June, 1918 
FORES T A N D S T It E A M 
335 
When we shot around the turn there dead 
ahead of us were Red Horse Rapids! 
kept talking, but I hadn’t extra breath 
enough left to answer, so I pretended I 
didn’t hear him. After I had struggled to 
the grade-top the growth became more open 
and the going better which helped some, 
but I was so tired I couldn’t spit over my 
chin, so I didn’t try. 
“No use talkin’. Newt,” says Clem cheer- 
ingly, “you certainly do know how to lug 
a canoe. Wh>% you walked up that hill 
like a reg’lar Hercules. I’ve seen a good 
many able-bodied men carry canoes, but 
never one who did it as easy as you do.” 
Just before Clem slipped me that bookay 
I was gonna stop a minute to blow, but of 
course I couldn’t after he’d said that, so 
I threw out my chest until I nearly fell 
over backward, gritted my teeth and stag¬ 
gered along. The canoe had increased 
from so lbs. to 150! I nearly sprained 
both ears listening for Clem to say, “There 
now, old scout—I’ll lug it for a spell,” but 
he said everything else except that. Once 
I tried to make the canoe go broadside be¬ 
tween two spruces about five feet apart, 
but this can’t be done—not unless you cut 
down one tree, or saw the canoe in two. 
Bye and bye my foot skidded off a mossy 
log and I went down with the canoe on 
top of me! “Did you fall?” asks Clem. 
“Oh, not at all,” I gasps; “I just stopped 
to get a better hold.” “Newt, I’ll lug it a 
while if you’re tired,” says Clem. “Why, 
I’m not tired,” says I, “but of course if 
you insist on carryin’ it, why, go ahead,” 
and before Clem could back out I dropped 
that canoe like a hot poker. 
I ’M not gonna dwell on that five-mile 
portage across to Rapid River—it’s too 
painful. Suffice to say that by the time 
we got there I was so weak I couldn’t 
hitch up my trousers. “Tired?” says Clem. 
“Gosh, no,” I lies, “that’s just healthy ex¬ 
ercise.” Rapid River where we came out 
was perhaps 100 feet wide and sliding right 
along without any stop-overs. Clem said 
that from what others had told him it was 
made up of long glassy stretches with some 
quick water here and there and pursued a 
very crooked course. It was now about 
10 a. m. and we launched the canoe and 
got aboard, deciding to eat lunch farther 
down stream. Believe me, I was glad to 
squat in the bow after makin’ a two-ton 
truck of myself on that five-mile carry. 
The current was perhaps five or six miles 
m hour and all Clem had to do was steer. 
1 strung up my little bamboo to make a 
:ast now and then as we slid along. “There 
)ught to be a big one lurkin’ in the eddy 
ust below that old root ahead,” says I 
straightening out my line and sailing Miss 
’armachene Belle toward the lucky lookin’ 
In the Rapids we didn’t know whether 
we were in a canoe or an airplane! 
spot. But Miss Belle instead of droppin’ 
in the eddy lit smack on that old root and 
hung fast. Before you could say “Scat!” 
we had passed the root, taken up the slack 
and my reel was buzzing to beat the band! 
“Stop a minute!” I yells; “you’re takin’ off 
all my line!” “How in blazes can I stop 
in this water?” snorts Clem. In less than 
two shakes all my line was off except what 
was tied to the reel-core. I pointed my 
rod back at the stump, hung on and shut 
my eyes. “Snap!” went something and I 
reeled in, but Miss Belle and part of my 
leader remained fast to the stump. “I 
guess,” says Clem, “you’d better cut out 
castin’.” “You’re a good guesser,” says I; 
“fat chance I’d have of landin’ a fish if I 
hooked one while we’re skallv-hootin’ along 
like this.” 
