So huge was Kit’s disgust that he forebore to speak.

“He’s got his wife with him,” Shorty said.

“That’s his lookout,” Stine contributed.

“And Smoke’s and mine,” was Shorty’s retort.

“I forbid you,” Sprague said harshly.  “Smoke, if you go another step I’ll discharge you.”

“And you, too, Shorty,” Stine added.

“And a hell of a pickle you’ll be in with us fired,” Shorty replied.  “How’ll you get your blamed boat to Dawson?  Who’ll serve you coffee in your blankets and manicure your finger-nails?  Come on, Smoke.  They don’t dast fire us.  Besides, we’ve got agreements.  If they fire us they’ve got to divvy up grub to last us through the winter.”

Barely had they shoved Breck’s boat out from the bank and caught the first rough water, when the waves began to lap aboard.  They were small waves, but it was an earnest of what was to come.  Shorty cast back a quizzical glance as he gnawed at his inevitable plug, and Kit felt a strange rush of warmth at his heart for this man who couldn’t swim and who couldn’t back out.

The rapids grew stiffer, and the spray began to fly.  In the gathering darkness, Kit glimpsed the Mane and the crooked fling of the current into it.  He worked into this crooked current, and felt a glow of satisfaction as the boat hit the head of the Mane squarely in the middle.  After that, in the smother, leaping and burying and swamping, he had no clear impression of anything save that he swung his weight on the steering-oar and wished his uncle were there to see.  They emerged, breathless, wet through, the boat filled with water almost to the gunwale.  Lighter pieces of baggage and outfit were floating inside the boat.  A few careful strokes on Shorty’s part worked the boat into the draw of the eddy, and the eddy did the rest till the boat softly touched the bank.  Looking down from above was Mrs. Breck.  Her prayer had been answered, and the tears were streaming down her cheeks.

“You boys have simply got to take the money,” Breck called down to them.

Shorty stood up, slipped, and sat down in the water, while the boat dipped one gunwale under and righted again.

“Damn the money,” said Shorty.  “Fetch out that whiskey.  Now that it’s over I’m getting cold feet, an’ I’m sure likely to have a chill.”

In the morning, as usual, they were among the last of the boats to start.  Breck, despite his boating inefficiency, and with only his wife and nephew for crew, had broken camp, loaded his boat, and pulled out at the first streak of day.  But there was no hurrying Stine and Sprague, who seemed incapable of realizing that the freeze-up might come at any time.  They malingered, got in the way, delayed, and doubled the work of Kit and Shorty.

“I’m sure losing my respect for God, seein’ as he must ‘a’ made them two mistakes in human form,” was the latter’s blasphemous way of expressing his disgust.