Brought into high relief by the rising moon, the lead-man stationed forward called: "Four feet scant--four feet--by the lead five n' a half! No bottom!" Then came: "Three--t-h-r-e-e--f-e-e-t--scant!" Again the boat scraped the sand. As the pilot shouted down the tube to the engineers to pile on more steam Charlie reverted to the rescue. "Danvers looked pretty well used up when he was brought aboard. But darned if he yipped. He was all for lookin' after Winnie." "I like the lad," nodded the doctor approvingly. "He has the gift of silence. Shakespeare says: 'Give thy thoughts no tongue.'" In their next turn they saw Burroughs. "It'll never do for you to locate at Macleod, Bob, 'f you're goin' to aggravate every recruit you don't happen to like," suggested Charlie, with the privilege of friendship. "I was a fool!" Burroughs confessed. "But somehow that youngster----" "You an' he'll always be like two bull buffalo in a herd," said Charlie, wisely. "I'll do him yet," snarled Burroughs, as he rose to go to the cabin. [Illustration] Chapter II The Girl on the _Fontenelle_ The passengers on the _Far West_ rose early. Danvers stood watching the slow sun uplift from the gently undulating prairie. He threw back his head, his lungs expanded as though he could not get enough of the air. He did not know why, but he suddenly felt himself a part of the country--felt that this great, open country was his. The banks of the Missouri were not high and he had an unobstructed view of the vast, grassy sea rolling uncounted miles away to where the sky came down to the edge of the world. The song of the meadow lark, sweet and incessant as it balanced on a rosin-weed, of the lark bunting and lark finch, poured forth melodiously; twittering blue-birds looked into the air and back to their perch atop the dead cottonwood as they gathered luckless insects; the brown thrush, which sings the night through in the bright starlight, rivaled the robin and grosbeak as Philip gazed over the blue-skyed, green-grassed land. The blue-green of the ocean had not so fascinated as the mysticism of this broad view. He was glad to be alive, and anxious to be in the riot of life on the plains, where trappers, traders and soldiers moved in the strenuous game of making a new world. His abounding vitality had recouped itself after the strain of yesterday and he forgot its unpleasantness in the glorious morning; yet at the sight of Burroughs coming from his cabin, the sunlight dulled and involuntarily he felt himself grow tense. "I didn't mean a damn thing," began Burroughs awkwardly. "That's all right," broke in Philip, as uncomfortable as the other. Just then the doctor, with Joe and Charlie, came on the upper deck. "What 'd I tell you, Charlie?" triumphantly asked the physician, as he saw the trader and trooper shaking hands.