The men glanced at her sideways, and one of them said something in an undertone.  Frona could not hear, but the snicker which went down the line brought the flush of shame to her brow and told her more forcibly than could the words.  Her face was hot, for she sat disgraced in her own sight; but she gave no sign.  The leader stood aside, and one by one, and never more than one at a time, they made the perilous passage.  At the bend in the middle their weight forced the tree under, and they felt for their footing, up to the ankles in the cold, driving torrent.  Even the little children made it without hesitancy, and then the dogs whining and reluctant but urged on by the man.  When the last had crossed over, he turned to Frona.

“Um horse trail,” he said, pointing up the mountain side.  “Much better you take um horse trail.  More far; much better.”

But she shook her head and waited till he reached the farther bank; for she felt the call, not only upon her own pride, but upon the pride of her race; and it was a greater demand than her demand, just as the race was greater than she.  So she put foot upon the log, and, with the eyes of the alien people upon her, walked down into the foam-white swirl.

She came upon a man weeping by the side of the trail.  His pack, clumsily strapped, sprawled on the ground.  He had taken off a shoe, and one naked foot showed swollen and blistered.

“What is the matter?” she asked, halting before him.

He looked up at her, then down into the depths where the Dyea River cut the gloomy darkness with its living silver.  The tears still welled in his eyes, and he sniffled.

“What is the matter?” she repeated.  “Can I be of any help?”

“No,” he replied.  “How can you help?  My feet are raw, and my back is nearly broken, and I am all tired out.  Can you help any of these things?”

“Well,” judiciously, “I am sure it might be worse.  Think of the men who have just landed on the beach.  It will take them ten days or two weeks to back-trip their outfits as far as you have already got yours.”

“But my partners have left me and gone on,” he moaned, a sneaking appeal for pity in his voice.  “And I am all alone, and I don’t feel able to move another step.  And then think of my wife and babies.  I left them down in the States.  Oh, if they could only see me now!  I can’t go back to them, and I can’t go on.  It’s too much for me.  I can’t stand it, this working like a horse.  I was not made to work like a horse.  I’ll die, I know I will, if I do.  Oh, what shall I do?  What shall I do?”

“Why did your comrades leave you?”

“Because I was not so strong as they; because I could not pack as much or as long.  And they laughed at me and left me.”

“Have you ever roughed it?” Frona asked.

“No.”

“You look well put up and strong.  Weigh probably one hundred and sixty-five?”