against the bank by two men with long poles. In its centre was a roll
of blankets, a valise and saddle-bags, and the shining brasses of some
odd-looking instruments.

As Mr. Harkutt, supporting himself by a willow branch that overhung
the current, held up the lantern, the two men rapidly transferred their
freight from the raft to the bank, and leaped ashore. The action gave
an impulse to the raft, which, no longer held in position by the
poles, swung broadside to the current and was instantly swept into the
darkness.

Not a word had been spoken, but now the voices of the men rose freely
together. Phemie listened with intense expectation. The explanation
was simple. They were surveyors who had been caught by the overflow
on Tasajara plain, had abandoned their horses on the bank of Tasajara
Creek, and with a hastily constructed raft had intrusted themselves and
their instruments to the current. "But," said Harkutt quickly, "there is
no connection between Tasajara Creek and this stream."

The two men laughed. "There is NOW," said one of them.

"But Tasajara Creek is a part of the bay," said the astonished Harkutt,
"and this stream rises inland and only runs into the bay four miles
lower down. And I don't see how--

"You're almost twelve feet lower here than Tasajara Creek," said the
first man, with a certain professional authority, "and that's WHY.
There's more water than Tasajara Creek can carry, and it's seeking the
bay this way. Look," he continued, taking the lantern from Harkutt's
hand and casting its rays on the stream, "that's salt drift from the