I was
afraid of nothing tangible; hunger and the stranger had sharpened
whatever blue steel there was in my nature. I was afraid of being still!
Were you ever a homesick boy, too proud to tell the truth about it?

I felt something of that boy's ache as we shot in among the wall rocks
again. It was a psychic hunger for something that does not exist. Oh, to
attain the terrible speed one experiences in a fever-dream, to get
somewhere before it is too late, before the black curtain drops!

To some this may sound merely like the grating of overwrought nerves.
But it is more than that. All religions grew out of that most human
mood. And whenever one is deeply moved, he feels it. For even the most
matter-of-fact person of us all has now and then a suspicion that this
life is merely episodic--that curtain after curtain of darkness is to be
pierced, world after world of consciousness and light to be passed
through.

Once more the rocks took on grotesque shapes--utterly ultra-human in
their suggestiveness. Those who have marveled at the Hudson's beauty
should drop down this lonesome stretch.

We shot through the Elbow Rapids at the base of the great
Hole-in-the-wall Rock. It was deep and safe--much like an exaggerated
mill-race. It ran in heavy swells, yet the day was windless.

In the late afternoon we shot the Dead Man's Rapids, a very turbulent
and rocky stretch of water. We went through at a freight-train speed,
and began to develop a slight contempt for fast waters. That night we
camped at the mouth of the Judith River on the site of the now forgotten
Fort Chardon. We had made only ninety-eight miles in four days. It began
to appear that we might be obliged to finish on skates!

We were up and off with the first gray of the morning. We knew Dauphin
Rapids to be about seventeen miles below, and since this particular
patch of water had by far the greatest reputation of all the rapids, we
were eager to make its acquaintance.

The engine began to show unmistakable signs of getting tired of its job.
Now and then it barked spitefully, had half a notion to stop, changed
its mind, ran faster than it should, wheezed and slowed down--acting in
an altogether unreasonable way. But it kept the screw humming
nevertheless.

Fortunately it was going at a mad clip when we sighted the Dauphin.
There was not that sibilance and thunder that had turned me a bit gray
inside at first sight of the Eagle. The channel was narrow, and no rock