HE DID not know what it was that had aroused him, but suddenly he was awake. The room was dark. He could hear the pounding of the engines and the wash of water from the paddlewheel. Now and then the boat trembled slightly. The Northcote was under way.
Was it the subtle movement of the vessel that had awakened him? Something made him uneasy. It was pitch black in the stateroom, but still he moved his eyes around slowly, peering vainly into the gloom. He did not move his body.
He sensed something unusual. Was someone in the room with him?
At once he saw the glint of a blade poised over his head and heard the quiet sound of movement.
He rolled toward the murky figure standing next to his bunk. The blade grazed past his right shoulder as he threw himself at his attacker. He hit with a thump and both bodies fell to the floor of the cabin. The knife clattered over the wooden boards.
For several minutes the two struggled in darkness. The man was quite powerful. Jack felt his head pushed back by the jaw. His neck pressed back against something firm. He's got a kind of hammer lock on me, thought Jack. His neck muscles strained with pain and he felt he was going to faint.
He struck forward but his blows did not land.
With a tremendous heave against his assailant he sought to break free. Suddenly he found himself catapulted off his enemy, his head striking a bench along the bulwark. In the blackness he saw only spiralling images of light from his own nerve endings.
A door slammed and he knew he was alone. He shook his head. He shook it again as he blindly groped to find the door. His hands searched desperately for the latch. He drew himself to his feet. As he did so he found the latch and threw open the door.
He looked to his right down the deck toward the bow of the vessel. No one.
He swivelled left, to the stern. Still no one. He stepped forward to the rail. All he saw was the relentless churning of the great paddle-wheel as it chopped its way through the black waters of the river. He heard metal pistons clang in response to steam pressure. He could also hear the splash of water not thirty feet away.
Suddenly he felt a terrific blow to the back of his head. It came from above. He fell forward. He thrust out his hands to break his fall, but there was nothing there but air. He felt his thighs graze the rail as his body tumbled forward into the black night.
His body hit the surface of the inky water. He immediately felt the frigid cold. Down he went. He held his breath. Down some more. He felt his body being swept along. Current? Undertow?
Then he remembered those churning blades. If one of those blades strikes, you're dead. It doesn't matter if your head is split open or you drown. Either way, you're dead.
Jack forgot his fatigue and shook off his initial surrender. He struck out with powerful strokes in the direction he hoped would bring him away from those relentless blades. Did he feel the undertow drawing him back or was that just the raging current?
Suddenly his face broke the surface.
He was three feet from the hull of the steamboat. It seemed to be racing by. The paddle wheels churned rapidly up out of the water. For a moment they seemed to pause at their zenith, then they came crashing down. Like a guillotine, thought Jack, as he drifted toward the slicing blades.
He redoubled his efforts, swimming away from the hull with all his might. He heard the blades come down. They seemed to strike the water just by his right ear.
Harder he stroked, faster.
The roar of machinery and water was louder now, so loud it sounded like a great rushing waterfall.
He felt the pull of the water rushing to meet the blades.
With his last ounce of energy he kicked and heaved his body forward.
Another stroke. Was he free?
Another stroke. He kicked hard.
And just as quickly as it had come, it left. The rushing sound dissolved. The tow in the water released him.
He turned to watch the Northcote plow on majestically in the night, oblivious to her former passenger.
His body quickly floated away. The speed of the ship seemed even greater than before. Then Jack realized he was being swept downstream by the current. If he didn't make an effort to reach shore he could soon drift to Batoche!
He swam with strong regular strokes in the direction of the east bank of the river. He couldn't really see it, but he knew it was there.
He swam with determination for fifteen minutes and then realized his feet could touch bottom. He stood. It was hard to hold his balance, so powerful was the current. He peered forward through the dark night and there before him was the shoreline.
Once more, with the help of
