"All ready, Miss Welse, though I'm sorry we can't spare one of the steamer's boats."<br><br>Frona Welse arose with alacrity and came to the first officer's side.<br><br>"We're so busy," he explained, "and gold-rushers are such perishable freight, at least - "<br><br>"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."<br><br>"Guess I'd be in a hurry myself," he muttered, sympathetically, as he piloted her along the crowded deck.<br><br>Everybody was in everybody else's way; nor was there one who failed to proclaim it at the top of his lungs. A thousand gold-seekers were clamoring for the immediate landing of their outfits. Each hatchway gaped wide open, and from the lower depths the shrieking donkey-engines were hurrying the misassorted outfits skyward.