half-drowned colt by one ear. In another instant this had passed, and he
was wondering why Joanne Gray was not on her way to Tête Jaune.

"It was splendid!" she was saying again, her eyes glowing at him. "I know
men who would not have risked that for a human!"

"Perhaps they would have been showing good judgment," replied Aldous.

He noticed now that she was holding with one hand the end of a long slender
sapling which a week or two before he had cut and trimmed for a fish-pole.
He nodded toward it, a half-cynical smile on his lips.

"Were you going to fish me out--or the colt?" he asked.

"You," she replied. "I thought you were in danger." And then she added, "I
suppose you are deeply grateful that fate did not compel you to be saved by
a woman."

"Not at all. If the spruce had snapped, I would have caught at the end of
your sapling like any drowning rat--or man. Allow me to thank you."

She had stepped down to the level strip of sand on which the colt was
weakly struggling to rise to its feet. She was breathing quickly. Her face
was still pale. She was without a hat, and as she bent for a moment over
the colt Aldous felt his eyes drawn irresistibly to the soft thick coils of
her hair, a glory of colour that made him think of the lustrous brown of a
ripe wintelberry. She looked up suddenly and caught his eyes upon her.

"I came quite by accident," she explained quickly. "I wanted to be alone,
and Mrs. Otto said this path would lead to the river. When I saw you I was