: The Border Boys Along the St. Lawrence by Goldfrap John Henry Wrenn Charles L Charles Lewis Illustrator - Motorboats Juvenile fiction; Saint Lawrence River Juvenile fiction

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The Border Boys Along the St. Lawrence.

"Steady, Ralph, old fellow, the Galoups are right ahead."

"Slow down a bit, Persimmons," he yelled, "we're just about to hit up the Gallops."

"Whoop! Hurray for the Glues!" floated back up the tube, as Persimmons abbreviated the name of the famous rapids into the form by which they were locally known. "Hold tight, everybody. Zing! Zang! Zabella!"

The rapids the boys were approaching had been well named by the early French settlers along the St. Lawrence the Galoups, or, in plain English, the Gallops, or, again, to give them their local name, the Glues.

For two miles or more near the American side of the river the white-capped, racing waters tore along at thirty miles or so an hour. The great rocks that lay concealed under the tumbling foam-covered waters caused the river to boil and swirl like a hundred witches' caldrons.

One of the two paid hands, who berthed forward, came up to Ralph just as the latter reached out for the simple mechanism which controlled the powerful search-light mounted near the steering wheel.

The boy had decided to use the rays of the great lamp in picking out his course. In one or two places big rocks bristled menacingly out of the boiling rapids, and if the craft should happen to strike one of them, even with a glancing blow, a terrible accident would be almost certain to result. But with his search-light to act as a night-raking eye, Ralph felt small fear of anything of the sort occurring.

The man who came up to Ralph, just as a sharp click sounded and the bright scimitar of electric light, its power increased by reflectors, slashed the night, was a rather remarkable looking man to be an ordinary paid hand on a wealthy man's pleasure boat.

Fully six feet in height, powerfully built and erect, he had at first glance a look of refinement and intelligence that did not, somehow, appear to blend well with the somewhat inferior position he occupied. It is true that it was honest, clean employment, of which no decent man need have been ashamed, but Ralph felt every time he looked at him that Roger Malvin--such was the name the man gave--might have secured some more suitable occupation.

Yet the first favorable impression that Malvin gave did not, for some reason, survive closer acquaintanceship. Underlying his air of frank intelligence was something else that Ralph had not so far been able to understand. There was something almost sneaking and furtive about Malvin at times. But Ralph, loath at any time to distrust any of those with whom he was thrown in contact, decided that probably this was a mere peculiarity of manner with no foundation behind it.

"Want a hand to get through the Gallops, sir?" he asked respectfully as he came to Ralph's side.

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