elcome. All of them touched her
with the sense of a friendship that had been faithful. That she was no
more to them than any of the strangers who came and went on the current,
she could not believe; for they all meant so much, so very much to her.

She asked for a paddle, that she might once more feel against her strength
the strong rush of the mountain river. She caressed its waves and reached
out her hands to the bending boughs, and laughter and sighs touched her
lips.

"Never again!" she whispered, as if a promise was being made; "never
again! my wilderness!"

The man who had charge of the canoe--a stalwart, red-whiskered man of
perhaps forty-five--looked at her a good deal in a cautious way. She was
so unlike any of the girls he had ever seen--so gay, so free of speech
with each stranger or Indian who came their way; so daintily garbed in a
very correct creation of some city tailor; and, above all, so tenderly
careful of a child who slept among the rugs at her feet, and looked like a
bit of pink blossom against the dark furs.

"You are a stranger here, aren't you?" she asked the man. "I saw no one
like you running a boat here last summer."

"No, no," he said, slowly; "I didn't then. My camp is east of Bonner's
Ferry, quite a ways; but I get around here sometimes, too. I don't run a
boat only for myself; but when they told me a lady wanted to get to Twin
Springs, I didn't allow no scrub Indians to take her if my boat was good
enough."

"It is a lovely boat," she said, admiringly; "the prettiest I ever saw on
this river, and it is very good of you to bring me yourself. That is one
of the things makes me realize I am in the West once more--to be helped
simply because I am a girl alone. And you didn't even know my name when
you offered to bring me."

"No, but I did before I left shore," he answered; "and then I counted
myself kind of lucky. I--I've heard so much about you, miss, from folks up
at Twin Springs; from one lady there in particular--Mrs. Huzzard."

"Oh! so you know her, do you?" she asked, and wondered at the
self-conscious look with which he owned up that he did--a little.

"A little? Oh, that is not nearly enough," she said, good-naturedly.
"Lorena Jane is worth knowing a good deal of."

"That's my opinion, too," he agreed; "but a fellow needs some help
sometimes, if he ain't over handy with the gift of gab."

"Well, now, I should not think you would need much help," she answered.
"You ought to