joe ardently desired to continue the poker game on borrowed capital, but ralph pointed out that he had announced in advance his intention of retiring from the game. "i've got to sleep," he said.

"camp here if you like," growled joe.

ralph shook his head. "i'll drop down the river a little piece," he said. "i want to get an early start."

"you'll have to get up early to keep ahead of us in that contraption," said crusoe with a laugh. "it's no more than a dunnage bag stretched on a couple of half hoops!"

"you can't go down the stanley rapids in her," said the breed. "she all bus' up."

"don't expect to go down the stanley rapids," said ralph with a great air of carelessness. "i'm going up the stanley."

he observed that stack and joe were listening attentively.

"you can't track her," the breed said scornfully.

"my partner is waiting for me at the forks," lied ralph. "he's got a dugout."

"where the hell did you pick up a pardner?" joe burst out, forgetting himself.

ralph opened his eyes wide in affected surprise. "well, say, give me time," he drawled, "and i'll tell you all my private business!"

the laugh was fairly on joe. he flung away with a muttered curse.

ralph, embarking, paddled no farther than around the first bend. here he made his camp on the same side of the river as the others. he thought it likely stack would try to communicate with him during the night. ralph was highly satisfied with the results of the evening's entertainment. besides winning about fifty dollars, he had shown them he was not afraid, and he had put them, he hoped, on a false scent as to his destination.

he made a little fire, and retired under his shelter, but not to sleep. he had plenty to occupy his mind. after an hour or so he heard a rustle in the underbrush, and presently a scared voice whispering:

"doctor cowdray! doctor cowdray!"

ralph sprang up.

"don't shoot! don't shoot!" cried the voice in terror. "it's only me, stack."

ralph laughed.

the little man drew near, cringing. "won't you put out the fire?" he whined. "in case any of them should come."

ralph scattered the embers.

stack needed no encouragement to make him speak. it came tumbling out; truth and lies, complaints and excuses all mixed. "my god! doctor! what a terrible position i'm in!" he wailed. "i don't know which way to turn. i gave mixer two hundred and fifty dollars to guide me through the country, and look at the way they treat me! you saw it! i have to wash the dishes, and wait on the half-breed! me! with a college education! i'm in momentary terror of my life. i hired mixer, thinking no wrong, and now i find him pursuing some murderous vengeance against you! if you could hear how he talks about you! look what a position that puts me in—travelling with a gang of murderers! what must you think of me?"

ralph listened to all this, smoking impassively. "what are you making this trip for?" he asked.

"just to see the country," whined stack. "didn't i tell you that? i wish to heaven i was well out of it!"

"that's a lie," said ralph coolly.

"oh, doctor cowdray, i wouldn't lie to you! i wouldn't do such a thing!" he protested volubly.

"did you hire joe mixer to bring you after me?" ralph demanded imperatively.

"yes," faltered stack. "but for a purely legitimate purpose. i swear it!"

"have you, as joe said, been trailing me all the way from the coast?"

"yes," he confessed. "but meaning no harm at all—purely legitimate, doctor, purely legitimate!" his voice trailed away.

"well i'm damned!" said ralph. there was a silence while he smoked. "what was your purpose?" he finally demanded to know.

"it's such an improbable story i didn't dare tell you," said stack. "and i haven't any proof of it."

"you tell me and i'll decide as to the proof," said ralph.

stack took a breath and began with renewed glibness: "i'm a newspaper reporter—pacific herald. the city editor was told you had made a big new strike up here, and he sent me to follow you in, and get the first story of it for the herald. i had to do what i was told," he whined, "or lose my job. you can't blame me——!"

"who told him about me?" asked ralph astonished.

"don't ask me," said stack. "i've heard they have the assay office watched. i don't know."

it was obvious to ralph from the man's silky, fawning voice that he was lying still. his gorge rose. evidently the truth had to be terrified out of such a creature. they were sitting beside the last faint embers of the fire. ralph shot out his hand and gripped stack by the collar. a faint, gasping cry escaped the little man, and he went limp in ralph's grasp.

"i have my revolver in the other hand," ralph said in a rasping voice. "the truth now, or i'll crack your skull with it! it was you who watched the assay office."

"yes," murmured stack in accents of honest terror.

"you followed me up here on your own responsibility, hoping to get in on my strike?"

"yes."

ralph dropped him. "now we know where we stand!" he said.

stack, like all born liars, had an infinite capacity for swallowing his lies. ralph had no sooner dropped him than he unblushingly appropriated the credit for his confession.

"i had to come and square myself with you," he whined. "i couldn't rest until i had come and told you the truth!"

"well, i'm damned!" said ralph again. "go on!"

"you're the only friend i've got!"

