“Look out!” Appleton shouted from on high.

Gordon flushed angrily and kept on, scanning the surroundings with practised eye.

“Hey, you!” Dan called, for a second time.  “Keep back!  We’re going to shoot.”

Still heedless of the warning, Gordon held stubbornly to his stride.  He noted the heads of several men projecting from behind boulders, and his anger rose.  How dared this whipper-snapper shout at him!  He felt inclined to toss the insolent young scoundrel into the rapids.  Then suddenly his resentment gave place to a totally different emotion.  The slanting bank midway between him and Appleton lifted itself bodily in a chocolate-colored upheaval, and the roar of a dynamite blast rolled out across the river.  It was but a feeble echo of the majestic reverberations from the glacier across the lake, but it was impressive enough to send Curtis Gordon scurrying to a place of safety.  He wheeled in his tracks, doubling himself over, and his long legs began to thresh wildly.  Reaching the shelter of a rock crevice, he hurled himself into it, while over his place of refuge descended a shower of dirt and rocks and debris.  When the rain of missiles had subsided he stepped forth, his face white with fury, his big hands twitching.  His voice was hoarse as he shouted his protest.

Appleton scrambled carefully down from his perch in the warm sunshine and approached with insolent leisure.

“Say!  Do you want to get your fool self killed?” he cried; then in an altered tone:  “Oh!  Is it you, Gordon?”

“You knew very well it was I.”  Gordon swallowed hard and partially controlled his wrath.  “What do you mean by such carelessness?” he demanded.  “You ought to be hung for a thing like that.”  He brushed the dirt from his expensive hunting-suit.

“I yelled my head off!  You must be deaf.”

“You saw me coming!  Don’t say you didn’t.  Fortunately I wasn’t hurt.”  In a tone of command he added, “You’ll have to stop blasting until I go through with my party.”

“Sorry!  Every day counts with us.”  Appleton grinned.  “You know how it is—­short season, and all that.”

“Come, come!  Don’t be an idiot.  I have no time to waste,”

“Then you’ll have to go around,” said Dan.  “This isn’t a public road, you know.”

Gordon had come to argue, to pacify, to gain his ends by lying, if necessary, but this impudent jackanapes infuriated him.  His plans had gone smoothly so far, and the unexpected threat of resistance momentarily provoked him beyond restraint.

“You scoundrel,” he cried.  “You’d have blown me into the river if you could.  But I’ll go through this canon—­”

“Go as far and as fast as you like,” Dan interrupted with equal heat, “only take your own chances, and have a net spread at the lower end of the rapids to catch the remains.”

They eyed each other angrily; then Gordon said, more quietly: