Bits of drift, patches of froth, fragments of ice accompanied them, bobbing alongside so persistently that Eliza fancied the boat must be stationary until, glancing at the river-banks, she saw them racing past like the panoramic scenery in a melodrama.  The same glance showed her that they were rushing directly toward the upper ramparts of Jackson Glacier, as if for an assault.  Out here in the current there were waves, and these increased in size as the bed of the Salmon grew steeper, until the poling-boat began to rear and leap like a frightened horse.  The gleaming wall ahead rose higher with every instant:  it overhung, a giant, crumbling cliff, imposing, treacherous.  Then the stream turned at right angles; they were swept along parallel with the ice face, and ahead of them for three miles stretched the gauntlet.  The tottering wall seemed almost within reaching distance; its breath was cold and damp and clammy.  O’Neil stood erect and powerful in the stern, swaying to the antics of the craft, his weight upon the sweep, his eyes fixed upon the Thing overhead.  The Norwegian strained at his oars while the sweat ran down into his open shirt.  The boat lunged and wallowed desperately, rising on end, falling with prodigious slaps, drenching the occupants with spray.  It was splendid, terrifying!  Eliza clung to her seat and felt her heartbeats smothering her.  Occasionally the oarsman turned, staring past her with round, frightened eyes, and affording her a glimpse of a face working with mingled fear and exultation.

Thus far the glacier had not disputed their passage; it maintained the silence and the immobility of marble; nothing but the snarl of the surging flood re-echoed from its face.  But with the suddenness of a rifle-shot there came a detonation, louder, sharper than any blast of powder.  The Norwegian cursed; the helmsman dropped his eyes to the white face in the bow and smiled.

Half a mile ahead of them a mass of ice came rumbling down, and the whole valley rocked with the sound.  Onward the little craft fled, a dancing speck beneath the majesty of that frozen giant, an atom threatened by the weight of mountains.  At last through the opening of the gorge below came a glimpse of the flats that led to the sea.  A moment later the boat swung into an eddy and came to rest, bumping against the boulders.

O’Neil sat down, wiping his wet face.

“Well, was it worth your trouble, Miss Kick-over the-traces?” he asked.

“Oh, it was glorious!  I’ll never forget it.”

Eliza’s cheeks were burning now, her aching hands relaxed their hold, and she drew a deep breath—­the first of which she had been conscious since the start, fifteen minutes before.

“Now, on with your boots and your sweater.  We’ll have an hour’s wait for Natalie.”

She gave a cry of surprise and offered him a glimpse of a trim ankle and a dripping foot.

“See!  They’re wet, and I wriggled my toes right through my stockings.  I never was so excited.”