art. Oh, the suffering that dear child has endured! It did seem
till lately as if horse-tradin', cattle-raisin', and the butcher
business was industries against which the Lord had set his face. Sairy
married an undertaker; Samanthy _couldn't_ refuse Doctor Tapper.
And, rain or shine, folks must have teeth if they want to eat the
steaks they sell in Californy, and likewise they must have caskets
when their time comes. Yes, Alviry does take after me, Mr. Ajax.
You're reel clever to say so. She ain't a talker, but brainy. You've
seen her wax flowers? Yes; and the shell table with 'Bless our Home'
on it, in pink cowries? Mercy sakes! There's a big storm a'comin' up."

The rain began to fall as she spoke; at first lightly, then more
heavily as we began to cross the mountains. Long before we came to the
Salinas River it was pouring down in torrents--an inch of water to the
hour.

"It's a cloud-burst," said Mrs. Skenk, from beneath a prehistoric
umbrella. "This'll flush the creeks good."

I whipped up the horses, thinking of the Salinas and its treacherous
waters. In California, when the ground is well sodden, a very small
storm will create a very big freshet. At such times most rivers are
dangerous to ford on account of quicksands.

"I'll guess we'll make it," observed the old lady. "I've crossed when
it was bilin' from bank to bank. I mind me when Jim Tarburt was
drowned: No 'count, Jim. He'd no more sense than a yaller dog. 'Twas a
big streak o' luck for his wife and babies, for Susannah Tarburt
married old man Hopping, and when he died the very next year she was
left rich. Then there was that pore thin school-marm, Ireen Bunker.
She--"

And Mrs. Skenk continued with a catalogue, long as that of the ships
in the _Iliad_, of travellers who, in fording the Salinas, had
crossed that other grim river which flows for ever between time and
eternity. We had reached the banks before she had drained her memory
of those who had perished.

"'Tis bilin'," she muttered, as she peered up and down the yellow,
foam-speckled torrent that roared defiance at us; "but, good Land! we
can't go around now. Keep the horses' noses upstream, young man, and
use your whip."

We plunged in.

What followed took place quickly. In mid-stream the near horse
floundered into a quicksand and fell, swinging round the pole, and
with it the off horse. I lashed the poor struggling beasts
unmercifully, but the wagon settled slowly down--inch by inch. De