Water Chase Read online

  COPYRIGHT ©, 1961, BY

  THE MOODY BIBLE INSTITUTE OF CHICAGO

  Printed in the United States of America

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Donald

  Chapter 1

  PETER DENT leaned on the railing and watched the water foaming away from the bow of the “Chinook.” It was hard to believe that he was really here, feeling the cool dampness of the spray laden breeze against his face, traveling in a boat that was taking him northward to the green-firred islands of the Pacific coast.

  Everything had happened so quickly — meeting Donald Harris at camp at The Firs, sharing the same cabin, making friends with him and then being invited back to Donald’s home in Vancouver for a visit. Best of all, the visit included a two weeks’ cruise up the island-dotted straits between Vancouver Island and the coast of British Columbia.

  Donald came to join him at the rail and pointed to a settlement to their left.

  “That’s Campbell River, and Dad will have to go there on business tomorrow,” he said. “Right now we’re heading through the passage into Gowlland Harbor.”

  They were close to the shore. Reaching over the rail, Peter could almost touch the rocks that dropped steeply into the water at each side of the passage. A few minutes later they had entered a large enclosed harbor, and the water was as calm as a lake. Most of the shoreline was thickly wooded, with here and there a small clearing and a house.

  The “Chinook” eased in beside an old wooden dock and Donald sprang lightly ashore. Peter threw him the rope to make the ship fast and then joined Donald on the dock.

  “I’m going up to that house and see if the Henderson boys are home,” Donald said, pointing to a big white house at the end of the wharf. “They’re usually around. Want to come?”

  Peter shook his head. “No, I’ll just sit here in the sun and wait for you.” He watched Donald set off at a dogtrot over the weather-bleached planking, then turned to look into the cool, clear-green of the water below. Donald’s father and the skipper were talking, probably making their plans for the next day, but Peter couldn’t hear what they were saying. He knew the trip included a visit to some of the camps of the Northwest Logging Company of which Mr. Harris was president, but that was all. Donald had said something about picking up the payroll at the bank in Campbell River before they went farther north, and he presumed they had come into Gowlland Harbor because it was a good place to spend the night.

  Peter looked up at the thud-thud-thud of rubber-soled shoes against the planks of the dock.

  “They’re across the bay at the Homewood Bible Camp,” Donald said, “but Mrs. Henderson suggested we take Bill’s dinghy and row over. Like to?”

  “Sounds like fun!”

  “Okay. I’ll tell Dad we’re going.”

  They set out across the quiet waters of the harbor, past tiny tree-covered islands toward sloping yellow fields and a long narrow floating dock. As they neared the shore Peter could see log cabins among the trees above the fields.

  “Have you ever been here before?” he asked.

  “No, but kids from the coast come here to camp. They have a good time, according to the Henderson boys.”

  They tied up the boat and ran up the dock to the trail.

  “It seems awfully quiet. I don’t see any boys,” Peter said.

  Donald glanced at his watch. “The only time camp is really quiet is meal time. They must be eating. Let’s find the dining room.”

  A hum of voices was coming from behind the largest cabin. They walked around and stopped short. Tables were set out on the grass under the towering firs and, as Donald had guessed, the boys were eating. They stopped to stare at the newcomers and Peter and Donald grinned. Suddenly one of the boys stood up.

  “Donald Harris! Where did you come from? I didn’t recognize you for a minute!”

  “Hi, Don!” Another boy smiled and waved.

  “Hello, Bob and Bill Henderson!” Donald said easily. “All you other kids too! As you heard, I’m Donald Harris from Vancouver. We just came in on the ‘Chinook,’ tied up at Henderson’s wharf. This is my friend from the States, Peter Dent.”

  As Peter nodded and smiled a tall young man was making his way toward them.

  “Hello there!” he said holding out his hand to Donald. “You’re the son of the owner of the ‘Chinook’? Glad to have you visit us. I’m John Baird, camp director.” He turned to greet Peter. “Good to meet you Peter. Can you boys visit for a while? We’d like to have you at our fireside meeting tonight.”

  The boys agreed to stay, and at Mr. Baird’s invitation were happy to join the other boys at supper. They had a wonderful time that evening, hearing about Homewood Camp and telling of some of their experiences at the camp they had attended at Bellingham. In fact they almost forgot they weren’t campers until they heard the “Chinook’s” whistle sounding out across the bay.

  “That’s Dad! We’d better get moving!” Donald said.

  They rowed across the harbor quickly. “I wish we could stay there for a couple of days,” Peter said, as he watched the little dock fade into the distance. “It looks as if it would be as much fun as The Firs, even if they don’t have water skiing and things like that.”

  “Yes, it would be fun. Maybe if Dad has to stay at Campbell River for a few days we could spend the time at camp. We’ll ask him.”

  That night they told Donald’s father all about the camp and the wonderful time the Henderson boys were having there, at the same time making it clear that they wouldn’t mind spending a few days there.

  Mr. Harris laughed. “Haven’t you boys had enough of camp for one year?” he said. “I have to spend the day at Campbell River tomorrow but will be back by night. The next day we’ll leave for Rock Bay, Kelsey Bay and then on to Gilford Island with the payroll for the logging camp. But I don’t imagine we’ll get away before the middle of the morning. As long as you can be ready for me to pick you up day after tomorrow, you can stay at camp.”

