116 WINTER 



when he reached Five-Forks sluice the middle point 

 in the long, high bank. While still some distance 

 off he heard the sullen roar of the big sluice, through 

 which the swollen river was trying to force its way. 



He paused to listen a moment. He knew the pe- 

 culiar voice of every one of these gateways, as he 

 knew every foot of the river-bank. 



There was nothing wrong with the sullen roar. 

 But how deep and threatening ! He could feel the 

 sound even better than he could hear it, far down 

 below him. He started forward, to pass on, when he 

 half felt, through the long, regular throbbing of 

 the sluice, a shorter, faster, closer quiver, as of a small 

 running stream in the bank very near his feet. 



Dropping quickly to his knees, he laid his ear to 

 the wet earth. A cold, black hand seemed to seize 

 upon him. He heard the purr of running water ! 



It must be down about three feet. He could dis- 

 tinctly feel it tearing through. 



Without rising he scrambled down the meadow 

 side of the bank to see the size of the breach. He 

 could hear nothing of it for the boiling at the gates 

 of the sluice. It was so dark he could scarcely see. 

 But near the bottom the mud suddenly caved beneath 

 his feet, and a rush of cold water caught at his 

 knees. 



The hole was greater than he feared. 



Crawling back to the top of the bank, he leaned 

 out over the river side. A large cake of ice hung in 



