The meek man sat down helplessly in a chair indicated by Bill, who at once strode after Jeff. In another moment they were both fighting their way, step by step, against the storm, in that peculiar, drunken, spasmodic way so amusing to the spectator and so exasperating to the performer. It was no time for conversation, even interjectional profanity was dangerously exhaustive. The coach was scarcely a thousand yards away, but its bright lights were reflected in a sheet of dark silent water that stretched between it and the two men. Wading and splashing, they soon reached it, and a gully where the surplus water was pouring into the valley below. “Fower feet o' water round her, but can't get any higher. So ye see she's all right for a month o' sich weather.” Inwardly admiring the perspicacity of his companion, Jeff was about to open the coach door when Bill interrupted. “I'll pack the old woman, if you'll look arter the darter and enny little traps.” A female face, anxious and elderly, here appeared at the window. “Thet's my little game,” said Bill, sotto voce. “Is there any danger? where is my husband?” asked the woman impatiently. “Ez to the danger, ma'am,--thar ain't any. Yer ez safe HERE ez ye'd be in a Sacramento steamer; ez to your husband, he allowed I was to come yer and fetch yer up to the hotel. That's his look-out!” With this cheering speech, Bill proceeded to make two or three ineffectual scoops into the dark interior, manifestly with the idea of scooping out the lady in question. In another instant he had caught her, lifted her gently but firmly in his arms, and was turning away. “But my child!--my daughter! she's asleep!”--expostulated the woman; but Bill was already swiftly splashing through the darkness. Jeff, left to himself, hastily examined the coach: on the back seat a slight small figure, enveloped in a shawl, lay motionless. Jeff threw the bear-skin over it gently, lifted it on one arm, and gathering a few travelling bags and baskets with the other, prepared to follow his quickly disappearing leader. A few feet from the coach the water appeared to deepen, and the bear-skin to draggle. Jeff drew the figure up higher, in vain. “Sis,” he said softly. No reply. “Sis,” shaking her gently. There was a slight movement within the wrappings. “Couldn't ye climb up on my shoulder, honey? that's a good child!” There were one or two spasmodic jerks of the bear-skin, and, aided by Jeff, the bundle was presently seated on his shoulder. “Are you all right now, Sis?” Something like a laugh came from the bear-skin. Then a childish voice said, “Thank you, I think I am!” “Ain't you afraid you'll fall off?” “A little.” Jeff hesitated. It was beginning to blow again. “You couldn't reach down and put your arm round my neck, could ye, honey?” “I am afraid not!”--although there WAS a slight attempt to do so. “No?” “No!” “Well, then, take a good holt, a firm strong holt, o' my hair! Don't be afraid!”