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Updated: June 1, 2025
In the North, a demand for food is seldom refused, but Scott obviously meant to be satisfied with supplying the party's urgent needs. With this Thirlwell agreed. Then Scott said to Driscoll, "You had better take your friends to the bunk-house and tell the cook to make you supper. You know where to get blankets." Stormont got up with an effort, and when he went out with the others Scott smiled.
"It looked as if he'd taken some liquor, but I don't know," Thirlwell answered. "He was obviously scared." "Sure," said Scott. "But he wasn't scared of getting drowned. Steve's a better canoe hand than either of us and has physical pluck." "Then why was he afraid?" Scott looked thoughtful. "I imagine he was afraid of the rapid and the dark.
"I know nothing about mining, but I'm pretty strong," Drummond answered, giving Scott a deerskin bag. "Anyhow, Mr. Thirlwell had better read his letter before you hire me. Antoine, the patron, brought up your mail." "Very well," said Scott. "The cook will give the boys supper soon and you had better go along. Come back afterwards."
"What is superstition?" the missionary asked with a smile. "The old atavistic fear of the dark and the mysterious dangers that threatened our savage ancestors? Or is it an instinctive knowledge that there are supernatural powers, able to punish and reward?" "I don't know," said Thirlwell, who mused and watched the smoke drift past.
It's possible that Strange confused his memory by his subsequent trips, but the agent heard his story when the matter was fresh." Thirlwell did not answer, and Scott cut some tobacco. When he had finished he looked up the river. "The bateaux! Antoine has made good time." Two craft drew out of the shadow of the pines, slid down the swift current, and presently grounded on a gravel beach.
Then she liked the acid wild-berries he brought on a bark tray, and the strong, smoke-flavored tea. She smiled as she remembered that in Toronto she had been fastidious about her meals and sometimes could not eat food that was roughly-served. When supper was over Thirlwell sat on one of the hearth-logs and lighted his pipe. Agatha was pleased that he did so.
"The back-feathering stroke is hard to learn." "For all that, I mean to learn it before I go." "Perhaps I could teach it you. How long have you got?" "A fortnight," she said, moving on, and when she left him Thirlwell went to the mail-box and dropped in his letter.
In front, a narrow bay opened, with the shadowy bush running round. Two canoes lay on the beach, and although they were black and indistinct, Thirlwell imagined they had only been pulled up a few feet. Farther back, the glow of a fire flickered among the trunks, but it was a small fire and burned low and red. Stormont had, no doubt, given orders that no smoke must be made.
They could not be seen now, but what they must do next was risky, and Thirlwell wanted to get his breath. Although he had not used much muscular exertion, his nerves tingled and his face was wet with sweat. After a few moments, he got on his knees and felt inside the canoe. It had not been unloaded and this was the craft to launch, although the weight would make a difference.
The glare faded and a thick, blue haze crept out upon the water, until it looked as if the horizon advanced to meet them, but the heat did not get less. At the edge of the haze, an island loomed indistinctly and by and by Thirlwell turned to Agatha. "There's a good beach behind the point and shelter among the rocks," he said in a breathless voice. "Would you like to stop?"
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