Seated upon a thick, burlap-covered bale of freight-a "piece," in
the parlance of the North-Chloe Elliston idly watched the loading
of the scows. The operation was not new to her; a dozen times
within the month since the outfit had swung out from Athabasca
Landing she had watched from the muddy bank while the half-breeds
and Indians unloaded the big scows, ran them light through whirling
rock-ribbed rapids, carried the innumerable pieces of freight upon
their shoulders across portages made all but impassable by scrub
timber, oozy muskeg, and low sand-mountains, loaded the scows again
at the foot of the rapid and steered them through devious and
dangerous miles of swift-moving white-water, to the head of the
next rapid.
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