Here he nearly broke down, and for a little while he could not speak.
When he could control himself he continued:

"Seems like I take four men in bush, lose two. Very bad, that. Don't
know how I see your sisters. I go home well. They ask me, 'Where my
brother?' I don't know. I say nothing. Maybe you die in rapids.
Maybe you starve. I don't know. I say nothing. Your sisters cry."
Then his tone changed from brokenhearted dejection to one of eager
pleading:

"Wish you let me go with you. Short grub, maybe. I hunt. Much
danger; don't care, me. Don't care what danger. Don't care if grub
short. Maybe you don't find portage. Maybe not find river. That
bad. I find him. I take you through. I bring you back safe to your
sisters. Then I speak to them and they say I do right."

It was hard to withstand Pete's pleadings, but my duty was plain, and
I said:

"No, Pete. I'd like to take you through, but I've got to send you
back to see the others safely out. Tell my sisters I'm safe. Tell
everybody we're safe. I'm sure we'll get through all right. We'll do
our best, and trust to God for the rest, so don't worry. We'll be all
right."

"I never think you do this," said he. "I don't think you leave me
this way." After a pause be continued, "If grub short, come back.
Don't wait too long. If you find Indian, then you all right. He help
you. You short grub, don't find Indian, that bad. Don't wait till