"friend!" said ralph with a snort of scornful amusement. "this is good! give it to me straight," he went on curiously. "what did you come here for to-night?"

stack's voice rose to a piteous wail. "any night i may be murdered in my blankets!"

"sure," said ralph coolly. "but what can i do for you?"

"take me with you in your boat," stack blurted out.

"well, upon my word!" cried ralph.

"don't refuse! don't refuse!" said stack breathlessly. "they wouldn't dare touch me if i was with you. they're afraid of you. that was magnificent of you to come to their camp and sit in the game as if nothing had happened. it had its effect, i can tell you! oh! take me with you!" he went on, stuttering in his eagerness. "i can help you escape from them. two heads are better than one. i have a good head for planning when i'm not in mortal fear of my life!"

"fine!" said ralph. "and you get right in on my strike!"

"i wouldn't ask much," said stack. "i'd be content with whatever you wanted to let me have. why can't we work together? you need a representative outside. you've got to file a lot of dummy claims to cover the whole field. you've got to form a company. i can attend to all that for you. it's just my line!"

"thought you said newspaper reporter?" remarked ralph.

"that was just making out," said stack hastily. "i know the mining business from a to z. i've got legal training. you need me!"

"thanks," said ralph coolly. "i prefer to pick my own company."

"if anything happens to me it'll be on your head," whimpered stack. "aren't you going to take me with you?"

"no!" said ralph in a tone there was no mistaking.

"what shall i do? what shall i do?" moaned stack. "if you won't let me travel with you, tell me where you're going, and if i can escape from them, i'll try to reach you. in common humanity you can't refuse that!"

ralph smiled into the darkness. "is it possible he still thinks i am fool enough to give away my secret!" he thought. "if he does, all right!" aloud, he said carelessly: "i've no objection to telling you that. but i won't guarantee you a welcome."

"anyway, you're not a murderer!" whined stack.

"it's about twenty-five miles up the stanley river from the grand forks——"

"then you were telling the truth?" said stack with na?ve surprise.

"why not?" said ralph coolly. "i'm not afraid of them." he bethought himself of adding a few convincing touches to his lie. "you enter a tributary that comes in on the right-hand side of the stanley, and ascend it as far as you can go into the foothills. there you will find our camp."

"how will i know the mouth of the right tributary?" asked stack.

"by two pine trees that lean across, one at each side, until their tops almost meet," said ralph readily. "my partner and i call it the a river."

"take me with you!" stack began all over again. "you need me!"

"cut it out!" said ralph impatiently.

"you ought to take me with you," stack persisted. an indescribable, sly, cringing threat crept into his whine. "now that i know where you're going, if they torture me i might let it out in spite of myself!"

disgust overmastered ralph. he sprang up. "you little cur!" he cried. "get out of here before i hurt you!"

stack waited to hear no more.

during the next three days the two boats seesawed on the lakes and rivers, ralph now ahead, and now joe mixer's party. ralph kept much longer working hours, but the others made it up in speed. whenever they passed each other it became the occasion for an exchange of half-serious abuse, which was only prevented from developing into a fight by ralph's unshakable, steely smile. ralph insisted on making out that it was all a joke. joe was itching for a fight, but the smile cut the ground from under him. meanwhile ralph gave as good as he got. stack never took part in these contests of wit. he sat in the dugout haggard and abstracted, gripping the gunwales under his skinny knuckles. when he thought ralph's gaze rested on him, he did his best to look meek and imploring, but succeeded very ill in disguising his hatred. joe mixer carried a deal of liquor in his baggage as evinced by their frequent thickness of speech.

at the end of the third day they had travelled far down the rice river. by paddling until near dark ralph succeeded in pitching his camp three miles in advance of the other party. it was his intention to sleep for four hours only, and then go on. according to his calculations he was within a few hours' journey of the grand forks, and it was essential to his plan that he get there first. he meant to watch from some place of concealment on the shore, to make sure that they turned up the stanley river instead of continuing downstream. in case they were not deceived by his false lead, and did not leave the main stream, he had one more desperate card to play. the moon was now nearly full again, and he could be sure of a certain light until dawn.

ralph pitched his little shelter in an opening among the willows that thickly lined this part of the bank. his boat was drawn high up on the stones below, and tied to the willow trunks. he ate a hasty supper and turned in. as he lay waiting for sleep, once again he was warned by a vague disquiet in his breast of an impending danger. he remembered this afterward. at the time he was dog-tired, and the still voice was not insistent enough to cleave the gathering mists of sleep. he soon became unconscious.

he was awakened immediately, or so it seemed to him, by a sudden outburst of drunken shouting. at the same moment his shelter collapsed on top of him. when he succeeded in freeing himself of the entangling blankets, netting, and canvas, in the dim light he saw four figures reeling about where his fire had been, kicking his belongings into the bush, and wreaking what senseless damage they could. a terrible rage nerved him in every fibre.

