There was a sort of pathway along the sides of the Narrows, by which one could come below the big swell, but Joslin, whether moody and distrait, whether in indifference, or whether resolved to take his chances and test his fate, made no attempt to land his frail craft. He headed straight for the great stretch of slack water, which lay above the rolling crest of the Narrows. Always he had been chosen steersman for his raft in the river work he knew, and he knew this spot well enough—the fatalities which attended it—but he did not hesitate, and with his long sweep straightened his craft for what he knew would be the great plunge. He took it fair, crouching forward, his knees bent, his eyes ahead, just as he had steered more than one raft through in earlier times, and caught the full blow of the great wave, as he plunged from the darkness into the white of the stream, now under the blanket of the twilight in the deep defile. He was flung entirely free of his two logs, as they were rent asunder by the force of the swell. He went down into the white—how deep he could not tell—perhaps halfway down to the bottom of the great pool which lay below the Narrows. He emerged, dazed, but his arm found no supporting logs—the two had been flung far apart, and by this time were rolling down the middle course of the white water. With what strength remained to him, he struck out for the right-hand shore, and had strength enough to fling up a hand and ease himself of the current along the rock ledge. For a time he swung, breathing hard, then drew himself up and out, and lay flat upon the rocks. It was almost night, and it was cold. He was chilled and weak. He had traveled long and far without rest, and without sufficient food. But the rugged rearing he had had stood him once more in stead. He managed once more, by means of his priceless flint and steel, to build him a little fire, though how he lived through the night he scarce could say. He knew that it was thirty miles down to the first settlement below, and that there were few houses between. He must walk. Half barefooted, penniless, hungered, wearied and weak, he staggered on as though a man in a trance. At least he was able to make his painful way all those weary miles. It was again evening, and late, when at length he saw the red lights of the little mill town of Windsor, where more than once before then he had pulled up with others of the wild raftsmen, among whom he had spent his youth. He was at the edge of the great Outside. This was Ultima Thule for the hardwood rafts. And all of Thule, all of the great, unknown, mysterious world lay on beyond. It was a wild figure that this gaunt and haggard young man presented as, hesitant, he stood gazing out at the habitations in which, near at hand to which, beyond which, must lie the answers to the questions of his soul. He saw not the town where the rafts landed. In his mind still lived the vision of yon other city on the hill. CHAPTER VIII