ent was
swift; I lost headway, and a whirlpool caught me; I was swept under, came
up grazing a ragged rock, dipped again through a riffle, and when I
finally gathered myself and won out to the opposite shore, there was my
camp in full view below me. I was winded, bruised, shivering, and while I
lay resting I watched Sandy. He stirred the fire under his kettle, put a
fresh lag on, then walked to the mouth of the brook and stood looking up
stream, wondering, no doubt, what was keeping me. Then a long cry came up
the gorge. It was lost in the rush of the rapids and rose again in a
wailing dirge. The young squaw was mourning for her papoose. It struck me
colder than the waters of the Dosewallups. Sandy turned to listen. I knew
I had only to call, show myself, and the boys would be ready to fight for
me every step of the trail down to the settlement; but there was no need
to drag them in; I hoped they would waste no time in going out, and I
found my pocket compass, set a course, and pushed into the undergrowth.

"That night journey was long-drawn torture. The moon rose, but its light
barely penetrated the fir boughs. My coat and shoes were gone, torn from
me in the rapids, and I walked blindly into snares of broken and pronged
branches, trod tangles of blackberry, and more than once my foot was
pierced by the barbs of a devil's-club. Dawn found me stumbling into a
small clearing. I was dull with weariness, but I saw a cabin with smoke
rising from the chimney, and the possibility of a breakfast heartened me.
As I hurried to the door, it opened, and a woman with a milking pail came
out. At sight of me she stopped, her face went white, and, dropping the
bucket, she moved backward into the room. The next moment she brought a
rifle from behind the door. 'If you come one step nearer,' she cried,
'I'll shoot.'"

Tisdale paused, and the humor broke gently in his face. "I saw she was
quite capable of it," he went on, "and I stopped. It was the first time I
had seemed formidable to a woman, and I raised my hand to my head--my hat
was gone--to smooth my ruffled hair; then my glance fell from my shirt
sleeves, soiled and in tatters, down over my torn trousers to my shoeless
feet; my socks were in rags. 'I am sorry,' I began, but she refused to
listen. 'Don't you say a word,' she warned and had the rifle to her
shoulder, looking along the sight. 'If you do, I'll shoot, and I'm a
pretty good shot.'

"'I haven't a doubt of that,' I answe