It was an impressive spectacle that Phillips beheld.  Perhaps a hundred feet directly beneath him the river whirled and leaped; cross-currents boiled out from projecting irregularities in the walls; here and there the waters tumbled madly and flung wet arms aloft, while up out of the gorge came a mighty murmur, redoubled by the echoing cliffs.  A log came plunging through and it moved with the speed of a torpedo.  Phillips watched it, fascinated.

“Look!  Dere’s a boat!” ’Poleon cried.  In between the basalt jaws appeared a skiff with two rowers, and a man in the stern.  The latter was braced on wide-spread legs and he held his weight upon a steering-sweep.  Down the boat came at a galloping gait, threshing over waves and flinging spray head-high; it bucked and it dove, it buried its nose and then lifted it, but the oarsman continued to maintain it on a steady course.

“Bravo!” Doret shouted, waving his cap.  To Pierce he said:  “Dat’s good pilot an’ he knows swif’ water.  But dere’s lot of feller here who ain’t so good.  Dey tak’ chance for beeg money.  Wal, w’at you t’ink of her?  She’s dandy, eh?”

“It’s an—­inferno,” Phillips acknowledged.  “You earn all the money you get for running it.”

“You don’ care for ’im, w’at?”

“I do not.  I don’t mind taking a chance, but—­what chance would a fellow have in there?  Why, he’d never come up.”

“Dat’s right.”

Phillips stared at his companion curiously.  “You must need money pretty badly.”

The giant shook his head in vigorous denial.  “No!  Money?  Pouf!  She come, she go.  But, you see—­plenty people drowned if somebody don’ tak’ dem t’rough, so—­I stay.  Dis winter I build myse’f nice cabin an’ do li’l trappin’.  Nex’ summer I pilot again.”

“Aren’t you going to Dawson?” Pierce was incredulous; he could not understand this fellow.

Doret’s expression changed; a fleeting sadness settled in his eyes.  “I been dere,” said he.  “I ain’t care much for seein’ beeg city.  I’m lonesome feller.”  After a moment he exclaimed, more brightly:  “Now we go, I see if I can hire crew to row your boats.”

“How does she look to you?” Lucky Broad inquired, when Pierce and his companion appeared.  He and Bridges had not taken the trouble to acquaint themselves with the canon, but immediately upon landing had begun to stow away their freight and to lash a tarpaulin over it.

“Better go up and see for yourself,” the young man suggested.

Lucky shook his head.  “Not me,” he declared.  “I can hear all I want to.  Listen to it!  I got a long life ahead of me and I’m going to nurse it.”

Kid Bridges was of like mind, for he said:  “Sure!  We was a coupla brave guys in Dyea, but what’s the good of runnin’ up to an undertaker and giving him your measurements?  He’ll get a tape-line on you soon enough.”

“Then you don’t intend to chance it?” Pierce inquired.