  “Thanks Dad.”

  “Be sure to check if it’s all right with the director, Donald. They may not let you come for a short time like that.”

  “I don’t think he’ll mind,” Peter said. “The camp isn’t overcrowded.”

  “Be sure to take enough money with you.”

  “Yes, we will.”

  “Well then, if you don’t come back tomorrow evening I’ll know you’re staying overnight at camp.”

  “Right!” Donald said. “We’ll be leaving early tomorrow morning to get over there in time for breakfast.”

  Bidding Mr. Harris good night, they went off to their bunks.

  Peter

  Chapter 2

  NEXT MORNING Peter and Donald were up long before other sign of life aboard the “Chinook.” They climbed into the dinghy and were soon pulling toward the camp. Sleeping bags were stowed in the boat just in case the director agreed to their their spending the night in camp.

  “A whole day! Won’t it be fun!” Peter exclaimed.

  “Night will be more fun I bet,” Donald said. “Bob was telling me yesterday that sometimes they let two or three boys sleep in the hay in the barn.”

  “In the barn? With the cows?”

  Donald grinned. “No, nitwit! There’s a ladder at the back of the barn leading to the hayloft. Bob showed it to me. When there are more boys than they have sleeping room for in the cabins, that’s where they go.”

  “More fun than bunks, I guess. With a sleeping bag it wouldn’t be too sc
ratchy.”

  They each took an oar and rowed faster. The harbor looked like a lake in the morning sunshine, the water glittering and faintly ruffled by a cool breeze.

  Although it was still early a score of boys came racing down the wooden jetty to meet Peter and Donald as they neared shore.

  “Hey there, you kids!”

  “Hi!” Peter called back. “We can stay all day!”

  “And night too, if there’s room!” Donald called.

  Bob Henderson took the painter of the dinghy and tied it to a wooden piling as the boys stepped ashore.

  “Bet you’ll get a job,” Bob said.

  “What kind of a job? We’re on vacation you know!” Donald said.

  “Oh, helping around the place. We all have to work.” He jerked his head toward the kitchen. “Bill’s on KP today. I helped with the cows and got through early.”

  Peter stared at him. “You mean you milked cows?”

  “Yep! This is a different kind of camp, you see. Away up here in the islands we have to look after ourselves.” They walked up the winding path and Bob pointed toward a vegetable garden. “This is the camp garden; we help in that. Over there’s the barn. There are chickens for eggs, cows for milk, pigs for meat.”

  This was a new experience for Peter and Donald, but they enjoyed every minute of the day, even the work which they were more than willing to do. There was a Bible study class in the morning, a long swimming and sunning period in the afternoon and then a hike through the woods before supper.

  Peter looked around in surprise as they hiked. He wasn’t used to country as wild as this. No homes or settlements and they seemed miles and miles away from any town! Bob and Bill told him something about this island called Quadra. Their grandparents had been among the first white settlers to arrive on it.

  As long as he was with others who were singing Gospel choruses, sometimes shouting ahead, Peter didn’t mind the dense forest, but he wondered if he would like walking along this trail at night. They climbed under fallen trees, over stumps and logs, pushing their way through the bushes which overgrew the path. At last they came out to some big rocks.

  The rocks were covered inches thick in soft green moss, still warm from the sun. Peter sank down on it, looking at the tiny flowers which poked their heads through the green carpet. “Isn’t this stuff wonderful?” he sighed contentedly.

  But he wasn’t allowed to enjoy it long. Mr. Baird’s shrill whistle was summoning them to gather where they would eat their sandwich supper and have their evening devotions.

  After the meal and a few games the boys climbed to a high rock overlooking the Straits. All around were tall trees, quiet in the evening air. Over the mountains on Vancouver Island the sun was slowly setting in the splendor of pink and gold, and the cloud colors were reflected in the water far below. Peter thought he’d never seen anything so beautiful. He sat down on a moss-upholstered rock and listened to the boys as they sang choruses.

  Here the outdoors seemed so great, so wonderful it made Peter feel small and unimportant. Yet he felt close to God, and the other boys must have felt the same way. They kept their faces toward the setting sun and there was no restless kicking of toes into moss, no throwing of pine cones. The glow of the sun transformed their faces. Peter wondered if Jesus looked like that when He was up the mountain with His disciples. Absorbed in his thoughts Peter hardly noticed what was going on, until suddenly he heard his own name.

  “—Dent from Seattle and Donald Harris from Vancouver. We are pleased to have these boys with us. Is there anything you’d like to say?” Mr. Baird was smiling and nodding in their direction.

  Peter saw that Donald was looking expectantly at him. “You first, Peter. Say something!”

  Peter scrambled to his feet. He was glad the sun made his face look red, maybe they couldn’t tell how red it really was.

  “I don’t know just what to say,” Peter began, “except that I’m glad to be here and I think this is a wonderful camp in a wonderful place. But the best thing about Bible Camp is that you learn more about God who made this world, about His Book, and about His Son the Lord Jesus. When I was at The Firs camp about a year ago, I accepted the Lord Jesus as my Savior, and I’m glad I did.”

