Feeling, this afternoon, a strong desire to see with her own eyes just what progress her rivals were making, she called Pierce away from his work and took him with her around the shore of the lake.

“Our last boat will be in the water to-morrow,” he told her.  “Kirby can’t hold us up now, if he tries.”

“I don’t know,” she said, doubtfully.  “He is as short-handed as we are.  I can’t understand why he has left us alone so long.”

Phillips laughed.  “He probably knows it isn’t safe to trifle with you.”

The Countess shook her head.  “I couldn’t bluff him.  He wouldn’t care whether I’m a woman or not.”

“Were you bluffing when you held up Royal?  I didn’t think so.”

“I don’t think so, either.  There’s no telling what I might have done—­I have a furious temper.”

“That’s nothing to apologize for,” the young man declared, warmly.  “It’s a sign of character, force.  I hope I never have reason to feel it.”

“You?  How absurd!  You’ve been perfectly dear.  You couldn’t be otherwise.”

“Do you think so, really?  I’m awfully glad.”

The Countess was impelled to answer this boy’s eagerness by telling him frankly just how well she thought of him, just how grateful she was for all that he had done, but she restrained herself.

“All the fellows have been splendid, especially those two gamblers,” she said, coolly.  After a moment she continued:  “Don’t stop when we get to Kirby’s camp.  I don’t want him to think we’re curious.”

Neither father nor daughter was in evidence when the visitors arrived at their destination, but Danny Royal was superintending the final work upon a stout scow the seams of which were being calked and daubed with tar.  Mast and sweeps were being rigged; Royal himself was painting a name on the stern.

At sight of the Countess the ex-horseman dropped his brush and thrust his hands aloft, exclaiming, “Don’t shoot, ma’am!” His grin was friendly; there was no rancor in his voice.  “How you gettin’ along down at your house?” he inquired.

“Very well,” the Countess told him.

“We’ll get loaded to-morrow,” said Pierce.

“Same here,” Royal advised.  “Better come to the launching.  Ain’t she a bear?” He gazed fondly at the bluff-bowed, ungainly barge.  “I’m goin’ to bust a bottle of wine on her nose when she wets her feet.  First rainy-weather hack we ever had in the family.  Her name’s Rouletta.”

“I hope she has a safe voyage.”

Royal eyed the speaker meditatively.  “This trip has got my goat,” he acknowledged.  “Water’s all right when it’s cracked up and put in a glass, but—­it ain’t meant to build roads with.  I’ve heard a lot about this canon and them White Horse Rapids.  Are they bad?” When the Countess nodded, his weazened face darkened visibly.  “Gimme a horse and I’m all right, but water scares me.  Well, the Rouletta’s good and strong and I’m goin’ to christen her with a bottle of real champagne.  If there’s anything in good liquor and a good name she’ll be a lucky ship.”