house the visitors displayed marked animation, Clark told them the
story very simply as they rolled off up the hill for lunch.

"There's one man, the chief engineer, Belding--you met him at the head
gates--that I would like to be remembered should we do business," he
concluded very thoughtfully. "Belding was my first employee. I picked
him up in St. Marys and he has stuck to it nobly. I probably gave him
far too much to do, but he never squealed; and there are other reasons."

Weatherby looked up. "That's the big, fair haired chap we saw go off
in the canoe?"

"Yes."

"Well," put in Ardswell tersely, "it will probably all depend on
yourself."

XXIV.--DESTINY

Up in the big bay that lies next the head of the rapids, Belding was
drifting aimlessly. He was still obsessed with a sense of the hideous
uselessness of effort, and wanted to be alone. At one time Elsie used
to be here in the bow of the canoe, but now it seemed that Elsie had
little thought for him. And yet he could have sworn that, two years
ago, she loved him.

He began to paddle, with a sharp and growing resentment, and found a
deep satisfaction in the thrust of his broad blade. Soon he was nearly
half way across the river, and a mile down stream lifted the fabric of
the great bridge. Slacking speed, he caught the pull of the current,
and with it came a reckless impulse. No man had shot the middle of the
rapids and escaped with his life. It was true that the Indians
maneuvered their long canoes down close to the opposite shore with
venturous tourists, but it was only a film of water that wound,
bubbling, near the land. With the deep-throated rumble only half a
mile away, Belding felt his pulse falter for a second, then pound
viciously on. And in that second, with the bravado of early manhood,
he threw discretion overboard, and set the slim bow of his Peterboro'
for the middle span. Twenty seconds, later he knew that he was about
to run the rapids--whether he would or not.

Settling himself amidship, he gripped the thwart tight between calf and
thigh and, resting the paddle across the gunwale, peered anxiously
forward. His lips were a little dry, but he felt no fear. Being close
to the water, he could not see the rapids themselves but only the first
great, green curve, and below it the white tops of a multitude of
waves. Then the middle span swept back overhead, he heard the river,
split by the sharp piers, hissing along their r