bing pines. It seemed to
Seaforth that to go on was impossible, and he glanced at his comrade
anxiously, Alton stood alone upon a driftwood trunk, his figure
silhouetted in rigid outline against the whiteness of the foam, for his
drenched garments clung in sodden folds to every curve of it. His face
was as immobile in its wet grimness save for the smouldering glow in
his eyes, and there was a low growl of half-articulate expostulation
from those about him as he turned and pointed to the river.

"What are you stopping for? The silver's yonder, and there's our
road," he said.

None of them protested. They knew no rancher or prospector in the
province could traverse the road he pointed to, but in their long
grapple with the forest they had not infrequently attempted things that
appeared beyond the power of man, and speech seemed useless when the
river would answer for them. Therefore, when Alton once more took to
the water they followed him, bracing overtaxed muscle against the
tireless stream until the man who pressed on a dozen yards in front
went down. Then while Seaforth held his breath there was a cry from
Okanagan, who clutched at an arm that rose from the flood. Seaforth
had his hand next moment, somebody clung to him, and they went
downstream together for a space, with the shingle slipping beneath
them, and their burdens dragging them down, panting, floundering,
choking, but still holding on, until they found a foothold in the slack
of an eddy, and Seaforth saw that Alton was on his feet again. His hat
had gone, and there was a red gash on his forehead from which the blood
ran down. He said nothing until they stood less than knee-deep, when
Seaforth glanced at him.

"You will be contented now?" he said.

"Yes," said Alton, with hoarse breathlessness. "I'm beaten. Well,
we'll go back and make a traverse across the ranges."

Seaforth glanced for a moment at the slope of rock that ran up into the
dimness above him. Here and there it afforded a foothold to a juniper
or stunted pine, but that was all, and there was a gleam of slushy snow
high up above it, where though the pitch was flatter the firs could
scarcely climb. Whether any man could reach those heights or cross
them through the melting drifts he did not know, but at the best the
journey would cost a day for every hour it would have done had it been
possible to follow the valley.

"You know what day it is?" he said.

"Yes," said Alton very