He looked around at the hard, fatigue-worn faces of the men about him, and in the obsession of his wearied mood he suddenly felt a great rush of affection for these comrades who had so unreservedly spent themselves for his affair. Their features showed exhaustion, it is true, but their eyes gleamed still with the steady half-humorous purpose of the pioneer. When they caught his glance they grinned good-humoredly. All at once Thorpe turned and started for the bank. “That'll do, boys,” he said quietly to the nearest group. “She's down!” It was noon. The sackers looked up in surprise. Behind them, to their very feet, rushed the soft smooth slope of Hemlock Rapids. Below them flowed a broad, peaceful river. The drive had passed its last obstruction. To all intents and purposes it was over. Calmly, with matter-of-fact directness, as though they had not achieved the impossible; as though they, a handful, had not cheated nature and powerful enemies, they shouldered their peaveys and struck into the broad wagon road. In the middle distance loomed the tall stacks of the mill with the little board town about it. Across the eye spun the thread of the railroad. Far away gleamed the broad expanses of Lake Superior. The cook had, early that morning, moored the wanigan to the bank. One of the teamsters from town had loaded the men's “turkeys” on his heavy wagon. The wanigan's crew had thereupon trudged into town. The men paired off naturally and fell into a dragging, dogged walk. Thorpe found himself unexpectedly with Big Junko. For a time they plodded on without conversation. Then the big man ventured a remark. “I'm glad she's over,” said he. “I got a good stake comin'.” “Yes,” replied Thorpe indifferently. “I got most six hundred dollars comin',” persisted Junko. “Might as well be six hundred cents,” commented Thorpe, “it'd make you just as drunk.” Big Junko laughed self-consciously but without the slightest resentment. “That's all right,” said he, “but you betcher life I don't blow this stake.” “I've heard that talk before,” shrugged Thorpe. “Yes, but this is different. I'm goin' to git married on this. How's THAT?” Thorpe, his attention struck at last, stared at his companion. He noted the man's little twinkling animal eyes, his high cheek bones, his flat nose, his thick and slobbery lips, his straggling, fierce mustache and eyebrows, his grotesque long-tailed cutaway coat. So to him, too, this primitive man reaching dully from primordial chaos, the great moment had yielded its vision. “Who is she?” he asked abruptly. “She used to wash at Camp Four.” Thorpe dimly remembered the woman now--an overweighted creature with a certain attraction of elfishly blowing hair, with a certain pleasing full-cheeked, full-bosomed health. The two walked on in re-established silence. Finally the giant, unable to contain himself longer, broke out again.