his
white face and the agony of the effort; but his hold relaxed and he was
jerked away, just as his free comrade, swimming mightily, was reaching
for him. Hidden from sight, they took the next plunge, showing for a
second, still struggling, at the shallow foot of the rapid.

A canoe picked up the swimming man, but the rest disappeared in a long
stretch of swift, deep water. For a quarter of an hour the canoes
plied fruitlessly about, then found the dead men gently grounded in an
eddy. A tow-rope was requisitioned from an up-coming boat, and a pair
of horses from a pack-train on the bank, and the ghastly jetsam hauled
ashore. Frona looked at the five young giants lying in the mud,
broken-boned, limp, uncaring. They were still harnessed to the cart,
and the poor worthless packs still clung to their backs, The sixth sat
in the midst, dry-eyed and stunned. A dozen feet away the steady flood
of life flowed by and Frona melted into it and went on.

The dark spruce-shrouded mountains drew close together in the Dyea
Canyon, and the feet of men churned the wet sunless earth into mire and
bog-hole. And when they had done this they sought new paths, till
there were many paths. And on such a path Frona came upon a man spread
carelessly in the mud. He lay on his side, legs apart and one arm
buried beneath him, pinned down by a bulky pack. His cheek was
pillowed restfully in the ooze, and on his face there was an expression
of content. He brightened when he saw her, and his eyes twinkled
cheerily.

"'Bout time you hove along," he greeted her. "Been waitin' an hour on
you as it is."

"That's it," as Frona bent over him. "Just unbuckle that strap. The
pesky thing! 'Twas just out o' my reach all the time."

"Are you hurt?" she asked.

He slipped out of his straps, shook himself, and felt the twisted arm.
"Nope. Sound as a dollar, thank you. And no kick to register,
either." He reached over and wiped his muddy hands on a low-bowed
spruce. "Just my luck; but I got a good rest, so what's the good of
makin' a beef about it? You see, I tripped on that little root there,
and slip! slump! slam! and slush!--there I was, down and out, and the
buckle just out o' reach. And there I lay for a blasted hour,
everybody hitting the lower path."

"But why didn't you call out to them?"

"And make 'em climb up the hill to me? Them all tuckered out with
their own work? Not on your life! Wasn't serious enough. If any