It was much as Rob had predicted in the last entry of his diary previously quoted. Uncle Dick hurried them through their breakfast.

“We’ll see some fun to-day, boys,” said he.

“How do you mean?” asked Jesse. “Are they going to try to run the boats through?”

“They’ll have to run the scows through light, so FranÇois tells me. There isn’t water enough to take them through loaded, so practically each one will have to unship its cargo here.

“You see that wooden tramway running down the island?” He pointed toward a crooked track laid roughly on cross-ties, the rails of wood. “That is perhaps the least expensive railroad in the world, and the one which makes the most money on its capital. I don’t think it cost the Company over eight hundred dollars. It couldn’t be crookeder or worse. And yet it pays for itself each year several times over, just by the outside trade which it does!

“They built this railroad after the Klondike rush came through here. Previous to that all the goods had to be taken over the ‘short portage’—you see that place over on the steep hillside at the right side of the river—a mile and a half of it, and every pound of the Company and Klondike baggage that went north had to be carried on men’s backs along that slippery footing. It was necessary to run these rapids and to build this railroad. You will see how both ideas will work to-day.”

Some of the boats had been loaded so heavily that part of the cargo had to be left above the shallow water—one more handling of the freightage necessitated in the north-bound journey, but each boat, carrying as much as could be floated, now came poling down through the rocks to the head of the island.

The men, half in and half out of the water, began to unload this cargo and to pile it in a great heap at the head of the wooden railroad. There were two flat-cars, and rapidly these were loaded and pushed off to the foot of the island, half or three-quarters of a mile. There every pound of the baggage had to be unloaded once more, and after that once more carried from the landing into the boats at the foot of the island.

“Well, are they going to take the boats down on the cars, too?” demanded Jesse.

“They have done that for others,” answered Uncle Dick, “and charged them ten dollars a boat for doing it, too. But as I said, we’ll have to run our scows down on the right-hand passage. That’s the fun I was talking about.”

Rob came up to him now excitedly. “Tell me, Uncle Dick, can’t I go through—couldn’t I go through with you in the very first boat?”

His uncle looked at him for a time soberly before he replied. “Well, I don’t like to mollycoddle any of you,” said he, “but I’ll tell you what we’ll do. We’ll have to leave John and Jesse here on the island. If FranÇois says it’s safe I’ll let you go through with me on the first boat. It’s no place for us to be in this country if we’re going to sidestep every little bit of risk there is. That isn’t a manly thing to do. But the other two boys will have to wait for a while.

“There’s bad news,” he said to Rob, a little later, aside. “Word has just come up by canoe from the Long Rapids below here that four men were drowned day before yesterday. They were going down to McMurray, and although they had a native pilot they got overturned in the rapids and couldn’t get out. The Mounted Police are looking for the bodies now.”

It was with rather sober faces that our young travelers now watched the boatmen at their portage-work, although the latter themselves were cheerful as always, and engaged, as before, in friendly rivalry in feats of strength. Everything was confusion, yet there was a sort of system in it, after all, for each man was busy throughout the long hours of the day. As a scow came in its cargo was rapidly taken out, as rapidly piled up ashore, and quite as rapidly flung on top of the flat-cars for transport across the great portage.

Our young adventurers saw with interest that a good many of the boatmen were quite young, boys of fifteen, sixteen, and eighteen years of age. Some of these latter did the full work of a man, and one slight chap of seventeen, with three sacks of flour, and another youth of his own weight on top of it all, stood for a time supporting a staggering weight of several hundred pounds while Jesse fumbled with his camera to make a picture of him.

At about eleven o’clock in the morning of the second day Uncle Dick came to Rob and drew him aside.

“The first boat is going through,” said he. “FranÇois will take it down. It’s a Company scow with about a quarter of its cargo left in. Cap. Shott says it is all right. Are you still of a mind to go, or do you want to stay here?”

“Not at all, sir!” rejoined Rob, stoutly. “I’ll go through, of course.”

So presently they both stepped into the lightly loaded scow which lay at the head of the island. The men consisted of the steersman, FranÇois; a bowman, Pierre; and four oarsmen. They all were stripped to trousers and shirts. At a word from FranÇois the boat pushed out, the men poling it through the maze of rocks at the head of the island to a certain point at the head of the right-hand channel where the current steadied down over a wide and rather open piece of water.

