“Sure. Last time I seen you, Jake, you was guessin’ I had a yellow streak. I’m wonderin’ that about you now. I’m aimin’ to go on this boat. Are you?” The range rider’s gaze bored into the eyes of the man he had served so long. It was chill and relentless as steel. Prowers was no coward, but he had not the least intention of voyaging across the flood in so frail a craft. “Too old, Don. I ain’t strong as some o’ these young bucks. You go on, an’ when you come back we’ll settle about that yellow streak for good an’ all.” The raft set out on its perilous journey. A young surveyor had offered to go as the second member of the crew. Pegs had been driven into the edges of the raft for rowlocks. The oars had been hastily fashioned out of planking. The float drifted into the rapid water and was caught by the current. Black and his companion pulled lustily to make headway across stream. There was a minute of desperate struggle before the craft swung round, driven by the force of water tumbling pell-mell down. A rowlock snapped. Black’s oar was dragged from his hand. A log crashed into the raft and buckled it up. Caught by a cross-tide, the two who had been flung into the water were swept into an eddy. They swam and clambered ashore. It had not been five minutes since Black had embarked on this adventure, but, as he moved up the shore toward the little group of men he had left, he saw that something unexpected had developed. Prowers was in the saddle and he had his gun out. It was threatening Merrick’s group of rescuers. The cattleman’s thin, high voice came clear to the range rider. “Don’t you touch me! Don’t you! I’ll fill you full of lead sure’s you move an inch, Merrick.” Then, swiftly, he swung his horse round and galloped away. Out of the hubbub of explanation Black gathered the facts. The man whom Prowers had lured from the dam with a message that his wife was worse had stopped for later information at a ranch house on the way down. He had telephoned his house and talked with his wife. He was perplexed, but relieved. After an hour’s chat at the ranch, he had headed for the dam and reached the scene in time to identify Prowers as he left. A minute ago he had arrived and told what he knew. The engineer had accused Prowers point-blank of the crime. His men had talked of lynching, and Prowers had fled. Black did not discuss the situation. He returned to camp, saddled a horse, and took from his roll of bedding a revolver. Five minutes later he was jogging into the hills. A day of settlement had come between him and the man who had deflected him from the straight and well-worn trails of life.