tressa torrance, inured as sensitive girl could be to the turmoil and danger of their life on railway construction, experienced a new sensation of fear. never had she seen her father use a firearm; his ready fists were more to his liking. with a breathless rush she stood by his side, one hand gripping the wrist of the hand that held the trigger guard.

that precaution first. then she turned her eyes to where her father was staring.

far up the ribbon of river, only a few hundred yards below where it emerged from its hidden course through the forest, a clumsy raft was drifting clumsily down. in the gleam of the last sun rays it was but a silhouette of black--a flat base with live creatures on it. in a moment it drifted from the glare and in the clear evening air was visible to the last line.

on it were a man and a woman, and a group of horses. good cause for excitement there in the shack up by the grade. along the mile of the tepee that was known to man there was only one raft--at least only one that had a right to exist--the make-shift affair employed on construction duty down at the base of the trestle. within sixty miles there was not a living soul but the construction gang and the two policemen at mile 127, not a horse but torrance's and the police pair. at least that was the limit of torrance's information, and none other had such claim to know.

but this was not the construction raft--and there were the horses. torrance had already lost a dozen of his best in some mysterious way. it was with that thought that he had seized his rifle.

then the woman!

suddenly he became aware that something was wrong with the raft--and a few hundred yards ahead was a stretch of foaming rapids that would smash it to kindling wood. the woman stood leaning on the shaft of a broken sweep, watching the man. with unhurried but almost superhuman strength he was working the other sweep from the rear, aiming for the opposite bank.

the struggle seemed hopeless. torrance read it at a glance, unaccustomed as he was to water. the tug of the rapids was drawing them swiftly downward in a course that was too slightly diagonal to its current to promise more than the faintest hope. the man seemed suddenly to grasp the extent of their peril, for his arms moved more quickly, the bow of the raft swinging about and pointing upstream; but still the current gripped them relentlessly.

the woman lifted her head and looked down along the whirling eddies to the froth of broken water. for a moment she stood, rigid, then turned to the horses, and from among them sprang a huge dog. into its mouth she pressed the end of a rope, and it leaped far into the water.

torrance's left hand fumbled back within the door for his field-glasses. through them he saw the dog emerge lower down, still holding the rope, and dash in long bounds up the bank. as the strain of the rope came, it sank back on its haunches. the rope snapped up out of the water for a moment, and the dog plunged forward with the jerk, fighting every inch. then it got a firmer hold and braced. inch by inch the raft yielded to the extra power. it continued to drift toward the rapids, but also it was working to the bank now. at intervals the eddying current pulled the dog along, but always it braced against the tug, its feet digging into the loose gravel and sand.

the man was working hard, but so regularly that the dog felt but a fraction of the weight of the loaded raft. but what it felt was sufficient to turn the scales.

as the raft slithered in sideways to the bank, a small broncho dashed ashore, followed by four other horses. at a fast lope it led away toward the trees that grew down the distant slope to the river bottom.

torrance awakened then. with livid face he swung the rifle up and fired. tressa struck at his arm too late.

it was a long range, and to such an indifferent marksman a matter of luck. but to tressa to try was sacrilege after the struggle they had witnessed. the bullet fell far short, glancing from the water in a swift slit in the reflecting surface.

at the report the broncho broke into a gallop. the man and the woman swung swiftly toward the grade, and the next instant the woman had disappeared--somewhere; neither torrance nor tressa knew where. the man straightened and shaded his eyes toward them.

tressa was struggling with her father. he must not shoot again. the man watched. presently he slowly raised his rifle.

the thud of the bullet in the shack not two feet from torrance's shoulder preceded the sound of the explosion. the rifle did not drop. a second tiny fleck of smoke, and a bullet sank into the logs only two feet on the other side of the doorway. torrance heaved tressa back within the shack. and as he came about, a third bullet from the mysterious stranger dug into the log not more than a foot above his head.

torrance did not move--he scarcely even thought at that moment. the marksman above the rapids lowered his rifle and turned carelessly away. the woman and the dog joined him. the horses were lost in the trees.

the big contractor twisted himself from bullet hole to bullet hole, and one big hand pushed wonderingly through his heavy hair.

"it sure ain't me he wants," he muttered.