at which Mindle had brought to
the place on the hand car, took brief inventory of its small cargo.
Satisfied, he turned to load in Io's few belongings. He shipped the
oars.

"I'll let her go stem-first," he explained; "so that I can see what
we're coming to and hold her if there's trouble."

"But can you see?" objected Miss Van Arsdale, directing a troubled look
at the breaking sky.

"If we can't, we'll run her ashore until we can."

He handed Io the flashlight and the map.

"You'll want me in the bow seat if we're traveling reversed," said she.

He assented. "Good sailorwoman!"

"I don't like it," protested Miss Van Arsdale. "It's a mad business.
Ban, you oughtn't to take her."

"It's too late to talk of that," said Io.

"Ready?" questioned Banneker.

"Yes."

He pushed the stern of the boat into the stream, and the current laid it
neatly and powerfully flat to the sheer bank. Io kissed Camilla Van
Arsdale quickly and got in.

"We'll wire you from Miradero," she promised. "You'll find the message
in the morning."

The woman, mastering herself with a difficult effort, held out her hand
to Banneker.

"If you won't be persuaded," she said, "then good--"

"No," he broke in quickly. "That's bad luck. We shall be all right."

"Good luck, then," returned his friend, and turned away into the night.

Banneker, with one foot in the boat, gave a little shove and caught up
his oars. An unseen hand of indeterminable might grasped the keel and
moved them quietly, evenly, outward and forward, puppets given into the
custody of the unregarding powers. Oars poised and ready, Ban sat with
his back toward his passenger, facing watchfully downstream.

Leaning back into the curve of the bow, Io gave herself up to the
pulsing sweep of the night. Far, far above her stirred a cosmic tumult.
The air might have been filled with vast wings, invisible and incessant
in the night of wonders. The moon plunged headlong through the clouds,
now submerged, now free, like a strong swimmer amidst surf. She moved to
the music of a tremendous, trumpeting note, the voice of the unleashed
Spring, male and mighty, exulting in his power, while beneath, the
responsive, desirous earth thrilled and trembled and was glad.

The boat, a tiny speck on the surface of chaos, darted and checked and
swerved lightly at the imperious bidding of unguessed forces, reaching
up from the depths to pluck at it in elfish sportiveness. Only when Ban
thrust do