BY MORNING, Haddon had become a trace more possible in his comportment. He did not need to speak to Joslin further about the joining of forces up the river, for the latter had his own supplies at the landing early, ready for the embarkation, and had arranged to send down for his own boat at a later time. They set about their journey in Haddon’s boat, as being more commodious and faster. It did fairly well, the out-board motor chugging along around bend after bend of the ancient river, awakening echoes whose like had never before that time been known in these hills where oar and paddle and sweep had served immemorially. At noon they ate their luncheon on a shaded bank—not too happy a company, for Haddon was strangely silent, his wife not less so, and Joslin himself, always taciturn, found no reason for speech. As they re-embarked Haddon did make some inquiry as to the length and character of the remaining way. “By and by, in four or five miles,” answered Joslin civilly, “we’ll come to the foot of the Narrows. I reckon we’ll have to drag the boat up through the Narrows. Between here and there we’ll have trouble—the water shoals out in a good many places.” This last was fair prophecy, as they were to find. It never occurred to Haddon that he could go overboard and help in the progress of the boat when it grounded. Joslin stepped out as he was, took the painter of the boat across his shoulder, and, bent forward like any beast of burden, waded on, dragging the heavy craft behind him. Marcia Haddon sat watching all this, looking from the one man to the other. The patience of the poor man, the carelessness of the rich man—these things indeed came to her soul in the nature of a comparison. At length Haddon had the bad taste and bad judgment to complain querulously about the slowness of their progress. “Damn it, man, is that as fast as you can go?” he exclaimed, perhaps having in mind earlier experiences with half-breed guides in tourist countries. Joslin made no immediate reply, but stood rigid for a time, very pale. At length, the painter of the boat still in his hand, he waded back alongside the boat and looked the other man in the face, his own eyes glowing. “Mr. Haddon,” said he, “get out here in the water. If we both pull on the line, we can get this lady up there a good deal faster.” And Haddon, being wise, got out, accoutered as he was. Joslin, somber, taciturn, did not speak to him at all for a half-hour or more. At length they came, with an hour or so yet of daylight, to the foot of the great pool which lay below the Narrows.