiosity, and he was not the one to keep silent when desirous of knowing the true facts.
“Sure, ’tis a quare thing to be findin’ the two av yees adrift on a tree out on this high water,” he started to say; “and, by the same token, if yees have no objection, ’tis mesilf wud like to know how the same came about.”
“That is easy enough to tell, Pat,” burst out Sandy. “Of course, you mustn’t think we started from the shore, to cross over on an old log. It was just an accident, and that’s all. My paddle broke under the strain; and, when this log came whirling down on our boat, Bob alone could not get it out of the way. So it was upset, and we were lucky enough to scramble aboard, guns and all.”
The Irish trapper was loud in his exclamations of wonder.
“It do bate iverything how ye two lads always manage to chate the ould Reaper whin he thinks he has ye in the hollow av his hand,” he declared. “I warrant ye that nine out av tin min would have at laste taken a dip in the water afore crawling aboord the log; and, be the powers, ye do not same to be wit at all, at all.”
“We were wondering how we could manage to get ashore, so as to head for home,” Sandy went on to say, “when Bob thought of a way. Just when we heard your answer to our last shout we were about to fasten our guns and clothing to the log, slip overboard, and, by swimming, push it toward the shore.”