* * * * *
We departed from Arbor Vitae, Wisconsin, a little after sunrise, the next day. By noon, we had reached Delta County, Michigan. With Bob setting us down at the Happy Rock Aerodrome. The owners of the latter had so named their business as a punning reference to the nearby county seat of Gladstone, Michigan! And, it was there that the three of us caught a train to our next destination.
The train in question belonged to the Soo Line of the Canadian Pacific Railway. "Soo" being the anglophonic way the local Michiganians pronounced the French word "sault." As in, "Sault Sainte Marie!" The French-Canadian name for the white water rapids at the head of the St. Mary's River, as it flows from Lake Superior to Lake Huron.
The point of our disembarkation was (as pointed out much earlier in this chronicle) half-way between the quaintly named towns of Rudyard and Kipling. More specifically; the unincorporated community of Deepayintinee. Originally, a village of the Saulteaux Ojibwas (prior to the War of 1812) that marked the southern terminus of a portage around St. Mary's Rapids. But, now, the site of a general store that marked the head of the hiking trail to spring-fed Lake Yo-Tel-T'til.
At the risk of sounding condescending, the hike was a little harder on Sir Anthony's stamina than it was on Bob's or mine. He did not complain once, however. And, with staunchness like that, I have no doubt there will always be an England!
We three had not made the hike unprepared, though. Via radiotelephony, we had contacted Mr. Galstaff (President of the Milwaukee Lodge) from the XZR-1. Giving him an update on the status of our mission. And, asking for the name of Camp New Hope's chief administrator. Upon obtaining the latter, we spent the remainder of the 28th making ready for the hike.
This included military-issue canteens, already filled to the brim with water. Plus, three "broom-handle" Mauser machine pistols!
"Don't worry, gents," General Hopkins had assured us: "The steeljacket bullets in the ammo clips have been blessed by the Chief of Chaplains, himself! So, in the unlikely event you do run into more of these giant snake-women, while at that summer camp, you'll be well-protected."
"In light of the fact that we lost our original small arms back on Minocqua," Sir Anthony had replied: "...we are deeply grateful, general."
Now, we were on a dock upon the southern shore of Lake Yo-Tel-T'til. Waiting for a ferry that was powered by a team of eight Clydesdales cantering on a treadmill!
"A little eighteenth century, isn't it?" I asked (semi-rhetorically).
Sir Anthony shrugged: "I must admit, it has a certain nostalgic charm to it. And, it does seem in keeping with the camp director's faith!"
"His faith?" echoed Bob: "What is he; Amish?"
"Not quite. He's descended from Volga River Mennonites who emigrated to California during the 1850's. And, his name is..."
Sir Anthony was cut off by the arrival of the horse-powered ferry. We boarded the craft; dutifully paid our fares; and, then, with a roughly fifteen minute trip ahead of us, we leaned on the starboard bow railing to admire the view. Upon finally reaching the other side, however, we immediately became alert to the fact that we had a reception committee awaiting us.
Namely, a whole bunch of teenagers and two adults. One man and one woman. The former beaming with adulation as he called out:
"Hello, there! Welcome to Camp New Hope. I'm the director; Boris Draconicov. At your service!"
tbc
Giantess World
Author's Chapter Notes:
JUNE 29, 1921