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Updated: May 11, 2025
Just as Orde came tramping up the trail, one of the rivermen's caulks failed to "bite" on an unusually smooth, barked surface. His foot slipped; the log rolled; he tried in vain to regain his balance, and finally fell in with a heavy splash. The entire river suspended work to send up a howl of delight.
The sharp caulks of the rivermen's shoes had long since picked away the surface, leaving it pockmarked and uneven. Only the knots had resisted; and each of these now constituted a little hill above the surrounding plains, Bobby always wished that either his tin soldiers could be here or this well-ordered porch could be at home. The sun proving hot, he peeped within the cook-house.
One of them, built solely because of the rivermen's inherent love of light and cheer, threw the blaze of its flaming logs twenty feet into the air. He wondered what Marie-Anne was doing in this hour. Last night they had been together.
For the first time, in some subtle way she broke the poise of her attitude. "There is Hell's Half-Mile," she reminded him. "Oh, yes," said Orde bitterly, "there's Hell's Half-Mile! Whose fault is that? My rivermen's? My boys? Look here!
It was not until they had traversed the streets of the lower village long lanes of red and blue and saffron-fronted saloon-hotels and rivermen's lodging-houses and reached the newer, huger mills down-river that the girl regained in part her former vivacity. Morrison had grown, inconceivably, in those elapsed years.
In a moment Bob was caught up in their stream, and borne with them toward the weather-stained shanty town. Bob followed this streaming multitude to the large structure that had earlier been pointed out to him as the boarding house. It was a commodious affair with a narrow verandah to which led steps picked out by the sharp caulks of the rivermen's boots.
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