hand in greeting.

He felt his heart thumping in an unfamiliar way as Duggan came on. Was
it conceivable that the riverman would not recognize him? He forgot his
beard, forgot the great change that four years had wrought in him. He
remembered only that Duggan had been his friend, that a hundred times
they had sat together in the quiet glow of long evenings, telling tales
of the great river they both loved. And always Duggan's stories had
been of that mystic paradise hidden away in the western mountains--the
river's end, the paradise of golden lure, where the Saskatchewan was
born amid towering peaks, and where Duggan--a long time ago--had
quested for the treasure which he knew was hidden somewhere there. Four
years had not changed Duggan. If anything his beard was redder and
thicker and his hair shaggier than when Keith had last seen him. And
then, following him from the Betsy M., Keith caught the everlasting
scent of bacon. He devoured it in deep breaths. His soul cried out for
it. Once he had grown tired of Duggan's bacon, but now he felt that he
could go on eating it forever. As Duggan advanced, he was moved by a
tremendous desire to stretch out his hand and say: "I'm John Keith.
Don't you know me, Duggan?" Instead, he choked back his desire and
said, "Fine morning!"

Duggan nodded uncertainly. He was evidently puzzled at not being able
to place his man. "It's always fine on the river, rain 'r shine.
Anybody who says it ain't is a God A'mighty liar!"

He was still the old Duggan, ready to fight for his river at the drop
of a hat! Keith wanted to hug him. He shifted his pack and said:

"I've slept with it for a week--just to have it for company--on the way