And she thrilled at the thought, strong with man's ancient love of mastery, and stepped into the line which came out of the storm behind and disappeared into the storm before.
She blew through the gap of the pass in a whirlwind of vapor, with hand and foot clambered down the volcanic ruin of Chilcoot's mighty father, and stood on the bleak edge of the lake which filled the pit of the crater.

The lake was angry and white-capped, and though a hundred caches were waiting ferriage, no boats were plying back and forth.

A rickety skeleton of sticks, in a shell of greased canvas, lay upon the rocks.

Frona sought out the owner, a bright-faced young fellow, with sharp black eyes and a salient jaw.

Yes, he was the ferryman, but he had quit work for the day.