Well, I finds myself away off from th'
hole I'd dropped into, an' no way o' findin' he. The river were low
an' had settled a foot below th' ice, which were four or five feet
thick over my head, an' no way o' cuttin' out. So what does I do?"
"An' what does un do?" asked Dick.
"What does I do? I keeps shallow water near th' shore an' holdin' my
head betwixt ice an' water makes down t' th' Porcupine Rapids. 'Twere
a long an' wearisome pull, an' thinks I, 'Tis too much--un's done for
now.' After a time I sees light an' I goes for un. 'Twere a place near
a rock where th' water swingin' around had kept th' ice thin. I gets
t' un an' makes a footin' on th' rock. I gets out my knife an' finds
th' ice breaks easy, an' cuts a hole an' crawls out. By th' time I
gets on th' ice I were pretty handy t' givin' up wi' th' cold."
"'Twere a close call," assented Dick, as he puffed at his pipe
meditatively.
"How far did un go under th' ice?" asked Bill, who had been much
interested in the narrative.
"Handy t' two mile."
For several days after this the men worked very hard from early dawn
until the evening darkness drove them into camp. The current was swift
and the rapids great surging torrents of angry water that seemed bent
upon driving them back.
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