ere was no spreading
ripples, no break in the gray surface of the stream to show where the
two had fallen. The stream swept on, infinite, passionless for all its
tumult, unconquerable,--like the River of Death that takes within its
depths the souls of men, never to yield them, never to show whence they
have gone.

The storm recommenced, the wind wailed in the spruce tops, and the snow
sifted down into the gray waters.

VII

Bill Bronson had no realization of the full might of the stream until he
felt it around his body. The waters were fed from the snowfields on the
dark peaks, and every nerve in his system seemed to snap and break in
the first shock of immersion. But he quickly rallied, battling the
stream with mighty strokes.

He knew that if the rescue were accomplished, it would have to be soon.
The torrent grew ever wilder as it sped down the canyon: no human being
could live in the great, black whirlpool at its mouth. Besides, the
cold would claim him soon. Just a few little instants of struggle, and
then exhaustion, if indeed the icy waters did not paralyze his muscles.

He swam with his eyes open, full in the current, and with a really
incredible speed. And by the mercy of the forest gods almost at once he
caught a glimpse of Virginia's dark tresses in the water.

She was ten feet to one side, toward the Gray Lake shore of the river,
and several feet in front. The man seemed simply to leap through the
water. And in an instant more his arm went about her.

"Give yourself to the current," he shouted. "And hang on to me."

He knew this river. They were just entering upon a stretch of water
dreaded of old by the rivermen that had sometimes plied down the stream
in their fur-laden canoes,--a place of jagged rocks and crags and
bowlders that were all but submerged by the waters. To be hurled
against their sharp edges meant death, certain and speedily. He knew
that his mortal strength couldn't avail against them. But by yielding
to the current he thought that he might swing between them into the open
waters below. His arm tightened about the girl's form.

He had not come an instant too soon. Already she had given up. A fair
swimmer, she had been powerless in the rapids. She had not dreamed but
that the trail of her life was at an end. She was cold and afraid and
alone, and she had been ready to yield. But the sight of the guide's
strong body beside her had thrilled her with renewed hope