My guess
was near the truth; and yet there was that awful river unchanged,
glittering, surging, beautiful, exactly as on so many days before,
when life on it had seemed so bright.
"At three in the afternoon, I saw a fly crawl down the rocks a
mile away. I fed the fire and heated up the food and tea. In twenty
minutes I could see that it was Rob, but both his hands were empty.
'If they had found it,' I said to myself, 'they would send it back
first thing, and if he had it, he would swing it aloft,' Yet no,
nothing but a shiny tin was in his hands and the blow had fallen.
The suspense was over, anyway. I bowed my head, 'We have done what
we could.'
"Rob came slowly up, worn out. In his hand a tin of baking-powder.
Across his breast was a canvas band. He tottered toward me, too
tired to speak in answer to my unspoken question, but he turned
and there on his back was the canvas bag that held labour of all
these long toilsome months.
"'I got 'em, all right,' he managed to say, smiling in a weak way.
"'And the boys?'
"'All right now.'
"'Thank God!' I broke down, and wrung his hand; 'I won't forget,'
was all I could say. Hot tea revived him, loosened his tongue, and
I heard the story.
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