"THE SPOILERS\n\nBy REX BEACH\n\nAuthor of \"THE AUCTION BLOCK\" \"RAINBOW'S END\" \"THE IRON TRAIL\" Etc.\n\n\nIllustrated\n\n\n\n\n       THIS BOOK\nIS LOVINGLY DEDICATED TO\n       MY MOTHER\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\nCHAPTER\n\n    I. THE ENCOUNTER\n\n   II. THE STOWAWAY\n\n  III. IN WHICH GLENISTER ERRS\n\n   IV. THE KILLING\n\n    V. WHEREIN A MAN APPEARS\n\n   VI. AND A MINE IS JUMPED\n\n  VII. THE \"BRONCO KID'S\" EAVESDROPPING\n\n VIII. DEXTRY MAKES A CALL\n\n   IX. SLUICE ROBBERS\n\n    X. THE WIT OF AN ADVENTURESS\n\n   XI. WHEREIN A WRIT AND A RIOT FAIL\n\n  XII. COUNTERPLOTS\n\n XIII. IN WHICH A MAN IS POSSESSED OF A DEVIL\n\n  XIV. A MIDNIGHT MESSENGER\n\n   XV. VIGILANTES\n\n  XVI. IN WHICH THE TRUTH BEGINS TO BARE ITSELF\n\n XVII. THE DRIP OF WATER IN THE DARK\n\nXVIII. WHEREIN A TRAP IS BAITED\n\n  XIX. DYNAMITE\n\n   XX. IN WHICH THREE GO TO THE SIGN OF THE SLED AND BUT TWO RETURN\n\n  XXI. THE HAMMER-LOCK\n\n XXII. THE PROMISE OF DREAMS\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nTHE ENCOUNTER\n\n\nGlenister gazed out over the harbor, agleam with the lights of anchored\nships, then up at the crenelated mountains, black against the sky. He\ndrank the cool air burdened with its taints of the sea, while the blood\nof his boyhood leaped within him.\n\n\"Oh, it's fine--fine,\" he murmured, \"and this is my country--my\ncountry, after all, Dex. It's in my veins, this hunger for the North. I\ngrow. I expand.\"\n\n\"Careful you don't bust,\" warned Dextry. \"I've seen men get plumb drunk\non mountain air. Don't expand too strong in one spot.\" He went back\nabruptly to his pipe, its villanous fumes promptly averting any danger\nof the air's too tonic quality.\n\n\"Gad! What a smudge!\" sniffed the younger man. \"You ought to be in\nquarantine.\"\n\n\"I'd ruther smell like a man than talk like a kid. You desecrate the\nhour of meditation with rhapsodies on nature when your aesthetics ain't\nhoned up to the beauties of good tobacco.\"\n\nThe other laughed, inflating his deep chest. In the gloom he stretched\nhis muscles restlessly, as though an excess of vigor filled him.\n\nThey were lounging upon the dock, while before them lay the Santa Maria\nready for her midnight sailing. Behind slept Unalaska, quaint, antique,\nand Russian, rusting amid the fogs of Bering Sea. Where, a week before,\nmild-eyed natives had dried their cod among the old bronze cannon, now\na frenzied horde of gold-seekers paused in their rush to the new El\nDorado. They had come like a locust cloud, thousands strong, settling\non the edge of the Smoky Sea, waiting the going of the ice that barred\nthem from their Golden Fleece--from Nome the new, where men found\nfortune in a night.\n\nThe mossy hills back of the village were ridged with graves of those\nwho had died on the out-trip the fall before, when a plague had gripped\nthe land--but what of that? Gold glittered in the sands, so said the\nsurvivors; therefore men came in armies. Glenister and Dextry had left\nNome the autumn previous, the young man raving with fever. Now they\nreturned to their own land.\n\n\"This air whets every animal instinct in me,\" Glenister broke out\nagain. \"Away from the cities I turn savage. I feel the old primitive\npassions--the fret for fighting.\"\n\n\"Mebbe you'll have a chance.\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"Well, it's this way. I met Mexico Mullins this mornin'. You mind old\nMexico, don't you? The feller that relocated Discovery Claim on Anvil\nCreek last summer?\"\n\n\"You don't mean that 'tin-horn' the boys were going to lynch for\nclaim-jumping?\"\n\n\"Identical! Remember me tellin' you about a good turn I done him once\ndown Guadalupe way?\"\n\n\"Greaser shooting-scrape, wasn't it?\"\n\n\"Yep! Well, I noticed first off that he's gettin fat; high-livin' fat,\ntoo, all in one spot, like he was playin' both ends ag'in the centre.\nAlso he wore di'mon's fit to handle with ice-tongs.\n\n\"Says I, lookin' at his side elevation, 'What's accented your middle\nsyllable so strong, Mexico?'\n\n\"'Prosperity, politics, an' the Waldorf-Astorier,' says he. It seems\nMex hadn't forgot old days. He claws me into a corner an' says, 'Bill,\nI'm goin' to pay you back for that Moralez deal.'\n\n\"'It ain't comin' to me,' says I. 'That's a bygone!'\n\n\"'Listen here,' says he, an', seein' he was in earnest, I let him run\non.\n\n\"'How much do you value that claim o' yourn at?'\n\n\"'Hard tellin',' says I. 'If she holds out like she run last fall,\nthere'd ought to be a million clear in her.\"\n\n\"'How much'll you clean up this summer?'\n\n\"''Bout four hundred thousand, with luck.'\n\n\"'Bill,' says he, 'there's hell a-poppin' an' you've got to watch that\nground like you'd watch a rattle-snake. Don't never leave 'em get a\ngrip on it or you're down an' out.'\n\n\"He was so plumb in earnest it scared me up, 'cause Mexico ain't a\ngabby man.\n\n\"'What do you mean?' says I.\n\n\"'I can't tell you nothin' more. I'm puttin' a string on my own neck,\nsayin' THIS much. You're a square man, Bill, an' I'm a gambler, but you\nsaved my life oncet, an' I wouldn't steer you wrong. For God's sake,\ndon't let 'em jump your ground, that's all.'\n\n\"'Let who jump it? Congress has give us judges an' courts an'\nmarshals--' I begins.\n\n\"'That's just it. How you goin' to buck that hand? Them's the best\ncards in the deck. There's a man comin' by the name of McNamara. Watch\nhim clost. I can't tell you no more. But don't never let 'em get a grip\non your ground.' That's all he'd say.\"\n\n\"Bah! He's crazy! I wish somebody would try to jump the Midas; we'd\nenjoy the exercise.\"\n\nThe siren of the Santa Maria interrupted, its hoarse warning throbbing\nup the mountain.\n\n\"We'll have to get aboard,\" said Dextry.\n\n\"Sh-h! What's that?\" the other whispered.\n\nAt first the only sound they heard was a stir from the deck of the\nsteamer. Then from the water below them came the rattle of rowlocks and\na voice cautiously muffled.\n\n\"Stop! Stop there!\"\n\nA skiff burst from the darkness, grounding on the beach beneath. A\nfigure scrambled out and up the ladder leading to the wharf.\nImmediately a second boat, plainly in pursuit of the first one, struck\non the beach behind it.\n\nAs the escaping figure mounted to their level the watchers perceived\nwith amazement that it was a young woman. Breath sobbed from her lungs,\nand, stumbling, she would have fallen but for Glenister, who ran\nforward and helped her to her feet.\n\n\"Don't let them get me,\" she panted.\n\nHe turned to his partner in puzzled inquiry, but found that the old man\nhad crossed to the head of the landing ladder up which the pursuers\nwere climbing.\n\n\"Just a minute--you there! Back up or I'll kick your face in.\" Dextry's\nvoice was sharp and unexpected, and in the darkness he loomed tall and\nmenacing to those below.\n\n\"Get out of the way. That woman's a runaway,\" came from the one highest\non the ladder.\n\n\"So I jedge.\"\n\n\"She broke qu--\"\n\n\"Shut up!\" broke in another. \"Do you want to advertise it? Get out of\nthe way, there, ye damn fool! Climb up, Thorsen.\" He spoke like a bucko\nmate, and his words stirred the bile of Dextry.\n\nThorsen grasped the dock floor, trying to climb up, but the old miner\nstamped on his fingers and the sailor loosened his hold with a yell,\ncarrying the under men with him to the beach in his fall.\n\n\"This way! Follow me!\" shouted the mate, making up the bank for the\nshore end of the wharf.\n\n\"You'd better pull your freight, miss,\" Dextry remarked; \"they'll be\nhere in a minute.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes! Let us go! I must get aboard the Santa Maria. She's leaving\nnow. Come, come!\"\n\nGlenister laughed, as though there were a humorous touch in her remark,\nbut did not stir.\n\n\"I'm gettin' awful old an' stiff to run,\" said Dextry, removing his\nmackinaw, \"but I allow I ain't too old for a little diversion in the\nway of a rough-house when it comes nosin' around.\" He moved lightly,\nthough the girl could see in the half-darkness that his hair was\nsilvery.\n\n\"What do you mean?\" she questioned, sharply.\n\n\"You hurry along, miss; we'll toy with 'em till you're aboard.\" They\nstepped across to the dockhouse, backing against it. The girl followed.\n\nAgain came the warning blast from the steamer, and the voice of an\nofficer:\n\n\"Clear away that stern line!\"\n\n\"Oh, we'll be left!\" she breathed, and somehow it struck Glenister that\nshe feared this more than the men whose approaching feet he heard.\n\n\"YOU can make it all right,\" he urged her, roughly. \"You'll get hurt if\nyou stay here. Run along and don't mind us. We've been thirty days on\nshipboard, and were praying for something to happen.\" His voice was\nboyishly glad, as if he exulted in the fray that was to come; and no\nsooner had he spoken than the sailors came out of the darkness upon\nthem.\n\nDuring the space of a few heart-beats there was only a tangle of\nwhirling forms with the sound of fist on flesh, then the blot split up\nand forms plunged outward, falling heavily. Again the sailors rushed,\nattempting to clinch. They massed upon Dextry only to grasp empty air,\nfor he shifted with remarkable agility, striking bitterly, as an old\nwolf snaps. It was baffling work, however, for in the darkness his\nblows fell short or overreached.\n\nGlenister, on the other hand, stood carelessly, beating the men off as\nthey came to him. He laughed gloatingly, deep in his throat, as though\nthe encounter were merely some rough sport. The girl shuddered, for the\ndesperate silence of the attacking men terrified her more than a din,\nand yet she stayed, crouched against the wall.\n\nDextry swung at a dim target, and, missing it, was whirled off his\nbalance. Instantly his antagonist grappled with him, and they fell to\nthe floor, while a third man shuffled about them. The girl throttled a\nscream.\n\n\"I'm goin' to kick 'im, Bill,\" the man panted hoarsely. \"Le' me fix\n'im.\" He swung his heavy shoe, and Bill cursed with stirring eloquence.\n\n\"Ow! You're kickin' me! I've got 'im, safe enough. Tackle the big un.\"\n\nBill's ally then started towards the others, his body bent, his arms\nflexed yet hanging loosely. He crouched beside the girl, ignoring her,\nwhile she heard the breath wheezing from his lungs; then silently he\nleaped. Glenister had hurled a man from him, then stepped back to avoid\nthe others, when he was seized from behind and felt the man's arms\nwrapped about his neck, the sailor's legs locked about his thighs. Now\ncame the girl's first knowledge of real fighting. The two spun back and\nforth so closely entwined as to be indistinguishable, the others\nholding off. For what seemed many minutes they struggled, the young man\nstriving to reach his adversary, till they crashed against the wall\nnear her and she heard her champion's breath coughing in his throat at\nthe tightening grip of the sailor. Fright held her paralyzed, for she\nhad never seen men thus. A moment and Glenister would be down beneath\ntheir stamping feet--they would kick his life out with their heavy\nshoes. At thought of it, the necessity of action smote her like a blow\nin the face. Her terror fell away, her shaking muscles stiffened, and\nbefore realizing what she did she had acted.\n\nThe seaman's back was to her. She reached out and gripped him by the\nhair, while her fingers, tense as talons, sought his eyes. Then the\nfirst loud sound of the battle arose. The man yelled in sudden terror;\nand the others as suddenly fell back. The next instant she felt a hand\nupon her shoulder and heard Dextry's voice.\n\n\"Are ye hurt? No? Come on, then, or we'll get left.\" He spoke quietly,\nthough his breath was loud, and, glancing down, she saw the huddled\nform of the sailor whom he had fought.\n\n\"That's all right--he ain't hurt. It's a Jap trick I learned. Hurry up!\"\n\nThey ran swiftly down the wharf, followed by Glenister and by the\ngroans of the sailors in whom the lust for combat had been quenched. As\nthey scrambled up the Santa Maria's gang-plank, a strip of water\nwidened between the boat and the pier.\n\n\"Close shave, that,\" panted Glenister, feeling his throat gingerly,\n\"but I wouldn't have missed it for a spotted pup.\"\n\n\"I've been through b'iler explosions and snowslides, not to mention a\ntriflin' jail-delivery, but fer real sprightly diversions I don't\nrecall nothin' more pleasin' than this.\" Dextry's enthusiasm was\nboylike.\n\n\"What kind of men are you?\" the girl laughed nervously, but got no\nanswer.\n\nThey led her to their deck cabin, where they switched on the electric\nlight, blinking at each other and at their unknown guest.\n\nThey saw a graceful and altogether attractive figure in a trim, short\nskirt and long, tan boots. But what Glenister first saw was her eyes;\nlarge and gray, almost brown under the electric light. They were active\neyes, he thought, and they flashed swift, comprehensive glances at the\ntwo men. Her hair had fallen loose and crinkled to her waist, all\nagleam. Otherwise she showed no sign of her recent ordeal.\n\nGlenister had been prepared for the type of beauty that follows the\nfrontier; beauty that may stun, but that has the polish and chill of a\nnew-ground bowie. Instead, this girl with the calm, reposeful face\nstruck a note almost painfully different from her surroundings,\nsuggesting countless pleasant things that had been strange to him for\nthe past few years.\n\nPure admiration alone was patent in the older man's gaze.\n\n\"I make oration,\" said he, \"that you're the gamest little chap I ever\nfought over, Mexikin, Injun, or white. What's the trouble?\"\n\n\"I suppose you think I've done something dreadful, don't you?\" she\nsaid. \"But I haven't. I had to get away from the Ohio to-night\nfor--certain reasons. I'll tell you all about it to-morrow. I haven't\nstolen anything, nor poisoned the crew--really I haven't.\" She smiled\nat them, and Glenister found it impossible not to smile with her,\nthough dismayed by her feeble explanation.\n\n\"Well, I'll wake up the steward and find a place for you to go,\" he\nsaid at length. \"You'll have to double up with some of the women,\nthough; it's awfully crowded aboard.\"\n\nShe laid a detaining hand on his arm. He thought he felt her tremble.\n\n\"No, no! I don't want you to do that. They mustn't see me to-night. I\nknow I'm acting strangely and all that, but it's happened so quickly I\nhaven't found myself yet. I'll tell you to-morrow, though, really.\nDon't let any one see me or it will spoil everything. Wait till\nto-morrow, please.\"\n\nShe was very white, and spoke with eager intensity.\n\n\"Help you? Why, sure Mike!\" assured the impulsive Dextry, \"an', see\nhere, Miss--you take your time on explanations. We don't care a cuss\nwhat you done. Morals ain't our long suit, 'cause 'there's never a law\nof God or man runs north of Fifty-three,' as the poetry man remarked,\nan' he couldn't have spoke truer if he'd knowed what he was sayin'.\nEverybody is privileged to 'look out' his own game up here. A square\ndeal an' no questions asked.\"\n\nShe looked somewhat doubtful at this till she caught the heat of\nGlenister's gaze. Some boldness of his look brought home to her the\nactual situation, and a stain rose in her cheek. She noted him more\ncarefully; noted his heavy shoulders and ease of bearing, an ease and\nlooseness begotten of perfect muscular control. Strength was equally\nsuggested in his face, she thought, for he carried a marked young\ncountenance, with thrusting chin, aggressive thatching brows, and\nmobile mouth that whispered all the changes from strength to abandon.\nProminent was a look of reckless energy. She considered him handsome in\na heavy, virile, perhaps too purely physical fashion.\n\n\"You want to stowaway?\" he asked.\n\n\"I've had a right smart experience in that line,\" said Dextry, \"but I\nnever done it by proxy. What's your plan?\"\n\n\"She will stay here to-night,\" said Glenister quickly. \"You and I will\ngo below. Nobody will see her.\"\n\n\"I can't let you do that,\" she objected. \"Isn't there some place where\nI can hide?\" But they reassured her and left.\n\nWhen they had gone, she crouched trembling upon her seat for a long\ntime, gazing fixedly before her. \"I'm afraid!\" she whispered; \"I'm\nafraid. What am I getting into? Why do men look so at me? I'm\nfrightened. Oh, I'm sorry I undertook it.\" At last she rose wearily.\nThe close cabin oppressed her; she felt the need of fresh air. So,\nturning out the lights, she stepped forth into the night. Figures\nloomed near the rail and she slipped astern, screening herself behind a\nlife-boat, where the cool breeze fanned her face.\n\nThe forms she had seen approached, speaking earnestly. Instead of\npassing, they stopped abreast of her hiding-place; then, as they began\nto talk, she saw that her retreat was cut off and that she must not\nstir.\n\n\"What brings her here?\" Glenister was echoing a question of Dextry's.\n\"Bah! What brings them all? What brought 'the Duchess,' and Cherry\nMalotte, and all the rest?\"\n\n\"No, no,\" said the old man. \"She ain't that kind--she's too fine, too\ndelicate--too pretty.\"\n\n\"That's just it--too pretty! Too pretty to be alone--or anything except\nwhat she is.\"\n\nDextry growled sourly. \"This country has plumb ruined you, boy. You\nthink they're all alike--an' I don't know but they are--all but this\ngirl. Seems like she's different, somehow--but I can't tell.\"\n\nGlenister spoke musingly:\n\n\"I had an ancestor who buccaneered among the Indies, a long time\nago--so I'm told. Sometimes I think I have his disposition. He comes\nand whispers things to me in the night. Oh, he was a devil, and I've\ngot his blood in me--untamed and hot--I can hear him saying something\nnow--something about the spoils of war. Ha, ha! Maybe he's right. I\nfought for her to-night--Dex--the way he used to fight for his\nsweethearts along the Mexicos. She's too beautiful to be good--and\n'there's never a law of God or man runs north of Fifty-three.'\"\n\nThey moved on, his vibrant, cynical laughter stabbing the girl till she\nleaned against the yawl for support.\n\nShe held herself together while the blood beat thickly in her ears,\nthen fled to the cabin, hurling herself into her berth, where she\nwrithed silently, beating the pillow with hands into which her nails\nhad bitten, staring the while into the darkness with dry and aching\neyes.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nTHE STOWAWAY\n\n\nShe awoke to the throb of the engines, and, gazing cautiously through\nher stateroom window, saw a glassy, level sea, with the sun brightly\nagleam on it.\n\nSo this was Bering? She had clothed it always with the mystery of her\nschool-days, thinking of it as a weeping, fog-bound stretch of gray\nwaters. Instead, she saw a flat, sunlit main, with occasional\nsea-parrots flapping their fat bodies out of the ship's course. A\nglistening head popped up from the waters abreast, and she heard the\ncry of \"seal!\"\n\nDressing, the girl noted minutely the personal articles scattered about\nthe cabin, striving to derive therefrom some fresh hint of the\ncharacteristics of the owners. First, there was an elaborate,\ncopper-backed toilet-set, all richly ornamented and leather-bound. The\nmetal was magnificently hand-worked and bore Glenister's initial. It\nspoke of elegant extravagance, and seemed oddly out of place in an\nArctic miner's equipment, as did also a small set of De Maupassant.\n\nNext, she picked up Kipling's Seven Seas, marked liberally, and felt\nthat she had struck a scent. The roughness and brutality of the poems\nhad always chilled her, though she had felt vaguely their splendid\npulse and swing. This was the girl's first venture from a sheltered\nlife. She had not rubbed elbows with the world enough to find that\nTruth may be rough, unshaven, and garbed in homespun. The book\nconfirmed her analysis of the junior partner.\n\nPendent from a hook was a worn and blackened holster from which peeped\nthe butt of a large Colt's revolver, showing evidence of many years'\nservice. It spoke mutely of the white-haired Dextry, who, before her\ninspection was over, knocked at the door, and, when she admitted him,\naddressed her cautiously:\n\n\"The boy's down forrad, teasin' grub out of a flunky. He'll be up in a\nminute. How'd ye sleep?\"\n\n\"Very well, thank you,\" she lied, \"but I've been thinking that I ought\nto explain myself to you.\"\n\n\"Now, see here,\" the old man interjected, \"there ain't no explanations\nneeded till you feel like givin' them up. You was in trouble--that's\nunfortunate; we help you--that's natural; no questions asked--that's\nAlaska.\"\n\n\"Yes--but I know you must think--\"\n\n\"What bothers me,\" the other continued irrelevantly, \"is how in blazes\nwe're goin' to keep you hid. The steward's got to make up this room,\nand somebody's bound to see us packin' grub in.\"\n\n\"I don't care who knows if they won't send me back. They wouldn't do\nthat, would they?\" She hung anxiously on his words.\n\n\"Send you back? Why, don't you savvy that this boat is bound for Nome?\nThere ain't no turnin' back on gold stampedes, and this is the wildest\nrush the world ever saw. The captain wouldn't turn back--he\ncouldn't--his cargo's too precious and the company pays five thousand a\nday for this ship. No, we ain't puttin' back to unload no stowaways at\nfive thousand per. Besides, we passengers wouldn't let him--time's too\nprecious.\" They were interrupted by the rattle of dishes outside, and\nDextry was about to open the door when his hand wavered uncertainly\nabove the knob, for he heard the hearty greeting of the ship's captain.\n\n\"Well, well, Glenister, where's all the breakfast going?\"\n\n\"Oo!\" whispered the old man--\"that's Cap' Stephens.\"\n\n\"Dextry isn't feeling quite up to form this morning,\" replied Glenister\neasily.\n\n\"Don't wonder! Why weren't you aboard sooner last night? I saw\nyou--'most got left, eh? Served you right if you had.\" Then his voice\ndropped to the confidential: \"I'd advise you to cut out those women.\nDon't misunderstand me, boy, but they're a bad lot on this boat. I saw\nyou come aboard. Take my word for it--they're a bad lot. Cut 'em out.\nGuess I'll step inside and see what's up with Dextry.\"\n\nThe girl shrank into her corner, gazing apprehensively at the other\nlistener.\n\n\"Well--er--he isn't up yet,\" they heard Glenister stammer; \"better come\naround later.\"\n\n\"Nonsense; it's time he was dressed.\" The master's voice was gruffly\ngood-natured. \"Hello, Dextry! Hey! Open up for inspection.\" He rattled\nthe door.\n\nThere was nothing to be done. The old miner darted an inquiring glance\nat his companion, then, at her nod, slipped the bolt, and the captain's\nblue bulk filled the room.