At the end of the fifteenth mile, where the second
portage began, O'Grady was two hundred yards in the lead. He gained
another twenty on the portage and with a breath that was coming now in
sobbing swiftness Jan put every ounce of strength behind the thrust of
his paddle. Slowly they gained. Foot by foot, yard by yard, until for a
third time they cut into O'Grady's wake. A dull pain crept into Jan's
back. He felt it slowly creeping into his shoulders and to his arms. He
looked at Jackpine and saw that he was swinging his body more and more
with the motion of his arms. And then he saw that the terrific pace set
by O'Grady was beginning to tell on the occupants of the canoe ahead. The
speed grew less and less, until it was no more than seventy yards. In
spite of the pains that were eating at his strength like swimmer's cramp,
Jan could not restrain a low cry of exultation. O'Grady had planned to
beat him out in that first twenty-mile spurt. And he had failed! His
heart leaped with new hope even while his strokes were growing weaker.
Ahead of them, at the far end of the lake, there loomed up the black
spruce timber which marked the beginning of the third portage, thirty
miles from Porcupine City. Jan knew that he would win there--that he
would gain an eighth of a mile in the half-mile carry. He knew of a
shorter cut than that of the regular trail. He had cleared it himself,
for he had spent a whole winter on that portage trapping lynx.
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