CHAPTER XX
_In Which David Grey's Friend, the Son of the Factor at Fort Red Wing, Yarns of the Professor With the Broken Leg, a Stretch of Rotten River Ice and the Tug of a White Rushing Current_
One quiet evening, after sunset, in the early summer, when the folk ofRuddy Cove were passing time in gossip on the wharf, while theyawaited the coming of the mail-boat, old David Grey, who had told thetale of McLeod and the tomahawks, called to Billy Topsail and hisfriends. A bronzed, pleasant-appearing man, David's friend, shookhands with the boys with the grip of a woodsman. Presently he driftedinto a tale of his own boyhood at Fort Red Wing in the wilderness farback of Quebec. "You see," said he, "my father had never fallen intothe habit of coddling me. So when the lost Hudson Bay GeologicalExpedition made Fort Red Wing in the spring--every man exhausted,except the young professor, who had broken a leg a month back, and hadset it with his own hands--it was the most natural thing in the worldthat my father should command me to take the news to Little Lake,whence it might be carried, from post to post, all the way to thedepartment at Ottawa.
"'And send the company doctor up,' said he. 'The little professor'sleg is in a bad way, if I know anything about doctoring. So you'llmake what haste you can.'
"'Yes, sir,' said I.
"'Keep to the river until you come to the Great Bend. You can take thetrail through the bush from there to Swift Rapids. If the ice isbroken at the rapids, you'll have to go round the mountain. That'lltake a good half day longer. But don't be rash at the rapids, and keepan eye on the ice all along. The sun will be rotting it by day now. Itlooks like a break-up already.'
"'Shall I go alone, sir?' said I.
"'No,' said my father, no doubt perceiving the wish in the question.'I'll have John go with you for company.'
"John was an Indian lad of my own age, or thereabouts, who had beenbrought up at the fort--my companion and friend. I doubt if I shallever find a stancher one.
"With him at my heels and a little packet of letters in my breastpocket, I set out early the next day. It was late in March, and thesun, as the day advanced, grew uncomfortably hot.
"'Here's easy going!' I cried, when we came to the river.
"'Bad ice!' John grunted.
"And it proved to be so--ice which the suns of clear weather hadrotted and the frosts of night and cold days had not repaired. Rottenpatches alternated with spaces of open water and of thin ice, whichthe heavy frost of the night before had formed.
"When we came near to Great Bend, where we were to take to the woods,it was late in the afternoon, and the day was beginning to turn cold.
"We sped on even more cautiously, for in that place the current isswift, and we knew that the water was running like mad below us. I wasahead of John, picking the way; and I found, to my cost, that the waywas unsafe. In a venture offshore I risked too much. Of a sudden theice let me through.
"It was like a fall, feet foremost, and when I came again to thepossession of my faculties, with the passing of the shock, I foundthat my arms were beating the edge of ice, which crumbled before them,and that the current was tugging mightily at my legs.
"'Look out!' I gasped.
"The warning was neither heard nor needed. John was flat on hisstomach, worming his way towards me--wriggling slowly out, his eyesglistening.
"Meanwhile I had rested my arms on the edge, which then crumbled nomore; but I was helpless to save myself, for the current had sucked mylegs under the ice, and now held them securely there, sweeping themfrom side to side, all the while tugging as if to wrench me from myhold. The most I could do was to resist the pull, to grit my teeth andcling to the advantage I had. It was for John to make the rescue.
"There was an ominous crack from John's direction. When I turned myeyes to look he was lying still. Then I saw him wriggle out of danger,backing away like a crab.
"'John!' I screamed.
"The appeal seemed not to move him. He continued to wriggle from me.When he came to solid ice he took to his heels. I caught sight of himas he climbed the bank, and kept my eyes upon him until he disappearedover the crest. He had left me without a word.
"The water was cold and swift, and the strength of my arms and backwas wearing out. The current kept tugging, and I realized, loath as Iwas to admit it, that half an hour would find me slipping under theice. It was a grave mistake to admit it; for at once fancy began topaint ugly pictures for me, and the probabilities, as it presentedthem, soon flustered me almost beyond recovery.
"'I was chest-high out of the water,' I told myself. 'Chest-high! Nowmy chin is within four inches of the ice. I've lost three inches. I'mlost!'
"With that I tried to release my feet from the clutch of the current,to kick myself back to an upright position, to lift myself out. It wasall worse than vain. The water was running so swiftly that it dangledmy legs as it willed, and the rotten ice momentarily threatened to letme through.
"I lost a full inch of position. So I settled myself to wait for whatmight come, determined to yield nothing through terror or despair. Myeyes were fixed stupidly upon the bend in the river, far down, where aspruce-clothed bluff was melting with the dusk.
"What with the cold and the drain upon my physical strength, it may bethat my mind was a blank when relief came. At any rate, it seemed tohave been an infinitely long time in coming; and it was with a shockthat John's words restored me to a vivid consciousness of mysituation.
"'Catch hold!' said he.
"He had crawled near me, although I had not known of his approach, andhe was thrusting towards me the end of a long pole, which he had cutin the bush. It was long, but not long enough. I reached for it, butmy hand came three feet short of grasping it.
"John grunted and crept nearer. Still it was beyond me, and he daredventure no farther. He withdrew the pole; then he crept back andunfastened his belt. Working deliberately but swiftly, he bound thebelt to the end of the pole, and came out again. He cast the beltwithin reach, as a fisherman casts a line. I caught it, clutched it,and was hauled from my predicament by main strength.
"'John,' I said, as we drew near to the half-way cabin, 'I know yourblood, and it's all very well to be careful not to say too much; butthere's such a thing as saying too little. Why didn't you tell mewhere you were going when you started for that pole?'
"'Huh!' said John, as if his faithfulness to me in every fortune werequite beyond suspicion.
"'Yes, I know,' I insisted, 'but a word or two would have saved me adeal of uneasiness.'
"'Huh!' said he."