\n\nHis grizzled, close-bearded face was genially wrinkled till he spied\nthe erect, gray figure in the corner, when his cap came off\ninvoluntarily. There his courtesy ended, however, and the smile died\ncoldly from his face. His eyes narrowed, and the good-fellowship fell\naway, leaving him the stiff and formal officer.\n\n\"Ah,\" he said, \"not feeling well, eh? I thought I had met all of our\nlady passengers. Introduce me, Dextry.\"\n\nDextry squirmed under his cynicism.\n\n\"Well--I--ah--didn't catch the name myself.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Oh, there ain't much to say. This is the lady--we brought aboard last\nnight--that's all.\"\n\n\"Who gave you permission?\"\n\n\"Nobody. There wasn't time.\"\n\n\"There wasn't TIME, eh? Which one of you conceived the novel scheme of\nstowing away ladies in your cabin? Whose is she? Quick! Answer me.\"\nIndignation was vibrant in his voice.\n\n\"Oh!\" the girl cried--her eyes widening darkly. She stood slim and pale\nand slightly trembling.\n\nHis words had cut her bitterly, though through it all he had\nscrupulously avoided addressing her.\n\nThe captain turned to Glenister, who had entered and closed the door.\n\n\"Is this your work? Is she yours?\"\n\n\"No,\" he answered quietly, while Dextry chimed in:\n\n\"Better hear details, captain, before you make breaks like that. We\nhelped the lady side-step some sailors last night and we most got left\ndoing it. It was up to her to make a quick get-away, so we helped her\naboard.\"\n\n\"A poor story! What was she running away from?\" He still addressed the\nmen, ignoring her completely, till, with hoarse voice, she broke in:\n\n\"You mustn't talk about me that way--I can answer your questions. It's\ntrue--I ran away. I had to. The sailors came after me and fought with\nthese men. I had to get away quickly, and your friends helped me on\nhere from gentlemanly kindness, because they saw me unprotected. They\nare still protecting me. I can't explain how important it is for me to\nreach Nome on the first boat, because it isn't my secret. It was\nimportant enough to make me leave my uncle at Seattle at an hour's\nnotice when we found there was no one else who could go. That's all I\ncan say. I took my maid with me, but the sailors caught her just as she\nwas following me down the ship's ladder. She had my bag of clothes when\nthey seized her. I cast off the rope and rowed ashore as fast as I\ncould, but they lowered another boat and followed me.\"\n\nThe captain eyed her sharply, and his grim lines softened a bit, for\nshe was clean-cut and womanly, and utterly out of place, He took her\nin, shrewdly, detail by detail, then spoke directly to her:\n\n\"My dear young lady--the other ships will get there just as quickly as\nours, maybe more quickly. To-morrow we strike the ice-pack and then it\nis all a matter of luck.\"\n\n\"Yes, but the ship I left won't get there.\"\n\nAt this the commander started, and, darting a great, thick-fingered\nhand at her, spoke savagely:\n\n\"What's that? What ship? Which one did you come from? Answer me.\"\n\n\"The Ohio,\" she replied, with the effect of a hand-grenade. The master\nglared at her.\n\n\"The Ohio! Good God! You DARE to stand there and tell me that?\" He\nturned and poured his rage upon the others.\n\n\"She says the Ohio, d'ye hear? You've ruined me! I'll put you in\nirons--all of you. The Ohio!\"\n\n\"What d'ye mean? What's up?\"\n\n\"What's up? There's small-pox aboard the Ohio! This girl has broken\nquarantine. The health inspectors bottled up the boat at six o'clock\nlast night! That's why I pulled out of Unalaska ahead of time, to avoid\nany possible delay. Now we'll all be held up when we get to Nome. Great\nHeavens! do you realize what this means--bringing this hussy aboard?\"\n\nHis eyes burned and his voice shook, while the two partners stared at\neach other in dismay. Too well they knew the result of a small-pox\npanic aboard this crowded troop-ship. Not only was every available\ncabin bulging with passengers, but the lower decks were jammed with\nboth humanity and live stock all in the most unsanitary conditions. The\ncraft, built for three hundred passengers, was carrying triple her\ncapacity; men and women were stowed away like cattle. Order and a\nhalf-tolerable condition were maintained only by the efforts of the\npassengers themselves, who held to the thought that imprisonment and\ninconvenience would last but a few days longer. They had been aboard\nthree weeks and every heart was aflame with the desire to reach\nNome--to reach it ahead of the pressing horde behind.\n\nWhat would be the temper of this gold-frenzied army if thrown into\nquarantine within sight of their goal? The impatient hundreds would\nhave to lie packed in their floating prison, submitting to the foul\ndisease. Long they must lie thus, till a month should have passed after\nthe disappearance of the last symptom. If the disease recurred\nsporadically, that might mean endless weeks of maddening idleness. It\nmight even be impossible to impose the necessary restraint; there would\nbe violence, perhaps mutiny.\n\nThe fear of the sickness was nothing to Dextry and Glenister, but of\ntheir mine they thought with terror. What would happen in their\nabsence, where conditions were as unsettled as in this new land; where\ntitles were held only by physical possession of the premises? During\nthe long winter of their absence, ice had held their treasure\ninviolate, but with the warming summer the jewel they had fought for so\nwearily would lie naked and exposed to the first comer. The Midas lay\nin the valley of the richest creek, where men had schemed and fought\nand slain for the right to inches. It was the fruit of cheerless,\nbarren years of toil, and if they could not guard it--they knew the\nresult.\n\nThe girl interrupted their distressing reflections.\n\n\"Don't blame these men, sir,\" she begged the captain. \"I am the only\none at fault. Oh! I HAD to get away. I have papers here that must be\ndelivered quickly.\" She laid a hand upon her bosom. \"They couldn't be\ntrusted to the unsettled mail service. It's almost life and death. And\nI assure you there is no need of putting me in quarantine. I haven't\nthe smallpox. I wasn't even exposed to it.\"\n\n\"There's nothing else to do,\" said Stephens. \"I'll isolate you in the\ndeck smoking-cabin. God knows what these madmen on board will do when\nthey hear about it, though. They're apt to tear you to shreds. They're\ncrazy!\"\n\nGlenister had been thinking rapidly.\n\n\"If you do that, you'll have mutiny in an hour. This isn't the crowd to\nstand that sort of thing.\"\n\n\"Bah! Let 'em try it. I'll put 'em down.\" The officer's square jaws\nclicked.\n\n\"Maybe so; but what then? We reach Nome and the Health Inspector hears\nof small-pox suspects, then we're all quarantined for thirty days;\neight hundred of us. We'll lie at Egg Island all summer while your\ncompany pays five thousand a day for this ship. That's not all. The\nfirm is liable in damages for your carelessness in letting disease\naboard.\"\n\n\"MY CARELESSNESS!\" The old man ground his teeth.\n\n\"Yes; that's what it amounts to. You'll ruin your owners, all right.\nYou'll tie up your ship and lose your job, that's a cinch!\"\n\nCaptain Stephens wiped the moisture from his brow angrily.\n\n\"My carelessness! Curse you--you say it well. Don't you realize that I\nam criminally liable if I don't take every precaution?\" He paused for a\nmoment, considering. \"I'll hand her over to the ship's doctor.\"\n\n\"See here, now,\" Glenister urged. \"We'll be in Nome in a week--before\nthe young lady would have time to show symptoms of the disease, even if\nshe were going to have it--and a thousand to one she hasn't been\nexposed, and will never show a trace of it. Nobody knows she's aboard\nbut we three. Nobody will see her get off. She'll stay in this cabin,\nwhich will be just as effectual as though you isolated her in any other\npart of the boat. It will avoid a panic--you'll save your ship and your\ncompany--no one will be the wiser--then if the girl comes down with\nsmall-pox after she gets ashore, she can go to the pest-house and not\njeopardize the health of all the people aboard this ship. You go up\nforrad to your bridge, sir, and forget that you stepped in to see old\nBill Dextry this morning. Well take care of this matter all right. It\nmeans as much to us as it does to you. We've GOT to be on Anvil Creek\nbefore the ground thaws or we'll lose the Midas. If you make a fuss,\nyou'll ruin us all.\"\n\nFor some moments they watched him breathlessly as he frowned in\nindecision, then--\n\n\"You'll have to look out for the steward,\" he said, and the girl sank\nto a stool while two great tears rolled down her cheeks. The captain's\neyes softened and his voice was gentle as he laid his hand on her head.\n\n\"Don't feel hurt over what I said, miss. You see, appearances don't\ntell much, hereabouts--most of the pretty ones are no good. They've\nfooled me many a time, and I made a mistake. These men will help you\nthrough; I can't. Then when you get to Nome, make your sweetheart marry\nyou the day you land. You are too far north to be alone.\"\n\nHe stepped out into the passage and closed the door carefully.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nIN WHICH GLENISTER ERRS\n\n\n\"Well, bein' as me an' Glenister is gougin' into the bowels of Anvil\nCreek all last summer, we don't really get the fresh-grub habit\nfastened on us none. You see, the gamblers down-town cop out the few\naigs an' green vegetables that stray off the ships, so they never get\nout as far as the Creek none; except, maybe, in the shape of anecdotes.\n\n\"We don't get intimate with no nutriments except hog-boosum an' brown\nbeans, of which luxuries we have unstinted measure, an' bein' as this\nis our third year in the country we hanker for bony fido grub,\nsomethin' scan'lous. Yes, ma'am--three years without a taste of fresh\nfruit nor meat nor nuthin'--except pork an' beans. Why, I've et bacon\ntill my immortal soul has growed a rind.\n\n\"When it comes time to close down the claim, the boy is sick with the\nfever an' the only ship in port is a Point Barrow whaler, bound for\nSeattle. After I book our passage, I find they have nothin' aboard to\neat except canned salmon, it bein' the end of a two years' cruise, so\nwhen I land in the States after seventeen days of a fish diet, I am\nwhat you might call sated with canned grub, and have added salmon to\nthe list of things concernin' which I am goin' to economize.\n\n\"Soon's ever I get the boy into a hospital, I gallop up to the best\nrestarawnt in town an' prepare for the huge pot-latch. This here, I\ndetermine, is to be a gormandizin' jag which shall live in hist'ry, an'\nwharof in later years the natives of Puget Sound shall speak with bated\nbreath.\n\n\"First, I call for five dollars' worth of pork an' beans an' then a\nfull-grown platter of canned salmon. When the waiter lays 'em out in\nfront of me, I look them vittles coldly in their disgustin' visages,\nan' say in sarcastic accents:\n\n\"'Set there, damn you! an' watch me eat REAL grub,' which I proceed to\ndo, cleanin' the menu from soda to hock. When I have done my worst, I\npile bones an' olive seeds an' peelin's all over them articles of\nnourishment, stick toothpicks into 'em, an' havin' offered 'em what\nother indignities occur to me, I leave the place.\"\n\nDextry and the girl were leaning over the stern-rail, chatting idly in\nthe darkness. It was the second night out and the ship lay dead in the\nice-pack. All about them was a flat, floe-clogged sea, leprous and\nmottled in the deep twilight that midnight brought in this latitude.\nThey had threaded into the ice-field as long as the light lasted,\nfollowing the lanes of blue water till they closed, then drifting idly\ntill others appeared; worming out into leagues of open sea, again\ncreeping into the shifting labyrinth till darkness rendered progress\nperilous.\n\nOccasionally they had passed herds of walrus huddled sociably upon\nice-pans, their wet hides glistening in the sunlight. The air had been\nclear and pleasant, while away on all quarters they had seen the smoke\nof other ships toiling through the barrier. The spring fleet was\nknocking at the door of the Golden North.\n\nChafing at her imprisonment, the girl had asked the old man to take her\nout on deck under the shelter of darkness; then she had led him to\nspeak of his own past experiences, and of Glenister's; which he had\ndone freely. She was frankly curious about them, and she wondered at\ntheir apparent lack of interest in her own identity and her secret\nmission. She even construed their silence as indifference, not\nrealizing that these Northmen were offering her the truest evidence of\ncamaraderie.\n\nThe frontier is capable of no finer compliment than this utter\ndisregard of one's folded pages. It betokens that highest faith in\none's fellow-man, the belief that he should be measured by his present\ndeeds, not by his past. It says, translated: \"This is God's free\ncountry where a man is a man, nothing more. Our land is new and pure,\nour faces are to the front. If you have been square, so much the\nbetter; if not, leave behind the taints of artificial things and start\nagain on the level--that's all.\"\n\nIt had happened, therefore, that since the men had asked her no\nquestions, she had allowed the hours to pass and still hesitated to\nexplain further than she had explained to Captain Stephens. It was much\neasier to let things continue as they were; and there was, after all,\nso little that she was at liberty to tell them.\n\nIn the short time since meeting them, the girl had grown to like\nDextry, with his blunt chivalry and boyish, whimsical philosophy, but\nshe avoided Glenister, feeling a shrinking, hidden terror of him, ever\nsince her eavesdropping of the previous night. At the memory of that\nscene she grew hot, then cold--hot with anger, icy at the sinister\npower and sureness which had vibrated in his voice. What kind of life\nwas she entering where men spoke of strange women with this assurance\nand hinted thus of ownership? That he was handsome and unconscious of\nit, she acknowledged, and had she met him in her accustomed circle of\nfriends, garbed in the conventionalities, she would perhaps have\nthought of him as a striking man, vigorous and intelligent; but here he\nseemed naturally to take on the attributes of his surroundings,\nacquiring a picturesque negligee of dress and morals, and suggesting\nrugged, elemental, chilling potentialities. While with him--and he had\nsought her repeatedly that day--she was uneasily aware of his strong\npersonality tugging at her; aware of the unbridled passionate flood of\na nature unbrooking of delay and heedless of denial. This it was that\nantagonized her and set her every mental sinew in rigid resistance.\n\nDuring Dextry's garrulous ramblings, Glenister emerged from the\ndarkness and silently took his place beside her, against the rail.\n\n\"What portent do you see that makes you stare into the night so\nanxiously?\" he inquired.\n\n\"I am wishing for a sight of the midnight sun or the aurora borealis,\"\nshe replied.\n\n\"Too late for one an' too fur south for the other,\" Dextry interposed.\n\"We'll see the sun further north, though.\"\n\n\"Have you ever heard the real origin of the Northern Lights?\" the young\nman inquired.\n\n\"Naturally, I never have,\" she answered.\n\n\"Well, here it is. I have it from the lips of a great hunter of the\nTananas. He told it to me when I was sick, once, in his cabin, and\ninasmuch as he is a wise Indian and has a reputation for truth, I have\nno doubt that it is scrupulously correct.\n\n\"In the very old days, before the white man or corned beef had invaded\nthis land, the greatest tribe in all the North was the Tananas. The\nbravest hunter of these was Itika, the second chief. He could follow a\nmoose till it fell exhausted in the snow and he had many belts made\nfrom the claws of the brown bear which is deadly wicked and, as every\none knows, inhabited by the spirits of 'Yabla-men,' or devils.\n\n\"One winter a terrible famine settled over the Tanana Valley. The moose\ndeparted from the gulches and the caribou melted from the hills like\nmist. The dogs grew gaunt and howled all night, the babies cried, the\nwomen became hollow-eyed and peevish.\n\n\"Then it was that Itika decided to go hunting over the saw-tooth range\nwhich formed the edge of the world. They tried to dissuade him, saying\nit was certain death because a pack of monstrous white wolves, taller\nthan the moose and swifter than the eagle, was known to range these\nmountains, running madly in chase. Always, on clear, cold nights, could\nbe seen the flashing of the moonbeams from their gleaming hungry sides,\nand although many hunters had crossed the passes in other years, they\nnever returned, for the pack slew them.\n\n\"Nothing could deter Itika, however, so he threaded his way up through\nthe range and, night coming, burrowed into a drift to sleep in his\ncaribou-skin. Peering out into the darkness, he saw the flashing lights\na thousand times brighter than ever before. The whole heavens were\nablaze with shifting streamers that raced and writhed back and forth in\nwild revel. Listening, he heard the hiss and whine of dry snow under\nthe feet of the pack, and a distant noise as of rushing winds, although\nthe air was deathly still.\n\n\"With daylight, he proceeded through the range, till he came out above\na magnificent valley. Descending the slope, he entered a forest of\ntowering spruce, while on all sides the snow was trampled with tracks\nas wide as a snow-shoe. There came to him a noise which, as he\nproceeded, increased till it filled the woods. It was a frightful din,\nas though a thousand wolves were howling with the madness of the kill.\nCautiously creeping nearer, he found a monstrous white animal\nstruggling beneath a spruce which had fallen upon it in such fashion as\nto pinion it securely.\n\n\"All brave men are tender-hearted, so Itika set to work with his axe\nand cleared away the burden, regardless of the peril to himself. When\nhe had released it, the beast arose and instead of running away\naddressed him in the most polite and polished Indian, without a trace\nof accent.\n\n\"'You have saved my life. Now, what can I do for you?'\n\n\"'I want to hunt in this valley. My people are starving,' said Itika,\nat which the wolf was greatly pleased and rounded up the rest of the\npack to help in the kill.\n\n\"Always thereafter when Itika came to the valley of the Yukon the giant\ndrove hunted with him. To this day they run through the mountains on\ncold, clear nights, in a multitude, while the light of the moon\nflickers from their white sides, flashing up into the sky in weird,\nfantastic figures. Some people call it Northern Lights, but old Isaac\nassured me earnestly, toothlessly, and with the light of ancient truth,\nas I lay snow-blind in his lodge, that it is nothing more remarkable\nthan the spirit of Itika and the great white wolves.\"\n\n\"What a queer legend!\" she said. \"There must be many of them in this\ncountry. I feel that I am going to like the North.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you will,\" Glenister replied, \"although it is not a woman's\nland.\"\n\n\"Tell me what led you out here in the first place. You are an Eastern\nman. You have had advantages, education--and yet you choose this. You\nmust love the North.\"\n\n\"Indeed I do! It calls to a fellow in some strange way that a gentler\ncountry never could. When once you've lived the long, lazy June days\nthat never end, and heard geese honking under a warm, sunlit midnight;\nor when once you've hit the trail on a winter morning so sharp and\nclear that the air stings your lungs, and the whole white, silent world\nglistens like a jewel; yes--and when you've seen the dogs romping in\nharness till the sled runners ring; and the distant mountain-ranges\ncome out like beautiful carvings, so close you can reach them--well,\nthere's something in it that brings you back--that's all, no matter\nwhere you've lost yourself. It means health and equality and\nunrestraint. That's what I like best, I dare say--the utter unrestraint.\n\n\"When I was a school-boy, I used to gaze at the map of Alaska for\nhours. I'd lose myself in it. It wasn't anything but a big, blank\ncorner in the North then, with a name, and mountains, and mystery. The\nword 'Yukon' suggested to me everything unknown and weird--hairy\nmastodons, golden river bars, savage Indians with bone arrow-heads and\nseal-skin trousers. When I left college I came as fast as ever I\ncould--the adventure, I suppose....\n\n\"The law was considered my destiny. How the shades of old Choate and\nWebster and Patrick Henry must have wailed when I forswore it. I'll bet\nBlackstone tore his whiskers.\"\n\n\"I think you would have made a success,\" said the girl, but he laughed.\n\n\"Well, anyhow, I stepped out, leaving the way to the United States\nSupreme bench unobstructed, and came North. I found it was where I\nbelonged. I fitted in. I'm not contented--don't think that. I'm\nambitious, but I prefer these surroundings to the others--that's all.\nI'm realizing my desires. I've made a fortune--now I'll see what else\nthe world has.\"\n\nHe suddenly turned to her. \"See here,\" he abruptly questioned, \"what's\nyour name?\"\n\nShe started, and glanced towards where Dextry had stood, only to find\nthat the old frontiersman had slipped away during the tale.\n\n\"Helen Chester,\" she replied.\n\n\"Helen Chester,\" he repeated, musingly. \"What a pretty name! It seems\nalmost a pity to change it--to marry, as you will.\"\n\n\"I am not going to Nome to get married.\"\n\nHe glanced at her quickly.\n\n\"Then you won't like this country. You are two years too early; you\nought to wait till there are railroads and telephones, and tables\nd'hote, and chaperons. It's a man's country yet.\"\n\n\"I don't see why it isn't a woman's country, too. Surely we can take a\npart in taming it. Yonder on the Oregon is a complete railroad, which\nwill be running from the coast to the mines in a few weeks. Another\nship back there has the wire and poles and fixings for a telephone\nsystem, which will go up in a night. As to tables d'hote, I saw a real\nFrench count in Seattle with a monocle. He's bringing in a restaurant\noutfit, imported snails, and pate de joies gras. All that's wanting is\nthe chaperon. In my flight from the Ohio I left mine. The sailors\ncaught her. You see I am not far ahead of schedule.\"\n\n\"What part are you going to take in this taming process?\" he asked.\n\nShe paused long before replying, and when she did her answer sounded\nlike a jest.\n\n\"I herald the coming of the law,\" she said.