worry in the world, for he did not possess any outfit. That night
he slept on the flats, five miles above Dyea, at the head of canoe
navigation. Here the Dyea River became a rushing mountain torrent,
plunging out of a dark canyon from the glaciers that fed it far
above.

And here, early next morning, he beheld a little man weighing no
more than a hundred, staggering along a foot-log under all of a
hundred pounds of flour strapped on his back. Also, he beheld the
little man stumble off the log and fall face-downward in a quiet
eddy where the water was two feet deep and proceed quietly to
drown. It was no desire of his to take death so easily, but the
flour on his back weighed as much as he and would not let him up.

"Thank you, old man," he said to Tarwater, when the latter had
dragged him up into the air and ashore.

While he unlaced his shoes and ran the water out, they had further
talk. Next, he fished out a ten-dollar gold-piece and offered it
to his rescuer.

Old Tarwater shook his head and shivered, for the ice-water had wet
him to his knees.

"But I reckon I wouldn't object to settin' down to a friendly meal
with you."

"Ain't had breakfast?" the little man, who was past forty and who
had said his name was Anson, queried with a glance frankly curious.