W E went ashore about noon and as 
we ate lunch where a brook brawled 
into the river and smoked our pipes; 
afterward we speculated on what might lie 
below us. When we pushed off again I 
noticed that the river was growing wider, 
deeper and swifter. I held my paddle 
across my knees ready to pry the canoe 
away from any rocks that might be hidden 
ahead. There is something fascinating 
about sliding silently and swiftly down an 
unknown stream, not knowing what beau¬ 
ties the next turn ahead may reveal. O'ut 
from under the bank a mother sheldrake 
and her brood of youngsters suddenly fled 
and splattered their swift way downstream 
ahead of us aided by web and wing. Against 
the blue overhead a fish-hawk circled majes¬ 
tically. We had been shooting along as 
slick as molasses for an hour or more when 
there came to my ear what sounded like a 
low and distant rumble. I listened to it 
for several minutes, then I says to Clem, 
“Do you hear a peculiar noise?” “Yes,” 
says Clem, “I’ve been listenin’ to it for 
some time.” “Must be a thunder-storm 
somewhere down river,” says I. “No,” says 
Clem, “I think it’s the wind blowin’ through 
the trees.” “But there’s no air stirrin’,” 
says I. “Not here,” says Clem, “but there 
probably is around that next turn.” 
Just below us the river made a sharp 
curve around a high rock wall which shut 
off the view beyond it. In a few minutes 
we would see a new stretch of water. 
Meanwhile the mysterious noise continued 
growing louder. Presently we shot around 
the corner—then we knew that what we 
had heard was neither wind nor thunder, 
but something worse than both! As far as 
we could see ahead there was a stretch of 
the wickedest lookin’ rantankerousest white 
water I ever clapped my eye on! On both 
sides of this stretch were high, canvon- 
My paddle must have slipped off the boul¬ 
der—anyhow I went into the wet! 
like walls giving no room to land! Our 
only chance to get ashore was within the 
next 300 feet! 
“Quick!—port your helium!” I yells at 
Clem. “Gee-whizz,” he shrieks, “this must 
be Red Horse Rapids!” For the love of 
Mike put the canoe ashore!” I hollers 
frantically. “I’m doin’ my darndest!” 
yelps Clem. I couldn’t sit there helpless 
in the bow any longer, so I dug my paddle 
down deep and tried to pry the canoe 
shoreward—but I was trying to reach the 
left bank while Clem was bending every 
effort to reach the right. As a result we 
were working with all our might against 
each other and the canoe hung in mid¬ 
stream ! Thus we glided past our last 
chance to land and there was nothing left 
for us to do but sit tight, trust to luck and 
shoot the chutes through that roaring 
froth and foam! 
The next instant we were in the thick 
of it. “Keep the bow off the rocks, Newt!” 
bawls Clem above the crash of the water. 
I had just opened my mouth to answer 
that I’d do my best when the bow smashed 
into an old he-wave and about three gal¬ 
lons of water hit me a wallop in the chest. 
What didn’t hit me there filled my mouth 
and eyes. I choked and gasped and got 
my lamps open in time to see a ragged 
black rock sticking just above the boil 
miss the canoe by the skin of its teeth! 
What would have happened if we had 
struck it made me exceedingly sick at my 
stomach. I turned pale and in spite of 
the cold shower-bath I got began to per¬ 
spire very freely. All the bad, naughty 
things I had done in my life paraded 
through my mind and I wished I hadn’t 
done ’em. I took a quick look back at 
Clem. His face was as white as a lily and 
both eyes were bugged out beyond his 
eyebrows. His lips were moving, but I 
don’t think he was cussin’—I think he was 
prayin’. 
B ELIEVE me, that cruise through Red 
Horse Rapids will forever flourish in 
my memory like a green bay tree. I 
should say offhand we were going about 
25 miles an hour, just missing a boulder 
here or the upthrust of a saw-toothed rock 
there. I was told later that Red Horse 
Rapids is a little over a mile long and that 
the Indians run it in three minutes. To 
me it seemed to be about 10 miles long 
and that it took us two weeks to go 
through it! 
Suddenly ahead the walls fell away and 
the river seemed to drop off while beyond 
that was a big placid pool. But the last 
down-grade slide into that pool was a 
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