A RIDE WITH A MAD HORSE IN A CA-R. 205 



shadow drifts across a meadow, no jar or creak 

 above, no gurgling of displaced water below, no 

 whirling and rippling wake astern, is something 

 bordering so nearly on the weird and ghostly, that 

 custom can never make it seem other than marvel- 

 lous to me. Thus, as I sat, half reclining, and saw 

 that little shell come floating airily out of the dark- 

 ness into the projection of the firelight, as a feather 

 might come, blown by the night- wind, I thought 

 I had never seen a prettier or more fairy-like sight. 

 None of the party save myself were so seated as t» 

 look down stream, and I wondered which of the 

 three guides would first discover the presence of 

 the approaching boat. Straight on it came. Light 

 as a piece of finest cork it sat upon and glided over 

 the surface of the river ; no dip and roll, no drop 

 of falling water as the paddle-shaft gently rose and 

 sank. The paddler, whoever he might be, knew 

 his art thoroughly. He sat erect and motionless, 

 the turn of the wrists, and the easy elevation of his 

 arms as he feathered his paddle, were the only 

 movements visible. But for these, the gazer might 

 deem him a statue carved from the material of the 

 boat, a mere inanimate part of it. I have boated 

 much in bark canoe and cedar shell alike, and 

 John and I have stolen on many a camp that 

 never knew our coming or our going, with paddles 

 which touched the water as snow-flakes touch the 

 earth ; and well I knew, as I sat gazing at this man. 



