THE BAD WEATHER NAPPY had smelled coming came on late in the day, when the canoe party was rounding a headland with a long tongue of gravel snaking off it out into the lake. The canoes were a good half mile from shore when the wind came spanking over the water from the west. Dark clouds had suddenly piled up and the lake bloomed with a quick chop that quickly swelled to small waves.
Nappy motioned to everyone to paddle for shore in the straightest line they could.
The Indians from Quebec had the worst job. Their canoes were big and heavy and hard to move, as laden as they were. But they dug in their paddles and the heavy boats made good way.
Felix had the girl with the cut head in his canoe. Du Pré and Nappy hung back. Chase, the two men, and the other woman were in two slender canoes, and they should have been all right. But Chase seemed to panic; he lost his rhythm and more or less fought his partner.
Nappy let loose a string of curses.
Chase’s canoe hit something in the water—maybe a tree so waterlogged, it floated barely beneath the surface. They never did find out.
The canoe swung broadside to the wind. Chase actually stood up in the tippy craft, and over it went, foundered. Dunnage floated for a moment and then sank. Chase was wearing a life vest, but the other man wasn’t and he couldn’t swim very well.
Nappy and Du Pré came alongside the wreck, and Du Pré actually had to crack Chase’s hands with the canoe paddle or he would have pulled them over, too. They managed finally to get the other man into their canoe. Chase was screaming something, but no one paid any attention. The waves were not very big and Chase was in no danger, so they left him shrieking and drove for shore while sleet pelted them, the front behind the wind was wet and cold.
They let the man wade in to the others, who were setting up tents, and went back out for Chase. He was clinging to the floundered canoe, red-eyed and out of breath. Du Pré was beginning to dislike this Chase a lot.
They finally got the man into the boat and ran in. The wind was screaming at the west end of the little lake and just as they pulled the canoe out, a rolling front hit, the booms of thunder felt as if they were right overhead. Hail bashed down, some as big as eggs. Big enough to hurt you bad. They all huddled in the tents.
Chase had been a long time in cold water and he was shivering too much to speak.
The storm passed. Du Pré went out to the beach and saw Chase’s canoe, and a lot of the waterlogged dunnage he had been carrying, had been driven in toward shore. He waded out and grabbed the canoe and dragged it in.
Felix saw him and came to help.
They turned the canoe over to drain and waited a minute, smoking, for some of the water to seep out of the bags.
Chase had recovered enough to start screaming at Nappy.
Nappy walked out to Felix and Du Pré, calmly lighting his pipe.
“Would that God had let him drown,” said Nappy.
They nodded.
The man Du Pré and Nappy had rescued came over to them and thanked them.
“I think Paul forgot to take his medication,” the man said. Du Pré thought his name was Tim, but not for sure. Weeks on this trip and I don’t even know his name for sure. We are one tight team, Du Pré thought.
“We are two, three days from that archaeological place,” said Nappy. “I think that we have to get there before Chase can get a plane to get him out of here.”
“Leave?” said Tim. “He hasn’t said anything about that.”
“He will,” said Du Pré.
They carried the bags up to the camp. Chase started scrabbling in them. He took a vial of pills out and swallowed two.
“We’ll break this expedition off at the dig,” he said after a minute.
“We’ll go on,” said the canoe builder. The rest of the Quebec Indians nodded in agreement.
“So will I,” said Du Pré.
“I am in command!” Chase screamed.
“No,” said Nappy, “I am. You are not shit. Chase.”
“You won’t be paid!” Chase screamed.
Nappy shrugged and walked away. Chase jumped after him and grabbed his shoulder.
Nappy punched him expertly. Chase folded up like a wet bag dropped. His assistants looked startled, then they started to laugh.
They all laughed. Chase was out cold.
“I don’t work for him no more, he should not grab my shoulder, eh?” said Nappy.
More laughter.
Du Pré thought he heard the sound of an airplane. Engines snarling out there to the west. He saw a glint in the livid blue behind the storm front.
In twenty minutes, the clouds overhead had gone on, leaving a bright, washed sky.
The airplane came down from the north and roared overhead. The pilot wiggled the wings.
“One them de Havilland Otters,” said Nappy. “What the hell he want here, anyway?”
Du Pré started to laugh.
The plane floated over the trees at the far side of the lake and slid into the water. The pilot throttled back. The plane roared on toward them. The pilot turned the plane broadside a hundred yards offshore and stopped engines.
The door opened. Big sunburned face in it. Big red hand waving.
Bart, the idiot.
A raft plopped out on the water. Bart lowered himself into it, screwed the paddles together, and began to row in, sort of—he wasn’t very good at it.
“I got worried,” he said to Du Pré, “And so did Madelaine, so I said, ‘Hell, I’ll go see.”
Du Pré introduced Bart.
“So how’s it going?” said Bart.
Du Pré shrugged.
Bart described the goings-on in Toussaint. Not much. Jacqueline was pregnant again.
Du Pré shrugged. Jacqueline was always pregnant. One more grandchild. Du Pré needed to write down their names, carry a card.
“Well,” said Bart finally, “you need anything?”
Du Pré looked at Paul Chase, who was sitting up now, looking at some blood in his hand.
“Yeah,” said Du Pré. “You could do us all this big favor…”