The bowman carried in his hand a long lance-like shaft or pole, and stood with it upon the short bow deck. At the stern of the boat there was a plank laid across which acted as a bridge for the commodore, FranÇois, who walked back and forward across it as he worked his great steering-oar, which ran out at the back of the scow.

If the men had any anxiety about their undertaking, they did not show it. FranÇois smoked calmly. It was to be noted that Cap. Shott did not go through on the first boat, but remained on the shore. The skill of his wild calling had been passed down to the next generation.

FranÇois at last gave a short word or so of command in Cree. The oarsmen straightened out the boat. FranÇois motioned now to all the occupants to keep to the side, so that he would have a clear view ahead.

Little by little, as the current caught it, the scow began to slip on faster and faster. By and by waves began to come up alongside, almost to the gunwale. Rob had the vague impression that this boat was made of astonishingly thin boards, and that the water made a great noise upon it. Under the oars it creaked and strained and seemed very frail.

The men were silent now, but eager. FranÇois, pipe in mouth, was very calm as he stood at the oar, his eyes fixed straight ahead.

About half-way down the side of the island came the most dangerous part of the run. Suddenly the bowman sprang erect and cried out something in Cree, pointing sharply almost at right angles to the course of the boat. FranÇois gave a few quick orders and the oarsmen swung hard upon one side. The head of the scow swung slowly into the current. The channel here, however, passed between two great boulders, over the lower one of which the river broke in a high white wave. It was the duty of the steersman to swing the boat between these giant rocks, almost straight across the course of the river, a feat of extreme difficulty with such a craft or indeed with any craft. This was the bad place in the channel always known as “The Turn.”

It seemed to Rob as if the whole river now was eager to accomplish their destruction. He was certain that the scow would be dashed upon the rocks and wrecked.

It was dashed upon the rocks! The turn was not made quite successfully, because of the too great weight of the cargo left in this boat. With a crash the scow ran high up on the lower rock, and lay there, half out of water, apparently the prey of the savage river. Rob felt a hand laid upon his shoulder.

“Steady, old chap!” said Uncle Dick. “Keep quiet now. We’re still afloat.”

This accident seemed to be something for which the men were not altogether unprepared. If they were alarmed they did not show it. There were a few quick words in Cree, to be sure, but each man went about his work methodically. Under the orders of FranÇois they shifted the cargo now to the floating side of the boat. All of the men except two or three pole-men took that side also. Then, under command, with vast heaving and prying on the part of the pole-men, to the surprise of Rob at least, the boat began to groan and creak, but likewise to slide and slip. Little by little it edged down into the current, until the bow was caught by the sudden sweep of the water beyond and the entire craft swung free and headed down once more! It seemed to these new-comers as an extraordinary piece of river work, and such indeed it was. A stiffer boat than this loose-built scow might have broken its back and lost its cargo, and all its crew as well. As it was, this boat went on down-stream, carrying safely all its contents.

Rob drew a long breath, but he would not show to the men any sign that he had been afraid.

Here and there among the rocks the oarsmen, under the commands of the steersman, picked their way, the lower half of the passage being much more rapid. On ahead, the river seemed to bend sharply to the left. Now Rob saw once more the bowman spring to his feet on his short forward deck. Calling out excitedly, he pointed far to the left with his shaft. Rob looked on down-stream, and there, a mile and a half below, he saw erected against a high bank a diamond-shaped frame or target. At this the bowman was pointing directly with his lance. It was the target put up there after the Klondike disasters by the Mounted Police, and indicated the course of the safe channel at the lower end of the chute.

FranÇois, pipe in mouth, calmly swung his sinewy body against the steering-oar. The bow of the boat crawled around to the left, far off from the island, toward the shore, where was a toboggan-like pitch of very fast but safe water for a distance of some hundreds of yards.

As they entered the head of this chute, the bowman still crouching with his pole poised, it seemed to Rob that he heard shouts and cries from the island, where, indeed, all those left behind were gathered in a body, waiting for the first boat in the annual brigade to go through—something of an event, as they regarded it.

