"Wal, ef yo' aint jus' th' cutes' little cuss I ever seed paddlin' aroun' out here in the ice like a beaver." However, he expressed much disgust, not to say contempt, when Boyton refused to land and take a drink of "Virginia's own Mountain Dew." After hard work through the ice gorged river, Paul reached Wheeling and rested there until the next morning.

On resuming the voyage he was frequently compelled to mount an ice cake to look for the best place to strike open water, where he could get at least enough paddling to keep up his temperature.

While on one of those lookouts he heard the clear, ringing sound of an ax on the frosty morning air, wielded by the powerful arm of some hardy chopper.

Looking along shore Paul discovered the wood cutter just about the same instant that worthy discovered him.
The tall, lank West Virginian eyed the strange looking creature far a second, dropped the ax and started in a lope for his cabin.

Suspecting that the curious landsman was going after his rifle, as it is customary for them to shoot at anything in the water they cannot understand, Boyton sounded a lusty blast on the bugle to attract the chopper's attention from the shooting iron.