"you damned cowards!" he cried.

hearing his voice, they made for him simultaneously, but ralph retreated silently under the willows, and bided his time, peering through the branches. they searched for him, stumbling over the roots and shouting inanely.

during the next two or three minutes the scene was as confused and incredible as a nightmare. ralph made out a swollen body swaying on the edge of the bank, outlined against the moonlight. rushing him, he hauled off and struck him on the jaw with a savage satisfaction in the crack of it. he made to follow up the blow, but joe was not there. he lay in a heap at the bottom of the bank. hearing a sound behind him, in the act of whirling around, a bludgeon aimed at ralph's head descended on his shoulder. seizing him who had wielded it around the body, ralph lifted him clear of the ground and flung him after joe. this one was crusoe campbell. a third figure scuttled down to the water's edge without waiting to be assisted. ralph stood in the ashes of his fire, breathing hard, and glaring around like a lion for another adversary.

the half-breed stepped from out the shadows of the willows. "look out, white man!" he cried boastfully. "i got it in for you! i'll fix you good!"

"come on!" cried ralph gladly. at the same time the curious thought shot through his brain: what could the half-breed have against him? it was not joe mixer's quarrel; there could be no mistaking the note of personal enmity.

the moon shone down serenely indifferent. a little prize-ring was illuminated within the encircling willows. in it the two men advanced toward each other, fists up. they crashed together. this was an adversary worthy of ralph; he fought like a white man, and he fought fair. shrewd blows were exchanged on either side. each quickly learned to respect the other, and thereafter fought more warily. failing to reach ralph's head, the breed punished him about the body. every one of ralph's blows was aimed in the centre of the pale ellipse that denoted the other man's face.

ralph had an advantage in that the breed's head was somewhat fuddled. his blows began to go wild. ralph beat him to his knees, and stood back to let him rise. as they rushed each other again, ralph's ankles were grasped from behind, and he was flung violently to the ground, striking his head.

as from an immense distance he heard the half-breed say: "dam' little sneak! wat for you do that? i want lick 'im myself!"

then the voices receded. ralph heard them from the beach; heard a hoarse guffaw, and afterward the splashing of paddles. he understood that they had gone.

by this time he had got to his feet. he stood, reeling from the effects of his fall, and half suffocated with a cold and deadly rage. he made his way down to the water's edge. his boat was turned upside down on the stones, and the moonlight revealed several clean slashes in her canvas bottom.

"oh! the scum!" muttered ralph in his rage. "unnatural beasts without decency or manliness! malignant, cowardly, sneaking rats!"

in cutting his boat they had not done as serious damage as they doubtless aimed to do, for ralph carried spare pieces of canvas in his baggage, and a can of waterproof gum against emergencies. he instantly set about repairing the boat, working away in the partial darkness with the pertinacity inspired by a cold rage. he had no doubt now of what he meant to do.

"they'll be sleeping sound after the booze," he thought grimly. "they think they've fixed me for a while. they won't be looking for a visit to-night."

when he had his patches affixed, he built a small fire on the stones, and held the boat over it to dry the gum.

in less than two hours she was fit to float again. he carried his fire up on the bank then, and making a blaze, hastily collected his scattered belongings. this refreshed his rage. in his impatience he flung everything into his boat higgledy-piggledy, and pushed off. he did not paddle, for fear of being carried past, but allowed the current to take him, while he searched both shores with straining eyes. no shadow was allowed to pass unexplained.

he had not gone much above a mile when he saw what he so ardently desired: their dugout drawn up on the stones. a great satisfaction diffused itself throughout his breast. softly paddling ashore, he beached his own boat alongside, and bent his head to listen. a faint snoring from the bank overhead reassured him. he smiled scornfully. in their drunken carelessness they had actually left most of their baggage in the dugout. ralph had no desire to starve them to death, or to deprive them of the means of ultimate escape. with suitable precautions of silence he unloaded everything on the stones. then untying the rope by which the dugout was fastened to a tree, he heaved her adrift on the current. he didn't care much whether they heard that or not. but no alarm was raised.

embarking in his own boat, ralph towed the larger craft into midstream. picturing the scene that awaited their awakening next morning, he chuckled grimly, and found his breast eased of its weight of rage. he felt not the slightest regret for what he had done; indeed he was blaming himself for the foolish compunctions that had prevented him from doing it earlier. his enemies were in no pressing danger; they possessed a store of food, also guns and ammunition. they would eventually build a raft. in the meantime he would get a start that would put him out of their reach for good. he was free of them. a great serenity descended on his spirit.

