But the river treated them kindly.  If their strength had been equal to hard and steady rowing they might have made up for the lost miles.  As it was they knocked off at night with just the number of miles for the day that Milton had planned on in the beginning, and were still a day behind their schedule.  Milton grew no worse, though he was weaker and obviously a very sick man.  A light snow fell during the night but the next morning was clear and invigorating.

They encountered two difficult rapids on the fourth day.  The first one they portaged.  The trail was not difficult but in their weakened condition the boat and poor Milton were heavy burdens and it took them three times as long to accomplish the portage as it would have taken had they been in normal condition.  The second rapids, they shot easily in the afternoon.  The waves were high and every one was saturated with the icy water.  Enoch dared not risk Milton’s remaining wet and as soon as they found a likely place for the camp they went ashore.  The huge pile of drift wood had helped them to decide on this rather unhospitable ledge for what they hoped would be their last night out.

They kindled a big fire and sat about it, steaming and silent, but with the feeling that the worst was behind them.

They rose in a cold driving rain the next morning, ate the last of the beans, drank the last of the coffee, covered Milton as well as could be with blankets and launched the boat.  It was a day of unspeakable misery.  They made one portage, and one let down, and dragged the boat with almost impossible labor over a long series of shallows.  By mid-afternoon they had made up their minds to another night of wretchedness and Agnew was beginning to watch for a camping place, when suddenly he exclaimed,

“Fellows, there’s the Ferry!”

“How do you know?” demanded Enoch.

“I’ve been here before, Judge.  Yes, by Jove, there’s old Grant’s cabin.  I wonder if any one’s reached here yet!”

“Well, Milton, old man, here’s thanks and congratulations,” cried Enoch.

“You’d better thank the Almighty,” returned Milton.  “I certainly had very little to do with our getting here.”

The rain had prevented Agnew’s recognizing their haven until they were fairly upon it.  Even now all that Enoch could see was a wide lateral canyon with a rough unpainted shack above the waterline.  A group of cottonwoods loomed dimly through the mist beside a fence that surrounded the house.

Jonas, who had seemed overcome with joy at Agnew’s announcement, recovered his power of speech by the time the boat was headed shoreward and he raised a shout that echoed from wall to wall.

“Na-che!  Ohee, Na-che!  Here we are, Na-che!”

Agnew opened his lips to comment, but before he uttered the first syllable there rose a shrill, clear call from the mists.

“Jonas!  Ohee, Jonas!”