tily eating hot cakes and ham, answered briefly and to the
point. Mountain streams were all up, filling their narrow beds, spilling
over. A rain like this downpour brought them up in a few hours; it would
stop raining presently and they'd go down as fast as they had risen.
Just two miles from the road house was the biggest stream of all to
negotiate, being the upper waters of Alder Creek. It was up to Hap to
make it because he represented a certain Uncle Samuel who was not to be
stopped by hell or high water; literally that. He'd tie his mail bags
in; leave all extras at Poke Drury's, drive his horses into the
turbulent river high above the ford and ... make it somehow. It was up
to her to stay here.

He gobbled down his breakfast, rolled a fat brown cigarette, buttoned up
his coat and went out to his stage. Before he could snap back his brake
she was at his side.

"My business is as important to me as Uncle Samuel's is to him," she
told him in a steady, matter-of-fact voice. "What is more, I have paid
my fare and mean to go through with you."

He saw that she did mean it. He expostulated, but briefly. He was behind
time, he knew that already they had sought to argue with her in the
house, he recognized the futility of further argument. He had a wife of
his own, had Hap Smith. He grunted his displeasure with the arrangement,
informed her curtly that it was up to her and that, if they went under,
his mail bags would require all of his attention, shrugged his two
shoulders at once and high up, released his brake and went clattering
down the rocky road. The girl cast a quick look behind her as they drew
away from the road house; she had not seen Buck Thornton this morning
and wondered if he had been loitering about the barn or had turned back
into the mountains or had ridden ahead.

Alder Creek was a mad rush and swirl of muddy water; the swish and hiss
of it smote their ears five minutes before they saw the brown, writhing
thing itself. The girl tensed on her seat; her breathing was momentarily
suspended; her cheek went a little pale. Then, conscious of a quick
measuring look from the stage driver, she said as quietly as she could:

"It doesn't look inviting, does it?"

Hap Smith grunted and gave his attention forthwith and solely to the
dexterous handling of his tugging reins. He knew the crossing; had made
it with one sort of a team and another many times in his life. But he
had never seen it so swollen and threat