\n\n\"The law! Bah! Red tape, a dead language, and a horde of shysters! I'm\nafraid of law in this land; we're too new and too far away from things.\nIt puts too much power in too few hands. Heretofore we men up here have\nhad recourse to our courage and our Colts, but we'll have to unbuckle\nthem both when the law comes. I like the court that hasn't any appeal.\"\nHe laid hand upon his hip.\n\n\"The Colts may go, but the courage never will,\" she broke in.\n\n\"Perhaps. But I've heard rumors already of a plot to prostitute the\nlaw. In Unalaska a man warned Dextry, with terror in his eye, to beware\nof it; that beneath the cloak of Justice was a drawn dagger whetted for\nus fellows who own the rich diggings. I don't think there's any truth\nin it, but you can't tell.\"\n\n\"The law is the foundation--there can't be any progress without it.\nThere is nothing here now but disorder.\"\n\n\"There isn't half the disorder you think there is. There weren't any\ncrimes in this country till the tenderfeet arrived. We didn't know what\na thief was. If you came to a cabin you walked in without knocking. The\nowner filled up the coffee-pot and sliced into the bacon; then when\nhe'd started your meal, he shook hands and asked your name. It was just\nthe same whether his cache was full or whether he'd packed his few\npounds of food two hundred miles on his back. That was hospitality to\nmake your Southern article look pretty small. If there was no one at\nhome, you ate what you needed. There was but one unpardonable breach of\netiquette--to fail to leave dry kindlings. I'm afraid of the transitory\nstage we're coming to--that epoch of chaos between the death of the old\nand the birth of the new. Frankly, I like the old way best. I love the\nlicense of it. I love to wrestle with nature; to snatch, and guard, and\nfight for what I have. I've been beyond the law for years and I want to\nstay there, where life is just what it was intended to be--a survival\nof the fittest.\"\n\nHis large hands, as he gripped the bulwark, were tense and corded,\nwhile his rich voice issued softly from his chest with the hint of\npower unlimited behind it. He stood over her, tall, virile, and\nmagnetic. She saw now why he had so joyously hailed the fight of the\nprevious night; to one of his kind it was as salt air to the nostrils.\nUnconsciously she approached him, drawn by the spell of his strength.\n\n\"My pleasures are violent and my hate is mighty bitter in my mouth.\nWhat I want, I take. That's been my way in the old life, and I'm too\nselfish to give it up.\"\n\nHe was gazing out upon the dimly lucent miles of ice; but now he turned\ntowards her, and, doing so, touched her warm hand next his on the rail.\n\nShe was staring up at him unaffectedly, so close that the faint odor\nfrom her hair reached him. Her expression was simply one of wonder and\ncuriosity at this type, so different from any she had known. But the\nman's eyes were hot and blinded with the sight of her, and he felt only\nher beauty heightened in the dim light, the brush of her garments, and\nthe small, soft hand beneath his. The thrill from the touch of it\nsurged over him--mastered him.\n\n\"What I want--I take,\" he repeated, and then suddenly he reached forth\nand, taking her in his arms, crushed her to him, kissing her softly,\nfiercely, full upon the lips. For an instant she lay gasping and\nstunned against his breast, then she tore her fist free and, with all\nher force, struck him full in the face.\n\nIt was as though she beat upon a stone. With one movement he forced her\narm to her side, smiling into her terrified eyes; then, holding her\nlike iron, he kissed her again and again upon the mouth, the eyes, the\nhair--and released her.\n\n\"I am going to love you--Helen,\" said he.\n\n\"And may God strike me dead if I ever stop HATING you!\" she cried, her\nvoice coming thick and hoarse with passion.\n\nTurning, she walked proudly forward towards her cabin, a trim,\nstraight, haughty figure; and he did not know that her knees were\nshaking and weak.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nTHE KILLING\n\n\nFor four days the Santa Maria felt blindly through the white fields,\ndrifting north with the spring tide that sets through Behring Strait,\ntill, on the morning of the fifth, open water showed to the east.\nCreeping through, she broke out into the last stage of the long race,\namid the cheers of her weary passengers; and the dull jar of her\nengines made welcome music to the girl in the deck state-room.\n\nSoon they picked up a mountainous coast which rose steadily into\nmajestic, barren ranges, still white with the melting snows; and at ten\nin the evening under a golden sunset, amid screaming whistles, they\nanchored in the roadstead of Nome. Before the rumble of her chains had\nceased or the echo from the fleet's salute had died from the shoreward\nhills, the ship was surrounded by a swarm of tiny craft clamoring about\nher iron sides, while an officer in cap and gilt climbed the bridge and\ngreeted Captain Stephens. Tugs with trailing lighters circled\ndiscreetly about, awaiting the completion of certain formalities. These\nover, the uniformed gentleman dropped back into his skiff and rowed\naway.\n\n\"A clean bill of health, captain,\" he shouted, saluting the commander.\n\n\"Thank ye, sir,\" roared the sailor, and with that the row-boats swarmed\ninward pirate-like, boarding the steamer from all quarters.\n\nAs the master turned, he looked down from his bridge to the deck below,\nfull into the face of Dextry, who had been an intent witness of the\nmeeting. With unbending dignity, Captain Stephens let his left eyelid\ndroop slowly, while a boyish grin spread widely over his face.\nSimultaneously, orders rang sharp and fast from the bridge, the crew\nbroke into feverish life, the creak of booms and the clank of\ndonkey-hoists arose.\n\n\"We're here, Miss Stowaway,\" said Glenister, entering the girl's cabin.\n\"The inspector passed us and it's time for you to see the magic city.\nCome, it's a wonderful sight.\"\n\nThis was the first time they had been alone since the scene on the\nafter-deck, for, besides ignoring Glenister, she had managed that he\nshould not even see her except in Dextry's presence. Although he had\never since been courteous and considerate, she felt the leaping\nemotions that were hidden within him and longed to leave the ship, to\nfly from the spell of his personality. Thoughts of him made her writhe,\nand yet when he was near she could not hate him as she willed--he\noverpowered her, he would not be hated, he paid no heed to her slights.\nThis very quality reminded her how willingly and unquestioningly he had\nfought off the sailors from the Ohio at a word from her. She knew he\nwould do so again, and more, and it is hard to be bitter to one who\nwould lay down his life for you, even though he has\noffended--particularly when he has the magnetism that sweeps you away\nfrom your moorings.\n\n\"There's no danger of being seen,\" he continued, \"The crowd's crazy,\nand, besides, we'll go ashore right away. You must be mad with the\nconfinement--it's on my nerves, too.\"\n\nAs they stepped outside, the door of an adjacent cabin opened, framing\nan angular, sharp-featured woman, who, catching sight of the girl\nemerging from Glenister's state-room, paused with shrewdly narrowed\neyes, flashing quick, malicious glances from one to the other. They\ncame later to remember with regret this chance encounter, for it was\nfraught with grave results for them both.\n\n\"Good evening, Mr. Glenister,\" the lady said with acid cordiality.\n\n\"Howdy, Mrs. Champian?\" He moved away.\n\nShe followed a step, staring at Helen.\n\n\"Are you going ashore to-night or wait for morning?\"\n\n\"Don't know yet, I'm sure.\" Then aside to the girl he muttered, \"Shake\nher, she's spying on us.\"\n\n\"Who is she?\" asked Miss Chester, a moment later.\n\n\"Her husband manages one of the big companies. She's an old cat.\"\n\nGaining her first view of the land, the girl cried out, sharply. They\nrode on an oily sea, tinted like burnished copper, while on all sides,\namid the faint rattle and rumble of machinery, scores of ships were\nbelching cargoes out upon living swarms of scows, tugs, stern-wheelers,\nand dories. Here and there Eskimo oomiaks, fat, walrus-hide boats, slid\nabout like huge, many-legged water-bugs. An endless, ant-like stream of\ntenders, piled high with freight, plied to and from the shore. A mile\ndistant lay the city, stretched like a white ribbon between the gold of\nthe ocean sand and the dun of the moss-covered tundra. It was like no\nother in the world. At first glance it seemed all made of new white\ncanvas. In a week its population had swelled from three to thirty\nthousand. It now wandered in a slender, sinuous line along the coast\nfor miles, because only the beach afforded dry camping ground. Mounting\nto the bank behind, one sank knee-deep in moss and water, and, treading\ntwice in the same tracks, found a bog of oozing, icy mud. Therefore, as\nthe town doubled daily in size, it grew endwise like a string of\ndominoes, till the shore from Cape Nome to Penny River was a long reach\nof white, glinting in the low rays of the arctic sunset like foamy\nbreakers on a tropic island.\n\n\"That's Anvil Creek up yonder,\" said Glenister. \"There's where the\nMidas lies. See!\" He indicated a gap in the buttress of mountains\nrolling back from the coast. \"It's the greatest creek in the world.\nYou'll see gold by the mule-load, and hillocks of nuggets. Oh, I'm glad\nto get back. THIS is life. That stretch of beach is full of gold. These\nhills are seamed with quartz. The bed-rock of that creek is yellow.\nThere's gold, gold, gold, everywhere--more than ever was in old\nSolomon's mines--and there's mystery and peril and things unknown.\"\n\n\"Let us make haste,\" said the girl. \"I have something I must do\nto-night. After that, I can learn to know these things.\"\n\nSecuring a small boat, they were rowed ashores the partners plying\ntheir ferryman with eager questions. Having arrived five days before,\nhe was exploding with information and volunteered the fruits of his\nripe experience till Dextry stated that they were \"sourdoughs\"\nthemselves, and owned the Midas, whereupon Miss Chester marvelled at\nthe awe which sat upon the man and the wondering stare with which he\ndevoured the partners, to her own utter exclusion.\n\n\"Sufferin' cats! Look at the freight!\" ejaculated Dextry. \"If a storm\ncome up it would bust the community!\"\n\nThe beach they neared was walled and crowded to the high-tide mark with\nramparts of merchandise, while every incoming craft deposited its quota\nupon whatever vacant foot was close at hand, till bales, boxes,\nboilers, and baggage of all kinds were confusedly intermixed in the\nnarrow space. Singing longshoremen trundled burdens from the lighters\nand piled them on the heap, while yelling, cursing crowds fought over\nit all, selecting, sorting, loading.\n\nThere was no room for more, yet hourly they added to the mass. Teams\nsplashed through the lapping surf or stuck in the deep sand between\nhillocks of goods. All was noise, profanity, congestion, and feverish\nhurry. This burning haste rang in the voice of the multitude, showed in\nits violence of gesture and redness of face, permeated the atmosphere\nwith a magnetic, electrifying energy.\n\n\"It's somethin' fierce ashore,\" said the oarsman. \"I been up fer three\ndays an' nights steady--there ain't no room, nor time, nor darkness to\nsleep in. Ham an' eggs is a dollar an' a half, an' whiskey's four bits\na throw.\" He wailed the last, sadly, as a complaint unspeakable.\n\n\"Any trouble doin'?\" inquired the old man.\n\n\"You KNOW it!\" the other cried, colloquially. \"There was a massacree in\nthe Northern last night.\"\n\n\"Gamblin' row?\"\n\n\"Yep. Tin-horn called 'Missou' done it.\"\n\n\"Sho!\" said Dextry. \"I know him. He's a bad actor.\" All three men\nnodded sagely, and the girl wished for further light, but they\nvolunteered no explanation.\n\nLeaving the skiff, they plunged into turmoil. Dodging through the\ntangle, they came out into fenced lots where tents stood wall to wall\nand every inch was occupied. Here and there was a vacant spot guarded\njealously by its owner, who gazed sourly upon all men with the\nforbidding eye of suspicion. Finding an eddy in the confusion, the men\nstopped.\n\n\"Where do you want to go?\" they asked Miss Chester.\n\nThere was no longer in Glenister's glance that freedom with which he\nhad come to regard the women of the North. He had come to realize dully\nthat here was a girl driven by some strong purpose into a position\nrepellent to her. In a man of his type, her independence awoke only\nadmiration and her coldness served but to inflame him the more.\nDelicacy, in Glenister, was lost in a remarkable singleness of purpose.\nHe could laugh at her loathing, smile under her abuse, and remain\nutterly ignorant that anything more than his action in seizing her that\nnight lay at the bottom of her dislike. He did not dream that he\npossessed characteristics abhorrent to her; and he felt a keen\nreluctance at parting.\n\nShe extended both hands.\n\n\"I can never thank you enough for what you have done--you two; but I\nshall try. Good-bye!\"\n\nDextry gazed doubtfully at his own hand, rough and gnarly, then taking\nhers as he would have handled a robin's egg, waggled it limply.\n\n\"We ain't goin' to turn you adrift this-a-way. Whatever your\ndestination is, we'll see you to it.\"\n\n\"I can find my friends,\" she assured him.\n\n\"This is the wrong latitude in which to dispute a lady, but knowin'\nthis camp from soup to nuts, as I do, I su'gests a male escort.\"\n\n\"Very well! I wish to find Mr. Struve, of Dunham & Struve, lawyers.\"\n\n\"I'll take you to their offices,\" said Glenister. \"You see to the\nbaggage, Dex. Meet me at the Second Class in half an hour and we'll run\nout to the Midas.\" They pushed through the tangle of tents, past piles\nof lumber, and emerged upon the main thoroughfare, which ran parallel\nto the shore.\n\nNome consisted of one narrow street, twisted between solid rows of\ncanvas and half-erected frame buildings, its every other door that of a\nsaloon. There were fair-looking blocks which aspired to the dizzy\nheight of three stories, some sheathed in corrugated iron, others\ngleaming and galvanized. Lawyers' signs, doctors', surveyors', were in\nthe upper windows. The street was thronged with men from every\nland--Helen Chester heard more dialects than she could count.\nLaplanders in quaint, three-cornered, padded caps idled past. Men with\nthe tan of the tropics rubbed elbows with yellow-haired Norsemen, and\nnear her a carefully groomed Frenchman with riding-breeches and monocle\nwas in pantomime with a skin-clad Eskimo. To her left was the sparkling\nsea, alive with ships of every class. To her right towered timberless\nmountains, unpeopled, unexplored, forbidding, and desolate--their\nhollows inlaid with snow. On one hand were the life and the world she\nknew; on the other, silence, mystery, possible adventure.\n\nThe roadway where she stood was a crush of sundry vehicles from\nbicycles to dog-hauled water-carts, and on all sides men were laboring\nbusily, the echo of hammers mingling with the cries of teamsters and\nthe tinkle of music within the saloons.\n\n\"And this is midnight!\" exclaimed Helen, breathlessly. \"Do they ever\nrest?\"\n\n\"There isn't time--this is a gold stampede. You haven't caught the\nspirit of it yet.\" They climbed the stairs in a huge, iron-sheeted\nbuilding to the office of Dunham.\n\n\"Anybody else here besides you?\" asked her escort of the lawyer.\n\n\"No. I'm runnin' the law business unassisted. Don't need any help.\nDunham's in Wash'n'ton, D. C., the lan' of the home, the free of the\nbrave. What can I do for you?\"\n\nHe made to cross the threshold hospitably, but tripped, plunged\nforward, and would have rolled down the stairs had not Glenister\ngathered him up and borne him back into the office, where he tossed him\nupon a bed in a rear room.\n\n\"Now what, Miss Chester?\" asked the young man, returning.\n\n\"Isn't that dreadful?\" she shuddered. \"Oh, and I must see him\nto-night!\" She stamped impatiently. \"I must see him alone.\"\n\n\"No, you mustn't,\" said Glenister, with equal decision. \"In the first\nplace, he wouldn't know what you were talking about, and in the second\nplace--I know Struve. He's too drunk to talk business and too sober\nto--well, to see you alone.\"\n\n\"But I MUST see him,\" she insisted. \"It's what brought me here. You\ndon't understand.\"\n\n\"I understand more than he could. He's in no condition to act on any\nimportant matter. You come around to-morrow when he's sober.\"\n\n\"It means so much,\" breathed the girl. \"The beast!\"\n\nGlenister noted that she had not wrung her hands nor even hinted at\ntears, though plainly her disappointment and anxiety were consuming her.\n\n\"Well, I suppose I'll have to wait, but I don't know where to go--some\nhotel, I suppose.\"\n\n\"There aren't any. They're building two, but to-night you couldn't hire\na room in Nome for money. I was about to say 'love or money.' Have you\nno other friends here--no women? Then you must let me find a place for\nyou. I have a friend whose wife will take you in.\"\n\nShe rebelled at this. Was she never to have done with this man's\nfavors? She thought of returning to the ship, but dismissed that. She\nundertook to decline his aid, but he was half-way down the stairs and\npaid no attention to her beginning--so she followed him.\n\nIt was then that Helen Chester witnessed her first tragedy of the\nfrontier, and through it came to know better the man whom she disliked\nand with whom she had been thrown so fatefully. Already she had\nthrilled at the spell of this country, but she had not learned that\nstrength and license carry blood and violence as corollaries.\n\nEmerging from the doorway at the foot of the stairs, they drifted\nslowly along the walk, watching the crowd. Besides the universal\ntension, there were laughter and hope and exhilaration in the faces.\nThe enthusiasm of this boyish multitude warmed one. The girl wished to\nget into this spirit--to be one of them. Then suddenly from the babble\nat their elbows came a discordant note, not long nor loud, only a few\nwords, penetrating and harsh with the metallic quality lent by passion.\n\nHelen glanced over her shoulder to find that the smiles of the throng\nwere gone and that its eyes were bent on some scene in the street, with\nan eager interest she had never seen mirrored before. Simultaneously\nGlenister spoke:\n\n\"Come away from here.\"\n\nWith the quickened eye of experience he foresaw trouble and tried to\ndrag her on, but she shook off his grasp impatiently, and, turning,\ngazed absorbed at the spectacle which unfolded itself before her.\nAlthough not comprehending the play of events, she felt vaguely the\nquick approach of some crisis, yet was unprepared for the swiftness\nwith which it came.\n\nHer eyes had leaped to the figures of two men in the street from whom\nthe rest had separated like oil from water. One was slim and well\ndressed; the other bulky, mackinawed, and lowering of feature. It was\nthe smaller who spoke, and for a moment she misjudged his bloodshot\neyes and swaying carriage to be the result of alcohol, until she saw\nthat he was racked with fury.\n\n\"Make good, I tell you, quick! Give me that bill of sale, you--.\"\n\nThe unkempt man swung on his heel with a growl and walked away, his\ncourse leading him towards Glenister and the girl. With two strides he\nwas abreast of them; then, detecting the flashing movement of the\nother, he whirled like a wild animal. His voice had the snarl of a\nbeast in it.\n\n\"Ye had to have it, didn't ye? Well, there!\"\n\nThe actions of both men were quick as light, yet to the girl's taut\nsenses they seemed theatrical and deliberate. Into her mind was seared\nforever the memory of that second, as though the shutter of a camera\nhad snapped, impressing upon her brain the scene, sharp, clear-cut, and\nvivid. The shaggy back of the large man almost brushing her, the\nrage-drunken, white shirted man in the derby hat, the crowd sweeping\nbackward like rushes before a blast, men with arms flexed and feet\nraised in flight, the glaring yellow sign of the \"Gold Belt Dance Hall\"\nacross the way--these were stamped upon her retina, and then she was\njerked violently backward, two strong arms crushed her down upon her\nknees against the wall, and she was smothered in the arms of Roy\nGlenister.\n\n\"My God! Don't move! We're in line!\"\n\nHe crouched over her, his cheek against her hair, his weight forcing\nher down into the smallest compass, his arms about her, his body\nforming a living shield against the flying bullets. Over them the big\nman stood, and the sustained roar of his gun was deafening. In an\ninstant they heard the thud and felt the jar of lead in the thin boards\nagainst which they huddled. Again the report echoed above their heads,\nand they saw the slender man in the street drop his weapon and spin\nhalf round as though hit with some heavy hand. He uttered a cry and,\nstooping for his gun, plunged forward, burying his face in the sand.\n\nThe man by Glenister's side shouted curses thickly, and walked towards\nhis prostrate enemy, firing at every step. The wounded man rolled to\nhis side, and, raising himself on his elbow, shot twice, so rapidly\nthat the reports blended--but without checking his antagonist's\napproach. Four more times the relentless assailant fired deliberately,\nhis last missile sent as he stood over the body which twitched and\nshuddered at his feet, its garments muddy and smeared. Then he turned\nand retraced his steps. Back within arm's-length of the two who pressed\nagainst the building he came, and as he went by they saw his coarse and\nsullen features drawn and working pallidly, while the breath whistled\nthrough his teeth. He held his course to the door they had just\nquitted, then as he turned he coughed bestially, spitting out a\nmouthful of blood. His knees wavered. He vanished within the portals\nand, in the sickly silence that fell, they heard his hob-nailed boots\nclumping slowly up the stairs.\n\nNoise awoke and rioted down the thoroughfare. Men rushed forth from\nevery quarter, and the ghastly object in the dirt was hidden by a\nseething mass of miners.\n\nGlenister raised the girl, but her head rolled limply, and she would\nhave slipped to her knees again had he not placed his arm about her\nwaist. Her eyes were staring and horror-filled.\n\n\"Don't be frightened,\" said he, smiling at her reassuringly; but his\nown lips shook and the sweat stood out like dew on him; for they had\nboth been close to death. There came a surge and swirl through the\ncrowd, and Dextry swooped upon them like a hawk.