The days in camp had come to an end, come insensibly to an end, for time had glided so swiftly from one event to another that it was almost impossible to believe that those four months, which had seemed so long in the spring, had actually gone.

It was about seven o’clock in the morning when the canoes put out slowly from the boathouse, one by one, and assembled in a little compact fleet just outside the swimming raft ready for the seven-hundred-mile trip down the river. When the last had joined the fleet there was a mighty wholehearted yell for the old camp, before they all shot away together toward the river. The yell was answered by the one lonely scream of a loon.

There was many a lingering backward look as long as the camp was in sight, but once in the shallow river they were soon too busy to think of it. The river was low, and the mighty Father of Waters was in many places unable to float the little fleet. They frequently had to resort to towlines and it was noon before they passed the mouth of Sucker Brook and La Salle, where they had comparatively deep water. Even then progress was slow, for the lumbermen had blocked the river in many places with splash dams to enable them to drive their logs. Night caught them less than half way to Bemidji.

“And that,” Bill Price said as he looked back up the narrow river of shallow water, “is one of the largest rivers in the world. It certainly looks as though it would have to grow some.”

Ten miles above Bemidji the next afternoon they ran onto the remnant of the spring drive and had to pick their way through the bobbing logs with care. It was slow work and not over safe, but they persevered till late in the evening and finally camped on the shore of Lake Bemidji.

From there on the going was better. The paddlers changed places every half hour to utilize the third man, the portages became less frequent and the little line of canoes slipped rapidly down the river and into Cass Lake. In the center of the lake they saw a beautiful pine-covered, star-shaped island which they recognized from the stories they had heard of it. They stopped there for lunch and had a look at the pretty little lake in the center of it believed by the Indians to be the home of the Windigo, or Indian devil. No one of the native Indians would for any consideration consent to spend a night on the island. Whatever the character of the Windigo he certainly knew how to pick out a beautiful home.

Early the next morning they came to the entrance of Lake Winnibigoshish only to find themselves blocked by an unexpected obstacle. The stiff breeze had lashed the shallow water into a tangle of white-capped waves in which a canoe would have led a very precarious life even if there had been no other danger. But the rough water was only a very small part of it. The lake had been very greatly enlarged by a high government dam which had caused the backed-up waters to spread over several square miles of forest. This flooding had killed all the trees in the overflowed area and left half the lake dotted with dead stubs, some rising high above the surface, others lurking treacherously just out of sight. This made it absolutely unsafe for any boat except on a perfectly quiet day and even then a sharp lookout was necessary.

It was very exasperating to see that great expanse of water, looking to them like a broad parade ground, after the crooked lane of the river, and yet not be able to venture across it. For two days they lolled around camp waiting impatiently while the wind blew steadily.

That evening Merton was goaded to desperation. “You fellows can do as you please,” he said determinedly, “but I am going to cross that lake tomorrow at sunrise. It ought to be smooth at that time of day, but I am going if she is standing straight on end.”

“Well,” Bill said suavely, “of course it does not matter much about your drowning yourself, but it would be a pity to smash up that canoe.”

“It’s an old one,” Merton laughed, “and I’ve used it long enough.”

“I’ll go with you,” Scott announced resolutely; “that’s no place for a man to go alone.”

“Oh, I am not going alone. Our whole boat is agreed on it.”

“Then we’ll all go,” Bill said, “you fellows have no monopoly on the sand in this lake.”

So it came about that the rising sun found the five canoes threading their way cautiously out among the sunken trees toward the open water. The sea was a little choppy, but the boys figured that they could make it across before the wind came up. Once in the deep water they drove steadily ahead, eager for the shelter of the opposite shore. It was a tremendous lake and seemed, now that they were in the middle of it, larger than it had before.

At nine o’clock the wind began to rise perceptibly. They were still some miles from shore and getting into the submerged timber again. There were many narrow escapes, but the light canoes seemed to bear charmed lives and grazed impudently past those cruel black stubs.

The boys had missed so many of them that they became indifferent to the danger. Suddenly there was a vicious rending sound as a sharp dead tamarack pierced the bottom of Morris’s boat as though it had been an eggshell, narrowly missing Bill Price, who was third man in that boat. Quick as a flash Bill broke off the stub with one savage kick and pressed a tent fly tightly down on the break.

“Need help?” Merton called as the other canoes closed in.

“Not yet,” Bill answered quietly. “Now, Morris, you and Steve paddle for shore as tight as you can go while I hold down this pack and bail for it.”

The canoe went swiftly on while Bill, seated on the pack, built a small coffer-dam around himself with blankets and bailed out the water with a quart cup. It rose steadily in spite of his best efforts and began to ooze over the dam. It seemed only a matter of minutes before the canoe would sink. They were making pretty good time, taking chances on not striking any more stubs and rapidly shortening the distance to shore.

At the end of ten minutes the canoe was pretty low in the water. “I can’t make it, fellows,” Bill panted. “Get Mert to tow us and all three of us can keep it down easily.”

They cast a line to the nearest canoe, Merton’s, and all three plied the bailing cups. Slowly the water began to go down and the canoe floated higher.

“I’ll try paddling again,” Morris said. “You and Steve can keep her down, I guess.”

This arrangement greatly increased the speed and the two bailers managed to keep the water down. At last they scraped on the solid ground.

“There,” Bill said as they scrambled ashore and pulled up the disabled canoe, “I feel better now. I kept thinking how unpleasant it would be if I had to swim ashore with one of those sharp stubs puncturing my stomach the way it did that canoe. I had a hunch that it would do it, too.”

The other canoes came safely through and everyone gathered around to see the damage. It proved to be an easy hole to patch and the little procession was soon on its way down the river.

“I suppose it was a foolish thing to do,” Merton said, “but I’m glad we did it. That wind is just ripping again and there is no telling when we should have gotten across.”

The rest of the river was easy traveling and the rapid current helped them along wonderfully. There were a few rapids which they shot successfully, a few dams where they had to portage and one or two places where the logs were so thick that they had trouble in picking their way through them, but most of the time it was plain sailing.

Among the most interesting sights along the river to them was the big paper mill at Little Falls. They knew that they would have the process to study in their course in by-products the next semester, and took the opportunity to see it first hand. Merton interviewed the manager and found him very ready to show them through the whole factory. They found that he had made a canoe trip part way down the river himself at one time, and was very much interested in their adventures.

The manager invited them to spend the evening at his home, but they had not spent a night in a town since they started and resolved not to do so. They thanked him heartily and took to their canoes.

There were very few obstructions in the river below Little Falls and by putting in long hours they made wonderful time. On the evening of the second day they sighted the lights of Minneapolis.

“The town looks good to us now, fellows,” Merton said, “but we have left the best summer of our lives behind us.”

“You bet we have,” was the answering chorus, and for a moment the little group looked silently and wistfully at each other before they scattered their several ways.