It had a look of belonging to a half-finished world, into which man might only venture at his peril.
The river had fallen and its turbid green had faded, for the frost had touched the glaciers that fed it on the heights, but the stream ran fast, swirling round the island and breaking into eddies.

In one place, a white streak marked a rebound of the current from an obstacle below, and it was across this spot the men dragged the pulley.

A chain and hook hung from the latter, and they were fishing for the skip that was lost when the log broke the rope.
Festing had spent the most part of the previous day trying different plans for grappling the skip, but the fast currents and smooth side of the big steel bucket had baffled him.

His efforts had cost time and money, and he began to realize that he must give it up or try dangerous means.

The chain stopped and tightened as the hook struck something below the surface, but next moment it moved on again, and when this had happened a number of times Festing raised his hand.
"You can quit, boys," he said, and turned to a man close by.