refuse Doctor Tapper.  And, rain or shine, folks must have teeth if they want to eat the steaks they sell in Californy, and likewise they must have caskets when their time comes.  Yes, Alviry does take after me, Mr. Ajax.  You’re reel clever to say so.  She ain’t a talker, but brainy.  You’ve seen her wax flowers?  Yes; and the shell table with ‘Bless our Home’ on it, in pink cowries?  Mercy sakes!  There’s a big storm a’comin’ up.”

The rain began to fall as she spoke; at first lightly, then more heavily as we began to cross the mountains.  Long before we came to the Salinas River it was pouring down in torrents—­an inch of water to the hour.

“It’s a cloud-burst,” said Mrs. Skenk, from beneath a prehistoric umbrella.  “This’ll flush the creeks good.”

I whipped up the horses, thinking of the Salinas and its treacherous waters.  In California, when the ground is well sodden, a very small storm will create a very big freshet.  At such times most rivers are dangerous to ford on account of quicksands.

“I’ll guess we’ll make it,” observed the old lady.  “I’ve crossed when it was bilin’ from bank to bank.  I mind me when Jim Tarburt was drowned:  No ’count, Jim.  He’d no more sense than a yaller dog.  ’Twas a big streak o’ luck for his wife and babies, for Susannah Tarburt married old man Hopping, and when he died the very next year she was left rich.  Then there was that pore thin school-marm, Ireen Bunker.  She—­”

And Mrs. Skenk continued with a catalogue, long as that of the ships in the Iliad, of travellers who, in fording the Salinas, had crossed that other grim river which flows for ever between time and eternity.  We had reached the banks before she had drained her memory of those who had perished.

“’Tis bilin’,” she muttered, as she peered up and down the yellow, foam-speckled torrent that roared defiance at us; “but, good Land! we can’t go around now.  Keep the horses’ noses upstream, young man, and use your whip.”

We plunged in.

What followed took place quickly.  In mid-stream the near horse floundered into a quicksand and fell, swinging round the pole, and with it the off horse.  I lashed the poor struggling beasts unmercifully, but the wagon settled slowly down—­inch by inch.  Death grinned us in the teeth.  Then I heard Mrs. Skenk say, quite collectedly:  “’Tis my fault, and my weight.”  Then Ajax roared out:  “For God’s sake, sit down, ma’am, sit down.  SIT DOWN!” he screamed, his voice shrill above the bellowing, booming waters.  A crash behind told me that he had flung her back into her seat.  At the same moment the near horse found a footing; there was a mighty pull from both the terrified animals, the harness held, and the danger was over.  When we reached the bank I looked round.  Mrs. Skenk was smiling; Ajax was white as chalk.

“She w-w-would have s-s-sacrificed her l-l-life,” he stammered.  “If I hadn’t grabbed her, she would be dead this minute.”