r a space, and then
she cautiously stole a glance at him and was relieved to see that he
was asleep. Careful to be noiseless she rose, took up a tin water pail
and walked to the river.

The Humboldt rushed through a deep-cut bed, nosing its way between
strewings of rock. Up the banks alders and willows grew thick,
thrusting roots, hungry for the lean deposits of soil, into cracks and
over stony ledges. By the edge the current crisped about a flat rock,
and Susan, kneeling on this, dipped in her pail. The water slipped in
in a silvery gush which, suddenly seething and bubbling, churned in the
hollowed tin, nearly wrenching it from her. She leaned forward,
dragging it awkwardly toward her, clutching at an alder stem with her
free hand. Her head was bent, but she raised it with a jerk when she
heard Courant's voice call, "Wait, I'll do it for you."

He was on the opposite bank, the trees he had broken through swishing
together behind him. She lowered her head without answering, her face
suddenly charged with color. Seized by an overmastering desire to
escape him, she dragged at the pail, which, caught in the force of the
current, leaped and swayed in her hand. She took a hurried upward
glimpse, hopeful of his delayed progress, and saw him jump from the
bank to a stone in mid-stream. His moccasined feet clung to its
slippery surface, and for a moment he oscillated unsteadily, then
gained his balance and, laughing, looked at her. For a breathing space
each rested motionless, she with strained, outstretched arm, he on the
rock, a film of water covering his feet. It was a moment of physical
mastery without conscious thought. To each the personality of the
other was so perturbing, that without words or touch, the heart beats
of both grew harder, and their glances held in a gaze fixed and
gleaming. The woman gained her self-possession first, and with it an
animal instinct to fly from him, swiftly through the bushes.

But her flight was delayed. A stick, whirling in the current, caught
between the pail's rim and handle and ground against her fingers. With
an angry cry she loosed her hold, and the bucket went careening into
midstream. That she had come back to harmony with her surroundings was
attested by the wail of chagrin with which she greeted the accident.
It was the last pail she had left. She watched Courant wade into the
water after it, and forgot to run in her anxiety to see if he would get
it. "Oh,