river bank rose close to frenzy.

The three men out of time were doubly uneasy. It was not for them to
merely cross the river. They had to build a raft which would be
water-worthy enough to take them downstream--to the sea if they were
lucky. And to build such a sturdy raft would take time, time they did
not have now.

In fact, McNeil waited only until the last tribal raft was out of bow
shot before he plunged down to the shore, Ross at his heels. Since they
lacked even the stone tools of the tribesmen, they were at a
disadvantage, and Ross found he was hands and feet for Ashe, working
under the other's close direction. Before night closed in they had a
good beginning and two sets of blistered hands, as well as aching backs.

When it was too dark to work any longer, Ashe pointed back over the
track they had followed. Marking the mountain pass was a light. It
looked like fire, and if it was, it must be a big one for them to be
able to sight it across this distance.

"Camp?" McNeil wondered.

"Must be," Ashe agreed. "Those who built that blaze are in such numbers
that they don't have to take precautions."

"Will they be here by tomorrow?"

"Their scouts might, but this is early spring, and forage can't have
been too good on the march. If I were the chief of that tribe, I'd turn
aside into the meadow land we skirted yesterday and let the herds graze
for a day, maybe more. On the other hand, if they need water----"

"They will come straight ahead!" McNeil finished grimly. "And we can't
be here when they arrive."

Ross stretched, grimacing at the twinge of pain in his shoulders. His
hands smarted and throbbed, and this was just the beginning of their
task. If Ashe had been fit, they might have trusted to logs for support
and swum downstream to hunt a safer place for their shipbuilding
project. But he knew that Ashe could not stand such an effort.

Ross slept that night mainly because his body was too exhausted to let
him lie awake and worry. Roused in the earliest dawn by McNeil, they
both crawled down to the water's edge and struggled to bind stubbornly
resisting saplings together with cords twisted from bark. They
reinforced them at crucial points with some strings torn from their
kilts, and strips of rabbit hide saved from their kills of the past few
days. They worked with hunger gnawing at them, having no time now to
hunt. When the sun was well westward they had a clumsy craft which
floated sluggishly. Wheth