half-breed knew whereof he spoke when he said: “She too mooch leak.” Water seeped, and trickled, and spurted through the seams and cracks of the old canoe and, while the two men toiled at the paddles, Connie bailed for dear life.
The situation the three faced was anything but enviable. Between them and Dawson raged thirty miles of swirling, ice-choked flood. Their canoe was leaking like a sieve and each moment jagged ice-cakes threatened to rip away sides or bottom.
“They didn’t have no great start,” cheered McKeever, “an’ we’re travellin’ a heap faster’n what they are with that heavy scow. If we can only stay afloat we’ll catch ’em sure—an’ when we do, Squigg’ll wisht he never seen the Yukon!”
“Ye spoke a mouthful, Dan!” vociferated Rip Wade, as his eyes eagerly sought the river ahead.
Despite the utmost efforts of the men, ice-cakes occasionally rasped the sides of the rotten canoe, until at the end of an hour, although Connie redoubled his efforts, the water gained so fast that Sergeant McKeever was forced frequently to abandon his paddle and bail with his cap. To add
