THE THRESHOLD OF THE GODS. 79 
sure, that starting from the guide’s cabin we 
had walked over a high ridge, almost a moun- 
tain, following for our way a zigzag path or 
trail that led us back and forth among vast 
fragments of variegated granite under wide- 
spreading boughs of low cedar trees. Now, 
however, we stood on the bank of a little river 
whose water crept past us in a slow but re- 
markably limpid tide as clear as glass, into 
which I gazed with an indistinct vision, and 
feeling a vague sense of the strangeness of 
everything about me. A pirogue lay moored 
at our feet. The guide motioned me to get in. 
I obeyed at once, but had time in so doing to 
note how old and frail, indeed how rotten the 
boat appeared to be. The guide accidentally 
tossed the pipe-ashes from his hand down upon 
one of the gunwales where they seemed natu- 
rally to disappear, mingling with the loose 
mould and minute fungi of the decaying wood. 
In this frail vessel we purposed passing over a 
dangerous rapid of the stream some distance 
below ; for it was the spirit of adventure had 
brought me here. I was in no condition, how- 
ever, to realize the possibilities of the step I 
was about to take. I shook myself, rubbed 
my eyes and strove to get rid of this hazy 
mood; but succeeded only when the guide by 
a vigorous paddle-stroke sent us straight out 
to the stream’s middle. Then I began to feel 
naturally and fell to making a close study of 
the guide and the boat. 
What a taciturn, grimly selfish-looking fel- 
low the man was! His face was not a bad 
one, however, and his form was ease and 
strength incarnate. You could not guess 
such a man’sage. Not agray hair on his head, 
