THE GRAND RAPID Bright moonlight touched the river, streaking the angry water with a silver track, when Scott and Thirlwell poled against the stream in the gloom of the wooded bank.

The Shadow, swollen by melted snow, rolled by in flood, swirling along the stony beach in lines of foam, and tossing about battered trunks brought down by winter storms.

Farther down stream, a shimmering haze of spray indicated the Grand Rapid, and Thirlwell meant to stem the current until they were far enough from the foaming turmoil to paddle across.

The gray trout were shy that evening and they had let the canoe drift farther than they thought.

Presently somebody hailed them from the bank, and as they let the canoe swing round in an eddy a dark figure moved out from the gloom of the pines.
"Driscoll's voice, I think," said Scott.