of recent growth, waved his hand to them. The
only way out of the whirlpool was by the Mane, and on the third round
the boat entered the Mane obliquely at its upper end. Possibly out of
fear of the draw of the whirlpool, the steersman did not attempt to
straighten out quickly enough. When he did, it was too late. Alternately
in the air and buried, the boat angled the Mane and was sucked into and
down through the stiff wall of the corkscrew on the opposite side of
the river. A hundred feet below, boxes and bales began to float up. Then
appeared the bottom of the boat and the scattered heads of six men. Two
managed to make the bank in the eddy below. The others were drawn under,
and the general flotsam was lost to view, borne on by the swift current
around the bend.

There was a long minute of silence. Shorty was the first to speak.

"Come on," he said. "We might as well tackle it. My feet'll get cold if
I stay here any longer."

"We'll smoke some," Kit grinned at him.

"And you'll sure earn your name," was the rejoinder. Shorty turned to
their employers. "Comin'?" he queried.

Perhaps the roar of the water prevented them from hearing the
invitation.

Shorty and Kit tramped back through a foot of snow to the head of the
rapids and cast off the boat. Kit was divided between two impressions:
one, of the caliber of his comrade, which served as a spur to him; the
other, likewise a spur, was the knowledge that old Isaac Bellew, and all
the other Bellews, had done things like this in their westward march
of empire. What they had done, he could do. It was the meat, the strong
meat, and he knew, as never before, that it required strong men to eat
such meat.

"You've sure got to keep the top of the ridge," Shorty shouted at him,
the plug of tobacco lifting to his mouth, as the boat quickened in the
quickening current and took the head of the rapids.

Kit nodded, swayed his strength and weight tentatively on the
steering-gear, and headed the boat for the plunge.

Several minutes later, half-swamped and lying against the bank in the
eddy below the White Horse, Shorty spat out a mouthful of tobacco juice
and shook Kit's hand.

"Meat! Meat!" Shorty chanted. "We eat it raw! We eat it alive!"

At the top of the bank they met Breck. His wife stood at a little
distance. Kit shook his hand.

"I'm afraid your boat can't make it," he said. "It is smaller than ours
and a bit cranky."

The man pulled out a row of bills.

"I