Had he been put driving for any other scraper-handler than Joe he would never have succeeded; for before he had been in camp a week the thick tepid surface water, which they all had to drink, coupled with the intense heat, told on him, and for weeks he was so ill that he could scarcely drag his feet along.

Owing to the custom of each scraper being compelled to clear a certain distance every day, it was impossible—­on account of the great stretch to be covered by all the scrapers—­for the foremen to more than two or three times a day visit the works, and thus it was that Joe, unknown to the foremen, was able to let his little driver lie for hours, when he was at his weakest, in the thick grass, while he wrestled with the stubborn mules and the scraper at the same time.

At last the evening of the torrid day with which this story opens, had arrived.  Those who had been fortunate enough to get to the surface holes first, and get a little water, were washing their shirts, while the less fortunate were lounging around the little tents—­of which there were hundreds—­welcoming the cool breeze which the dark, ominous clouds had brought up.  Suddenly there was a blinding flash, followed by a loud report, and then from the warring clouds the longed-for rain began to pour in heavy sheets.

For some time before the storm broke, Joe had been standing in the opening of the tent, gazing with furrowed brow, through the gathering darkness, toward a tent much larger than those of the ordinary laborers, in the shadow of which was dimly outlined the forms of a man and a woman.  He at once recognized the woman as Nellie Shuter (the only white woman in camp), daughter of Bill Shuter, a general storekeeper and purveyor of smuggled and doctored whiskey.  The man with her he knew was his mate, Harry Langdon.

The moment the rain began to fall, Nellie ran into the large tent—­her father’s store—­and left Harry, who, regardless of the storm, stood for fully a minute looking after her.  As he was about to turn, a figure, muffled in a gaudy colored blanket, emerged from behind an adjacent tent and touched him, in a supplicating manner, on the shoulder.  He turned hastily, and seeing who it was, pushed the intruding hand away.  As he did so the blanket fell away from the head and shoulders of the figure, and there stood revealed a young Indian girl belonging to the Cree tribe, several of whom—­both Indians and squaws—­had for weeks been following the encampment.

Instead of leaving him, she raised her hands in an imploring manner, and her lips moved.  Her pleading evidently had no effect upon Harry, as he turned and left her abruptly.  With an angry gesture she turned and vanished in the direction of the Indian encampment.

After Harry had returned, Joe sat for quite a long time with a troubled look on his face, silently pulling at his pipe.  Harry seemed too much engrossed in thought to be aware of his companion’s unwonted silence.