\n\n\"Be ye hurt? Holy Mackinaw! When I see 'em blaze away I yells at ye fit\nto bust my throat. I shore thought you was gone. Although I can't say\nbut this killin' was a sight for sore eyes--so neat an' genteel--still,\nas a rule, in these street brawls it's the innocuous bystander that has\nflowers sent around to his house afterwards.\"\n\n\"Look at this,\" said Glenister. Breast-high in the wall against which\nthey had crouched, not three feet apart, were bullet holes.\n\n\"Them's the first two he unhitched,\" Dextry remarked, jerking his head\ntowards the object in the street. \"Must have been a new gun an' pulled\nhard--throwed him to the right. See!\"\n\nEven to the girl it was patent that, had she not been snatched as she\nwas, the bullet would have found her.\n\n\"Come away quick,\" she panted, and they led her into a near-by store,\nwhere she sank upon a seat and trembled until Dextry brought her a\nglass of whiskey.\n\n\"Here, Miss,\" he said. \"Pretty tough go for a 'cheechako.' I'm afraid\nyou ain't gettin' enamoured of this here country a whole lot.\"\n\nFor half an hour he talked to her, in his whimsical way, of foreign\nthings, till she was quieted. Then the partners arose to go. Although\nGlenister had arranged for her to stop with the wife of the merchant\nfor the rest of the night, she would not.\n\n\"I can't go to bed. Please don't leave me! I'm too nervous. I'll go MAD\nif you do. The strain of the last week has been too much for me. If I\nsleep I'll see the faces of those men again.\"\n\nDextry talked with his companion, then made a purchase which he laid at\nthe lady's feet.\n\n\"Here's a pair of half-grown gum boots. You put 'em on an' come with\nus. We'll take your mind off of things complete. An' as fer sweet\ndreams, when you get back you'll make the slumbers of the just seem as\nrestless as a riot, or the antics of a mountain-goat which nimbly leaps\nfrom crag to crag, and--well, that's restless enough. Come on!\"\n\nAs the sun slanted up out of Behring Sea, they marched back towards the\nhills, their feet ankle-deep in the soft fresh moss, while the air\ntasted like a cool draught and a myriad of earthy odors rose up and\nencircled them. Snipe and reed birds were noisy in the hollows and from\nthe misty tundra lakes came the honking of brant. After their weary\nweeks on shipboard, the dewy freshness livened them magically,\ncleansing from their memories the recent tragedy, so that the girl\nbecame herself again.\n\n\"Where are we going?\" she asked, at the end of an hour, pausing for\nbreath.\n\n\"Why, to the Midas, of course,\" they said; and one of them vowed\nrecklessly, as he drank in the beauty of her clear eyes and the grace\nof her slender, panting form, that he would gladly give his share of\nall its riches to undo what he had done one night on the Santa Maria.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nWHEREIN A MAN APPEARS\n\n\nIn the lives of countries there are crises where, for a breath,\ndestinies lie in the laps of the gods and are jumbled, heads or tails.\nThus are marked distinctive cycles like the seven ages of a man, and\nthough, perhaps, they are too subtle to be perceived at the time, yet,\nhaving swung past the shadowy milestones, the epochs disclose\nthemselves.\n\nSuch a period in the progress of the Far Northwest was the nineteenth\nday of July, although to those concerned in the building of this new\nempire the day appealed only as the date of the coming of the law. All\nNome gathered on the sands as lighters brought ashore Judge Stillman\nand his following. It was held fitting that the Senator should be the\nship to safeguard the dignity of the first court and to introduce\nJustice into this land of the wild.\n\nThe interest awakened by His Honor was augmented by the fact that he\nwas met on the beach by a charming girl, who flung herself upon him\nwith evident delight.\n\n\"That's his niece,\" said some one. \"She came up on the first\nboat--name's Chester--swell looker, eh?\"\n\nAnother new-comer attracted even more notice than the limb of the law;\na gigantic, well-groomed man, with keen, close-set eyes, and that\nindefinable easy movement and polished bearing that come from\nconfidence, health, and travel. Unlike the others, he did not dally on\nthe beach nor display much interest in his surroundings; but, with\npurposeful frown strode through the press, up into the heart of the\ncity. His companion was Struve's partner, Dunham, a middle-aged,\npompous man. They went directly to the offices of Dunham & Struve,\nwhere they found the white-haired junior partner.\n\n\"Mighty glad to meet you, Mr. McNamara,\" said Struve. \"Your name is a\nhousehold word in my part of the country. My people were mixed up in\nDakota politics somewhat, so I've always had a great admiration for you\nand I'm glad you've come to Alaska. This is a big country and we need\nbig men.\"\n\n\"Did you have any trouble?\" Dunham inquired when the three had\nadjourned to a private room.\n\n\"Trouble,\" said Struve, ruefully; \"well, I wonder if I did. Miss\nChester brought me your instructions O.K. and I got busy right off.\nBut, tell me this--how did you get the girl to act as messenger?\"\n\n\"There was no one else to send,\" answered McNamara. \"Dunham intended\nsailing on the first boat, but he was detained in Washington with, me,\nand the Judge had to wait for us at Seattle. We were afraid to trust a\nstranger for fear he might get curious and examine the papers. That\nwould have meant--\" He moved his hand eloquently.\n\nStruve nodded. \"I see. Does she know what was in the documents?\"\n\n\"Decidedly not. Women and business don't mix. I hope you didn't tell\nher anything.\"\n\n\"No; I haven't had a chance. She seemed to take a dislike to me for\nsome reason, I haven't seen her since the day after she got here.\"\n\n\"The Judge told her it had something to do with preparing the way for\nhis court,\" said Dunham, \"and that if the papers were not delivered\nbefore he arrived it might cause a lot of trouble--litigation, riots,\nbloodshed, and all that. He filled her up on generalities till the girl\nwas frightened to death and thought the safety of her uncle and the\nwhole country depended on her.\"\n\n\"Well,\" continued Struve, \"it's dead easy to hire men to jump claims\nand it's dead easy to buy their rights afterwards, particularly when\nthey know they haven't got any--but what course do you follow when\nowners go gunning for you?\"\n\nMcNamara laughed.\n\n\"Who did that?\"\n\n\"A benevolent, silver-haired old Texan pirate by the name of Dextry.\nHe's one half owner in the Midas and the other half mountain-lion; as\npeaceable, you'd imagine, as a benediction, but with the temperament of\na Geronimo. I sent Galloway out to relocate the claim, and he got his\nnotices up in the night when they were asleep, but at 6 A.M. he came\nflying back to my room and nearly hammered the door down. I've seen\nfright in varied forms and phases, but he had them all, with some added\nstarters.\n\n\"'Hide me out, quick!' he panted.\n\n\"'What's up?' I asked.\n\n\"'I've stirred up a breakfast of grizzly bear, smallpox, and sudden\ndeath and it don't set well on my stummick. Let me in.'\n\n\"I had to keep him hidden three days, for this gentle-mannered old\ncannibal roamed the streets with a cannon in his hand, breathing fire\nand pestilence.\"\n\n\"Anybody else act up?\" queried Dunham.\n\n\"No; all the rest are Swedes and they haven't got the nerve to fight.\nThey couldn't lick a spoon if they tried. These other men are\ndifferent, though. There are two of them, the old one and a young\nfellow. I'm a little afraid to mix it up with them, and if their claim\nwasn't the best in the district, I'd say let it alone.\"\n\n\"I'll attend to that,\" said McNamara.\n\nStruve resumed:\n\n\"Yes, gentlemen, I've been working pretty hard and also pretty much in\nthe dark so far. I'm groping for light. When Miss Chester brought in\nthe papers I got busy instanter. I clouded the title to the richest\nplacers in the region, but I'm blamed if I quite see the use of it.\nWe'd be thrown out of any court in the land if we took them to law.\nWhat's the game--blackmail?\"\n\n\"Humph!\" ejaculated McNamara. \"What do you take me for?\"\n\n\"Well, it does seem small for Alec McNamara, but I can't see what else\nyou're up to.\"\n\n\"Within a week I'll be running every good mine in the Nome district.\"\n\nMcNamara's voice was calm but decisive, his glance keen and alert,\nwhile about him clung such a breath of power and confidence that it\ncompelled belief even in the face of this astounding speech.\n\nIn spite of himself, Wilton Struve, lawyer, rake, and gentlemanly\nadventurer, felt his heart leap at what the other's daring implied. The\nproposition was utterly past belief, and yet, looking into the man's\npurposeful eyes, he believed.\n\n\"That's big--awful big--TOO big,\" the younger man murmured. \"Why, man,\nit means you'll handle fifty thousand dollars a day!\"\n\nDunham shifted his feet in the silence and licked his dry lips.\n\n\"Of course it's big, but Mr. McNamara's the biggest man that ever came\nto Alaska,\" he said.\n\n\"And I've got the biggest scheme that ever came north, backed by the\nbiggest men in Washington,\" continued the politician. \"Look here!\" He\ndisplayed a type-written sheet bearing parallel lists of names and\nfigures. Struve gasped incredulously.\n\n\"Those are my stockholders and that is their share in the venture. Oh,\nyes; we're incorporated--under the laws of Arizona--secret, of course;\nit would never do for the names to get out. I'm showing you this only\nbecause I want you to be satisfied who's behind me.\"\n\n\"Lord! I'm satisfied,\" said Struve, laughing nervously. \"Dunham was\nwith you when you figured the scheme out and he met some of your\nfriends in Washington and New York. If he says it's all right, that\nsettles it. But say, suppose anything went wrong with the company and\nit leaked out who those stockholders are?\"\n\n\"There's no danger. I have the books where they will be burned at the\nfirst sign. We'd have had our own land laws passed but for Sturtevant\nof Nevada, damn him. He blocked us in the Senate. However, my plan is\nthis.\" He rapidly outlined his proposition to the listeners, while a\nlight of admiration grew and shone in the reckless face of Struve.\n\n\"By heavens! you're a wonder!\" he cried, at the close, \"and I'm with\nyou body and soul. It's dangerous--that's why I like it.\"\n\n\"Dangerous?\" McNamara shrugged his shoulders. \"Bah! Where is the\ndanger? We've got the law--or rather, we ARE the law. Now, let's get to\nwork.\"\n\nIt seemed that the Boss of North Dakota was no sluggard. He discarded\ncoat and waistcoat and tackled the documents which Struve laid before\nhim, going through them like a whirlwind. Gradually he infected the\nothers with his energy, and soon behind the locked doors of Dunham &\nStruve there were only haste and fever and plot and intrigue.\n\nAs Helen Chester led the Judge towards the flamboyant, three-storied\nhotel she prattled to him light-heartedly. The fascination of a new\nland already held her fast, and now she felt, in addition, security and\nrelief. Glenister saw them from a distance and strode forward to greet\nthem.\n\nHe beheld a man of perhaps threescore years, benign of aspect save for\nthe eyes, which were neither clear nor steady, but had the trick of\nlooking past one. Glenister thought the mouth, too, rather weak and\nvacillating; but the clean-shaven face was dignified by learning a\nacumen and was wrinkled in pleasant fashion.\n\n\"My niece has just told me of your service to her,\" the old gentleman\nbegan. \"I am happy to know you, sir.\"\n\n\"Besides being a brave knight and assisting ladies in distress, Mr.\nGlenister is a very great and wonderful man,\" Helen explained, lightly.\n\"He owns the Midas.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" said the old man, his shifting eyes now resting full on the\nother with a flash of unmistakable interest. \"I hear that is a\nwonderful mine. Have you begun work yet?\"\n\n\"No. We'll commence sluicing day after to-morrow. It has been a late\nspring. The snow in the gulch was deep and the ground thaws slowly.\nWe've been building houses and doing dead work, but we've got our men\non the ground, waiting.\"\n\n\"I am greatly interested. Won't you walk with us to the hotel? I want\nto hear more about these wonderful placers.\"\n\n\"Well, they ARE great placers,\" said the miner, as the three walked on\ntogether; \"nobody knows HOW great because we've only scratched at them\nyet. In the first place the ground is so shallow and the gold is so\neasy to get, that if nature didn't safeguard us in the winter we'd\nnever dare leave our claims for fear of 'snipers.' They'd run in and\nrob us.\"\n\n\"How much will the Anvil Creek mines produce this summer?\" asked the\nJudge.\n\n\"It's hard to tell, sir; but we expect to average five thousand a day\nfrom the Midas alone, and there are other claims just as good.\"\n\n\"Your title is all clear, I dare say, eh?\"\n\n\"Absolutely, except for one jumper, and we don't take him seriously. A\nfellow named Galloway relocated us one night last month, but he didn't\nallege any grounds for doing so, and we could never find trace of him.\nIf we had, our title would be as clean as snow again.\" He said the last\nwith a peculiar inflection.\n\n\"You wouldn't use violence, I trust?\"\n\n\"Sure! Why not? It has worked all right heretofore.\"\n\n\"But, my dear sir, those days are gone. The law is here and it is the\nduty of every one to abide by it.\"\n\n\"Well, perhaps it is; but in this country we consider a man's mine as\nsacred as his family. We didn't know what a lock and key were in the\nearly times and we didn't have any troubles except famine and hardship.\nIt's different now, though. Why, there have been more claims jumped\naround here this spring than in the whole length and history of the\nYukon.\"\n\nThey had reached the hotel, and Glenister paused, turning to the girl\nas the Judge entered. When she started to follow, he detained her.\n\n\"I came down from the hills on purpose to see you. It has been a long\nweek--\"\n\n\"Don't talk that way,\" she interrupted, coldly. \"I don't care to hear\nit.\"\n\n\"See here--what makes you shut me out and wrap yourself up in your\nhaughtiness? I'm sorry for what I did that night--I've told you so\nrepeatedly. I've wrung my soul for that act till there's nothing left\nbut repentance.\"\n\n\"It is not that,\" she said, slowly. \"I have been thinking it over\nduring the past month, and now that I have gained an insight into this\nlife I see that it wasn't an unnatural thing for you to do. It's\nterrible to think of, but it's true. I don't mean that it was\npardonable,\" she continued, quickly, \"for it wasn't, and I hate you\nwhen I think about it, but I suppose I put myself into a position to\ninvite such actions. No; I'm sufficiently broad-minded not to blame you\nunreasonably, and I think I could like you in spite of it, just for\nwhat you have done for me; but that isn't all. There is something\ndeeper. You saved my life and I'm grateful, but you frighten me,\nalways. It is the cruelty in your strength, it is something away back\nin you--lustful, and ferocious, and wild, and crouching.\"\n\nHe smiled wryly.\n\n\"It is my local color, maybe--absorbed from this country. I'll try to\nchange, though, if you want me to. I'll let them rope and throw and\nbrand me. I'll take on the graces of civilization and put away revenge\nand ambition and all the rest of it, if it will make you like me any\nbetter. Why, I'll even promise not to violate the person of our\nclaim-jumper if I catch him; and Heaven knows THAT means that Samson\nhas parted with his locks.\"\n\n\"I think I could like you if you did,\" she said, \"but you can't do it.\nYou are a savage.\"\n\n There are no clubs nor marts where men foregather for business in\nthe North--nothing but the saloon, and this is all and more than a\nclub. Here men congregate to drink, to gamble, and to traffic.\n\nIt was late in the evening when Glenister entered the Northern and\npassed idly down the row of games, pausing at the crap-table, where he\nrolled the dice when his turn came. Moving to the roulette-wheel, he\nlost a stack of whites, but at the faro \"lay-out\" his luck was better,\nand he won a gold coin on the \"high-card.\" Whereupon he promptly\nordered a round of drinks for the men grouped about him, a formality\nalways precedent to overtures of general friendship.\n\nAs he paused, glass in hand, his eyes were drawn to a man who stood\nclose by, talking earnestly. The aspect of the stranger challenged\nnotice, for he stood high above his companions with a peculiar grace of\nattitude in place of the awkwardness common in men of great stature.\nAmong those who were listening intently to the man's carefully\nmodulated tones, Glenister recognized Mexico Mullins, the ex-gambler\nwho had given Dextry the warning at Unalaska. As he further studied the\nlistening group, a drunken man staggered uncertainly through the wide\ndoors of the saloon and, gaining sight of the tall stranger, blinked,\nthen approached him, speaking with a loud voice:\n\n\"Well, if 'tain't ole Alec McNamara! How do, ye ole pirate!\"\n\nMcNamara nodded and turned his back coolly upon the new-comer.\n\n\"Don't turn your dorsal fin to me; I wan' to talk to ye.\"\n\nMcNamara continued his calm discourse till he received a vicious whack\non the shoulder; then he turned for a moment to interrupt his\nassailant's garrulous profanity:\n\n\"Don't bother me. I am engaged.\"\n\n\"Ye won' talk to me, eh? Well, I'm goin' to talk to YOU, see? I guess\nyou'd listen if I told these people all I know about you. Turn around\nhere.\"\n\nHis voice was menacing and attracted general notice. Observing this,\nMcNamara addressed him, his words dropping clear, concise, and cold:\n\n\"Don't talk to me. You are a drunken nuisance. Go away before something\nhappens to you.\"\n\nAgain he turned away, but the drunken man seized and whirled him about,\nrepeating his abuse, encouraged by this apparent patience.\n\n\"Your pardon for an instant, gentlemen.\" McNamara laid a large white\nand manicured hand upon the flannel sleeve of the miner and gently\nescorted him through the entrance to the sidewalk, while the crowd\nsmiled.\n\nAs they cleared the threshold, however, he clenched his fist without a\nword and, raising it, struck the sot fully and cruelly upon the jaw.\nHis victim fell silently, the back of his head striking the boards with\na hollow thump; then, without even observing how he lay, McNamara\nre-entered the saloon and took up his conversation where he had been\ninterrupted. His voice was as evenly regulated as his movements,\nbetraying not a sign of anger, excitement, or bravado. He lit a\ncigarette, extracted a note-book, and jotted down certain memoranda\nsupplied him by Mexico Mullins.\n\nAll this time the body lay across the threshold without a sign of life.\nThe buzz of the roulette-wheel was resumed and the crap-dealer began\nhis monotonous routine. Every eye was fixed on the nonchalant man at\nthe bar, but the unconscious creature outside the threshold lay\nunheeded, for in these men's code it behooves the most humane to\npractise a certain aloofness in the matter of private brawls.\n\nHaving completed his notes, McNamara shook hands gravely with his\ncompanions and strode out through the door, past the bulk that sprawled\nacross his path, and, without pause or glance, disappeared.\n\nA dozen willing, though unsympathetic, hands laid the drunkard on the\nroulette-table, where the bartender poured pitcher upon pitcher of\nwater over him.\n\n\"He ain't hurt none to speak of,\" said a bystander; then added, with\nenthusiasm:\n\n\"But say! There's a MAN in this here camp!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nAND A MINE IS JUMPED\n\n\n\"Who's your new shift boss?\" Glenister inquired of his partner, a few\ndays later, indicating a man in the cut below, busied in setting a line\nof sluices.\n\n\"That's old 'Slapjack' Simms, friend of mine from up Dawson way.\"\n\nGlenister laughed immoderately, for the object was unusually tall and\nloose-jointed, and wore a soiled suit of yellow mackinaw. He had laid\noff his coat, and now the baggy, bilious trousers hung precariously\nfrom his angular shoulders by suspenders of alarming frailty. His legs\nwere lost in gum boots, also loose and cavernous, and his entire\ncostume looked relaxed and flapping, so that he gave the impression of\nbeing able to shake himself out of his raiment, and to rise like a\nburlesque Aphrodite. His face was overgrown with a grizzled tangle that\nlooked as though it had been trimmed with button-hole scissors, while\nabove the brush heap grandly soared a shiny, dome-like head.\n\n\"Has he always been bald?\"\n\n\"Naw! He ain't bald at all. He shaves his nob. In the early days he\nwore a long flowin' mane which was inhabited by crickets, tree-toads,\nand such fauna. It got to be a hobby with him finally, so that he\ngrowed superstitious about goin' uncurried, and would back into a\ncorner with both guns drawed if a barber came near him. But once\nHank--that's his real name--undertook to fry some slapjacks, and in\ngivin' the skillet a heave, the dough lit among his forest primeval,\njest back of his ears, soft side down. Hank polluted the gulch with\nlangwidge which no man had ought to keep in himself without it was\nfumigated. Disreppitableness oozed out through him like sweat through\nan ice-pitcher, an' since then he's been known as Slapjack Simms, an'\nhas kept his head shingled smooth as a gun bar'l. He's a good miner,\nthough; ain't none better--an' square as a die.\"\n\nSluicing had begun on the Midas. Long sinuous lengths of canvas hose\nwound down the creek bottom from the dam, like gigantic serpents, while\nthe roll of gravel through the flumes mingled musically with the rush\nof waters, the tinkle of tools, and the song of steel on rock. There\nwere four \"strings\" of boxes abreast, and the heaving line of\nshovellers ate rapidly into the creek bed, while teams with scrapers\nsplashed through the tail races in an atmosphere of softened profanity.\nIn the big white tents which sat back from the bluffs, fifty men of the\nnight shift were asleep; for there is no respite here--no night, no\nSunday, no halt, during the hundred days in which the Northland lends\nherself to pillage.\n\nThe mine lay cradled between wonderful, mossy, willow-mottled\nmountains, while above and below the gulch was dotted with tents and\nhuts, and everywhere, from basin to hill crest, men dug and blasted,\npunily, patiently, while their tracks grew daily plainer over the face\nof this inscrutable wilderness.\n\nA great contentment filled the two partners as they looked on this\nscene. To wrest from reluctant earth her richest treasures, to add to\nthe wealth of the world, to create--here was satisfaction.