The man who had charge of the canoe--a stalwart, red-whiskered man of perhaps forty-five--looked at her a good deal in a cautious way. She was so unlike any of the girls he had ever seen--so gay, so free of speech with each stranger or Indian who came their way; so daintily garbed in a very correct creation of some city tailor; and, above all, so tenderly careful of a child who slept among the rugs at her feet, and looked like a bit of pink blossom against the dark furs. "You are a stranger here, aren't you?" she asked the man. "I saw no one like you running a boat here last summer." "No, no," he said, slowly; "I didn't then. My camp is east of Bonner's Ferry, quite a ways; but I get around here sometimes, too. I don't run a boat only for myself; but when they told me a lady wanted to get to Twin Springs, I didn't allow no scrub Indians to take her if my boat was good enough." "It is a lovely boat," she said, admiringly; "the prettiest I ever saw on this river, and it is very good of you to bring me yourself. That is one of the things makes me realize I am in the West once more--to be helped simply because I am a girl alone. And you didn't even know my name when you offered to bring me." "No, but I did before I left shore," he answered; "and then I counted myself kind of lucky. I--I've heard so much about you, miss, from folks up at Twin Springs; from one lady there in particular--Mrs. Huzzard." "Oh! so you know her, do you?" she asked, and wondered at the self-conscious look with which he owned up that he did--a little. "A little? Oh, that is not nearly enough," she said, good-naturedly. "Lorena Jane is worth knowing a good deal of." "That's my opinion, too," he agreed; "but a fellow needs some help sometimes, if he ain't over handy with the gift of gab." "Well, now, I should not think you would need much help," she answered. "You ought to be the sort she would make friends with quick enough." "Oh, yes--friends," he said, and sent the canoe on with swifter, stronger strokes. The other boat, paddled by Indians and carrying baggage, was left far behind. "You make this run often?" she asked, with a little wonder as to who the man was. His dress was much above the average, his boat was a beautiful and costly thing, and she had not learned, in the haste of her departure, who her boatman was. "Not very often. Haven't been up this way for two weeks now." "But that is often," she said. "Are you located in this country?" "Well--yes, I have been. I struck a silver lode across the hills in yon direction. I've sold out and am only prospecting around just now, not settled anywhere yet. My name is McCoy." "McCoy!" and like a flash she remembered the post-script of Mrs. Huzzard's letter. "Oh, yes--I've heard of you." "You have? Well, that's funny. I didn't know my name had got beyond the ranges."