ort of triangular lines
thought-waves must follow to connect his thought of that peak etched in
the bottom of the lake with her thought on the other side of a peak up in
the sky.

"Steady, man! Slow up! There's a fallen tree with its rump stuck
ashore! A' don't want to warp ye in by snaggin' round; an' that mule
brute is thinkin' o' sittin' down."

The bronchos had plunged to the cold dip with deep grunts, but the mule
braced his legs and brayed at the morning. The frontiersman said things
between set teeth that might have been objurgations to the soul of Satan
or the race of mules. Wayland shoved on the pole. The mule pulled. The
logs of the raft began to creak. "Look out, sir, we're splitting! Let
that doggon brute go--"

And the raft swerved out, the horses swimming, the freed mule plunging
along the wooded shore, Wayland thrusting his long pole deep, almost to
his hand-grip, to find bottom.

"There's a nasty under current from the upper river," he said.

"Let her go, there--! let her go t' th' current--tack her an' the current
wull swerve ye int' the other side! More men lose their lives by poling
too hard than lettin' go! Catch the current and let her go."

The old man had twisted the halter ropes under his feet. He seized a
pole and swerved the raft to the current, pointing in to the other side.
They could hear the roar of the wild mountain stream pouring a maelstrom
down from the glare ice and snow of the upper meadows. The next plunge
of the pole missed bottom. There was a yielding creak of logs. The raft
poised, and spun round.

"Let her go, man! We'll wriggle her in below!"

"Then loose your halter ropes, they're pulling us round."

They tossed the ropes free. Wayland waved his pole to head the bronchos
across. They heard the mule squealing at the head of the lake.

"She can't sink--wriggle her round, Wayland!"

The raft spun twice to the under-pull, took an inch or two of water, and
swirled into the quiet shadows of the far shore.

"Minds me of that story of Napoleon! Do you carry bridges in y'r
pockets, too, Wayland?" asked the old man, as the Ranger gave a long prod
that sent the raft grating ashore.

"What story?" asked Wayland.

"Oh, Boney came to a river too deep for swimming cavalry. General
ordered engineer fellow to get 'em across! Man began to draw maps. When
he came to Napoleon with his blue print plans, he found a common soldier
fellow had pontooned 'em all ac