At four o'clock they reached
the forks of the stream--one flowed towards them from the north, the
other from the west.
"Which way?" asked Larson, rousing the Chippewa. The boy got up
immediately and took the stern paddle, steering the western course. They
had paddled something over two miles up that arm when Fox-Foot beached
the canoe, built a fire, spilled out the remainder of the pork and
beans, threw the tin can on the bank, then marshalled his crew aboard
again, and deliberately steered over the course they had already come.
"We lose two miles good work," he explained. "We build decoy fire, we
leave tin can, he come; he think we go that way, but we go north." Back
to the forks and up the northern branch they pulled, both Larry and Jack
not only willing to have done four miles of seemingly unnecessary
paddling, but loud in their praise and appreciation of the Indian's
shrewd tactics. At supper time Fox-Foot would allow no fire to be built,
no landing to be made, no trace of their passing to be left. They ate
canned meat and marmalade, drank again of the stream and pushed on,
until just at dusk they reached the edge of a long, still lake, with
shores of granite and dense fir forest.
Pages:
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79