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Updated: June 22, 2025
But more than any other she saw the craft of her husband and Monohan, the powerful, black-hulled Panther, the smaller, daintier Waterbug. There was a big gasoline workboat, gray with a yellow funnel, that she knew was Monohan's. And this craft bore past there often, inching its downward way with swifters of logs, driving fast up-lake without a tow.
"I am," Charlie enlightened. "But while I was at the store just now, Paul Abbey 'phoned from Vancouver to know if there was an up-lake boat in. His people are big lumber guns here, and it will accommodate him and won't hurt me to wait a couple of hours and drop him off at their camp. I've got more or less business dealings with them, and it doesn't hurt to be neighborly.
She had passed through what she termed a culinary inferno. Nothing, she considered, could be beyond her after that unremitting drudgery. But Benton failed to come back on the appointed day. The four days lengthened to a week. Then the Panther, bound up-lake, stopped to leave a brief note from Charlie, telling her business had called him to Vancouver.
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