Mounting an almost perpendicular
hill, Jim saw the _Silas P. Young_ beating down-stream, a mile or two
ahead, at a steady ten knots.

He made queer noises with his lips and his mount responded instantly,
leaping with distended nostrils over stone and hummocks, like a piece of
live steel. To be on a horse again was glorious. Instantly his form had
merged with the animal's--they moved as one creature, raising dust and
moss as they thundered down the river.

The boat turned a corner and was lost to view for a few minutes, but a
mile lower down he saw it again, with a creamy wake streaming behind it.
He was nearer now and going strong. He pressed his hand over the glossy
neck of the horse and crooned to it.

"Gee, yore some hoss--you beaut! The man that lays whip on your flanks
oughter be shot. We're gaining, honey. Another league and we'll be putting
it over that 'honking' bunch of machinery. Stead-dee!"

The thundering pace was maintained. Uphill, downhill, on the flat, it was
all the same. Heels were no longer necessary. The horse understood that
the big "horse-man" wanted to get somewhere in quick time, and meant to
see him through.

Twenty minutes later they were abreast of the _Silas P. Young_. Then they
shot into a deep gully and were lost among a thick forest of spruce-trees.
For two miles horse and man evaded low-hanging branches and treacherous
footfalls, until the timber thinned and the straggling Yukon came again to
view. Away up-stream was the steamboat, crawling down by the near bank.
There was no time to be lost if Angela's escape was to be frustrated. He
tethered his foam-flecked mount to a tree and crept down the steep bank.
The muddied water swirled along at a ramping five knots--a vile-looking
cocoa-colored mass that was scarcely inviting to any swimmer. He raised
his hands and dived down.

With a powerful over-arm stroke he made for the line which the steamboat
was following. In that wide welter of water the bobbing head would in all
probability be lost to view, or any kind of shout would be drowned by the
clanking noise of the paddle-wheels. The extreme danger of the exploit was
not lost upon him, but the resolve, once rooted, stuck fast.

He looked up and saw the _Silas P. Young_ bearing down on him, her squat
nose setting her course in dead line with his eyes. Treading water, he
waited for the psychological moment. The chief danger lay in the vicinity
of the paddle-wheel. To be caught up in tha