before he cast off the dugout it occurred to him that it was better fitted to descend the rapids ahead than his own clumsy coracle. he debated the matter. an odd quirk of conscience finally prevented him from making the change. "if i use the thing," he thought, "it's the same as stealing it." on this fine distinction depended the whole subsequent course of his story. he cast the dugout adrift. there was no wind to blow it ashore and it was good for a long journey.

during the rest of the night ralph paddled and floated with the current without seeking any further rest. dawn found him among the islands that marked the approach of the end of the rice river. this was where he had first been blindfolded on the previous journey, and he awaited the subsequent sights of the river with a stimulated curiosity.

at sun-up, rounding a bend, he beheld the wide expanse of the meeting of the waters, the grand forks of the spirit river. there could be no mistaking the place. the two rivers occupied the same valley; one came down from the north, one from the south; meeting head on they swung away to the eastward. the green current and the brownish struggled ceaselessly for possession of the channel. at present the stanley was in flood, backing up the waters of the rice river for several miles. the division between sweeping brown water and motionless green water was as sharply defined as between water and land. poking the nose of his boat into the current, she swung around and almost rolled awash under the impact. ralph instantly remembered the sensation which had so puzzled him while he lay blindfolded.

soon after he began to move down on the majestic flood of the augmented river, the murmur of the great rapids crept on his ears, and his heart began to beat. this would be the first real test of his paddle. the murmur increased to a rumble, then to a roar. finally he could make out the white-caps leaping below, like the naked arms of a multitude ceaselessly tossed to the sky in wild excitement. he appreciated the vast difference between a pretty stream brawling among the stones, and a mighty watercourse plunging over a barrier of rock.

he landed a little way above the rapids and fortified himself with an excellent breakfast. afterward he made his way alongshore to the beginning of the turmoil to try to spy out the best place to enter it. a close view of its mightiness made him feel very small. the immeasurable flood of water swept smoothly over the hidden ledge with an oily streaked surface, moving faster and faster until it suddenly boiled up madly at the bottom. from shore to shore, nearly half a mile, the wild, white welter prevailed. ralph received a stunning impression of the tearing, resistless might of the down-rushing water. its roar was deafening. at the thought of tempting it with his flimsy coracle, his heart shrunk away to nothing in his breast. but it had to be done.

at first as far as he could tell one place was as bad as another to descend. gradually he made out that by great good fortune he had chosen the right side of the river. toward the other bank the white surface was everywhere pointed with ugly black rocks. he saw that the greatest volume of water rushed down close to the shore on which he stood. if he could keep his boat in the middle of it there was no danger of rocks. there remained the danger of those strange, great billows which curled and rolled and roared without ever advancing an inch in their paths.

he returned to his boat, fighting his terror of the place. refusing to think of it, he worked desperately to make all snug. he got in and clung to a branch that trailed in the water, while the increasing current sucked at his little craft. he had fallen out of the habit of articulate prayer; maybe he prayed in his own way. he let go of the branch, and began to drift toward the place. he moistened his lips, and drew a long breath, and drove his paddle into the water. no turning back then.

then he took the plunge, and was filled with an amazing exhilaration.

the struggle was brief. his boat plunged her nose right under the first curling white billow and half a ton of water fell aboard. she staggered drunkenly, and in spite of his desperate paddling swung broadside in the current. the next billow raked him from stem to stern, rolled his boat completely under and washed him clear of it. the opposed currents of the water clutched at him and racked him like whirling machinery. he came to the surface gasping, only to be flung violently against a rock, striking on his shoulder. stunned by the buffeting and the roar, he was carried on down like a rotten log, now underneath, now on top, the plaything of every wild eddy.

struggling instinctively, in the end he found himself somehow in still water. he crawled out on the beach and lay inert, struggling for breath and for consciousness. very slowly the realization of his plight was forced on him. he felt no great concern. it was like something that might have happened to somebody else. there lay a poor devil cast ashore in the wilderness hundreds of miles from any fellow-creature. everything he possessed, boat, food, matches, axe, blankets, gun and ammunition were at the bottom of the river. out of the wreck he had saved only nahnya's necklace, which was sewed to his shirt, and his pocketbook with money, neither article being of the slightest service to keep life in his body.

he sat up, roused by an imperious pain. looking sideways and down at himself he was mildly impressed by the extraordinary conformation of his right shoulder—like somebody else's shoulder. it was dislocated. he could not lift his right arm. it was a mercy, if but a small one, that his faculties began to work so slowly. his first articulate thought was:

"well, thank god! i got a skinful of breakfast before i lost it!"