ty to take care of herself. The only unfortunate phase of the
affair concerned Ray. The latter would look with no favor upon the
venture; and in all probability a disagreeable half-hour would ensue
with him if he found it out.

The control of Ray Brent had been an increasingly difficult problem.
Always sullen and envious, once or twice he had not been far from open
rebellion. There is a certain dread malady that comes to men at the
sight of naked gold, and Ray's degenerate type was particularly subject
to it. Every day the mine had shown itself increasingly rich, and Ray's
ambition had given way to greed, and his greed to avarice of the most
dangerous sort. For instance, he had a disquieting way of gathering the
nuggets into his hands, fondling them with an unholy love. Neilson
realized perfectly, now, that the younger man would not be content with
a fourth share or less; and on the other hand he resolutely refused to
yield any of his own, larger share. Sometime the issue would bring them
to grips. Ray's dreadful crime of a few days past had given him an added
insolence and self-assurance that complicated the problem still further.
The leopard that has once tasted human flesh is not to be trusted again.
Finally, there remained this matter of Beatrice.

Neilson's love for his daughter forbade that he should force her to
receive unwelcome attentions. Ray, on the other hand, had always
insisted that his chief allow him a clear field. He would be infuriated
when he heard of the trip she was taking with Ben to-day. Neilson
straightened, resolving to meet the issue with old-time firmness.

When he heard his daughter's voice on the canoe landing, one hundred
yards below, he was inordinately startled. She had not told him that
their picnic would take them on to the water. The reason had been, of
course, that Beatrice knew her father's distrust of the treacherous
stream and either feared his refusal to her plan or wished to save him
worry. Even now they were starting. He could hear the first stroke of
the paddle through the hushed woods.

He turned toward the door, instinctively alarmed; then hesitated. After
all, he could not tell her to come back. Beatrice would be mortified;
and besides, there was nothing definite to fear. The river was almost as
still as a lake for a long stretch immediately in front of the landing;
even a poor canoeist could cross with ease. It was true that rapids,
mile after mile of them past counting,