Then he will attack me; I know not who might conquer. I prefer
peace."
So he lay hidden, and they took his canoe in tow. But when they had
crossed the lake and come to the river again, the Chenoo said that he
could not travel further by water. He would walk the woods, but sail
on streams no more. So they told him where they meant to camp that
night. He started over mountains and through woods and up rocks, a far,
round-about journey. And the man and his wife went down the river in a
spring freshet, headlong with the rapids. [Footnote: One should be
familiar with the almost impassable forests of Maine and Canada, even
as they are at the present day, to properly appreciate the Chenook's
journey. As for the speed of the canoe, I have myself gone down the
Kenawha River (Va.), in a dug-out, at the rate of one hundred miles
in a day.] But when they had paddled round the point where they meant
to pass the night, they saw smoke rising among the trees, and on landing
they found the Chenoo sleeping soundly by the fire which had been built
for them.
This he repeated for several days. But as they went south a great
change came over him. He was a being of the north. Ice and snow had no
effect on him, but he could not endure the soft airs of summer. He grew
weaker and weaker; when they had reached their village he had to be
carried like a little child.
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