its rocks; the lowest of whispered words sounded with startling
distinctness. Once Rod spoke aloud, and his voice rose and beat itself
in the cavernous depths of the walls until it seemed as though he had
shouted. Now they ceased paddling, and Mukoki steered. Noiselessly the
current swept them on. In the twilight gloom Rod's face shone
with singular whiteness. Mukoki and Wabigoon crouched like bronze
silhouettes. It was as if some mysterious influence held them in its
power, forbidding speech, holding their eyes in staring expectancy
straight ahead, filling them with indefinable sensations that made
their hearts beat faster and their blood tingle.

Softly, from far ahead, at last there came a murmur. It was like the
first gentle whispering of an approaching wind, the soughing of a
breath among the pines at the top of the chasm. But a wind among the
trees rises, and then dies away, like a chord struck low and gently
upon some soft-toned instrument. This whisper that came up the chasm
remained. It grew no louder, and sometimes it almost faded away, until
the straining ears of those who listened could barely detect it; but
after a moment it was there again, as plainly as before. Little by
little it became more distinct, until there were no longer intervals
when it died away, and at last Wabigoon turned in the bow and faced
his companions, and though he spoke no word there was the gleam of a
great excitement in his eyes. Rod's heart beat like a drum. He, too,
began to understand. That moaning, whispering sound floating up
the chasm was not the wind, but the far-away rumble of the third
waterfall!

Mukoki's voice broke the tense silence from behind.

"That the fall!"