\n\n\"We ain't robbin' no widders an' orphans doin' it, neither,\" Dextry\nsuddenly remarked, expressing his partner's feelings closely. They\nlooked at each other and smiled with that rare understanding that\nexceeds words.\n\nDescending into the cut, the old man filled a gold-pan with dirt taken\nfrom under the feet of the workers, and washed it in a puddle, while\nthe other watched his dexterous whirling motions. When he had finished,\nthey poked the stream of yellow grains into a pile, then, with heads\ntogether, guessed its weight, laughing again delightedly, in perfect\nharmony and contentment.\n\n\"I've been waitin' a turrible time fer this day,\" said the elder. \"I've\nsuffered the plagues of prospectin' from the Mexicos to the Circle, an'\nyet I don't begretch it none, now that I've struck pay.\"\n\nWhile they spoke, two miners struggled with a bowlder they had\nunearthed, and having scraped and washed it carefully, staggered back\nto place it on the cleaned bed-rock behind. One of them slipped, and it\ncrashed against a brace which held the sluices in place. These boxes\nstand more than a man's height above the bed-rock, resting on\nsupporting posts and running full of water. Should a sluice fall, the\nrushing stream carries out the gold which has lodged in the riffles and\nfloods the bed-rock, raising havoc. Too late the partners saw the\nstring of boxes sway and bend at the joint. Then, before they could\nreach the threatened spot to support it, Slapjack Simms, with a shriek,\nplunged flapping down into the cut and seized the flume. His great\nheight stood him in good stead now, for where the joint had opened,\nwater poured forth in a cataract, He dived under the breach\nunhesitatingly and, stooping, lifted the line as near to its former\nlevel as possible, holding the entire burden upon his naked pate. He\ngesticulated wildly for help, while over him poured the deluge of icy,\nmuddy water. It entered his gaping waistband, bulging out his yellow\ntrousers till they were fat and full and the seams were bursting, while\nhis yawning boot-tops became as boiling springs. Meanwhile he chattered\nforth profanity in such volume that the ear ached under it as must have\nached the heroic Slapjack under the chill of the melting snow. He was\nrelieved quickly, however, and emerged triumphant, though blue and\npuckered, his wilderness of whiskers streaming like limber stalactites,\nhis boots loosely \"squishing,\" while oaths still poured from him in\nsuch profusion that Dextry whispered:\n\n\"Ain't he a ring-tailed wonder? It's plumb solemn an' reverent the way\nhe makes them untamed cuss-words sit up an' beg. It's a privilege to be\npresent. That's a GIFT, that is.\"\n\n\"You'd better get some dry clothes,\" they suggested, and Slapjack\nproceeded a few paces towards the tents, hobbling as though treading on\npounded glass.\n\n\"Ow--w!\" he yelled. \"These blasted boots is full of gravel.\"\n\nHe seated himself and tugged at his foot till the boot came away with a\nsucking sound, then, instead of emptying the accumulation at random, he\npoured the contents into Dextry's empty gold-pan, rinsing it out\ncarefully. The other boot he emptied likewise. They held a surprising\namount of sediment, because the stream that had emerged from the crack\nin the sluices had carried with it pebbles, sand, and all the\nconcentration of the riffles at this point. Standing directly beneath\nthe cataract, most of it had dived fairly into his inviting waistband,\nfollowing down the lines of least resistance into his boot-legs and\nboiling out at the knees.\n\n\"Wash that,\" he said. \"You're apt to get a prospect.\"\n\nWith artful passes Dextry settled it in the pan bottom and washed away\nthe gravel, leaving a yellow, glittering pile which raised a yell from\nthe men who had lingered curiously.\n\n\"He pans forty dollars to the boot-leg,\" one shouted.\n\n\"How much do you run to the foot, Slapjack?\"\n\n\"He's a reg'lar free-milling ledge.\"\n\n\"No, he ain't--he's too thin. He's nothing but a stringer, but he'll\npay to work.\"\n\nThe old miner grinned toothlessly.\n\n\"Gentlemen, there ain't no better way to save fine gold than with\nundercurrents an' blanket riffles. I'll have to wash these garments of\nmine an' clean up the soapsuds 'cause there's a hundred dollars in\ngold-dust clingin' to my person this minute.\" He went dripping up the\nbank, while the men returned to their work singing.\n\nAfter lunch Dextry saddled his bronco.\n\n\"I'm goin' to town for a pair of gold-scales, but I'll be back by\nsupper, then we'll clean up between shifts. She'd ought to give us a\nthousand ounces, the way that ground prospects.\" He loped down the\ngulch, while his partner returned to the pit, the flashing shovel\nblades, and the rumbling undertone of the big workings that so\nfascinated him. It was perhaps four o'clock when he was aroused from\nhis labors by a shout from the bunk-tent, where a group of horsemen had\nclustered. As Glenister drew near, he saw among them Wilton Struve, the\nlawyer, and the big, well-dressed tenderfoot of the\nNorthern--McNamara--the man of the heavy hand. Struve straightway\nengaged him.\n\n\"Say, Glenister, we've come out to see about the title to this claim.\"\n\n\"What about it?\"\n\n\"Well, it was relocated about a month ago.\" He paused.\n\n\"Yes. What of that?\"\n\n\"Galloway has commenced suit.\"\n\n\"The ground belongs to Dextry and me. We discovered it, we opened it\nup, we've complied with the law, and we're going to hold it.\" Glenister\nspoke with such conviction and heat as to nonplus Struve, but McNamara,\nwho had sat his horse silently until now, answered:\n\n\"Certainly, sir; if your title is good you will be protected, but the\nlaw has arrived in Alaska and we've got to let it take its course.\nThere's no need of violence--none whatever--but, briefly, the situation\nis this: Mr. Galloway has commenced action against you; the court has\nenjoined you from working and has appointed me as receiver to operate\nthe mine until the suit is settled. It's an extraordinary procedure, of\ncourse, but the conditions are extraordinary in this country. The\nseason is so short that it would be unjust to the rightful owner if the\nclaim lay idle all summer--so, to avoid that, I've been put in charge,\nwith instructions to operate it and preserve the proceeds subject to\nthe court's order. Mr. Voorhees here is the United States Marshal. He\nwill serve the papers.\"\n\nGlenister threw up his hand in a gesture of restraint.\n\n\"Hold on! Do you mean to tell me that any court would recognize such a\nclaim as Galloway's?\"\n\n\"The law recognizes everything. If his grounds are no good, so much the\nbetter for you.\"\n\n\"You can't put in a receiver without notice to us. Why, good Lord! we\nnever heard of a suit being commenced. We've never even been served\nwith a summons and we haven't had a chance to argue in our own defence.\"\n\n\"I have just said that this is a remarkable state of affairs and\nunusual action had to be taken,\" McNamara replied, but the young miner\ngrew excited.\n\n\"Look here--this gold won't get away. It's safe in the ground. We'll\nknock off work and let the claim lie idle till the thing is settled.\nYou can't really expect us to surrender possession of our mine on the\nmere allegation of some unknown man. That's ridiculous. We won't do it.\nWhy, you'll have to let us argue our case, at least, before you try to\nput us off.\"\n\nVoorhees shook his head. \"We'll have to follow instructions. The thing\nfor you to do is to appear before the court to-morrow and have the\nreceiver dismissed. If your title is as good as you say it is, you\nwon't have any trouble.\"\n\n\"You're not the only ones to suffer,\" added McNamara. \"We've taken\npossession of all the mines below here.\" He nodded down the gulch. \"I'm\nan officer of the court and under bond--\"\n\n\"How much?\"\n\n\"Five thousand dollars for each claim.\"\n\n\"What! Why, heavens, man, the poorest of these mines is producing that\nmuch every day!\"\n\nWhile he spoke, Glenister was rapidly debating what course to follow.\n\n\"The place to argue this thing is before Judge Stillman,\" said\nStruve--but with little notion of the conflict going on within\nGlenister. The youth yearned to fight--not with words nor quibbles nor\nlegal phrases, but with steel and blows. And he felt that the impulse\nwas as righteous as it was natural, for he knew this process was\nunjust, an outrage. Mexico Mullins's warning recurred to him. And\nyet--. He shifted slowly as he talked till his back was to the door of\nthe big tent. They were watching him carefully, for all their apparent\nlanguor and looseness in saddle; then as he started to leap within and\nrally his henchmen, his mind went back to the words of Judge Stillman\nand his niece. Surely that old man was on the square. He couldn't be\notherwise with her beside him, believing in him; and a suspicion of\ndeeper plots behind these actions was groundless. So far, all was\nlegal, he supposed, with his scant knowledge of law; though the methods\nseemed unreasonable. The men might be doing what they thought to be\nright. Why be the first to resist? The men on the mines below had not\ndone so. The title to this ground was capable of such easy proof that\nhe and Dex need have no uneasiness. Courts do not rob honest people\nnowadays, he argued, and moreover, perhaps the girl's words were true,\nperhaps she WOULD think more of him if he gave up the old fighting ways\nfor her sake. Certainly armed resistance to her uncle's first edict\nwould not please her. She had said he was too violent, so he would show\nher he could lay his savagery aside. She might smile on him\napprovingly, and that was worth taking a chance for--anyway it would\nmean but a few days' delay in the mine's run. As he reasoned he heard a\nlow voice speaking within the open door. It was Slapjack Simms.\n\n\"Step aside, lad. I've got the big un covered.\"\n\nGlenister saw the men on horseback snatch at their holsters, and, just\nin time, leaped at his foreman, for the old man had moved out into the\nopen, a Winchester at shoulder, his cheek cuddling the stock, his eyes\ncold and narrow. The young man flung the barrel up and wrenched the\nweapon from his hands.\n\n\"None of that, Hank!\" he cried, sharply. \"I'll say when to shoot.\" He\nturned to look into the muzzles of guns held in the hands of every\nhorseman--every horseman save one, for Alec McNamara sat unmoved, his\nhandsome features, nonchalant and amused, nodding approval. It was at\nhim that Hank's weapon had been levelled.\n\n\"This is bad enough at the best. Don't let's make it any worse,\" said\nhe.\n\nSlapjack inhaled deeply, spat with disgust, and looked over his boss\nincredulously.\n\n\"Well, of all the different kinds of damn fools,\" he snorted, \"you are\nthe kindest.\" He marched past the marshal and his deputies down to the\ncut, put on his coat, and vanished down the trail towards town, not\ndeigning a backward glance either at the mine or at the man unfit to\nfight for.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nTHE \"BRONCO KID'S\" EAVESDROPPING\n\n\nLate in July it grows dark as midnight approaches, so that the many\nlights from doorway and window seem less garish and strange than they\ndo a month earlier. In the Northern there was good business doing. The\nnew bar fixtures, which had cost a king's ransom, or represented the\none night's losings of a Klondike millionaire, shone rich, dark, and\nenticing, while the cut glass sparkled with iridescent hues,\nreflecting, in a measure, the prismatic moods, the dancing spirits of\nthe crowd that crushed past, halting at the gambling games, or\npatronizing the theatre in the rear. The old bar furniture, brought\ndown by dog team from \"Up River,\" was established at the rear extremity\nof the long building, just inside the entrance to the dancehall, where\npatrons of the drama might, with a modicum of delay and inconvenience,\nquaff as deeply of the beaker as of the ballet.\n\nNow, however, the show had closed, the hall had been cleared of chairs\nand canvas, exposing a glassy, tempting surface, and the orchestra had\nmoved to the stage. They played a rollicking, blood-stirring two-step,\nwhile the floor swam with dancers.\n\nAt certain intervals the musicians worked feverishly up to a crashing\ncrescendo, supported by the voices of the dancers, until all joined at\nthe top note in a yell, while the drummer fired a .44 Colt into a box\nof wet sawdust beside his chair--all in time, all in the swinging\nspirit of the tune.\n\nThe men, who were mostly young, danced like college boys, while the\nwomen, who were all young and good dancers, floated through the\nmeasures with the ease of rose-leaves on a summer stream. Faces were\nflushed, eyes were bright, and but rarely a voice sounded that was not\nglad. Most of the noise came from the men, and although one caught,\nhere and there, a hint of haggard lines about the girlish faces, and\nglimpsed occasional eyes that did not smile, yet as a whole the scene\nwas one of genuine enjoyment.\n\nSuddenly the music ceased and the couples crowded to the bar. The women\ntook harmless drinks, the men, mostly whiskey. Rarely was the choice of\npotations criticised, though occasionally some ruddy eschewer of\nsobriety insisted that his lady \"take the same,\" avowing that \"hootch,\"\nhaving been demonstrated beneficial in his case, was good for her also.\nInvariably the lady accepted without dispute, and invariably the man\nfailed to note her glance at the bartender, or the silent substitution\nby that capable person of ginger-ale for whiskey or of plain water for\ngin. In turn, the mixers collected one dollar from each man, flipping\nto the girl a metal percentage-check which she added to her store. In\nthe curtained boxes overhead, men bought bottles with foil about the\ncorks, and then subterfuge on the lady's part was idle, but, on the\nother hand, she was able to pocket for each bottle a check redeemable\nat five dollars.\n\nA stranger, straight from the East, would have remarked first upon the\ngood music, next upon the good looks of the women, and then upon the\nshabby clothes of the men--for some of them were in \"mukluk,\" others in\nsweaters with huge initials and winged emblems, and all were collarless.\n\nOutside in the main gambling-room there were but few women. Men crowded\nin dense masses about the faro lay-out, the wheel, craps, the Klondike\ngame, pangingi, and the card-tables. They talked of business, of home,\nof women, bought and sold mines, and bartered all things from hams to\nhonor. The groomed and clean, the unkempt and filthy jostled shoulder\nto shoulder, equally affected by the license of the goldfields and the\nexhilaration of the New. The mystery of the North had touched them all.\nThe glad, bright wine of adventure filled their veins, and they spoke\nmightily of things they had resolved to do, or recounted with simple\ndiffidence the strange stories of their accomplishment.\n\nThe \"Bronco Kid,\" familiar from Atlin to Nome as the best \"bank\" dealer\non the Yukon, worked the shift from eight till two. He was a slender\nman of thirty, dexterous in movement, slow to smile, soft of voice, and\nknown as a living flame among women. He had dealt the biggest games of\nthe early days, and had no enemies. Yet, though many called him friend,\nthey wondered inwardly.\n\nIt was a strong play the Kid had to-night, for Swede Sam, of Dawson,\nventured many stacks of yellow chips, and he was a quick, aggressive\ngambler. A Jew sat at the king end with ten neatly creased\none-thousand-dollar bills before him, together with piles of smaller\ncurrency. He adventured viciously and without system, while outsiders\nto the number of four or five cut in sporadically with small bets. The\ngame was difficult to follow; consequently the lookout, from his raised\ndais, was leaning forward, chin in hand, while the group was hedged\nabout by eager on-lookers.\n\nFaro is a closed book to most people, for its intricacies are\nconfusing. Lucky is he who has never persevered in solving its\nmysteries nor speculated upon the \"systems\" of beating it. From those\nwho have learned it, the game demands practice, dexterity, and\ncoolness. The dealer must run the cards, watch the many shifting bets,\nhandle the neatly piled checks, figure, lightning-like, the profits and\nlosses. It was his unerring, clock like regularity in this that had won\nthe Kid his reputation. This night his powers were taxed. He dealt\nsilently, scowlingly, his long white fingers nervously caressing the\ncards.\n\nThis preoccupation prevented his noticing the rustle and stir of a\nnew-comer who had crowded up behind him, until he caught the wondering\nglances of those in front and saw that the Israelite was staring past\nhim, his money forgotten, his eyes beady and sharp, his rat-like teeth\nshowing in a grin of admiration. Swede Sam glared from under his\nunkempt shock and felt uncertainly towards the open collar of his\nflannel shirt where a kerchief should have been. The men who were\nstanding gazed at the new-comer, some with surprise, others with a half\nsmile of recognition.\n\nBronco glanced quickly over his shoulder, and as he did so the breath\ncaught in his throat--but for only an instant. A girl stood so close\nbeside him that the lace of her gown brushed his sleeve. He was\nshuffling at the moment and dropped a card, then nodded to her.\nspeaking quietly, as he stooped to regain the pasteboard:\n\n\"Howdy, Cherry?\"\n\nShe did not answer--only continued to look at the \"lay-out.\" \"What a\nwoman!\" he thought. She was not too tall, with smoothly rounded bust\nand hips, and long waist, all well displayed by her perfectly fitting\ngarments. Her face was oval, the mouth rather large, the eyes of dark,\ndark-blue, prominently outlined under thin, silken lids. Her dull-gold\nhair was combed low over the ears, and her smile showed rows of\nsparkling teeth before it dived into twin dimples. Strangest of all, it\nwas an innocent face, the face and smile of a school-girl.\n\nThe Kid finished his shuffling awkwardly and slid the cards into the\nbox. Then the woman spoke:\n\n\"Let me have your place, Bronco.\"\n\nThe men gasped, the Jew snickered, the lookout straightened in his\nchair.\n\n\"Better not. It's a hard game,\" said the Kid, but her voice was\nimperious as she commanded him:\n\n\"Hurry up. Give me your place.\"\n\nBronco arose, whereupon she settled in his chair, tucked in her skirts,\nremoved her gloves, and twisted into place the diamonds on her hands.\n\n\"What the devil's this?\" said the lookout, roughly. \"Are you drunk,\nBronco? Get out of that chair, miss.\"\n\nShe turned to him slowly. The innocence had fled from her features and\nthe big eyes flashed warningly. A change had coarsened her like a puff\nof air on a still pool. Then, while she stared at him, her lids drooped\ndangerously and her lip curled.\n\n\"Throw him out, Bronco,\" she said, and her tones held the hardness of a\nmistress to her slave.\n\n\"That's all right,\" the Kid reassured the lookout. \"She's a better\ndealer than I am. This is Cherry Malotte.\"\n\nWithout noticing the stares this evoked, the girl commenced. Her hands,\nbeautifully soft and white, flashed over the board. She dealt rapidly,\nunfalteringly, with the finish of one bred to the cards, handling chips\nand coppers with the peculiar mannerisms that spring from long\npractice. It was seen that she never looked at her check-rack, but,\nwhen a bet required paying, picked up a stack without turning her head;\nand they saw further that she never reached twice, nor took a large\npile and sized it up against its mate, removing the extra disks, as is\nthe custom. When she stretched forth her hand she grasped the right\nnumber unerringly. This is considered the acme of professional finish,\nand the Bronco Kid smiled delightedly as he saw the wonder spread from\nthe lookout to the spectators and heard the speech of the men who stood\non chairs and tables for sight of the woman dealer.\n\nFor twenty minutes she continued, until the place became congested, and\nnever once did the lookout detect an error.\n\nWhile she was busy, Glenister entered the front-door and pushed his way\nback towards the theatre. He was worried and distrait, his manner\nperturbed and unnatural. Silently and without apparent notice he passed\nfriends who greeted him.\n\n\"What ails Glenister to-night?\" asked a by-stander. \"He acts funny,\"\n\n\"Ain't you heard? Why, the Midas has been jumped. He's in a bad\nway--all broke up.\"\n\nThe girl suddenly ceased without finishing the deck, and arose.\n\n\"Don't stop,\" said the Kid, while a murmur of dismay came from the\nspectators. She only shook her head and drew on her gloves with a show\nof ennui.\n\nGliding through the crowd, she threaded about aimlessly, the recipient\nof many stares though but few greetings, speaking with no one, a\ncertain dignity serving her as a barrier even here. She stopped a\nwaiter and questioned him.\n\n\"He's up-stairs in a gallery box.\"\n\n\"Alone?\"\n\n\"Yes'm. Anyhow, he was a minute ago, unless some of the rustlers has\nbroke in on him.\"\n\nA moment later Glenister, watching the scene below, was aroused from\nhis gloomy absorption by the click of the box door and the rustle of\nsilken skirts.\n\n\"Go out, please,\" he said, without turning. \"I don't want company.\"\nHearing no answer, he began again, \"I came here to be alone\"--but there\nhe ceased, for the girl had come forward and laid her two hot hands\nupon his cheeks.\n\n\"Boy,\" she breathed--and he arose swiftly.\n\n\"Cherry! When did you come?\"\n\n\"Oh, DAYS ago,\" she said, impatiently, \"from Dawson. They told me you\nhad struck it. I stood it as long as I could--then I came to you. Now,\ntell me about yourself. Let me see you first, quick!\"\n\nShe pulled him towards the light and gazed upward, devouring him\nhungrily with her great, languorous eyes. She held to his coat lapels,\nstanding close beside him, her warm breath beating up into his face.\n\n\"Well,\" she said, \"kiss me!\"\n\nHe took her wrists in his and loosed her hold, then looked down on her\ngravely and said:\n\n\"No--that's all over. I told you so when I left Dawson.\"\n\n\"All over! Oh no, it isn't, boy. You think so, but it isn't--it can't\nbe. I love you too much to let you go.\"\n\n\"Hush!\" said he. \"There are people in the next box.\"\n\n\"I don't care! Let them hear,\" she cried, with feminine recklessness.\n\"I'm proud of my love for you. I'll tell it to them--to the whole\nworld.\"\n\n\"Now, see here, little girl,\" he said, quietly, \"we had a long talk in\nDawson and agreed that it was best to divide our ways. I was mad over\nyou once, as a good many other men have been, but I came to my senses.