Chain Locker by Bob Chaulk Page A

fingers, have you?”
    â€œI dunno. I might.”
    â€œWell, you’re leavin’ home with ten fingers, you wants to come back with ten.”
    â€œI’ll come back with ten,” Selb declared with confidence. “I’ll tell you one thing, though. I’m sick of luggin’ these snowshoes. I’ll bet we won’t need to put them on again before we’re back home. We should have left them back at Henry’s.”
    â€œNo sir!” said Dorman. “You won’t catch me away from home in winter with no showshoes.”
    â€œWhat are we gonna do with them while we’re on the trip?”
    â€œTake ’em aboard, I suppose. We’ll find a place to stow ’em. Did I ever tell you about the feller I knew from Black Island Tickle used to take his snowshoes sealin’ with him? Said if he came to a soft spot in the ice they would keep ’im from fallin’ through.”
    â€œI’ve heard of fellers doin’ that. I wouldn’t be too fussy about having to walk on iced-up snowshoes. And I certainly wouldn’t want to go through the ice with them on. Because one thing is for sure—you’d never get out again, not with snowshoes on. Too hard to haul them up through the broken ice.”
    â€œI s’pose you could reach down into the water and feel around and get them undone, couldn’t you?”
    â€œNah, you’d never get’em off. With all your winter clothes waterlogged and trying to feel around for the harnesses in the cold water, sure you’d be froze to death in no time.”
    â€œWell, since we’re takin’ them along I might try them out if we get into some pummy ice.”
    â€œGo ahead; you won’t catch me doin’ it.”
    The six lonely figures plodded across the grey-white plain under a dull sky, with Henry in front. Simeon caught up to him.
    â€œInjun Cove Neck,” he said, looking across the ice to the land on the left. “You done any pokin’ around over there lately?”
    â€œI used to, but I don’t get much time anymore.”
    â€œYou ever find anything they left behind?”
    â€œA few bits and pieces.”
    â€œThat’s not what your mother tells me. She said you got a great collection of arrowheads and pottery and stuff. I wouldn’t mind seeing it sometime.”
    â€œSure. Anytime.”
    Silence.
    â€œI hear they were terrible thieves. Always stealin’ from the livyers up the river.”
    â€œMaybe if you were starvin’ to death you’d do the same thing.”
    More silence.
    â€œHow’s the studying comin’?”
    â€œPretty good, I guess,” he replied, barely above a whisper.
    â€œWhen’s the test?”
    â€œSometime during the summer,” he mumbled. “They’re going to let me know.”
    â€œDoes that mean you won’t be going on the Labrador? I suppose, though, you got all kinds of reasons to stay home,” he ventured, with a sly grin.
    Not taking the bait, Henry replied, “I’m hoping it’s late in the summer, after I get back from the Labrador. I’m going to try and find out while I’m in St. John’s.”
    â€œAnd you’re still going ahead with it? Even after—”
    â€œCourse I’m goin’ ahead with it. Why wouldn’t I?”
    â€œOh, no reason,” said Simeon. “And after you pass this one, what will that give you—your Mate’s ticket?”
    â€œYep. Then I’ll be able to work as a junior officer on an oceangoing steamer.”
    â€œAnd, someday, you’ll make master mariner, I imagine?
    â€œHope so.”
    â€œThat’ll make that young Osmond maid sit up and take notice.
    The captain of a Canadian Pacific express passenger liner crossing the Atlantic! Cause a lowly sailor ain’t enough for her; I can tell you that.”
    â€œI hear there’s a good lineup for spots on CP ships.