In a little roughly-built lumberman's hotel they ate breakfast in a room
overlooking the river. The proprietor of the hotel, a large red-faced
woman in a clean calico dress, was expecting them and, having served the
breakfast, went out of the room grinning good naturedly and closing the
door behind her. Through the open window they looked at the cold swiftly-
flowing river and at a freckled-faced boy who carried packages wrapped in
blankets and put them in a long canoe tied to a little wharf beside the
hotel. They ate and sat staring at each other like two strange boys,
saying nothing. Sam ate little. His heart pounded in his breast.
On the river he sank his paddle deep into the water, pulling against the
current. During the six weeks' waiting in Chicago she had taught him the
essentials of the canoeist's art and, now, as he shot the canoe under the
bridge and around a bend of the river out of sight of the town, a
superhuman strength seemed in his arms and back. Before him in the prow of
the boat sat Sue, her straight muscular little back bending and
straightening again. By his side rose towering hills clothed with pine
trees, and piles of cut logs lay at the foot of the hills along the shore.
Pages:
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271