"What is this you are preparing?" he said, pointing his bold nose to them. Oh, the eyes were like a dreamer's: he was a child to appearances. Then they went speaking to him of the stringed instrument they had heard humming on the ledge, speaking another language than his own. "This is a wife to be defended," said Shoepack Sam, padding there with his yellow shoepacks bringing another drink. But still there was no word of Pal Yachy. That black Italian was not popular at Throat River. "Now I see you are speaking of another man," said Rainbow Pete. Then Shoepack Sam went roaring, it was time for honest men to speak, when an honest woman was being taken by a voice. "Wait," said Rainbow Pete, with his thumb in the foam, "this is unlikely she will want me cruising in, with another man singing in her ear." Oh my, he was a considerate man, he was a natural husband, thinking of his wife's feelings. "Are you a man?" said Smash McGregor. "Here she has fed you when you were starving--this is her food you have been eating. Will you pass this ledge, leaving her to fortune?" Rainbow Pete went putting the edge of the cruiser's ax to his twisted thumb. "I come to her in my shoes only," he said. "This is not what she will be wanting. I have no gold." They were shouting to him to have no thought of that, those mad rockmen. There would be gold in plenty. There would be gold. Only go up on the ledge. "Heard you nothing of the prize?" they bawled to him, the mischief makers. "Oh, there will be no lack of money." "How is this?" said Rainbow Pete. But they would not be answering him. No! No! They went tumbling him out of Scarecrow Charlie's place, and making for the ledge with him. Oh my, the mystified man. This was a great shameface he had behind his mustache. "I am much altered for the worse," he went muttering to us. "She will think nothing of me now." "There is still time for constancy," said Shoepack Sam. "Do not lose hope." Then he told them to be quiet, looking up at the dark ledge where the woman lay. "Old Greyback," said Rainbow Pete, whispering to me, "I am mistrustful of this moment." "Hist!" said McGregor, "that was the sound of his string. He will be beginning now." Ay, the voice began. We were wooden men, in rows, listening to this Italian singing here a golden dream between his teeth. "Who is this man?" said Rainbow Pete. Heh! Heh! Had he not heard this voice before? We were dumb. Oh, this was wild, this was sweet, the long cry of the man over the deep valley. He sang in his throat, saying to the woman there would be no returning. The night was blue. I'm telling you. He was a cunning beggar, Pal Yachy, for making the stars burn in their sockets. Now I saw him lift his arm to his head, the wicked sailor, listening to the tune of his enemy. Ay, this was the man who had fashioned him in the form of a rainbow. Still he did not know it, dreaming on his feet. He went swaying like a poplar.