Such was the delectable state of things the morning on which two
canoes darted from the camp of the Knisteneux, amid many expressions
of goodwill. One canoe contained our two friends, Charley and
Jacques; the other, Redfeather and his wife Wabisca.

A few strokes of the paddle shot them out into the stream, which
carried them rapidly away from the scene of their late festivities.
In five minutes they swept round a point which shut them out from
view, and they were swiftly descending those rapid rivers that had
cost Charley and Jacques so much labour to ascend.

"Look out for rocks ahead, Mr. Charles," cried Jacques, as he steered
the light bark into the middle of a rapid, which they had avoided
when ascending by making a portage. "Keep well to the left of yon
swirl. _Parbleu_, if we touch the rock _there_ it'll be all over with
us."

"All right," was Charley's laconic reply. And so it proved, for their
canoe, after getting fairly into the run of the rapid, was evidently
under the complete command of its expert crew, and darted forward
amid the foaming waters like a thing instinct with life. Now it
careered and plunged over the waves where the rough bed of the stream
made them more than usually turbulent. Anon it flew with increased
rapidity through a narrow gap where the compressed water was smooth
and black, but deep and powerful, rendering great care necessary to
prevent the canoe's frail sides from being dashed on the rocks. Then
it met a curling wave, into which it plunged like an impetuous
charger, and was checked for a moment by its own violence. Presently
an eddy threw the canoe a little out of its course, disconcerting
Charley's intention of _shaving_ a rock, which lay in their track, so