This eBook was produced by David Widger
By Gilbert Parker
Jo Portugtais was breaking the law of the river—he was running a littleraft down the stream at night, instead of tying up at sundown and campingon the shore, or sitting snugly over cooking-pot by the little woodencaboose on his raft. But defiance of custom and tradition was a habitwith Jo Portugais. He had lived in his own way many a year, and he waslikely to do so till the end, though he was a young man yet. He had manyprofessions, or rather many gifts, which he practised as it pleased him.He was river-driver, woodsman, hunter, carpenter, guide, as whim oropportunity came to him. On the evening when Charley Steele met with hismishap he was a river-driver—or so it seemed. He had been up nor'west ahundred and fifty miles, and he had come down-stream alone with his raft-which in the usual course should take two men to guide it—throughslides, over rapids, and in strong currents. Defying the code of theriver, with only one small light at the rear of his raft, he voyaged theswift current towards his home, which, when he arrived opposite the CoteDorion, was still a hundred miles below. He had watched the lights inthe river-drivers' camps, had seen the men beside the fires, and haddrifted on, with no temptation to join in the songs floating out over thedark water, to share the contents of the jugs raised to boisterous lips,or to thrust his hand into the greasy cooking-pot for a succulent bone.
He drifted on until he came opposite Charlemagne's tavern. Here thecurrent carried him inshore. He saw the dim light, he saw dark figuresin the bar-room, he even got a glimpse of Suzon Charlemagne. He droppedthe house behind quickly, but looked back, leaning on the oar andthinking how swift was the rush of the current past the tavern. His eyeswere on the tavern door and the light shining through it. Suddenly thelight disappeared, and the door vanished into darkness. He heard ascuffle, and then a heavy splash.
"There's trouble there," said Jo Portugais, straining his eyes throughthe night, for a kind of low roar, dwindling to a loud whispering, andthen a noise of hurrying feet, came down the stream, and he could dimlysee dark figures running away into the night by different paths.
"Some dirty work, very sure," said Jo Portugais, and his eyes travelledback over the dark water like a lynx's, for the splash was in his ear,and a sort of prescience possessed him. He could not stop his raft. Itmust go on down the current, or be swerved to the shore, to be fastened.
"God knows, it had an ugly sound," said Jo Portugais, and again strainedhis eyes and ears. He shifted his position and took another oar, wherethe raft-lantern might not throw a reflection upon the water. He saw alight shine again through the tavern doorway, then a dark object blockthe light, and a head thrust forward towards the river as thoughlistening.
At this moment he fancied he saw something in the water nearing him. Hestretched his neck. Yes, there was something.
"It's a man. Go