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The Beaver, Vol. I, No. 4, January 1921 by Company

As with a rousing cheer we let go the cable


_Fighting the Torrent_

To the tense crowd of men watching it seemed impossible that he could attain his object, but in spite of the great physical strain slowly and surely the figure--now waist deep in the current, now pulling himself up on to a rock, clinging always to the meagre support with a tenacity that the raging torrent could not break--reached its goal.

_Getting A Line Aboard the Wreck_

A sense of relief came to those who watched, but not for long. He rested for a moment to recover his breath; then coolly gathering the small rope into a coil he made the first throw. A gasp went up from the crowd on shore. The distance was too great; the stick hit the water fully twenty feet short. Again and again the attempt failed. Sometimes the missile fell so close that the rope could almost be reached but they had no boat-hook aboard. The thrower could not stand up with good footing to do his work, but from a precarious position threw with arms alone. He rested, tired by his exertions. Suddenly he gathered all his strength and at imminent hazard of hurling himself into the river sent the stick with unerring aim over its mark.

_We Pulled the Scow Off the Rock_

A mighty cheer went up from all the watchers. It was but a moment's work to haul in the cable and make it fast to the end of the scow; every available man on shore found a place on the line, and pulled with might and main to the cry of "Yo heave ho!" that she creaked in every seam and her square end was drawn bow-shaped under the strain on that fragile rope. Pull as we might, our efforts to dislodge her were unavailing. Something had to give, however. It was the line which parted with a snap, hurling us to the ground. A groan went up from those in danger, for in a moment they fell from the highest hope to the lowest depth of despair. They were in worse plight than before, but steadfastly the business of renewing communication with the scow proceeded without delay. Cornwall's efforts were again crowned with success. Little by little our task was accomplished and we were gratified to see the men who were in the water scramble aboard in great haste, as with a rousing cheer we let go the cable.

_A Tenderfoot Spectator_

When we had first arrived at the head of the rapids the previous day, a little man with a large outfit was found encamped on the river bank unable to proceed any further, waiting for something or somebody to turn up. Ten days had passed before help arrived. He had been brought hither by a gasoline engine and canoe, his only companions so far as is known being two spaniels. This gentleman styled himself a prospector ostensibly bound for Fond-du-Lac to investigate the silver strike there; but his proceedings and appearance belied the assertion, for if there were a man who should not have left the shelter of the paternal wings, it was he. The impression gained was that he was one of those helpless useless atoms of humanity that are misfits anywhere, but in the North, where one must be self-reliant, doubly out of place. He having arranged with Mr. Cornwall for a "lift" from there to Fort McMurray, lay all day on his bedding in the sand surrounded by his goods and chattels, playing with his dogs, bestirring himself only to take a photograph occasionally or get a bite to eat.


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