\nNothing could ever result from it, and I told you so.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes--I know. I thought I could give you up, but I didn't realize\ntill you had gone how I wanted you. Oh, it's been a TORTURE to me every\nday for the past two years.\" There was no semblance now to the cold\ncreature she had appeared upon entering the gambling-hall. She spoke\nrapidly, her whole body tense with emotion, her voice shaken with\npassion. \"I've seen men and men and men, and they've loved me, but I\nnever cared for anybody in the world till I saw you. They ran after me,\nbut you were cold. You made me come to you. Perhaps that was it.\nAnyhow, I can't stand it. I'll give up everything--I'll do anything\njust to be where you are. What do you think of a woman who will beg?\nOh, I've lost my pride--I'm a fool--a fool--but I can't help it.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry you feel this way,\" said Glenister. \"It isn't my fault, and\nit isn't of any use.\"\n\nFor an instant she stood quivering, while the light died out of her\nface; then, with a characteristic change, she smiled till the dimples\nlaughed in her cheeks. She sank upon a seat beside him and pulled\ntogether the curtains, shutting out the sight below.\n\n\"Very well\"--then she put his hand to her cheek and cuddled it. \"I'm\nglad to see you just the same, and you can't keep me from loving you.\"\n\nWith his other hand he smoothed her hair, while, unknown to him and\nbeneath her lightness, she shrank and quivered at his touch like a\nBarbary steed under the whip.\n\n\"Things are very bad with me,\" he said. \"We've had our mine jumped.\"\n\n\"Bah! You know what to do. You aren't a cripple--you've got five\nfingers on your gun hand.\"\n\n\"That's it! They all tell me that--all the old-timers; but I don't know\nwhat to do. I thought I did--but I don't. The law has come into this\ncountry and I've tried to meet it half-way. They jumped us and put in a\nreceiver--a big man--by the name of McNamara. Dex wasn't there and I\nlet them do it. When the old man learned of it he nearly went crazy. We\nhad our first quarrel. He thought I was afraid--\"\n\n\"Not he,\" said the girl. \"I know him and he knows you.\"\n\n\"That was a week ago. We've hired the best lawyer in Nome--Bill\nWheaton--and we've tried to have the injunction removed. We've offered\nbond in any sum, but the Judge refuses to accept it. We've argued for\nleave to appeal, but he won't give us the right. The more I look into\nit the worse it seems, for the court wasn't convened in accordance with\nlaw, we weren't notified to appear in our own behalf, we weren't\nallowed a chance to argue our own case--nothing. They simply slapped on\na receiver, and now they refuse to allow us redress. From a legal\nstand-point, it's appalling, I'm told--but what's to be done? What's\nthe game? That's the thing. What are they up to? I'm nearly out of my\nmind, for it's all my fault. I didn't think it meant anything like this\nor I'd have made a fight for possession and stood them off at least. As\nit is, my partner's sore and he's gone to drinking--first time in\ntwelve years. He says I gave the claim away, and now it's up to me and\nthe Almighty to get it back. If he gets full he'll drive a four-horse\nwagon into some church, or go up and pick the Judge to pieces with his\nfingers to see what makes him go round.\"\n\n\"What've they got against you and Dextry--some grudge?\" she questioned.\n\n\"No, no! We're not the only ones in trouble; they've jumped the rest of\nthe good mines and put this McNamara in as receiver on all of them, but\nthat's small comfort. The Swedes are crazy; they've hired all the\nlawyers in town, and are murdering more good American language than\nwould fill Bering Strait. Dex is in favor of getting our friends\ntogether and throwing the receiver off. He wants to kill somebody, but\nwe can't do that. They've got the soldiers to fall back on. We've been\nwarned that the troops are instructed to enforce the court's action. I\ndon't know what the plot is, for I can't believe the old Judge is\ncrooked--the girl wouldn't let him.\"\n\n\"Girl?\"\n\nCherry Malotte leaned forward where the light shone on the young man's\nworried face.\n\n\"The girl? What girl? Who is she?\"\n\nHer voice had lost its lazy caress, her lips had thinned. Never was a\nwoman's face more eloquent, mused Glenister as he noted her. Every\nthought fled to this window to peer forth, fearful, lustful, hateful,\nas the case might be. He had loved to play with her in the former days,\nto work upon her passions and watch the changes, to note her features\nmirror every varying emotion from tenderness to flippancy, from anger\nto delight, and, at his bidding, to see the pale cheeks glow with\nlove's fire, the eyes grow heavy, the dainty lips invite kisses. Cherry\nwas a perfect little spoiled animal, he reflected, and a very dangerous\none.\n\n\"What girl?\" she questioned again, and he knew beforehand the look that\nwent with it.\n\n\"The girl I intend to marry,\" he said, slowly, looking her between the\neyes.\n\nHe knew he was cruel--he wanted to be--it satisfied the clamor and\nturmoil within him, while he also felt that the sooner she knew and the\ncolder it left her the better. He could not note the effect of the\nremark on her, however, for, as he spoke, the door of the box opened\nand the head of the Bronco Kid appeared, then retired instantly with\napologies.\n\n\"Wrong stall,\" he said, in his slow voice. \"Looking for another party.\"\nNevertheless, his eyes had covered every inch of them--noted the drawn\ncurtains and the breathless poise of the woman--while his ears had\ncaught part of Glenister's speech.\n\n\"You won't marry her,\" said Cherry, quietly. \"I don't know who she is,\nbut I won't let you marry her.\"\n\nShe rose and smoothed her skirts.\n\n\"It's time nice people were going now.\" She said it with a sneer at\nherself. \"Take me out through this crowd. I'm living quietly and I\ndon't want these beasts to follow me.\"\n\nAs they emerged from the theatre the morning air was cool and quiet,\nwhile the sun was just rising. The Bronco Kid lighted a cigar as they\npassed, nodding silently at their greeting. His eyes followed them,\nwhile his hands were so still that the match burned through to his\nfingers--then when they had gone his teeth met and ground savagely\nthrough the tobacco so that the cigar fell, while he muttered:\n\n\"So that's the girl you intend to marry? We'll see, by God!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nDEXTRY MAKES A CALL\n\n\nThe water front had a strong attraction for Helen Chester, and rarely\ndid a fair day pass without finding her in some quiet spot from which\nshe could watch the shifting life along its edge, the ships at anchor,\nand the varied incidents of the surf.\n\nThis morning she sat in a dory pulled high up on the beach, bathed in\nthe bright sunshine, and staring at the rollers, while lines of\nconcentration wrinkled her brow. The wind had blown for some days till\nthe ocean beat heavily across the shallow bar, and now, as it became\nquieter, longshoremen were launching their craft, preparing to resume\ntheir traffic.\n\nNot until the previous day had the news of her friends' misfortune come\nto her, and although she had heard no hint of fraud, she began to\nrealize that they were involved in a serious tangle. To the questions\nwhich she anxiously put to her uncle he had replied that their\ndifficulty arose from a technicality in the mining laws which another\nman had been shrewd enough to profit by. It was a complicated question,\nhe said, and one requiring time to thrash out to an equitable\nsettlement. She had undertaken to remind him of the service these men\nhad done her, but, with a smile, he interrupted; he could not allow\nsuch things to influence his judicial attitude, and she must not\nendeavor to prejudice him in the discharge of his duty. Recognizing the\njustice of this, she had desisted.\n\nFor many days the girl had caught scattered talk between the Judge and\nMcNamara, and between Struve and his associates, but it all seemed\nforeign and dry, and beyond the fact that it bore on the litigation\nover the Anvil Creek mines, she understood nothing and cared less,\nparticularly as a new interest had but recently come into her life, an\ninterest in the form of a man--McNamara.\n\nHe had begun with quiet, half-concealed admiration of her, which had\nrapidly increased until his attentions had become of a singularly\npositive and resistless character.\n\nJudge Stillman was openly delighted, while the court of one like Alec\nMcNamara could but flatter any girl. In his presence, Helen felt\nherself rebelling at his suit, yet as distance separated them she\nthought ever more kindly of it. This state of mind contrasted oddly\nwith her feelings towards the other man she had met, for in this\ncountry there were but two. When Glenister was with her she saw his\nlove lying nakedly in his eyes and it exercised some spell which drew\nher to him in spite of herself, but when he had gone, back came the\ndistrust, the terror of the brute she felt was there behind it all. The\none appealed to her while present, the other pled strongest while away.\nNow she was attempting to analyze her feelings and face the future\nsquarely, for she realized that her affairs neared a crisis, and this,\ntoo, not a month after meeting the men. She wondered if she would come\nto love her uncle's friend. She did not know. Of the other she was\nsure--she never could.\n\nBusied with these reflections, she noticed the familiar figure of\nDextry wandering aimlessly. He was not unkempt, and yet his air gave\nher the impression of prolonged sleeplessness. Spying her, he\napproached and seated himself in the sand against the boat, while at\nher greeting he broke into talk as if he was needful only of her\nfriendly presence to stir his confidential chords into active vibration.\n\n\"We're in turrible shape, miss,\" he said. \"Our claim's jumped. Somebody\nrun in and talked the boy out of it while I was gone, and now we can't\nget 'em off. He's been tryin' this here new law game that you-all\nbrought in this summer. I've been drunk--that's what makes me look so\nornery.\"\n\nHe said the last, not in the spirit of apology, for rarely does your\nfrontiersman consider that his self-indulgences require palliation, but\nrather after the manner of one purveying news of mild interest, as he\nwould inform you that his surcingle had broken or that he had witnessed\na lynching.\n\n\"What made them jump your claim?\"\n\n\"I don't know. I don't know nothin' about it, because, as I remarked\nprevious, I 'ain't follered the totterin' footsteps of the law none too\nclose. Nor do I intend to. I simply draws out of the game fer a spell,\nand lets the youngster have his fling; then if he can't make good, I'll\ntake the cards and finish it for him.\n\n\"It's like the time I was ranchin' with an Englishman up in Montana.\nThis here party claimed the misfortune of bein' a younger son, whatever\nthat is, and is grubstaked to a ranch by his people back home. Havin'\nacquired an intimate knowledge of the West by readin' Bret Harte, and\nhavin' assim'lated the secrets of ranchin' by correspondence school, he\nis fitted, ample, to teach us natives a thing or two--and he does it. I\nam workin' his outfit as foreman, and it don't take long to show me\nthat he's a good-hearted feller, in spite of his ridin'-bloomers an'\npinochle eye-glass. He ain't never had no actual experience, but he's\ngot a Henry Thompson Seton book that tells him all about everything\nfrom field-mice to gorrillys.\n\n\"We're troubled a heap with coyotes them days, and finally this party\nsends home for some Rooshian wolf-hounds. I'm fer pizenin' a sheep\ncarcass, but he says:\n\n\"'No, no, me deah man; that's not sportsman-like; we'll hunt 'em. Ay,\nhunt 'em! Only fawncy the sport we'll have, ridin' to hounds!'\n\n\"'We will not,' says I. 'I ain't goin' to do no Simon Legree stunts. It\nain't man's size. Bein' English, you don't count, but I'm growed up.'\n\n\"Nothin' would do him but those Uncle Tom's Cabin dogs, however, and he\nhad 'em imported clean from Berkshire or Sibeery or thereabouts, four\nof 'em, great, big, blue ones. They was as handsome and imposin' as a\nset of solid-gold teeth, but somehow they didn't seem to savvy our play\nnone. One day the cook rolled a rain bar'l down-hill from the kitchen,\nand when them blooded critters saw it comin' they throwed down their\ntails and tore out like rabbits. After that I couldn't see no good in\n'em with a spy-glass.\n\n\"'They 'ain't got no grit. What makes you think they can fight?' I\nasked one day.\n\n\"'Fight?' says H'Anglish. 'My deah man, they're full-blooded. Cost\nseventy pun each. They're dreadful creatures when they're\nroused--they'll tear a wolf to pieces like a rag--kill bears--anything.\nOh! Rully, perfectly dreadful!'\n\n\"Well, it wasn't a week later that he went over to the east line with\nme to mend a barb wire. I had my pliers and a hatchet and some staples.\nAbout a mile from the house we jumped up a little brown bear that\nscampered off when he seen us, but bein' agin' a bluff where he\ncouldn't get away, he climbed a cotton-wood. H'Anglish was simply\nfrothin' with excitement.\n\n\"'What a misfortune! Neyther gun nor hounds.'\n\n\"'I'll scratch his back and talk pretty to him,' says I, 'while you run\nback and get a Winchester and them ferocious bull-dogs.'\n\n\"'Wolf-hounds,' says he, with dignity, 'full-blooded, seventy pun each.\nThey'll rend the poor beast limb from limb. I hate to do it, but it 'll\nbe good practice for them.'\n\n\"'They may be good renders,' says I, 'but don't forgit the gun.'\n\n\"Well, I throwed sticks at the critter when he tried to unclimb the\ntree, till finally the boss got back with his dogs. They set up an\nawful holler when they see the bear--first one they'd ever smelled, I\nreckon--and the little feller crawled up in some forks and watched\nthings, cautious, while they leaped about, bayin' most fierce and\nblood-curdlin'.\n\n\"'How you goin' to get him down?' says I.\n\n\"'I'll shoot him in the lower jaw,' says the Britisher, 'so he cawn't\nbite the dogs. It 'll give 'em cawnfidence.'\n\n\"He takes aim at Mr. Bear's chin and misses it three times runnin',\nhe's that excited.\n\n\"'Settle down, H'Anglish,' says I. 'He 'ain't got no double chins. How\nmany shells left in your gun?'\" When he looks he finds there's only one\nmore, for he hadn't stopped to fill the magazine, so I cautions him.\n\n\"'You're shootin' too low. Raise her.'\n\n\"He raised her all right, and caught Mr. Bruin in the snout. What\nfollowed thereafter was most too quick to notice, for the poor bear let\nout a bawl, dropped off his limb into the midst of them ragin',\ntur'ble, seventy-pun hounds, an' hugged 'em to death, one after\nanother, like he was doin' a system of health exercises. He took 'em to\nhis boosum as if he'd just got back off a long trip, then, droppin' the\nlast one, he made at that younger son an' put a gold fillin' in his\nleg. Yes, sir; most chewed it off. H'Anglish let out a Siberian-wolf\nholler hisself, an' I had to step in with the hatchet and kill the\nbrute though I was most dead from laughin'.\n\n\"That's how it is with me an' Glenister,\" the old man concluded. \"When\nhe gets tired experimentin' with this new law game of hisn, I'll step\nin an' do business on a common-sense basis.\"\n\n\"You talk as if you wouldn't get fair play,\" said Helen.\n\n\"We won't,\" said he, with conviction. \"I look on all lawyers with\nsuspicion, even to old bald-face--your uncle, askin' your pardon an'\ngettin' it, bein' as I'm a friend an' he ain't no real relation of\nyours, anyhow. No, sir; they're all crooked.\"\n\nDextry held the Western distrust of the legal\nprofession--comprehensive, unreasoning, deep.\n\n\"Is the old man all the kin you've got?\" he questioned, when she\nrefused to discuss the matter.\n\n\"He is--in a way. I have a brother, or I hope I have, somewhere. He ran\naway when we were both little tads and I haven't seen him since. I\nheard about him, indirectly, at Skagway--three years ago--during the\nbig rush to the Klondike, but he has never been home. When father died,\nI went to live with Uncle Arthur--some day, perhaps, I'll find my\nbrother. He's cruel to hide from me this way, for there are only we two\nleft and I've loved him always.\"\n\nShe spoke sadly and her mood blended well with the gloom of her\ncompanion, so they stared silently out over the heaving green waters.\n\n\"It's a good thing me an' the kid had a little piece of money ahead,\"\nDextry resumed later, reverting to the thought that lay uppermost in\nhis mind, \"'cause we'd be up against it right if we hadn't. The boy\ncouldn't have amused himself none with these court proceedings, because\nthey come high. I call 'em luxuries, like brandied peaches an' silk\nundershirts.\n\n\"I don't trust these Jim Crow banks no more than I do lawyers, neither.\nNo, sirree! I bought a iron safe an' hauled it out to the mine. She\nweighs eighteen hundred, and we keep our money locked up there. We've\ngot a feller named Johnson watchin' it now. Steal it? Well, hardly.\nThey can't bust her open without a stick of 'giant' which would rouse\neverybody in five miles, an' they can't lug her off bodily--she's too\nheavy. No; it's safer there than any place I know of. There ain't no\nabscondin' cashiers an' all that. Tomorrer I'm goin' back to live on\nthe claim an' watch this receiver man till the thing's settled.\"\n\nWhen the girl arose to go, he accompanied her up through the deep sand\nof the lane-like street to the main, muddy thoroughfare of the camp. As\nyet, the planked and gravelled pavements, which later threaded the\ntown, were unknown, and the incessant traffic had worn the road into a\nquagmire of chocolate-colored slush, almost axle-deep, with which the\nstore fronts, show-windows, and awnings were plentifully shot and\nspattered from passing teams. Whenever a wagon approached, pedestrians\nfled to the shelter of neighboring doorways, watching a chance to dodge\nout again. When vehicles passed from the comparative solidity of the\nmain street out into the morasses that constituted the rest of the\ntown, they adventured perilously, their horses plunging, snorting,\nterrified, amid an atmosphere of profanity. Discouraged animals were\ndown constantly, and no foot-passenger, even with rubber boots,\nventured off the planks that led from house to house.\n\nTo avoid a splashing team, Dextry pulled his companion close in against\nthe entrance to the Northern saloon, standing before her protectingly.\n\nAlthough it was late in the afternoon the Bronco Kid had just arisen\nand was now loafing preparatory to the active duties of his profession.\nHe was speaking with the proprietor when Dextry and the girl sought\nshelter just without the open door, so he caught a fair though fleeting\nglimpse of her as she flashed a curious look inside. She had never been\nso close to a gambling-hall before, and would have liked to peer in\nmore carefully had she dared, but her companion moved forward. At the\nfirst look the Bronco Kid had broken off in his speech and stared at\nher as though at an apparition. When she had vanished, he spoke to\nReilly:\n\n\"Who's that?\"\n\nReilly shrugged his shoulders, then without further question the Kid\nturned back towards the empty theatre and out of the back door.\n\nHe moved nonchalantly till he was outside, then with the speed of a\ncolt ran down the narrow planking between the buildings, turned\nparallel to the front street, leaped from board to board, splashed\nthrough puddles of water till he reached the next alley. Stamping the\nmud from his shoes and pulling down his sombrero, he sauntered out into\nthe main thoroughfare.\n\nDextry and his companion had crossed to the other side and were\napproaching, so the gambler gained a fair view of them. He searched\nevery inch of the girl's face and figure, then, as she made to turn her\neyes in his direction, he slouched away. He followed, however, at a\ndistance, till he saw the man leave her, then on up to the big hotel he\nshadowed her. A half-hour later he was drinking in the Golden Gate\nbar-room with an acquaintance who ministered to the mechanical details\nbehind the hotel counter.\n\n\"Who's the girl I saw come in just now?\" he inquired.\n\n\"I guess you mean the Judge's niece.\"\n\nBoth men spoke in the dead, restrained tones that go with their\ncallings.\n\n\"What's her name?\"\n\n\"Chester, I think. Why? Look good to you, Kid?\"\n\nAlthough the other neither spoke nor made sign, the bartender construed\nhis silence as acquiescence and continued, with a conscious glance at\nhis own reflection while he adjusted his diamond scarf-pin: \"Well, she\ncan have ME! I've got it fixed to meet her.\"\n\n\"BAH! I guess not,\" said the Kid, suddenly, with an inflection that\nstartled the other from his preening. Then, as he went out, the man\nmused:\n\n\"Gee! Bronco's got the worst eye in the camp! Makes me creep when he\nthrows it on me with that muddy look. He acted like he was jealous.\"\n\n At noon the next day, as he prepared to go to the claim, Dextry's\npartner burst in upon him. Glenister was dishevelled, and his eyes\nshone with intense excitement.\n\n\"What d'you think they've done now?\" he cried, as greeting.\n\n\"I dunno. What is it?\"\n\n\"They've broken open the safe and taken our money.\"\n\n\"What!\"\n\nThe old man in turn was on his feet, the grudge which he had felt\nagainst Glenister in the past few days forgotten in this common\nmisfortune.\n\n\"Yes, by Heaven, they've swiped our money--our tents, tools, teams,\nbooks, hose, and all of our personal property--everything! They threw\nJohnson off and took the whole works. I never heard of such a thing. I\nwent out to the claim and they wouldn't let me go near the workings.\nThey've got every mine on Anvil Creek guarded the same way, and they\naren't going to let us come around even when they clean up. They told\nme so this morning.\"\n\n\"But, look here,\" demanded Dextry, sharply, \"the money in that safe\nbelongs to us. That's money we brought in from the States. The court\n'ain't got no right to it. What kind of a damn law is that?\"\n\n\"Oh, as to law, they don't pay any attention to it any more,\" said\nGlenister, bitterly. \"I made a mistake in not killing the first man\nthat set foot on the claim. I was a sucker, and now we're up against a\nstiff game. The Swedes are in the same fix, too. This last order has\nleft them groggy.\" \"I don't understand it yet,\" said Dextry.