“Yes. He came up here to ask me about the lay of the land above here. I think,” there was a merry twinkle in his eye, “that I may lay claim to being the oldest resident of this town. No doubt I was able to give him some valuable information.”
“And he is—is gone?” Marian gasped.
“Left this morning. Why? Did you wish to see him? Surely—yes, you would. Being connected with the reindeer business, you would. Unfortunate that you did not reach here a few hours earlier. He left on foot. The trail around the rapids is rough. He did not try to bring his dogs and sleds through. Left them with his driver at the foot of the rapids. Well enough that he did. Couldn’t have made it.”
Upon realizing that she had missed the man she had come so far to see, Marian could have burst into tears.
“You may find him at the Station, though,” her host assured her. “I believe he means to stay there a day or two. His dogs are footsore from travelling over crusted snow.”
Marian’s heart gave a leap of joy. But what was this about the trail and the rapids?
“Did—did you say that one could not pass over the trail with a sled?” she asked in the calmest tone she could command. “Are the rapids not yet frozen over?”
“Frozen?” he stared at her incredulously. “Have you not heard them? Ah, then, you came from up stream. The forest shuts out the sound. Slip on your parka and come with me, and you shall hear. It is grand music, that ceaseless rush and roar, that beating of waters and tumbling of ice.”
It may have seemed glorious to the old man, but to Marian, who listened to the wild tumult of waters, it was frightening and disheartening.
“Can a boat run the rapids?” she asked, though she knew the question was foolish and that no boat could run them.