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Only wings could carry them over the stream. In the dry months of summer it was not much more than a creek, with sand bars and pebbly shores and polished rocks sticking out of it. Now, in this flood time of spring, it had no shores and was a thing gone mad. It was deep and black, and swept past with a steady, growling roar, eating into the banks on its way, uprooting trees and slashing itself into caldrons of boiling fury where the channel narrowed or where it leaped <p><img src="/wp-content/uploads/images/42.jpg" alt="杭州洗浴桑拿验证" width="80%" height="80%" /></p> over the great boulders and rock débris of rapids. From where he crouched Peter could see one of these places a quarter of a mile below, and there the water was not black but white, and leaped and spouted as if huge monsters were churning it. Under ordinary conditions the swollen stream would 杭州住家spa养生会所 have lured and fascinated him. It came out of a vast and mysterious Canadian wilderness, and it disappeared into an adventure land of forests equally vast and strange. With it rode many things of interest—huge piles of driftwood, shooting down on the crest of the flood like[46] islands; big logs that sped with the swiftness of monster serpents; and great trees, freshly torn out by the roots, and with their tops trailing and swishing like whips urging on a living thing.

Only wings could carry them over the stream. In the dry months of summer it was not much more than a creek, with sand bars and pebbly shores and polished rocks sticking out of it. Now, in this flood time of spring, it had no shores and was a thing gone mad. It was deep and black, and swept past with a steady, growling roar, eating into the banks on its way, uprooting trees and slashing itself into caldrons of boiling fury where the channel narrowed or where it leaped

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over the great boulders and rock débris of rapids. From where he crouched Peter could see one of these places a quarter of a mile below, and there the water was not black but white, and leaped and spouted as if huge monsters were churning it. Under ordinary conditions the swollen stream would 杭州住家spa养生会所 have lured and fascinated him. It came out of a vast and mysterious Canadian wilderness, and it disappeared into an adventure land of forests equally vast and strange. With it rode many things of interest—huge piles of driftwood, shooting down on the crest of the flood like[46] islands; big logs that sped with the swiftness of monster serpents; and great trees, freshly torn out by the roots, and with their tops trailing and swishing like whips urging on a living thing.

Peter was staring at it when a hand rested itself gently on his head. Donald McRae was watching him, and a slow torture had burned itself like the scar of a living coal in his eyes and face. More than the earth he walked 杭州品茶上课 upon and more than the God he believed in, he loved this boy. It was Peter, with his thin, quizzical face, and his mind and courage developed beyond 杭州保健按摩技师 his strength and years, who had made life bearable and joyous for him. As he had worshiped the mother, linking his soul with hers until it had been taken away, so he worshiped this one precious part of her she had left to him. Without Peter….

He choked back the thickness in his throat as he placed his hand on the boy’s head. It was a habit with him to talk with Peter at times as if he were a man, and the man-way in which Peter’s eyes met his now gave him courage.

“They won’t try to cross that open before dark,” he said. “They’re afraid of us in the light, Peter. But they’ll come when it’s dark. And we can’t wait for them. We’ve got to get away.”

The boy’s face brightened. He 爱杭州龙凤419论坛 had a consummate faith in this father of his. He waited, keenly expectant, twisting one of the blue violets between his thin fingers.

[47]

“Does the creek frighten you, son?” asked the man.

“It’s pretty swift, but I’m not much scared of it.”

“Of course not. You wouldn’t be your dad’s boy, if you were. See that log down there, the big dry one, half in the water?” He pointed, and Peter nodded. “When it begins to get dusk we’ll crawl down and take a ride on that. It won’t be hard to get away.”

For the first time a tremor came in the boy’s voice.

“Dad, what are they trying to shoot us for? What have we done?”

Donald McRae made a pretense of peering through his loophole again. He wanted to cry out with the sickness that was in his heart, and in the same voice call down the vengeance of God upon the makers of that grim and merciless 杭州洗浴的地方 law which at last had come to corner and destroy him where he had built his little cabin home in the edge of the wilderness. It was impossible—now—to answer that question of Peter’s, “What have we done?”

He raised his head, and faced his boy.

“It’s five o’clock. We’d better have a bite to eat. When we take to the water it will spoil our grub.”

From the pocket of a coat which lay at his side he took some biscuits and meat. Peter made a sandwich and munched at it, yearning for a little of the black river-water to go with it. When the man had finished

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he drew from an inside pocket of the same coat a wallet, a pencil and a corked bottle half filled with[48] matches. In the wallet he found a sheet of paper, and on this he wrote for several minutes, after which he folded the sheet of paper very tightly, thrust it into the bottle 杭州桑拿按摩推荐 with the matches, and corked it in securely. Then he gave the bottle to Peter.