A traveller might have descended through the Spirit River pass half a dozen times without suspecting the vicinity of any fellow-creatures in the hundred miles of mountains. Nevertheless there was a white man's camp at the foot of Mount Milburn. Milburn is the hoary-headed monarch that stands guard on the right-hand side of the gateway to the Rockies. It rises sheer from the river to a height of more than six thousand feet. In the country it is otherwise called the Mountain of Gold because it has long been known that one of the buttresses of its base is entirely composed of a metal-bearing quartz.

The few people of the country knew of course that Jim Sholto had established himself here with his three children for the purpose of smelting the ore in a small way, but Jim had built his shacks a quarter of a mile back from the river to avoid the inconvenient observation of the chance traveller. Jim and his two sons excavated the ore and burned it in half a dozen little furnaces of porcelain and brick, the materials for which they had brought in with immense difficulty. The venture was not highly regarded in the country. The expense of bringing in supplies was too great. They worked like beavers, it was said, for a net return no greater than day labourer's wages. Such unremitting industry accused the easy-going ways of the North.

On a brilliant afternoon in July Kitty Sholto was redding up the kitchen in the larger of the two shacks. There was a cloud on her charming face. She slapped the enamel-ware plates on the shelf with a malicious satisfaction in the clatter, and cast the dish-towels over the line, as if they had individually offended her.

Kitty was twenty years old. In her face were combined elements of gentleness and piquancy, a rare association and provoking to the other sex. The piquancy was due to her long eyes, green-gray in colour, and placed a thought obliquely in her head. Green in eyes is thought of in connection with feline qualities. There was nothing of that sort about Kitty. All the rest was gentleness. She had a small, straight nose, and an adorable mouth that turned up at the corners. Her hair, darkest brown in colour, was of the crinkly sort that reaches out tendrils. She had a soft voice, with an odd, hushed thrill in it that was all her own, and a soft and ready laugh. She was not at all the kind of girl to be given to ill-humours.

Sweeping the crumbs over the door-sill, she stood broom in hand leaning against the jamb. In one swift cast around she took in the whole scene, the exquisite, limpid sky, the polished malachite of the deciduous foliage, the rich bottle-green of the pines, the brook whipping itself white on the stones. She took it all in, and the line between her dark eyebrows deepened as if the loveliness of nature were an added affront.

Down the trail from the excavations the four ponies came plodding, each laden with a double wooden bucket of ore. Bill, the younger of Kitty's two brothers, walked behind, whistling vociferously, and tickling the rearmost beast with a switch. Bill was a tall, strong youth of twenty-two, a black Scotchman with a gleaming smile. Dumping the contents of the buckets on the little mountain of ore before the other shack, with a flick of his switch he sent the ponies trotting back one by one for another load.

Bill, pausing to fill his pipe, grinned amiably at his sister. Kitty's brothers adored her, and teased her remorselessly. "Hello, sis!" he said. "What's biting you?"

"Nothing!" she said quickly.

"You look as if the cat was dead and the milk turned," he said in the humorous style that brothers affect.

"There is no cat and I haven't tasted milk in a year and a half," said Kitty sharply.

"Take example from me!" sang Bill. "Dog-tooth Bill, the sunshine of Milburn Gulch!"

"That's all very well!" said Kitty bitterly. "Who wouldn't be gay in your shoes. You're going away to-morrow. You're going to mix with people; to see something besides trees; to have some fun! What have I got to look forward to?"

"Cheer up, sis," said Bill with jocular solicitude. "What can we do about it? The little iron chest has to be carried out. It's getting too heavy to be left lying around loose. And there's next year's grub to be brought in."

"Certainly, I know you're obliged to go," said Kitty.

"If you could go in my place you'd be welcome," said Dick. "But it's too hard a trip both out and in again. You and Dick couldn't do it alone."

"I know it," said Kitty stiffly. "You don't have to explain."

"And we can't take you with us, because the old man can't keep the plant going, and cook his own grub, too."

"I wouldn't think of leaving him alone," said Kitty indignantly.

Bill began to grin again. "Cheer up, the worst is yet to come!" he cried. "We'll be back in six weeks with a scow full of good things! What'll I bring her from town for a present? A silk dress?"

"A lot of good a silk dress would do me!" Kitty said scornfully. "Who do I ever see from one month to another?"

"Ah, there we have her trouble!" cried Bill. He began to sing and to caper absurdly:

"Kitty is mad and I am glad,
For I know how to please her;
A bottle of wine to make her shine
And a nice young man to squeeze her!"

"You're horrid!" cried Kitty, frowning and blushing.

"Give me the specifications," Bill went on, with an air of serious gravity. "Blond, brunette, or albino? Heavy, welter, or light weight? Kind of disposition you prefer, and amount of purse to be put up before you enter the ring? I'll bring the candidate back with me if I have to sandbag him!"

Kitty retired into the house, slamming the door. Bill, with a whoop, started up the trail after his horses.

When the cabin was put to rights there was nothing more that Kitty was obliged to do until it was time to start the supper. On such occasions she was accustomed to help her father in the "works," as they called the other shack, but the furnaces had been cold for a week now, while all hands joined to get out enough ore to keep them fed while the boys were away. There was plenty of work that Kitty might have done, but she was in a mood to dream and to nourish her grievances. She might have gone up to the excavation to help, but she dreaded male raillery. She finally turned in the other direction and followed the path down to the river.

