When the Arrow Flies

XVIII

A NIGHTMARE

HARD weeks were taking their toll on the men’s nerves, as well as their bodies. All day every day they pulled and strained and tugged to get the canoes over and around fallen logs. The river was a tortuous, winding serpent, with scarcely twelve yards between the bends in some places. They would go to sleep and about 2:30 a.m. wake up thoroughly chilled. One would start muttering, another would answer, and soon they’d be awake and passing the sleepless hours by talking. Each man contributed his tall tale. One night Harold had a weird dream. So, as they crouched around the fire, he kept the men animated by recounting it in lurid detail. They tossed more and more wood onto the fire in the middle of the camp. Harry was still in a troubled sleep, when suddenly he opened his eyes. Instead of the black night his eyes saw the roaring flames.

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