256 SPORT INDEED 



We then came to the Bow Kiver, which here is a 

 raging torrent, deep and treacherous. Stretched 

 across diagonally was a very long boom, made by 

 strapping together a string of two logs which were 

 held to the shore by stout, wire cables. It is the only 

 crossing within seventeen miles of Banff, and one not 

 calculated to inspire confidence in the Grosser. The 

 boom was swaying up and down in the fierce rush of 

 waters, the torrent surging over the logs, the inner 

 one of which was half-covered with slimy, rotten bark 

 that peeled and slipped off under foot. 



The guide's shoes were armed with sharp-pointed 

 spikes, which enabled him to skip across the logs with 

 the ease and grace of a dancing master ; we had on 

 rubber boots, slippery as glass. There were two logs 

 reaching to the boom, and the guide seeing we were 

 not in his skipping condition advised us to creep over 

 them on our hands and knees. 



Four of us started across with our feet placed cross- 

 wise of the logs. When we were about a third of the 

 way over the guide halloed at the top of his voice : 

 "Look out you don't slip over; if you do, hang on 

 to the logs like grim death or you're a goner ! No 

 man can swim in this water; he'd be sucked under 

 and into Davy Jones' locker 'fore he could say Jack 

 Robinson ! " 



This cheerful bit of information had the effect of 

 making us doubly cautious. By dint of balancing and 



