ice by which to assure his
hold. In another moment he would be torn away.

"Let go and swim!" shouted Thorpe.

"I can't swim," replied Junko in so low a voice as to be scarcely
audible.

For a moment Thorpe stared at him.

"Tell Carrie," said Big Junko.

Then there beneath the swirling gray sky, under the frowning jam, in the
midst of flood waters, Thorpe had his second great Moment of Decision.
He did not pause to weigh reasons or chances, to discuss with himself
expediency, or the moralities of failure. His actions were foreordained,
mechanical. All at once the great forces which the winter had been
bringing to power, crystallized into something bigger than himself or
his ideas. The trail lay before him; there was no choice.

Now clearly, with no shadow of doubt, he took the other view: There
could be nothing better than Love. Men, their works, their deeds were
little things. Success was a little thing; the opinion of men a little
thing. Instantly he felt the truth of it.

And here was Love in danger. That it held its moment's habitation in
clay of the coarser mould had nothing to do with the great elemental
truth of it. For the first time in his life Thorpe felt the full
crushing power of an abstraction. Without thought, instinctively, he
threw before the necessity of the moment all that was lesser. It was
the triumph of what was real in the man over that which environment,
alienation, difficulties had raised up within him.

At Big Junko's words, Thorpe raised his hammer and with one mighty blow
severed the chains which bound the ends of the booms across the opening.
The free end of one of the poles immediately swung down with the current
in the direction of Big Junko. Thorpe like a cat ran to the end of the
boom, seized the giant by the collar, and dragged him through the water
to safety.

"Run!" he shouted. "Run for your life!"

The two started desperately back, skirting the edge of the logs which
now the very seconds alone seemed to hold back. They were drenched and
blinded with spray, deafened with the crash of timbers settling to the
leap. The men on shore could no longer see them for the smother. The
great crush of logs had actually begun its first majestic sliding motion
when at last they emerged to safety.

At first a few of the loose timbers found the opening, slipping quietly
through with the current; then more; finally the front of the jam dove
forward; and an instant later the smooth, swift