The second rapids, they shot easily
in the afternoon. The waves were high and every one was saturated with
the icy water. Enoch dared not risk Milton's remaining wet and as soon
as they found a likely place for the camp they went ashore. The huge
pile of drift wood had helped them to decide on this rather
unhospitable ledge for what they hoped would be their last night out.
They kindled a big fire and sat about it, steaming and silent, but with
the feeling that the worst was behind them.
They rose in a cold driving rain the next morning, ate the last of the
beans, drank the last of the coffee, covered Milton as well as could be
with blankets and launched the boat. It was a day of unspeakable
misery. They made one portage, and one let down, and dragged the boat
with almost impossible labor over a long series of shallows. By
mid-afternoon they had made up their minds to another night of
wretchedness and Agnew was beginning to watch for a camping place, when
suddenly he exclaimed,
"Fellows, there's the Ferry!"
"How do you know?" demanded Enoch.
"I've been here before, Judge. Yes, by Jove, there's old Grant's
cabin. I wonder if any one's reached here yet!"
"Well, Milton, old man, here's thanks and congratulations," cried Enoch.
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