Thirlwell felt his nerves tingle. After the concussion came a roar that
grew into an overwhelming din, and they braced themselves against the
strain; one could not bear that appalling noise very long. It subsided a
little into a confusion of jarring sounds that were sometimes
distinguishable and sometimes drowned each other. Massy floes shocked
and smashed, and tore apart upon the ledges with a noise like the
ripping of woven fabric. Others, lifted out of the water, ground across
those that stuck fast, and some crashed against the rocky bank, throwing
huge blocks among the pines.

This lasted for a time, and then the uproar got bearable and gradually
sank. There were intervals when one could hear the turmoil of the
liberated flood as it rolled by in swollen fury. The intervals
lengthened, and by and by Thirlwell got on his feet with a sigh of
relief.

"You never get used to hearing the ice break up. It's tremendous!" he
said. "This is a very stern country. Sometimes it frightens one--"

He stopped abruptly and listened. The uproar was sinking fast and in a
lull he heard footsteps outside. Then the door was pushed open and a man
staggered in. His fur-coat was torn and muddy, his feet came through his
pulp moccasins, and the water that drained from him made a pool on the
floor. Three others followed and stood, dripping, in the light, while
Scott and Thirlwell gazed at them. Then the first dropped into a chair
and leaned his arms on the table as if overcome by fatigue. His face was
gaunt and his eyes were half shut.

"The boss is pretty well used up," said one of the others and Scott
crossed the floor.