us it happened that as Murrell and Slosson
were dragging Yancy down the lane, Cavendish was just rounding a bend in
the Elk, a quarter of a mile distant. Leaning loosely against the long
handle of his sweep, he was watching the lane of bright water that ran
between the black shadows cast by the trees on either bank. He was in
shirt and trousers, barefoot and bareheaded, and his face, mild and
contemplative, wore an expression of dreamy contentment.

Suddenly its expression changed. He became alert and watchful. He had
heard a dull splash. Thinking that some tree had been swept into the
flood, he sought to pierce the darkness that lay along the shore. Five
or six minutes passed as the raft glided along without sound. He was
about to relapse into his former attitude of listless ease when he
caught sight of some object in the eddy that swept alongside. Mr.
Cavendish promptly detached himself from the handle of the sweep and ran
to the edge of the raft.

"Good Lord--what's that!" he gasped, but he already knew it was a face,
livid and blood-streaked. Dropping on his knees he reached out a pair
of long arms and made a dexterous grab, and his fingers closed on the
collar of Yancy's shirt. "Neighbor, I certainly have got you!" said
Cavendish, between his teeth. He drew Yancy close alongside the raft,
and, slipping a hand under each arm, pulled him clear of the water. The
swift current swept the raft on down the stream. It rode fairly in the
center of the lane of light, but no eye had observed its passing. Mr.
Cavendish stood erect and stared down at the blood-stained face, then he
dropped on his knees again and began a hurried examination of the still
figure. "There's a little life here--not much, but some--you was well
worth fishing up!" he said approvingly, after a brief interval. "Polly!"
he called, raising his voice.

This brought Mrs. Cavendish from one of the two cabins that occupied the
center of the raft. She was a young woman, still very comely, though
of a matronly plumpness. She was in her nightgown, and when she caught
sight of Yancy she uttered a shriek and fled back into the shanty.

"I declare, Dick, you might ha' told a body you wa'n't alone!" she said
reproachfully.

Her cry had aroused the other denizens of the raft. The tow heads of the
six little Cavendishes rose promptly from a long bolster in the smaller
of the two shanties, and as promptly six little Cavendishes, each draped
in a single non-committa