IN A FISHING COUNTRY 



luctance, so unlike him, so stubbornly 

 persistent, was forgotten in the bustle of 

 departure. 



The usual program went forward, the 

 passengers were landed, the biitin readjust- 

 ed, and N — was off in the lead. Follow- 

 ing on his heels, it was clear from the first 

 moment that we were in for a bad passage. 

 The extra six inches of water doubled the 

 pace of the current, but left the boulders 

 uncovered, or just awash. My canoe, a 

 two-fathom bark, was the easiest to stop or 

 to swing. Warned by a shout from be- 

 hind that the steersman could not hold back 

 his heavier Rice Lake, and must pass, I 

 drew under the lee of a rock while he shot 

 by; then my own affairs became entirely 

 engrossing. Half-way down, a few yards 

 of straight running gave three seconds to 

 look ahead. A man was in the middle of 

 the river, but no more than knee-deep, and 

 one remembers that, beside a natural con- 

 cern, there was a distinct sense of annoy- 

 ance that he was blocking the only comfort- 

 able highway through the ugliest bit of the 

 rapid. Passing, very inconveniently, some 

 fifteen feet away, I saw that he was 

 standing on the side of a submerged canoe 

 which was receiving the whole weight of 

 210 



