raight at his companion. "This is a great
scheme, Thurston, the biggest I have ever undertaken. There will be
room for scores of ranches, herds of cattle, wheat fields and orchards,
if we can put it through--and we have just got to put it through.
Those confounded dykes have drained me heavily, and they'll keep right
on costing money. Still, even to me, it looks almost beyond the power
of mortal man to deepen the channel here. The risk will figure high in
money, but higher in human life. You feel quite certain you can do it?"

"Yes!" asserted Geoffrey. "I believe I can--in winter, when the frost
binds the glaciers and the waters shrink. Once it is done, and the
only hard rock barrier that holds the water up removed, the river will
scour its own way through the alluvial deposits. I have asked a long
price, but the work will be difficult."

Savine nodded. He knew that it would be a task almost fit for
demi-gods or giants to cut down the bed of what was a furious torrent,
thick with grinding debris and scoring ice, and that only very strong
bold men could grapple with the angry waters, amid blinding snow or
under the bitter frost of the inland ranges in winter time.

"The price is not too heavy, but I don't accept your terms," Savine
said. "Hold on until I have finished and then begin your talking.
I'll offer you a minor partnership in my business instead. Take time,
and keep your answer until I explain things in my offices, in case you
find the terms onerous; but there are many men in this country who
would be glad of the chance you're getting."

Geoffrey stood up, his lean brown face twitching. He walked twice
along the slippery ledge, and then halted before Savine. "I will
accept them whatever they are on one condition, which I hardly dare
hope you will approve," he replied. "That is, regarding the
partnership, for in any case, holding to my first suggestion, you can
count on my best help down here. I don't forget that I owe you a heavy
debt of gratitude, sir, though, as you know, I have had several good
offers latterly."

Savine, who had been abstractedly watching the mad rush of the stream,
looked up as he inquired:

"What is the condition? You seem unusually diffident to-day, Thurston."

"It is a great thing I am going to ask." Geoffrey, standing on the
treacherous ledge above the thundering river, scarcely looked like a
suppliant as he put his fate to the test. "It is your permission to
ask