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"I tell you I only had two glasses of beer!" cried Charlie, goaded, "and I can prove it by Johnny Challan." Orde turned to survey the pink-cheeked, embarrassed young boy thus designated. "How many glasses did Johnny Challan have?" he inquired. "He didn't drink none to speak of," spoke up the boy. "Then why this joyless demeanour?" begged Orde.
"It's so," she insisted, "and I like him for it only I wish he were a little cleaner." She thought the feats of "log-riding" little less than wonderful, and you may be sure the knowledge of her presence did not discourage spectacular display. Finally, Johnny Challan, uttering a loud whoop, leaped aboard a log and went through the chute standing bolt upright.
We interpreted this as an answer, and made up an outfit for five. The following morning at six o'clock we were under way. Johnnie Challan ferried us across the river in two instalments. We waved our hands and plunged through the brush screen. Thenceforth it was walk half an hour, rest five minutes, with almost the regularity of clockwork.
Billy, Johnnie Challan, and Buckshot squatted in a semi-circle, and drew diagrams in the soft dirt with a stick. Tawabinisay sat on a log and overlooked the proceedings. Finally he spoke. "He called Black Beaver Lake." "Ask him if he'll take us to Kawagama," I requested. Tawabinisay looked very doubtful. "Come on, Tawab," urged Doc, nodding at him vigorously. "Don't be a clam.
With these were Indians. Buckshot, a little Indian with a good knowledge of English; Johnnie Challan, a half-breed Indian, ugly, furtive, an efficient man about camp; and Tawabinisay himself. This was an honour due to the presence of Doc. Tawabinisay approved of Doc. That was all there was to say about it. After a few days, inevitably the question of Kawagama came up.
Charlie grumbled, fiercely inarticulate; but Johnny Challan interposed with a chuckle of enjoyment. "He got 'bunked." "Tell us!" cried Orde delightedly. "It was down at McNeill's place," explained Johnny Challan; encouraged by the interest of his audience. "They was a couple of sports there who throwed out three cards on the table and bet you couldn't pick the jack.
Johnny Challan was explaining to his companions exactly how the game was played. "It's a case of keep your eye on the card, I should think," said big Tim Nolan. "If you got a quick enough eye to see him flip the card around, you ought to be able to pick her." "That's what this sport said," agreed Challan. "'Your eye agin my hand, says he." "Well, I'd like to take a try at her," mused Tim.
We felt them hovering, vague, huge, dreadful, just outside the circle of safety our fire had traced about us. The cheerful flames were dancing familiars who cherished for us the home feeling in the middle of a wilderness. Two days we lingered, then took the back track. A little after noon we arrived at the camp, empty save for Johnnie Challan. Towards dark the fishermen straggled in.
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