"Del," said Friant, "I'm all in. I can't navigate. Here's where I
quit."
"Can't you carry her any farther?"
"Not an inch."
"Well, pile her on. I'll carry her for you."
Friant looked at him a moment in silent amazement.
"Do you mean to say that you are going to carry your pack and mine
too?"
"That's what I mean to say. I'll do it if I have to."
Friant drew a long breath.
"Well," said he at last, "if a little sawed-off cuss like you can
wiggle under a hundred and eighty, I guess I can make it under sixty."
"That's right," said Del imperturbably. "_If you think you can, you
can_."
"And I did," ends Friant, with a chuckle.
Therein lies the whole secret. The work is irksome, sometimes even
painful, but if you think you can do it, you can, for though great is
the protest of the human frame against what it considers abuse, greater
is the power of a man's grit.
We carried the canoe above the larger eddies, where we embarked
ourselves and our packs for traverse, leaving Deuce under strict
command to await a second trip. Deuce disregarded the strict command.
From disobedience came great peril, for when he attempted to swim
across after us he was carried downstream, involved in a whirlpool,
sucked under, and nearly drowned. We could do nothing but watch. When,
finally, the River spued out a frightened and bedraggled dog, we drew a
breath of very genuine relief, for Deuce was dear to us through much
association.
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