But Rob’s eyes were on ahead. He saw the boat hold its course straight as an arrow toward the great target on the farther bank. With astonishing speed it coasted down the last incline of the Grand Rapids. Then, under the skilful handling of steersman and oarsmen, the boat swung to the right, around a sort of promontory which extended around the right-hand bank. Rob looked around at Uncle Dick, who was curiously regarding him. But neither spoke, for both of them knew the etiquette of the wilderness—not to show excitement or uneasiness in any unusual or dangerous circumstances.

FranÇois, who had narrowly regarded his young charge, now smiled at him.

“Dot leetle boy, she is good man,” he said to Uncle Dick. “He’ll is not got some scares.”

Rob did not tell him whether or not this was the exact truth, but only smiled in turn.

“Well, here we are,” said he. “But what good does it do us? There’s the foot of the island up there, three or four hundred yards away at least. And how can we get a boat up against these rapids, I’d like to know? Right here is where both the big chutes join. It would take a steamboat to get up there.”

FranÇois, who understood a little English, did not vouchsafe any explanation, but only smiled, and Uncle Dick gravely motioned silence as well. Rob could see the eyes of FranÇois fixed out midstream, and, following his gaze, he presently saw some dark object bobbing about out there, going slowly down-stream.

“Look, Uncle Dick!” he cried. “What’s that? It looks like a seal.”

The latter shook his head. “No seals in here,” said he. “That must be a log.”

“So it is,” said Rob. “But look at it—it’s stopped now.”

No one explained to him what all this meant. FranÇois sprang to his steering-oar and gave some swift orders. The boat swung out from the bank, and under the sweeps made straight out midstream, where the black object now bobbed at the edge of the slack water. Rob could see what had stopped it now—it was made fast by a long rope, which was in turn made fast somewhere up-stream, he could not tell where.

With a swift pass of his pole the bowman caught the rope as the boat swung near. Rapidly he pulled in the short log and made fast the rope to the bow of the boat. The scow now swung into the current, its head pointed up-stream, and hung stationary there, supported against the current by some unseen power. To Rob’s surprise, the oarsmen now took in their oars.

“Well, now, what’s going to happen?” he asked of Uncle Dick.

But the latter only shook his head and motioned for silence.

Slowly but steadily the scow now began to ascend the river, to breast the white waters which came rolling down, to surmount the full force of the current of the Athabasca River in its greatest rapids!

Rob glanced on ahead. He could see a long line of men bending under the great rope which had been floated down to them in this curious way. They walked inshore, steadily following the line of the railroad track for almost a quarter of a mile, as it seemed to the other boys who watched this proceeding ashore.

Steadily the boat climbed up the river, and now, with the aid of the oarsmen and the steersman, it finally came to rest at a sheltered little cove at the foot of the island, in slack water, where the landing was good and cargo could easily be transhipped.

Rob and his older companions stepped ashore, and each smiled as he looked at the other.

“Don’t tell me, son,” said Uncle Dick, “that these people don’t know their business! That’s the finest thing I’ve ever seen in rough-neck engineering in all my life—and I’ve seen some outdoor work, too.”

He stood now looking up the white water down which they had come, and at the rough hillside beyond where the old portage had lain in earlier days.

“It’s the only way it could have been done!” said he. “You see, these fellows don’t carry a pound that they don’t have to, but they don’t risk losing a cargo by trying to run through with full load when the water won’t allow it. They don’t get rattled and they know their business. It’s fine—fine!”

“That’s what it is, sir,” said Rob. “I never saw better fun in all my life.”

By this time Jesse and John came running up, and the boys fell into one another’s arms, asking a dozen questions all at once.

“Weren’t you awfully scared?” said Jesse, somewhat awed at Rob’s accomplishment.

“Well,” said Rob, truthfully, “I did a good deal of thinking when we went fast on that rock out there in the middle. That was pretty bad.”

“Uncle Dick,” called out John, excitedly now. “Say, now, it’s no fair for Rob to go through and us others not. Can’t we go with the next boat?”

Uncle Dick stood looking at them quietly for a time, his hands in his pockets.

“You wait awhile,” said he. “There’ll be forty or fifty boats going through here. Time enough later to see whether it’s safe for you two youngsters to risk it.”