\n\n\"Why, it's this way. The Judge has issued what he calls an order\nenlarging the powers of the receiver, and it authorizes McNamara to\ntake possession of everything on the claims--tents, tools, stores, and\npersonal property of all kinds. It was issued last night without notice\nto our side, so Wheaton says, and they served it this morning early. I\nwent out to see McNamara, and when I got there I found him in our\nprivate tent with the safe broken open.\"\n\n\"'What does this mean?' I said. And then he showed me the new order.\n\n\"'I'm responsible to the court for every penny of this money,' said he,\n'and for every tool on the claim. In view of that I can't allow you to\ngo near the workings.'\n\n\"'Not go near the workings?' said I. 'Do you mean you won't let us see\nthe clean-ups from our own mine? How do we know we're getting a square\ndeal if we don't see the gold weighed?'\n\n\"'I'm an officer of the court and under bond,' said he, and the smiling\ntriumph in his eyes made me crazy.\n\n\"'You're a lying thief,' I said, looking at him square. 'And you're\ngoing too far. You played me for a fool once and made it stick, but it\nwon't work twice.'\n\n\"He looked injured and aggrieved and called in Voorhees, the marshal. I\ncan't grasp the thing at all; everybody seems to be against us, the\nJudge, the marshal, the prosecuting attorney--everybody. Yet they've\ndone it all according to law, they claim, and have the soldiers to back\nthem up.\"\n\n\"It's just as Mexico Mullins said,\" Dextry stormed; \"there's a deal on\nof some kind. I'm goin' up to the hotel an' call on the Judge myself. I\n'ain't never seen him nor this McNamara, either. I allus want to look a\nman straight in the eyes once, then I know what course to foller in my\ndealings.\"\n\n\"You'll find them both,\" said Glenister, \"for McNamara rode into town\nbehind me.\"\n\nThe old prospector proceeded to the Golden Gate Hotel and inquired for\nJudge Stillman's room. A boy attempted to take his name, but he seized\nhim by the scruff of the neck and sat him in his seat, proceeding\nunannounced to the suite to which he had been directed. Hearing voices,\nhe knocked, and then, without awaiting a summons, walked in.\n\nThe room was fitted like an office, with desk, table, type-writer, and\nlaw-books. Other rooms opened from it on both sides. Two men were\ntalking earnestly--one gray-haired, smooth-shaven, and clerical, the\nother tall, picturesque, and masterful. With his first glance the miner\nknew that before him were the two he had come to see, and that in\nreality he had to deal with but one, the big man who shot at him the\nlevel glances.\n\n\"We are engaged,\" said the Judge, \"very busily engaged, sir. Will you\ncall again in half an hour?\"\n\nDextry looked him over carefully from head to foot, then turned his\nback on him and regarded the other. Neither he nor McNamara spoke, but\ntheir eyes were busy and each instinctively knew that here was a foe.\n\n\"What do you want?\" McNamara inquired, finally.\n\n\"I just dropped in to get acquainted. My name is Dextry--Joe\nDextry--from everywhere west of the Missouri--an' your name is\nMcNamara, ain't it? This here, I reckon, is your little French\npoodle--eh?\" indicating Stillman.\n\n\"What do you mean?\" said McNamara, while the Judge murmured indignantly.\n\n\"Just what I say. However, that ain't what I want to talk about. I\ndon't take no stock in such truck as judges an' lawyers an' orders of\ncourt. They ain't intended to be took serious. They're all right for\nchildren an' Easterners an' non compos mentis people, I s'pose, but\nI've always been my own judge, jury, an' hangman, an' I aim to continue\nworkin' my legislatif, executif, an' judicial duties to the end of the\nstring. You look out! My pardner is young an' seems to like the idee of\nlettin' somebody else run his business, so I'm goin' to give him rein\nand let him amuse himself for a while with your dinky little writs an'\nreceiverships. But don't go too far--you can rob the Swedes, 'cause\nSwedes ain't entitled to have no money, an' some other crook would get\nit if you didn't, but don't play me an' Glenister fer Scandinavians.\nIt's a mistake. We're white men, an' I'm apt to come romancin' up here\nwith one of these an' bust you so you won't hold together durin' the\nceremonies.\"\n\nWith his last words he made the slightest shifting movement, only a\nlifting shrug of the shoulder, yet in his palm lay a six-shooter. He\nhad slipped it from his trousers band with the ease of long practice\nand absolute surety. Judge Stillman gasped and backed against the desk,\nbut McNamara idly swung his leg as he sat sidewise on the table. His\nonly sign of interest was a quickening of the eyes, a fact of which\nDextry made mental note.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the miner, disregarding the alarm of the lawyer, \"you can\nwear this court in your vest-pocket like a Waterbury, if you want to,\nbut if you don't let me alone, I'll uncoil its main-spring. That's all.\"\n\nHe replaced his weapon and, turning, walked out the door.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nSLUICE ROBBERS\n\n\n\"We must have money,\" said Glenister a few days later. \"When McNamara\njumped our safe he put us down and out. There's no use fighting in this\ncourt any longer, for the Judge won't let us work the ground ourselves,\neven if we give bond, and he won't grant an appeal. He says his orders\naren't appealable. We ought to send Wheaton out to 'Frisco and have him\ntake the case to the higher courts. Maybe he can get a writ of\nsupersedeas.\"\n\n\"I don't rec'nize the name, but if it's as bad as it sounds it's sure\nhorrible. Ain't there no cure for it?\"\n\n\"It simply means that the upper court would take the case away from\nthis one.\"\n\n\"Well, let's send him out quick. Every day means ten thousand dollars\nto us. It 'll take him a month to make the round trip, so I s'pose he\nought to leave tomorrow on the Roanoke.\"\n\n\"Yes, but where's the money to do it with? McNamara has ours. My God!\nWhat a mess we're in! What fools we've been, Dex! There's a conspiracy\nhere. I'm beginning to see it now that it's too late. This man is\nlooting our country under color of law, and figures on gutting all the\nmines before we can throw him off. That's his game. He'll work them as\nhard and as long as he can, and Heaven only knows what will become of\nthe money. He must have big men behind him in order to fix a United\nStates judge this way. Maybe he has the 'Frisco courts corrupted, too.\"\n\n\"If he has, I'm goin' to kill him,\" said Dextry. \"I've worked like a\ndog all my life, and now that I've struck pay I don't aim to lose it.\nIf Bill Wheaton can't win out accordin' to law, I'm goin' to proceed\naccordin' to justice.\"\n\nDuring the past two days the partners had haunted the court-room where\ntheir lawyer, together with the counsel for the Scandinavians, had\nargued and pleaded, trying every possible professional and\nunprofessional artifice in search of relief from the arbitrary rulings\nof the court, while hourly they had become more strongly suspicious of\nsome sinister plot--some hidden, powerful understanding back of the\nJudge and the entire mechanism of justice. They had fought with the\nfury of men who battle for life, and had grown to hate the lines of\nStillman's vacillating face, the bluster of the district-attorney, and\nthe smirking confidence of the clerks, for it seemed that they all\nworked mechanically, like toys, at the dictates of Alec McNamara. At\nlast, when they had ceased, beaten and exhausted, they were too\nconfused with technical phrases to grasp anything except the fact that\nrelief was denied them; that their claims were to be worked by the\nreceiver; and, as a crowning defeat, they learned that the Judge would\nmove his court to St. Michael's and hear no cases until he returned, a\nmonth later.\n\nMeanwhile, McNamara hired every idle man he could lay hand upon, and\nripped the placers open with double shifts. Every day a stream of\nyellow dust poured into the bank and was locked in his vaults, while\nthose mine-owners who attempted to witness the clean-ups were ejected\nfrom their claims. The politician had worked with incredible swiftness\nand system, and a fortnight after landing he had made good his boast to\nStruve, and was in charge of every good claim in the district, the\nowners were ousted, their appeals argued and denied, and the court gone\nfor thirty days, leaving him a clear field for his operations. He felt\na contempt for most of his victims, who were slow-witted Swedes,\ngrasping neither the purport nor the magnitude of his operation, and as\nto those litigants who were discerning enough to see its enormity, he\ntrusted to his organization to thwart them.\n\nThe two partners had come to feel that they were beating against a\nwall, and had also come squarely to face the proposition that they were\nwithout funds wherewith to continue their battle. It was maddening for\nthem to think of the daily robbery that they suffered, for the Midas\nturned out many ounces of gold at every shift; and more maddening to\nrealize the receiver's shrewdness in crippling them by his theft of the\ngold in their safe. That had been his crowning stroke.\n\n\"We MUST get money quick,\" said Glenister. \"Do you think we can borrow?\"\n\n\"Borrow?\" sniffed Dextry. \"Folks don't lend money in Alaska.\"\n\nThey relapsed into a moody silence.\n\n\"I met a feller this mornin' that's workin' on the Midas,\" the old man\nresumed. \"He came in town fer a pair of gum boots, an' he says they've\nrun into awful rich ground--so rich that they have to clean up every\nmorning when the night shift goes off 'cause the riffles clog with\ngold.\"\n\n\"Think of it!\" Glenister growled. \"If we had even a part of one of\nthose clean-ups we could send Wheaton outside.\"\n\nIn the midst of his bitterness a thought struck him. He made as though\nto speak, then closed his mouth; but his partner's eyes were on him,\nfilled with a suppressed but growing fire. Dextry lowered his voice\ncautiously:\n\n\"There'll be twenty thousand dollars in them sluices to-night at\nmidnight.\"\n\nGlenister stared back while his pulse pounded at something that lay in\nthe other's words.\n\n\"It belongs to us,\" the young man said. \"There wouldn't be anything\nwrong about it, would there?\"\n\nDextry sneered. \"Wrong! Right! Them is fine an' soundin' titles in a\nmess like this. What do they mean? I tell you, at midnight to-night\nAlec McNamara will have twenty thousand dollars of our money--\"\n\n\"God! What would happen if they caught us?\" whispered the younger,\nfollowing out his thought. \"They'd never let us get off the claim\nalive. He couldn't find a better excuse to shoot us down and get rid of\nus. If we came up before this Judge for trial, we'd go to Sitka for\ntwenty years.\"\n\n\"Sure! But it's our only chance. I'd ruther die on the Midas in a fair\nfight than set here bitin' my hangnails. I'm growin' old and I won't\nnever make another strike. As to bein' caught--them's our chances. I\nwon't be took alive--I promise you that--and before I go I'll get my\nsatisfy. Castin' things up, that's about all a man gets in this vale of\ntears, jest satisfaction of one kind or another. It'll be a fight in\nthe open, under the stars, with the clean, wet moss to lie down on, and\nnot a scrappin'-match of freak phrases and law-books inside of a\nstinkin' court-room. The cards is shuffled and in the box, pardner, and\nthe game is started. If we're due to win, we'll win. If we're due to\nlose, we'll lose. These things is all figgered out a thousand years\nback. Come on, boy. Are you game?\"\n\n\"Am I game?\" Glenister's nostrils dilated and his voice rose a tone.\n\"Am I game? I'm with you till the big cash-in, and Lord have mercy on\nany man that blocks our game to-night.\"\n\n\"We'll need another hand to help us,\" said Dextry. \"Who can we get?\"\n\nAt that moment, as though in answer, the door opened with the scant\nceremony that friends of the frontier are wont to observe, admitting\nthe attenuated, flapping, dome-crowned figure of Slapjack Simms, and\nDextry fell upon him with the hunger of a wolf.\n\n It was midnight and over the dark walls of the valley peered a\nmultitude of stars, while away on the southern horizon there glowed a\nsubdued effulgence as though from hidden fires beneath the Gold God's\ncaldron, or as though the phosphorescence of Bering had spread upward\ninto the skies. Although each night grew longer, it was not yet\nnecessary to light the men at work in the cuts. There were perhaps two\nhours in which it was difficult to see at a distance, but the dawn came\nearly, hence no provision had been made for torches.\n\nFive minutes before the hour the night-shift boss lowered the gates in\nthe dam, and, as the rush from the sluices subsided, his men quit work\nand climbed the bluff to the mess tent. The dwellings of the Midas, as\nhas already been explained, sat back from the creek at a distance of a\ncity block, the workings being thus partially hidden under the brow of\nthe steep bank.\n\nIt is customary to leave a watchman in the pit during the noon and\nmidnight hours, not only to see that strangers preserve a neutral\nattitude, but also to watch the waste-gates and water supply. The night\nman of the Midas had been warned of his responsibility, and, knowing\nthat much gold lay in his keeping, was disposed to gaze on the\ncurious-minded with the sourness of suspicion. Therefore, as a man\nleading a pack-horse approached out of the gloom of the creek-trail,\nhis eyes were on him from the moment he appeared. The road wound along\nthe gravel of the bars and passed in proximity to the flumes. However,\nthe wayfarer paid no attention to them, and the watchman detected an\nexplanatory weariness in his slow gait.\n\n\"Some prospector getting in from a trip,\" he thought.\n\nThe stranger stopped, scratched a match, and, as he undertook to light\nhis pipe, the observer caught the mahogany shine of a negro's face. The\nmatch sputtered out and then came impatient blasphemy as he searched\nfor another.\n\n\"Evenin', sah! You-all oblige me with a match?\"\n\nHe addressed the watcher on the bank above, and, without waiting a\nreply, began to climb upward.\n\nNo smoker on the trail will deny the luxury of a light to the most\nhumble, so as the negro gained his level the man reached forth to\naccommodate him. Without warning, the black man leaped forward with the\nferocity of an animal and struck the other a fearful blow. The watchman\nsank with a faint, startled cry, and the African dragged him out of\nsight over the brow of the bank, where he rapidly tied him hand and\nfoot, stuffing a gag into his mouth. At the same moment two other\nfigures rounded the bend below and approached. They were mounted and\nleading a third saddle-horse, as well as other pack-animals. Reaching\nthe workings, they dismounted. Then began a strange procedure, for one\nman clambered upon the sluices and, with a pick, ripped out the\nriffles. This was a matter of only a few seconds; then, seizing a\nshovel, he transferred the concentrates which lay in the bottom of the\nboxes into canvas sacks which his companion held. As each bag was\nfilled, it was tied and dumped into the cut. They treated but four\nboxes in this way, leaving the lower two-thirds of the flume untouched,\nfor Anvil Creek gold is coarse and the heart of the clean-up lies where\nit is thrown in. Gathering the sacks together, they lashed them upon\nthe pack-animals, then mounted the second string of sluices and began\nas before. Throughout it all they worked with feverish haste and in\nunbroken silence, every moment flashing quick glances at the figure of\nthe lookout who stood on the crest above, half dimmed in the shadow of\na willow clump. Judging by their rapidity and sureness, they were\nexpert miners.\n\nFrom the tent came the voices of the night shift at table, and the\nfaint rattle of dishes, while the canvas walls glowed from the lights\nwithin like great fire-flies hidden in the grass. The foreman,\nfinishing his meal, appeared at the door of the mess tent, and, pausing\nto accustom his eyes to the gloom, peered perfunctorily towards the\ncreek. The watchman detached himself from the shadow, moving out into\nplain sight, and the boss turned back. The two men below were now\nworking on the sluices which lay close under the bank and were thus\nhidden from the tent.\n\n McNamara's description of Anvil Creek's riches had fired Helen\nChester with the desire to witness a clean-up, so they had ridden out\nfrom town in time for supper at the claim. She had not known whither he\nled her, only understanding that provision for her entertainment would\nbe made with the superintendent's wife. Upon recognizing the Midas, she\nhad endeavored to question him as to why her friends had been\ndispossessed, and he had answered, as it seemed, straight and true.\n\nThe ground was in dispute, he said--another man claimed it--and while\nthe litigation pended he was in charge for the court, to see that\nneither party received injury. He spoke adroitly, and it satisfied her\nto have the proposition resolved into such simplicity.\n\nShe had come prepared to spend the night and witness the early morning\noperation, so the receiver made the most of his opportunity. He showed\nher over the workings, explaining the many things that were strange to\nher. Not only was he in himself a fascinating figure to any woman, but\nwherever he went men regarded him deferentially, and nothing affects a\nwoman's judgment more promptly than this obvious sign of power. He\nspent the evening with her, talking of his early days and the things he\nhad done in the West, his story matching the picturesqueness of her\ncanvas-walled quarters with their rough furnishings of skins and\nblankets. Being a keen observer as well as a finished raconteur, he had\nwoven a spell of words about the girl, leaving her in a state of tumult\nand indecision when at last, towards midnight, he retired to his own\ntent. She knew to what end all this was working, and yet knew not what\nher answer would be when the question came which lay behind it all. At\nmoments she felt the wonderful attraction of the man, and still there\nwas some distrust of him which she could not fathom. Again her thoughts\nreverted to Glenister, the impetuous, and she compared the two, so\nsimilar in some ways, so utterly opposed in others.\n\nIt was when she heard the night shift at their meal that she threw a\nsilken shawl about her head, stepped into the cool night, and picked\nher way down towards the roar of the creek. \"A breath of air and then\nto bed,\" she thought. She saw the tall figure of the watchman and made\nfor him. He seemed oddly interested in her approach, watching her very\nclosely, almost as though alarmed. It was doubtless because there were\nso few women out here, or possibly on account of the lateness of the\nhour. Away with conventions! This was the land of instinct and impulse.\nShe would talk to him. The man drew his hat more closely about his face\nand moved off as she came up. Glenister had been in her thoughts a\nmoment since, and she now noted that here was another with the same\ngreat, square shoulders and erect head. Then she saw with a start that\nthis one was a negro. He carried a Winchester and seemed to watch her\ncarefully, yet with indecision.\n\nTo express her interest and to break the silence, she questioned him,\nbut at the sound of her voice he stepped towards her and spoke roughly.\n\n\"What!\"\n\nThen he paused, and stammered in a strangely altered and unnatural\nvoice:\n\n\"Yass'm. I'm the watchman.\"\n\nShe noted two other darkies at work below and was vaguely surprised,\nnot so much at their presence, as at the manner in which they moved,\nfor they seemed under stress of some great haste, running hither and\nyon. She saw horses standing in the trail and sensed something\nindefinably odd and alarming in the air. Turning to the man, she opened\nher mouth to speak, when from the rank grass under her feet came a\nnoise which set her a-tingle, and at which her suspicions leaped full\nto the solution. It was the groan of a man. Again he gave voice to his\npain, and she knew that she stood face to face with something sinister.\nTales of sluice robbers had come to her, and rumors of the daring raids\ninto which men were lured by the yellow sheen--and yet this was\nincredible. A hundred men lay within sound of her voice; she could hear\ntheir laughter; one was whistling a popular refrain. A quarter-mile\naway on every hand were other camps; a scream from her would bring them\nall. Nonsense, this was no sluice robbery--and then the man in the\nbushes below moaned for the third time.\n\n\"What is that?\" she said.\n\nWithout reply the negro lowered the muzzle of his rifle till it covered\nher breast and at the same time she heard the double click of the\nhammer.\n\n\"Keep still and don't move,\" he warned. \"We're desperate and we can't\ntake any chances, Miss.\"\n\n\"Oh, you are stealing the gold--\"\n\nShe was wildly frightened, yet stood still while the lookout anxiously\ndivided his attention between her and the tents above until his\ncompanions signalled him that they were through and the horses were\nloaded. Then he spoke:\n\n\"I don't know what to do with you, but I guess I'll tie you up.\"\n\n\"What!\" she said.\n\n\"I'm going to tie and gag you so you can't holler.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't you DARE!\" she cried, fiercely. \"I'll stand right here till\nyou've gone and I won't scream. I promise.\" She looked up at him\nappealingly, at which he dipped his head, so that she caught only a\nglimpse of his face, and then backed away.\n\n\"All right! Don't try it, because I'll be hidden in those bushes yonder\nat the bend and I'll keep you covered till the others are gone.\" He\nleaped down the bank, ran to the cavalcade, mounted quickly, and the\nthree lashed their horses into a run, disappearing up the trail around\nthe sharp curve. She heard the blows of their quirts as they whipped\nthe pack-horses.\n\nThey were long out of sight before the girl moved or made sound,\nalthough she knew that none of the three had paused at the bend. She\nonly stood and gazed, for as they galloped off she had heard the scrap\nof a broken sentence. It was but one excited word, sounding through the\nrattle of hoofs--her own name--\"Helen\"; and yet because of it she did\nnot voice the alarm, but rather began to piece together, bit by bit,\nthe strange points of this adventure. She recalled the outlines of her\ncaptor with a wrinkle of perplexity. Her fright disappeared entirely,\ngiving place to intense excitement. \"No, no--it can't be--and yet I\nwonder if it IS!\" she cried. \"Oh, I wonder if it could be!