"I'd give him enough to battle against."

But the man in the mackinaw had to battle against a far more formidable
enemy than this little crew of three venturesome stalwarts.

For the next twenty-four hours things went on much as usual, then came
the sweeping bend in the river, and the roar of the distant falls. This
meant to put ashore and to portage the canoe, duffle, guns and gold
bags around to the foot of the falls, for no canoe could possibly
live through such a cataract, and there was no record, even among the
Indians, of anyone ever having "run" it. All the morning Jack had
paddled bow, and worked like a nailer, so the other two lifted the canoe
to their shoulders, scrambling up the steep, rocky shores, and leaving
Jack to bear the lighter burdens of blankets, tin kettles and one
gold-sack.

Following their prearranged plan, Jack left the sack beside the water
where he could keep a constant eye on it, while he made several trips up
the heights, leaving his various packs on the summit only to return for
more. Last of all he shouldered the heavy gold sack, stumbling among the
rocks under its weight. As he reached the shore heights he noticed his
comrades had already been swallowed up in the woods, canoe and all, but
he could hear their voices and their feet crunching through the
underbrush.

"Hi, boys, you're doing well!" he called gayly after them, when suddenly
a dark circle seemed to wheel about his head, drop over his shoulders,
then grip him around the arms. Instantly he felt the rope tighten.
Someone had thrown a noose--lassoed him as they lasso cattle on the
prairies. In another second he was thrown flat on his back, the gold
sack was jerked from his fingers by the concussion, and a dark, evil
face was leaning above his own. The man in the mackinaw had caught him
at last!

Oddly enough in that tense moment he seemed to hear his father's voice
saying to him, "Why, boy, you're built like an ox!" The memory was like
a match to tinder. He flung his hard young legs about the man's ankles,
bringing him down like a dead weight upon his own body. With the wind
half crushed out of him, he struggled and rolled to protect his
revolver. A dozen times the man snatched, plunged and parried to secure
it, and as many times Jack rolled on top of it, keeping it securely in
his hip pocket. Not a word was spoken, not a sound uttered. Only those
two, the evil, avaricious, brutal man, and the fair, weak-eyed, brave
boy, ba