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's age. Not a gray hair on his head, 