It ended in a little glade that had been a camping-place since time out of mind. In the middle of the place was a fire-hole, centuries old, maybe. Upright posts were driven on either side, with a bar across and wooden hooks of assorted sizes waiting for the bails of the next traveller's pots. In front of Kitty as she stood beside the fireplace the river stretched its smooth jade-green flood across to the base of the mountain opposite, and at her left hand the limpid waters of the creek mingled with the thicker current.

Below the camping-place stretched a bank of fine yellow sand precipitated by the eddies in times of high water. Partly drawn up on the sand was a dugout. The Sholtos kept their two boats cached in the creek, but this one had been got out in preparation for the journey next day. It was the happy-go-lucky Bill who had left it where it was without tying it, forgetful of the sudden rises of the river in hot weather.

Kitty got in the dugout, and sat down in the stern, where she might trail her hands in the water, while she thought things out and dreamed her dreams. All unwittingly Bill had discovered to her the very source of her discontent, and she was disturbed and ashamed. It was true that she wanted a young man! Here she was twenty years old; it was jocularly granted by her brothers that she was not exactly a fright; yet she had never had a young man. What was worse there was no young man, at least of her own colour, within hundreds of miles, and she was doomed to her present imprisonment for at least another year. Twenty-two loomed ahead like old age itself. "What chance will I have then!" she thought dejectedly. Behind this was the hot-cheeked, nagging thought: what business had a nice girl to be desiring a young man, anyway!

But after a while the lovely afternoon began to have its way with her, and the disquieting thoughts melted by imperceptible degrees into deceitful, charming daydreams. She was lying in the bottom of the boat with her arm on the gunwale, and her head on her arm. Her eyes were bent upstream as far as she could see. He will come down the river, she dreamed. "Perhaps he is just around the bend at this moment. I should not be surprised. But what if he should come when I am not here, and be carried past! That is not possible! If he is the right one, some power will lead him directly to me! What is he like? Tall and slender, with round, strong arms, and a wonderful light in his eyes. He will not be surprised to see me either. He will say: 'I have found you!' And I will say quite simply: 'I have been waiting for you,' and everything will be understood."

Following the usual course of day-dreams, Kitty little by little lost the direction of this beautiful story, and picture began to succeed picture without any help from her. She found herself climbing the higher slopes of Mount Milburn hand in hand with the youth whose face was hidden from her; up into the intoxicating air of the summits. Then presto! without so much of an effort as the wink of an eyelid they were transported to the busy streets of town, and looked into the bewildering shop-windows without any surprise at all. Then they walked between endless rows of silk dresses hung on hooks, and all the dresses were hers, but she couldn't decide which one she liked the best, and was much distressed. And he said: "Don't worry; I have a paper boat to sail down Milburn Creek in." And she answered: "We'll never get up again," without caring in the least. And then they danced to delicious music that issued from a row of trees like the pipes of an organ.

With a long sigh Kitty stretched herself luxuriously in the bottom of the dugout, and ceased to dream. If any young man had come along then and had seen her thus, her head on her folded arm, her lashes on her cheeks, and a dream-smile tilting the corners of her mouth, it is safe to say he would never have been the same again afterward.

She awakened as quietly as she had fallen asleep, and lay for a while gazing up between the sides of the dugout at the delicate clear sky, which had not changed while she slept. Gradually she became aware of missing something; it was the turbulent voice of Milburn Creek, never stilled in her ears at home. At the same time the dugout rocked gently with her, filling her with an unexplained fear. She quickly sat up.

The heart in her breast turned cold. She was adrift in midstream. Mount Milburn had disappeared and the even more familiar limestone face of Stanhope, opposite their camp. Strange mountain shapes surrounded her, and unfamiliar shores. Her eyes darted up and down the dugout; there was no paddle; nothing! The swirling green eddies smiled at her horribly, like things biding their time. Blank, hideous terror descended on her, scattering her faculties.

There was worse in store. Sweeping around a bend, she saw far down the river the white horses leaping in the sunshine. She knew the place, the Grumbler rapids; up and down river they bore a sinister reputation. She stared at the place, fascinated with horror. The river was so smiling, sunny, and beautiful, she could not believe that there was the end of all; the very white-caps below seemed to be leaping in play. And she herself, twenty years old, and full of the zest of living—it was not possible! But the ever-increasing voice of the place warned her, there waited Death, sure and dreadful. And nothing might stop her deliberate progress between the green shores. She must sit with her hands in her lap and watch it coming step by step.

Kitty's very softness and gentleness shielded her. She could not take in so much horror. Her eyes widened; she struggled for her breath—and collapsed in the bottom of the dugout.


When consciousness and sight returned, she found a strange, dark face bending over her. She was lying on firm ground beside the river. The roar of the rapids filled the air. Seeing Kitty's eyes open, and the light of reason return, the face broke into a beautiful and kind smile. Kitty, without understanding clearly, was immensely reassured. It was a girl not much older than herself.

"You all right now," the girl said.

"What happened?" asked Kitty faintly.

"You near get in the rapids."

The recollection of her terror rushed back over her almost drowning Kitty's senses again.

"You all right," the girl repeated in a cheery, matter-of-fact tone that was just what Kitty needed. "I was working on the shore," she went on, "and I see a canoe come floating down. I think it is foolish to let a good boat get broke on the rocks, so I get my boat and paddle for it, but there isn't much time. I come to it, and I look in. Wah! there is you!"

"Oh, it was horrible! horrible!" murmured Kitty, shaken by strong shudders.

"Forget it," said the girl. "You all right now."