The roar of the river had come so gradually to her ear that now she was hardly aware of it; indeed the wilderness seemed weighted with silence. But it was true that she heard a terrifying roar farther down the stream. Yet just beyond, perhaps a mile from the opposite bank, lay camp and rest,--a comfortable cabin, warmth and food. She hoped they would hurry and make the crossing. But Bill halted at the water's edge, and she rode up beside him. He seemed to be studying the currents. The pack train caught up, and Lounsbury's horse nudged at the flank of her own animal. "Well?" Lounsbury questioned. "What's the delay? We're in a hurry to get to camp." "It's pretty high," Bill replied softly. "I've never tried to cross when it was so high as this." It was true. The rains and the snow had made the stream a torrent. "But, man, we can't camp here. No horse feed--no cabin. We've got to go on." "Wait just a minute. Time is precious, but we've got to think this thing out. We can put up a tent here, and cold as it is, make through the night someway. I'm not so sure that we hadn't ought to do it. The river looks high, and it may be higher than it looks--it's hard to tell in the twilight. Ordinarily I cross at the head of the rapids--water less than three feet deep. But it isn't the depth that counts--it's the swiftness. If the river is much over three feet, a horse simply can't keep his feet--and Death Canyon is just below. To be carried down into that torrent below means to die--two or three parties, trying to ship furs down to the Yuga, have already lost their lives in that very place. The shallows jump right off into ten feet of water. It'll be tough to sleep out in this snow, but it's safer. But if you say the word we'll make the try. At least I can ride in and see how it goes--whether it's safe for you to come." Lounsbury didn't halt to ask him by what justice he should take this risk--why he should put his own life up as a pawn for their comfort and safety. Nor did Bill ask himself. Such a thought did not even come to him. He was their guide, they were in his charge, and he followed his own law. "Try it, anyway," Lounsbury urged. Bill spoke to his horse. The animal still stood with lowered head. For one of the few times in his life Bill had to speak twice,--not sharply, if anything more quietly than at first. The the brave Mulvaney headed into the stream.