For some distance below the lake, Shadow River runs noisily between smooth rocks and rows of big dark pines. In places, an angry rapid cuts a white streak through the gloom; in places, the channel widens and soft light touches the revolving pools. Battered driftwood lines the banks and indicates where the savage current reaches when the snow melts on the distant peak.
The river was low one tranquil evening and throbbed quietly in the woods. A varnished canoe slid across a pool, swerved in the eddies and went smoothly down a frothing reach. Helen Maxwell occupied the beam at the middle; Bob, in the stern, used the steering paddle. The sun was low and sometimes a glittering level beam touched a red trunk, but for the most part the woods were dim and their quiet shadow floated on the stream.