  Donald was on his feet before Peter sat down.

  “I’d like to tell you that it was partly through Peter that I came to know Jesus. This summer I went to The Firs, and Peter was in the same cabin. I knew he had something I didn’t have, but at first I didn’t know just what it was. I soon found out that I was a sinner, as the Bible says and not good enough to go to Heaven. But then the counselor talked to me and explained that Jesus had come to die for me and that by believing on Him I could be saved and made fit for Heaven. The boys who were Christians were praying for me,” he smiled at Peter, “and Peter talked to me, too. He showed me that verse ‘as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name.’ It wasn’t hard to believe and receive. I’m sure glad I went to that camp. I’m glad I can come to this one and tell you about it.”

  Mr. Baird smiled and nodded at the two boys, then suggested that some of the others might like to give their testimonies. After a short reading and prayer-time the boys hiked back to camp. Mr. Baird had agreed to Peter and Donald spending the night with the group.

  John Baird

  Chapter 3

  I HOPE YOU BOYS won’t mind sleeping in the loft of the barn,” Mr. Baird said, as Peter and Donald went to pick up their sleeping bags.

  “Just where we were hoping to go,” Peter said. “You see Bob and Bill told us that sometimes boys were allowed to sleep there.”

  “We don’t usually allow it without a junior leader,” Mr. Baird told them. “But you are not regular campers and older than most of the boys. I think it will be all right.”

  “We aren’t afraid of being alone; anyway, we’d be safe enough in the loft,” Donald added.

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of at Quadra,” Mr. Baird assured them, smiling. “I’ll come and check after everybody has settled down for the night, just to make sure you are all right.”

  Maybe the others could settle down, but it was hard for Peter and Donald. There were noises to which they were not accustomed—the soft sound of the wind in the tall firs, the creak of the hay every time they moved, the occasional thumping of the animals moving in the barn below. It soon became very dark. Every now and then they could see a long slit of light through cracks in the boards as someone, carrying a lantern or flashlight, walked to one of the cabins. Sometimes there was the soft whirr of bats’ wings.

  “I wish I could go to sleep!” Peter complained, for the twentieth time.

  “Me, too!”

  They had talked of the good time they’d had that day and about their trip northward in the “Chinook” the next morning. Remembering the cold reception when Donald had told his father, Mr. Harris, about accepting Christ at camp, they’d prayed very especially for Donald’s father.

  “I hope we wake up in time tomorrow,” Peter said anxiously.

  “Don’t worry. They have a gong here or something, then the kids spill out of the cabins. We wouldn’t be able to sleep through it.”

  “Hey, I heard something out in the bay!” Peter sat up and tried to peer through a wide crack in the wall. “It looks like a boat coming in! I wonder if it’s your Dad.”

  “No, it can’t be. I walked out on the wharf before we came to bed. I could see over to Henderson’s place. The ‘Chinook’ was back and tied up there.”

  “I can see now that it’s just a launch. It’s sure traveling! Making for Henderson’s, looks like.”

  Both boys were out of their sleeping bags and kneeling on the hay as they peered through cracks. They could see the churned white water in the wake of the boat as it shot across the quiet darkness of the bay. Then the motor was cut and the dim shape moved slowly in the direction of the “Chinook.” No lights were visible.

  Donald’s fa
ther

  “That’s funny, no lights,” Donald said. “They’re not supposed to travel that way. Shucks, we can’t see at all now; they’ve gone behind that little island.”

  The boys climbed back into their sleeping bags, but they twisted restlessly about.

  “Now I’ve got hay in my bag,” Donald said. He put on his flashlight and peered into the interior. “No wonder I couldn’t sleep!”

  “Hey, don’t shine that light in my eyes,” Peter grumbled.

  “I’m out now so I might as well look outside again,” Donald muttered, more to himself than to Peter. He crawled to the crack and stayed for a long time.

  “See anything? Come on back to bed, Don. We’ll never be able to get up in the morning!”

  “Wait, Pete. I think something is happening. Come, you take a look!”

  Peter was just beginning to feel sleepy and had no wish to peer through cracks.

  “It’s the ‘Chinook’! I’m sure it is!”

  This time Peter needed no urging. He scrambled out of his bag.

  “Here’s a knothole.” Peter heaped hay together to make himself higher and peered out. “I don’t see anything! Yes, I do!”

  Hardly daring to breathe, the boys watched as a dim shape moved slowly out into the harbor.

  “We’ll just have to go out and see,” Donald said. “Come on, we can find our way.”

  Cautiously they climbed down the ladder, careful not to make any noise. They didn’t dare use the flashlights in case they should be seen. They hadn’t even stopped to put on shoes.

  “This way.” Donald began to climb the slight rise behind the barn. “We can see more from here than if we went down to the water.”

  Now that their eyes were accustomed to the darkness they could see the water and the darker outline of the land. On the water they could distinguish the shape of a boat. It looked strangely like the “Chinook.”

  “Somebody’s rowing; I just heard the splash of oars.”