one of those intervals that the distinct strokes of a woodman’s axe were heard high on the upland at the point where the trail descended to the canyon.  Every ear was alert, but only those on one side of the canyon could get a fair view of the spot.  This was the good fortune of Captain Fairfax and Georgy Piper, who had climbed to the highest bush on that side, and were now standing up, gazing excitedly in that direction.

“Some one is cutting down a tree at the head of the trail,” shouted Fairfax.  The response and joyful explanation, “for a dam across the trail,” was on everybody’s lips at the same time.

But the strokes of the axe were slow and painfully intermittent.  Impatience burst out.

“Yell to him to hurry up!  Why haven’t they brought two men?”

“It’s only one man,” shouted the captain, “and he seems to be a cripple.  By Jiminy!—­it is—­yes!—­it’s Tom Sparrell!”

There was a dead silence.  Then, I grieve to say, shame and its twin brother rage took possession of their weak humanity.  Oh, yes!  It was all of a piece!  Why in the name of Folly hadn’t he sent for an able-bodied man.  Were they to be drowned through his cranky obstinacy?

The blows still went on slowly.  Presently, however, they seemed to alternate with other blows—­but alas! they were slower, and if possible feebler!

“Have they got another cripple to work?” roared the Contingent in one furious voice.

“No—­it’s a woman—­a little one—­yes! a girl.  Hello!  Why, sure as you live, it’s Delaware!”

A spontaneous cheer burst from the Contingent, partly as a rebuke to Sparrell, I think, partly from some shame over their previous rage.  He could take it as he liked.

Still the blows went on distressingly slow.  The girls were hoisted on the men’s shoulders; the men were half submerged.  Then there was a painful pause; then a crumbling crash.  Another cheer went up from the canyon.

“It’s down! straight across the trail,” shouted Fairfax, “and a part of the bank on the top of it.”

There was another moment of suspense.  Would it hold or be carried away by the momentum of the flood?  It held!  In a few moments Fairfax again gave voice to the cheering news that the flow had stopped and the submerged trail was reappearing.  In twenty minutes it was clear—­a muddy river bed, but possible of ascent!  Of course there was no diminution of the water in the canyon, which had no outlet, yet it now was possible for the party to swing from bush to bush along the mountain side until the foot of the trail—­no longer an opposing one—­was reached.  There were some missteps and mishaps,—­flounderings in the water, and some dangerous rescues,—­but in half an hour the whole concourse stood upon the trail and commenced the ascent.  It was a slow, difficult, and lugubrious procession—­I fear not the best-tempered one, now that the stimulus of danger and chivalry was past.  When they reached the dam made by the fallen tree, although they were obliged to make a long detour to avoid its steep sides, they could see how successfully it had diverted the current to a declivity on the other side.