The weight's too much for Gillow. Bring along the coil of
line from the tool locker, Tom. Hurry, I don't want to drown the
rascal."

What had happened was simple. The cook, endeavoring to take a turn of
the line too late, had failed, and the hemp ran through his half-frozen
fingers, chafing the skin from them. Seeing Thurston floundering in
his direction over the boulders, he valiantly strove to check it,
regardless of the pain until it was whipped clear of his slackening
grasp and the trolley rushed downwards towards the torrent. Thurston
was abreast of it before it splashed in, and had just time to see its
occupant, still clutching the rope, drawn under by the sinking wire,
before he plunged recklessly into the foam.

The water was horribly cold, and the first shock left him gasping and
almost paralyzed. The stream was running fast, and rebounding in white
foam from great stones and uneven ledges below. But the distance was
short, and Thurston was a strong swimmer, so almost before the man had
risen, he was within a few yards of the struggling figure. Hardly had
Geoffrey clutched the man before Mattawa Tom, who had, meantime, run
down stream, whirling a coil of line, loosed it, and the folds, well
directed, shot through the air towards Geoffrey, uncoiling as they
came. By good fortune Thurston was able to seize the end and to pass
it around them both, when--for Gillow had by this time joined his
companion--the two men blundered backwards up the contracted beach, and
Thurston and the fugitive were drawn shorewards together, until their
feet struck bottom.

Breathless and dripping, they staggered out, and, because Geoffrey
still clutched the stranger's jacket, the man said:

"Mightily obliged to you! But you can let up now there's no more
swimming. I couldn't run very far, if it was worth while trying to."

"You needn't trouble to thank me," was the answer. "It wasn't because
I thought the world would miss you that I went into the water; but I
can't expect much sense from a half-drowned man. Do you think the rest
of the boys have heard us, Tom?"

The foreman glanced towards the tents clustered in the mouth of a
ravine above, and seeing no sign of life there, shook his head,
whereupon Geoffrey directed:

"Take him quietly to the cook-shed, and give him some whiskey. I've no
doubt that in spite of my orders you have some. Lend him dry clothes,
and bring him along to my shanty as soon as he's ready.