urched at him every other second and threatened
to overwhelm the bow of his frail craft. He had none of the
responsibility. His part was simply to supply power, steady,
unwavering power, to make head against the relentless wind. The man
in the stern, on the other hand, had to think and watch and meet
every assault, as well as thrust the canoe forward into the tumult.
He was a gaunt, long-armed young giant, bareheaded, with shaggy
brown hair blown back from his red-tanned face. His keen grey eyes
noted and measured every capricious lake-wave as it lunged at him,
and his wrist, cunning and powerful, delicately varied each
stroke to meet each instant's need. It was not enough that the canoe
should be kept from broaching-to and swamping or upsetting. He was
anxious that it should not ship water, and wet certain treasures
which they were taking home to the backwoods from the shops of the
little city down by the sea. And while his eyes seemed to be so
engrossingly occupied in the battle with the waves of Big Lonely,
they were all the time refreshing themselves with a vision--the
vision of a grey house on a sunny hill-top, where his mother was
waiting for him, and where a little yellow-haired girl would scream
"_Dad_die, oh, Dad_die_!" when she saw him coming up the road.

The dogged voyagers were within perhaps two miles of the head of the
lake, with the sun gone down behind the desolate rampikes, and strange
tints of violet and rose and amber, beautiful and lonely, touching the
angry turbulence of the waves, when the man in the bow, whose eyes
were free to wander, caught sight of the drifting bateau. It was a
little ahead of them, but farther out in the lake.

"Ain't that old Joe's bateau out yonder, Chris?" he queried, his
trained woodsman's eye recognizing the craft by some minute detail of
build or blemish.

"I reckon it be!" answered Chris, after a moment's scrutiny. "He's let
her git adrift. Water must be raisin' sudden!"

"She'll be a fine quality o' kindlin' wood in another hour, the rate
she's travelling" commented the other with mild interest. But the
young giant in the stern was more concerned. He was sorry that old Joe
should lose his boat.

"Darned old fool, not to tie her!" he growled. "Ef 'twarn't fer this
wind ag'in' us, we could ketch it an' tow it ashore fer him. But we
can't."

"Wouldn't stop fer it ef 't had a bag o' gold into it!" grunted the
other, slogging on his paddle with renewed vigour as he