CHAPTER XLV 



THE RIVER SHOWS ITS TEETH 



"Oct. 20, 1907.— Athabaska River. In the Canyon. 

 This has been a day of horrors and mercies. We left 

 the camp early, 6.55 — long before sunrise, and portaged 

 the first rapid. About 9 we came to the middle rapid; 

 this Billy thought we could track up, so with two ropes 

 he and Rob were hauling us, I in bow, Preble in stem; 

 but the strong waters of the middle part whirled the 

 canoe around suddenly, and dashed her on a rock. 

 There was a crash of breaking timber, a roar of the 

 flood, and in a moment Preble and I and all the stuff 

 were in the water, 



"'My journals,' I shouted as I went down, and all 

 the time the flood was boiling in my ears my thought 

 was, 'My journals,' — 'my journals.' 



"The moment my mouth was up again above the 

 water, I bubbled out, 'My journals, — save my jour- 

 nals,' then struck out for the shore. Now I saw Preble 

 hanging on to the canoe and trying to right it. His 

 face was calm and unchanged as when setting a mouse- 

 trap. 'Never mind that, save yourself,' I called out; 

 he made no response, and, after all, it was safest to 

 hang on to the canoe. I was swept into a shallow 

 place at once, and got on my feet, then gained the 

 shore. 



289 



