t from the regular,
diagonally crossing surges that the boat swept upon the bank. Looking
at it more intently, he saw a black object turning in the water like
a porpoise, and then the unmistakable uplifting of a black arm in an
unskillful swimmer's overhand stroke. It was a struggling man. But it
was quickly evident that the current was too strong and the turbulence
of the shallow water too great for his efforts. Without a moment's
hesitation, clad as he was in only his shirt and trousers, Morse
strode into the reeds, and the next moment, with a call of warning, was
swimming toward the now wildly struggling figure. But, from some unknown
reason, as Morse approached him nearer the man uttered some incoherent
protest and desperately turned away, throwing off Morse's extended arm.

Attributing this only to the vague convulsions of a drowning man, Morse,
a skilled swimmer, managed to clutch his shoulder, and propelled him at
arm's length, still struggling, apparently with as much reluctance as
incapacity, toward the bank. As their feet touched the reeds and slimy
bottom the man's resistance ceased, and he lapsed quite listlessly in
Morse's arms. Half lifting, half dragging his burden, he succeeded at
last in gaining the strip of meadow, and deposited the unconscious man
beneath the willow tree. Then he ran to his wagon for whisky.

But, to his surprise, on his return the man was already sitting up and
wringing the water from his clothes. He then saw for the first time,
by the clear moonlight, that the stranger was elegantly dressed and
of striking appearance, and was clearly a part of that bright and
fascinating world which Morse had been contemplating in his solitude. He
eagerly took the proffered tin cup and drank the whisky. Then he rose
to his feet, staggered a few steps forward, and glanced curiously around
him at the still motionless wagon, the few felled trees and evidence of
"clearing," and even at the rude cabin of logs and canvas just beginning
to rise from the ground a few paces distant, and said, impatiently:

"Where the devil am I?"

Morse hesitated. He was unable to name the locality of his
dwelling-place. He answered briefly:

"On the right bank of the Sacramento."

The stranger turned upon him a look of suspicion not unmingled with
resentment. "Oh!" he said, with ironical gravity, "and I suppose that
this water you picked me out of was the Sacramento River. Thank you!"

Morse, with slow Western patien