“Bah! des canards!” laughed Jules, and let himself glide on. The afternoon passed thus; scenes shifted, and new ones, as green and soothing, filled their places for an instant, then they too changed, and evermore they came in endless lines on both sides of the river, motionless, soft and fragrant with the odours of the wilderness. The water quickened, riffles showed long and even, and then the dull booming of a fall came heavily to Jules’s ears.
“Ah stop là ce soir; dere ees place for ’slip!” he said aloud, and stood up to guide the canoe hither and thither among the sharp rock-heads that shone wet and glistening above their wave-skirts. It continued white, then evened again, and the flow was irresistible; below him Verbaux could see the river line finish, and beyond that the tops of tall pines appeared on a level with him.
“La chute d’eau! go to lan’ maintenant.” He swept the canoe to the bank on the right-hand side and stepped ashore. Gratefully he stretched his long body and bathed his sun- and wind-burned skin. A good trail led away into the sombering woods; he picked up the canoe, threw it on his shoulders with a quick heave, and went on down the path, half trotting, with loose knees, to ease the weight. The open path kept just in from the river, under the huge trees whose branches met the fast water and swayed as it carried them with it, then springing back to be caught again.
“Personne comme dees vay encore!” Jules muttered, watching the soft mosses and boggy clays under his feet as he scuffled along.
“By gar mus’ soon arriver à la chute!” he thought, and just then came out on the top of the falls and put down the canoe.
At his feet the black water unrolled smoothly over the edge, then broke into green and white sheets with a deep roar that reverberated hollowly from the cliff-circled pool below. Mist-spouts and clouds of spray whirled into the air, enwreathing the low branches of the forest. Great masses of bubbles and froth that gleamed coldly in the evening light were born before his eyes, and carried swiftly off, to burst and die. The chill scent of the mist rose invigoratingly to him.
“Bon Dieu, dat fin’!” he whispered. Little by little the long tree shadows crept athwart the perpendicular waters, and the last rays of the sun shone through their falling depths, fringing each sheet with sparkling points. Then the lights changed; slowly the waters turned black, and the foam showed whiter than ever. Still Jules watched the wonderful changes of the wilds. In a few minutes he could not see the pool, and the roar seemed deeper and more powerful. Wild and glorious it sounded down there, unseen, unfelt, mysterious, and grand. And ever at his feet the flow passed on sullenly, to be dashed to mist and foam beneath.
“Dat bon!” Verbaux said again, drawing a deep breath. “Ah go heet maintenant an’ dormir. To-mor’ Ah mus’ arriver Lac des Diables.” He left the brink, drew the canoe into the bushes, and felt his way along the trail in the darkness to a tumbled-down bark lean-to.
Early the following morning he went up to the falls for his canoe and lugged it down to the pool. The drafts played with the flying spume, twisting it into fantastic clouds that eddied from cliff to cliff; the black shapes of trout showed now and then as they rolled up lazily in the froth under the fall. The air dripped with its overload of moisture, and as Jules stepped in the canoe and shoved off, he brushed away the little beads of water that clung to his hair and eyebrows.
The current, now fast, then slow, carried him down-stream until noon, then the bank widened again and Verbaux passed out on another lake. The waters were unruffled and reflected the skies accurately.