them, and looked after them enviously; for they took the rises of the
trail on the run, and rattled down the counter slopes, and ground the
iron-rimmed wheels harshly over the rocks. Plunging through a dark
stretch of woods, they came out upon the river at the ford. A drowned
man lay on his back on the sand-bar, staring upward, unblinking, at the
sun. A man, in irritated tones, was questioning over and over,
"Where's his pardner? Ain't he got a pardner?" Two more men had
thrown off their packs and were coolly taking an inventory of the dead
man's possessions. One called aloud the various articles, while the
other checked them off on a piece of dirty wrapping-paper. Letters and
receipts, wet and pulpy, strewed the sand. A few gold coins were
heaped carelessly on a white handkerchief. Other men, crossing back
and forth in canoes and skiffs, took no notice.

The Scandinavians glanced at the sight, and their faces sobered for a
moment. "Where's his pardner? Ain't he got a pardner?" the irritated
man demanded of them. They shook their heads. They did not understand
English. They stepped into the water and splashed onward. Some one
called warningly from the opposite bank, whereat they stood still and
conferred together. Then they started on again. The two men taking
the inventory turned to watch. The current rose nigh to their hips,
but it was swift and they staggered, while now and again the cart
slipped sideways with the stream. The worst was over, and Frona found
herself holding her breath. The water had sunk to the knees of the two
foremost men, when a strap snapped on one nearest the cart. His pack
swung suddenly to the side, overbalancing him. At the same instant the
man next to him slipped, and each jerked the other under. The next two
were whipped off their feet, while the cart, turning over, swept from
the bottom of the ford into the deep water. The two men who had almost
emerged threw themselves backward on the pull-ropes. The effort was