Bits of rotten ice occasionally swirled down the diminishing stream.

The sunshine was clear and bright, but silvery rather than golden, as though a little of the winter's snow,--a last ethereal incarnation,--had lingered in its substance.

Around every bend Thorpe looked for some of Radway's crew "driving" the logs down the current.

He knew from chance encounters with several of the men in Bay City that Radway was still in camp; which meant, of course, that the last of the season's operations were not yet finished.

Five miles further Thorpe began to wonder whether this last conclusion might not be erroneous.