-they are the best," Pasmore cried. "I shall be back
with the others before long. In the meantime, look to
your guns."

The others would fain have accompanied him, but Pasmore
knew that would only be aggravating the danger. Without
a moment's delay he jumped into the light box of wood
and urged the sure-footed pony across the now groaning
and creaking ice. And now there broke upon his ears what
before only the Indian had heard. It was the coming down
of the river in flood, miles away. It sounded like the
roar of a distant Niagara. Here and there his pony was
up to the fetlocks in water, and the ice heaved beneath
him. Every now and again there was a mighty crackle,
resembling the breaking of a thunderbolt, that sent his
heart into his mouth. He feared then that the end had
come and he would be too late. With rein and voice he
urged the sure-footed pony across the ice. Would he never
reach the opposite bank? But once there, would it be
possible for the party to recross? Surely it would be as
much as their lives were worth to try.

Long before Pasmore had reached the landing, Douglas and
the others had seen him. It was no time for greetings,
and, indeed, their meeting was one too deep for words.
They merely wrung each other's hands, and something
suspiciously like moisture stood in the rancher's eyes.
As for Dorothy, she could not utter a word, but there
was something in her look that quickened Pasmore's
heart-beats even then.

"You must be quick," cried Pasmore. "Big Bear will be
down upon you in ten minutes. Look! There they are now.
There is yet time to cross."

And as he spoke there came a roar like thunder, travelling
from the higher reaches of the river towards them; it
passed them and was lost in the lower reaches. It was
the "back" of the ice being broken--the preliminary to
the grand chaos that was to come. The Indians had seen
them now, and were coming at a gallop not a mile away.

Douglas, Jacques, and Bastien ran and hitched up the
horses into the sleighs.

"You are not afraid to tackle it, are you?" asked Pasmore,
as he looked into the girl's face.

"I'd tackle it now if it were moving down in pieces no
bigger than door-mats," she answered smilingly.

"Then will you tackle it with me?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "Jump in, and I'll follow. Your sleigh
is empty, and father's is full of all sorts of things
--it's too heavy as it is. Here they come! Dad, I'm going
with Mr. Pasmore," she cried;