6 Miles With Courage by Thomas LaCorte

shove of the push-pole they were on their way across the river.
    With the cypress trees fading behind them Ryan poled ahead. The fog was too thick to see the other side but he could see twenty-feet. The water made a trickling sound at the rear of the raft as they glided across the black water. Clumps of water hyacinth drifted downstream moving across their path from right to left. Red was barking at them and fidgeting at the front of the raft making Ryan nervous. When Red moved the raft moved also.
    “Red, calm down boy, it’s only weeds,” Ryan said dropping to his knees to keep his balance so he would not fall in. Ryan looked down at the water lapping up through logs. It gave him an eerie feeling of helplessness as they floated above the black-water abyss. He shook his head gathered his thoughts and stood up.
    Just as he arose he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Red saw it also. An alligator was moving out of the mist twenty-feet off their port side and it was barreling straight for them. Red started barking and ran down the side of the raft to get a closer look. Ryan tried to drop to his knees to catch his balance but it was too late.
    The last thing Ryan saw before landing in the river was Red jumping off the raft towards the alligator . As it turned back to escape the leaping dog, Ryan slipped beneath the black water. He could hear the splashing of Reds paws paddling towards the alligator. The noise of his paws grew faint.
    Ryan kicked towards the surface, breaking it he gasped in a lungful of air. Luckily the raf t had not gone far. With a couple of quick strokes he managed to grab hold and pull himself up. He lay on it, eyes closed, face down, breathing heavily. In the distance, downstream, he hears Red climbing out of the water and shaking his coat of water. Then Ryan hears the voice of a stranger.
    “Good boy Red! I knew you would come back to me. Go on now and take your place at the front of the boat,” the stranger could be heard saying.
    Ryan could not believe his ears. He lifted his face off the raft , and with water streaming down he looked in the direction of the voice. Faintly through the fog Ryan could make out the silhouette of a wooden rowboat and an old man with Red at the front. The old birddog was gingerly waiting for the man to start rowing. The man started to row away from Ryan and their image grew faint. Ryan let out a weak yell. It was more like a half-cry.
    “Wait! Don’t go!” he managed to get out. But neither the old man, nor Red heard him. As he slowly rowed away the man started to sing.
    “Fair well, and ad ieu, all ye Spanish fair maidens.”
    “Wait!” Ryan screamed much louder, more like a panic now that they were leaving.
    “Fair well, and adieu, all ye ladies of Spain,” the old man continued.
    Ryan wiped the water away from his face and looking back again to make sure he was not imaging things , watched as the man, and Red, rowed off into the fog.
    Ryan looked downstream and realized the old-man was rowing the wrong way. Ryan needed to go west, upstream for two miles if he was to use the river to get help. And just as the raft bumped into the cypress trees on the other side of the river Ryan realized he was better off sticking to the game plan. Even if he had gotten his attention it was unlikely they could have rowed against the current and made it to Highway 19 before the ranger passed-by on his scheduled rounds. No it was far better to stay with the certainty of following the direction to Forest Road 77, and Ryan had full confidence in his abilities to do just that.
    Bumping the raft from tree to tree Ryan made it to the south shore of the river and the embankment on the other side.
    “I shall name you the U.S.S. St. Christopher ,” he said to the little raft as he stepped off.
    After somewhat securing it, he pulled out the clothes he dried by the fire last night from his backpack and put them on. Tossing the wet ones onto the raft he pulled out the GPS unit