"Oh, why don't they hurry!"
The two specks had stopped, evidently in conversation. She ran the
glasses hastily up and down the river. Though another roar had risen,
she could make out no commotion. The ice lay still and motionless.
The robins resumed their singing, and the squirrels were chattering
with spiteful glee.
"Don't fear, Frona." St. Vincent put his arm about her protectingly.
"If there is any danger, they know it better than we, and they are
taking their time."
"I never saw a big river break up," she confessed, and resigned herself
to the waiting.
The roars rose and fell sporadically, but there were no other signs of
disruption, and gradually the two men, with frequent duckings, worked
inshore. The water was streaming from them and they were shivering
severely as they came up the bank.
"At last!" Frona had both her father's hands in hers. "I thought you
would never come back."
"There, there. Run and get dinner," Jacob Welse laughed. "There was
no danger."
"But what was it?"
"Stewart River's broken and sending its ice down under the Yukon ice.
We could hear the grinding plainly out there."
"Ah! And it was terrible! terrible!" cried the baron. "And that poor,
poor man, we cannot save him!"
"Yes, we can. We'll have a try with the dogs after dinner. Hurry,
Frona."
But the dogs were a failure.
Pages:
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260