Publisher's Synopsis
-All ready, Miss Welse, though I'm sorry we can't spare one of the steamer's boats.- Frona Welse arose with alacrity and came to the first officer's side. -We're so busy, - he explained, -and gold-rushers are such perishable freight, at least-- -I understand, - she interrupted, -and I, too, am behaving as though I were perishable. And I am sorry for the trouble I am giving you, but-but-- She turned quickly and pointed to the shore. -Do you see that big log-house? Between the clump of pines and the river? I was born there.- -Guess I'd be in a hurry myself, - he muttered, sympathetically, as he piloted her along the crowded deck.