\" She opened\nher lips to cry aloud, then hesitated. She started towards the tents,\nthen paused, and for many moments after the hoof-beats had died out she\nstayed undecided. Surely she wished to give the signal, to force the\nfierce pursuit. What meant this robbery, this defiance of the law, of\nher uncle's edicts and of McNamara? They were common thieves,\ncriminals, outlaws, these men, deserving punishment, and yet she\nrecalled a darker night, when she herself had sobbed and quivered with\nthe terrors of pursuit and two men had shielded her with their bodies.\n\nShe turned and sped towards the tents, bursting in through the canvas\ndoor; instantly every man rose to his feet at sight of her pallid face,\nher flashing eyes, and rumpled hair.\n\n\"Sluice robbers!\" she cried, breathlessly. \"Quick! A hold-up! The\nwatchman is hurt!\"\n\nA roar shook the night air, and the men poured out past her, while the\nday shift came tumbling forth from every quarter in various stages of\nundress.\n\n\"Where? Who did it? Where did they go?\"\n\nMcNamara appeared among them, fierce and commanding, seeming to grasp\nthe situation intuitively, without explanation from her.\n\n\"Come on, men. We'll run 'em down. Get out the horses. Quick!\"\n\nHe was mounted even as he spoke, and others joined him. Then turning,\nhe waved his long arm up the valley towards the mountains. \"Divide into\nsquads of five and cover the hills! Run down to Discovery, one of you,\nand telephone to town for Voorhees and a posse.\"\n\nAs they made ready to ride away, the girl cried:\n\n\"Stop! Not that way. They went DOWN the gulch--three negroes.\"\n\nShe pointed out of the valley, towards the dim glow on the southern\nhorizon, and the cavalcade rode away into the gloom.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nTHE WIT OF AN ADVENTURESS\n\n\nUp creek the three negroes fled, past other camps, to where the stream\nbranched. Here they took to the right and urged their horses along a\nforsaken trail to the head-waters of the little tributary and over the\nlow saddle. They had endeavored to reach unfrequented paths as soon as\npossible in order that they might pass unnoticed. Before quitting the\nvalley they halted their heaving horses, and, selecting a stagnant\npool, scoured the grease paint from their features as best they could.\nTheir ears were strained for sounds of pursuit, but, as the moments\npassed and none came, the tension eased somewhat and they conversed\nguardedly. As the morning light spread they crossed the moss-capped\nsummit of the range, but paused again, and, removing two saddles, hid\nthem among the rocks. Slapjack left the others here and rode southward\ndown the Dry Creek Trail towards town, while the partners shifted part\nof the weight from the overloaded pack-mules to the remaining\nsaddle-animals and continued eastward along the barren comb of hills on\nfoot, leading the five horses.\n\n\"It don't seem like we'll get away this easy,\" said Dextry, scanning\nthe back trail. \"If we do, I'll be tempted to foller the business\nreg'lar. This grease paint on my face makes me smell like a minstrel\nman. I bet we'll get some bully press notices to-morrow.\"\n\n\"I wonder what Helen was doing there,\" Glenister answered,\nirrelevantly, for he had been more shaken by his encounter with her\nthan at his part in the rest or the enterprise, and his mind, which\nshould have been busied with the flight, held nothing but pictures of\nher as she stood in the half darkness under the fear of his Winchester.\n\"What if she ever learned who that black ruffian was!\" He quailed at\nthe thought.\n\n\"Say, Dex, I am going to marry that girl.\"\n\n\"I dunno if you be or not,\" said Dextry. \"Better watch McNamara.\"\n\n\"What!\" The younger man stopped and stared. \"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Go on. Don't stop the horses. I ain't blind. I kin put two an' two\ntogether.\"\n\n\"You'll never put those two together. Nonsense! Why, the man's a\nrascal. I wouldn't let him have her. Besides, it couldn't be. She'll\nfind him out. I love her so much that--oh, my feelings are too big to\ntalk about.\" He moved his hands eloquently. \"You can't understand.\"\n\n\"Um-m! I s'pose not,\" grunted Dextry, but his eyes were level and held\nthe light of the past.\n\n\"He may be a rascal,\" the old man continued, after a little; \"I'll put\nin with you on that; but he's a handsome devil, and, as for manners, he\nmakes you look like a logger. He's a brave man, too. Them three\nqualities are trump-cards and warranted to take most any queen in the\nhuman deck--red, white, or yellow.\"\n\n\"If he dares,\" growled Glenister, while his thick brows came forward\nand ugly lines hardened in his face.\n\nIn the gray of the early morning they descended the foot-hills into the\nwide valley of the Nome River and filed out across the rolling country\nto the river bluffs where, cleverly concealed among the willows, was a\nrocker. This they set up, then proceeded to wash the dirt from the\nsacks carefully, yet with the utmost speed, for there was serious\ndanger of discovery. It was wonderful, this treasure of the richest\nground since the days of '49, and the men worked with shining eyes and\nhands a-tremble. The gold was coarse, and many ragged, yellow lumps,\ntoo large to pass through the screen, rolled in the hopper, while the\naprons bellied with its weight. In the pans which they had provided\nthere grew a gleaming heap of wet, raw gold.\n\nShortly, by divergent routes, the partners rode unnoticed into town,\nand into the excitement of the hold-up news, while the tardy still\nlingered over their breakfasts. Far out in the roadstead lay the\nRoanoke, black smoke pouring from her stack. A tug was returning from\nits last trip to her.\n\nGlenister forced his lathered horse down to the beach and questioned\nthe longshoremen who hung about.\n\n\"No; it's too late to get aboard--the last tender is on its way back,\"\nthey informed him. \"If you want to go to the 'outside' you'll have to\nwait for the fleet. That only means another week, and--there she blows\nnow.\"\n\nA ribbon of white mingled with the velvet from the steamer's funnel and\nthere came a slow, throbbing, farewell blast.\n\nGlenister's jaw clicked and squared.\n\n\"Quick! You men!\" he cried to the sailors. \"I want the lightest dory on\nthe beach and the strongest oarsmen in the crowd. I'll be back in five\nminutes. There's a hundred dollars in it for you if we catch that ship.\"\n\nHe whirled and spurred up through the mud of the streets. Bill Wheaton\nwas snoring luxuriously when wrenched from his bed by a dishevelled man\nwho shook him into wakefulness and into a portion of his clothes, with\na storm of excited instructions. The lawyer had neither time nor\nopportunity for expostulation, for Glenister snatched a valise and\nswept into it a litter of documents from the table.\n\n\"Hurry up, man,\" he yelled, as the lawyer dived frantically about his\noffice in a rabbit-like hunt for items. \"My Heavens! Are you dead? Wake\nup! The ship's leaving.\" With sleep still in his eyes Wheaton was\ndragged down the street to the beach, where a knot had assembled to\nwitness the race. As they tumbled into the skiff, willing hands ran it\nout into the surf on the crest of a roller. A few lifting heaves and\nthey were over the bar with the men at the oars bending the white ash\nat every swing.\n\n\"I guess I didn't forget anything,\" gasped Wheaton as he put on his\ncoat. \"I got ready yesterday, but I couldn't find you last night, so I\nthought the deal was off.\"\n\nGlenister stripped off his coat and, facing the bow, pushed upon the\noars at every stroke, thus adding his strength to that of the oarsmen.\nThey crept rapidly out from the beach, eating up the two miles that lay\ntowards the ship. He urged the men with all his power till the sweat\nsoaked through their clothes and, under their clinging shirts, the\nmuscles stood out like iron. They had covered half the distance when\nWheaton uttered a cry and Glenister desisted from his work with a\ncurse. The Roanoke was moving slowly.\n\nThe rowers rested, but the young man shouted at them to begin again,\nand, seizing a boat-hook, stuck it into the arms of his coat. He waved\nthis on high while the men redoubled their efforts. For many moments\nthey hung in suspense, watching the black hull as it gathered speed,\nand then, as they were about to cease their effort, a puff of steam\nburst from its whistle and the next moment a short toot of recognition\nreached them. Glenister wiped the moisture from his brow and grinned at\nWheaton.\n\nA quarter of an hour later, as they lay heaving below the ship's steel\nsides, he thrust a heavy buckskin sack into the lawyer's hand.\n\n\"There's money to win the fight, Bill. I don't know how much, but it's\nenough. God bless you. Hurry back!\"\n\nA sailor cast them a whirling rope, up which Wheaton clambered; then,\ntying the gripsack to its end, they sent it after.\n\n\"Important!\" the young man yelled at the officer on the bridge.\n\"Government business.\" He heard a muffled clang in the engine-room, the\nthrash of the propellers followed, and the big ship glided past.\n\nAs Glenister dragged himself up the beach, upon landing, Helen Chester\ncalled to him, and made room for him beside her. It had never been\nnecessary to call him to her side before; and equally unfamiliar was\nthe abashment, or perhaps physical weariness, that led the young man to\nsink back in the warm sand with a sigh of relief. She noted that, for\nthe first time, the audacity was gone from his eyes.\n\n\"I watched your race,\" she began. \"It was very exciting and I cheered\nfor you.\"\n\nHe smiled quietly.\n\n\"What made you keep on after the ship started? I should have given\nup--and cried.\"\n\n\"I never give up anything that I want,\" he said.\n\n\"Have you never been forced to? Then it is because you are a man. Women\nhave to sacrifice a great deal.\"\n\nHelen expected him to continue to the effect that he would never give\nher up--it was in accordance with his earlier presumption--but he was\nsilent; and she was not sure that she liked him as well thus as when he\noverwhelmed her with the boldness of his suit. For Glenister it was\ndelightful, after the perils of the night, to rest in the calm of her\npresence and to feel dumbly that she was near. She saw him secretly\ncaress a fold of her dress.\n\nIf only she had not the memory of that one night on the ship. \"Still,\nhe is trying to make amends in the best way he can,\" she thought.\n\"Though, of course, no woman could care for a man who would do such a\nthing.\" Yet she thrilled at the thought of how he had thrust his body\nbetween her and danger; how, but for his quick, insistent action, she\nwould have failed in escaping from the pest ship, failed in her\nmission, and met death on the night of her landing. She owed him much.\n\n\"Did you hear what happened to the good ship Ohio?\" she asked.\n\n\"No; I've been too busy to inquire. I was told the health officers\nquarantined her when she arrived, that's all.\"\n\n\"She was sent to Egg Island with every one aboard. She has been there\nmore than a month now and may not get away this summer.\"\n\n\"What a disappointment for the poor devils on her!\"\n\n\"Yes, and only for what you did, I should be one of them,\" Helen\nremarked.\n\n\"I didn't do much,\" he said. \"The fighting part is easy. It's not half\nso hard as to give up your property and lie still while--\"\n\n\"Did you do that because I asked you to--because I asked you to put\naside the old ways?\" A wave of compassion swept over her.\n\n\"Certainly,\" he answered. \"It didn't come easy, but--\"\n\n\"Oh, I thank you,\" said she. \"I know it is all for the best. Uncle\nArthur wouldn't do anything wrong, and Mr. McNamara is an honorable\nman.\"\n\nHe turned towards her to speak, but refrained. He could not tell her\nwhat he felt certain of. She believed in her own blood and in her\nuncle's friends--and it was not for him to speak of McNamara. The rules\nof the game sealed his lips.\n\nShe was thinking again, \"If only you had not acted as you did.\" She\nlonged to help him now in his trouble as he had helped her, but what\ncould she do? The law was such a confusing, intricate, perplexing thing.\n\n\"I spent last night at the Midas,\" she told him, \"and rode back early\nthis morning. That was a daring hold-up, wasn't it?\"\n\n\"What hold-up?\"\n\n\"Why, haven't you heard the news?\"\n\n\"No\" he answered, steadily. \"I just got up.\"\n\n\"Your claim was robbed. Three men overcame the watchman at midnight and\ncleaned the boxes.\"\n\nHis simulation of excited astonishment was perfect and he rained a\nshower of questions upon her. She noted with approval that he did not\nlook her in the eye, however. He was not an accomplished liar. Now\nMcNamara had a countenance of iron. Unconsciously she made comparison,\nand the young man at her side did not lose thereby.\n\n\"Yes, I saw it all,\" she concluded, after recounting the details. \"The\nnegro wanted to bind me so that I couldn't give the alarm, but his\nchivalry prevented. He was a most gallant darky.\"\n\n\"What did you do when they left?\"\n\n\"Why, I kept my word and waited until they were out of sight, then I\nroused the camp, and set Mr. McNamara and his men right after them down\nthe gulch.\"\n\n\"DOWN the gulch!\" spoke Glenister, off his guard.\n\n\"Yes, of course. Did you think they went UP-stream?\" She was looking\nsquarely at him now, and he dropped his eyes. \"No, the posse started in\nthat direction, but I put them right.\" There was an odd light in her\nglance, and he felt the blood drumming in his ears.\n\nShe sent them down-stream! So that was why there had been no pursuit!\nThen she must suspect--she must know everything! Glenister was stunned.\nAgain his love for the girl surged tumultuously within him and demanded\nexpression. But Miss Chester, no longer feeling sure that she had the\nsituation in hand, had already started to return to the hotel. \"I saw\nthe men distinctly,\" she told him, before they separated, \"and I could\nidentify them all.\"\n\nAt his own house Glenister found Dextry removing the stains of the\nnight's adventure.\n\n\"Miss Chester recognized us last night,\" he announced.\n\n\"How do you know?\"\n\n\"She told me so just now, and, what's more, she sent McNamara and his\ncrowd down the creek instead of up. That's why we got away so easily.\"\n\n\"Well, well--ain't she a brick? She's even with us now. By-the-way, I\nwonder how much we cleaned up, anyhow--let's weigh it.\" Going to the\nbed, Dextry turned back the blankets, exposing four moose-skin sacks,\nwet and heavy, where he had thrown them.\n\n\"There must have been twenty thousand dollars with what I gave\nWheaton,\" said Glenister.\n\nAt that moment, without warning, the door was flung open, and as the\nyoung man jerked the blankets into place he whirled, snatched the\nsix-shooter that Dextry had discarded, and covered the entrance.\n\n\"Don't shoot, boy!\" cried the new-comer, breathlessly. \"My, but you're\nnervous!\"\n\nGlenister dropped his gun. It was Cherry Malotte; and, from her heaving\nbreast and the flying colors in her cheeks, the men saw she had been\nrunning. She did not give them time to question, but closed and locked\nthe door while the words came tumbling from her:\n\n\"They're on to you, boys--you'd better duck out quick. They're on their\nway up here now.\"\n\n\"What!\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"Quick! I heard McNamara and Voorhees, the marshal, talking. Somebody\nhas spotted you for the hold-ups. They're on their way now, I tell you.\nI sneaked out by the back way and came here through the mud. Say, but\nI'm a sight!\" She stamped her trimly booted feet and flirted her skirt.\n\n\"I don't savvy what you mean,\" said Dextry, glancing at his partner\nwarningly. \"We ain't done nothin'.\"\n\n\"Well, it's all right then. I took a long chance so you could make a\nget-away if you wanted to, because they've got warrants for you for\nthat sluice robbery last night. Here they are now.\" She darted to the\nwindow, the men peering over her shoulder. Coming up the narrow walk\nthey saw Voorhees, McNamara, and three others.\n\nThe house stood somewhat isolated and well back on the tundra, so that\nany one approaching it by the planking had an unobstructed view of the\npremises. Escape was impossible, for the back door led out into the\nankle-deep puddles of the open prairie; and it was now apparent that a\nsixth man had made a circuit and was approaching from the rear.\n\n\"My God! They'll search the place,\" said Dextry, and the men looked\ngrimly in each other's faces.\n\nThen in a flash Glenister stripped back the blankets and seized the\n\"pokes,\" leaping into the back room. In another instant he returned\nwith them and faced desperately the candid bareness of the little room\nthat they lived and slept in. Nothing could be hidden; it was folly to\nthink of it. There was a loft overhead, he remembered, hopefully, then\nrealized that the pursuers would search there first of all.\n\n\"I told you he was a hard fighter,\" said Dextry, as the quick footsteps\ngrew louder. \"He ain't no fool neither. 'Stead of our bein' caught in\nthe mountains, I reckon we'll shoot it out here. We should have cached\nthat gold somewhere.\"\n\nHe spun the cylinder of his blackened Colt, while his face grew hard\nand vulture-like.\n\nMeanwhile, Cherry Malotte watched the hunted look in Glenister's face\ngrow wilder and then stiffen into the stubbornness of a man at bay. The\nposse was at the door now, knocking. The three inside stood rigid and\nstrained. Then Glenister tossed his burden on the bed.\n\n\"Go into the back room, Cherry; there's going to be trouble.\"\n\n\"Who's there?\" inquired Dextry through the door, to gain time.\nSuddenly, without a word, the girl glided to the hot-blast heater, now\ncold and empty, which stood in a corner of the room. These stoves, used\nwidely in the North, are vertical iron cylinders into which coal is\npoured from above. She lifted the lid and peered in to find it a\nquarter full of dead ashes, then turned with shining eyes and parted\nlips to Glenister. He caught the hint, and in an instant the four sacks\nwere dropped softly into the feathery bottom and the ashes raked over.\nThe daring manoeuvre was almost as quick as the flash of woman's wit\nthat prompted it, and was carried through while the answer to Dextry's\nquestion was still unspoken.\n\nThen Glenister opened the door carelessly and admitted the group of men.\n\n\"We've got a search-warrant to look through your house,\" said Voorhees.\n\n\"What are you looking for?\"\n\n\"Gold-dust from Anvil Creek.\"\n\n\"All right--search away.\"\n\nThey rapidly scoured the premises, covering every inch, paying no heed\nto the girl, who watched them with indifferent eyes, nor to the old\nman, who glared at their every movement. Glenister was carelessly\nsarcastic, although he kept his right arm free, while beneath his\nsang-froid was a thoroughly trained alertness.\n\nMcNamara directed the search with a manner wholly lacking in his former\nmock courtesy. It was as though he had been soured by the gall of\ndefeat. The mask had fallen off now, and his character\nshowed--insistent, overbearing, cruel. Towards the partners he\npreserved a contemptuous silence.\n\nThe invaders ransacked thoroughly, while a dozen times the hearts of\nCherry Malotte and her two companions stopped, then lunged onward, as\nMcNamara or Voorhees approached, then passed the stove. At last\nVoorhees lifted the lid and peered into its dark interior. At the same\ninstant the girl cried out, sharply, flinging herself from her\nposition, while the marshal jerked his head back in time to see her\ndash upon Dextry.\n\n\"Don't! Don't!\" She cried her appeal to the old man. \"Keep cool. You'll\nbe sorry, Dex--they're almost through.\"\n\nThe officer had not seen any movement on Dextry's part, but doubtless\nher quick eye had detected signs of violence. McNamara emerged,\nglowering, from the back room at that moment.\n\n\"Let them hunt,\" the girl was saying, while Dextry stared dazedly over\nher head. \"They won't find anything. Keep cool and don't act rash.\"\n\nVoorhees's duties sat uncomfortably upon him at the best, and, looking\nat the smouldering eyes of the two men, he became averse to further\nsearch in a powdery household whose members itched to shoot him in the\nback.\n\n\"It isn't here,\" he reported; but the politician only scowled, then\nspoke for the first time directly to the partners:\n\n\"I've got warrants for both of you and I'm tempted to take you in, but\nI won't. I'm not through yet--not by any means. I'll get you--get you\nboth.\" He turned out of the door, followed by the marshal, who called\noff his guards, and the group filed back along the walk.\n\n\"Say, you're a jewel, Cherry. You've saved us twice. You caught\nVoorhees just in time. My heart hit my palate when he looked into that\nstove, but the next instant I wanted to laugh at Dextry's expression.\"\n\nImpulsively Glenister laid his hands upon her shoulders. At his look\nand touch her throat swelled, her bosom heaved, and the silken lids\nfluttered until she seemed choked by a very flood of sweet womanliness.\nShe blushed like a little maid and laughed a timid, broken laugh; then\npulling herself together, the merry, careless tone came into her voice\nand her cheeks grew cool and clear.\n\n\"You wouldn't trust me at first, eh? Some day you'll find that your old\nfriends are the best, after all.\"\n\nAnd as she left them she added, mockingly:\n\n\"Say, you're a pair of 'shine' desperadoes. You need a governess.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nWHEREIN A WRIT AND A RIOT FAIL\n\n\nA Raw, gray day with a driving drizzle from seaward and a leaden rack\nof clouds drifting low matched the sullen, fitful mood of Glenister.\n\nDuring the last month he had chafed and fretted like an animal in leash\nfor word of Wheaton. This uncertainty, this impotent waiting with\nfolded hands, was maddening to one of his spirit. He could apply\nhimself to no fixed duty, for the sense of his wrong preyed on him\nfiercely, and he found himself haunting the vicinity of the Midas,\ngazing at it from afar, grasping hungrily for such scraps of news as\nchanced to reach him. McNamara allowed access to none but his minions,\nso the partners knew but vaguely of what happened on their property,\neven though, under fiction of law, it was being worked for their\nprotection.\n\nNo steps regarding a speedy hearing of the case were allowed, and the\ncollusion between Judge Stillman and the receiver had become so\ngenerally recognized that there were uneasy mutterings and threats in\nmany quarters. Yet, although the politician had by now virtually\nabsorbed all the richest properties in the district and worked them\nthrough his hirelings, the people of Nome as a whole did not grasp the\nfull turpitude of the scheme nor the system's perfect working.\n\nStrange to say, Dextry, the fire-eater, had assumed an Oriental\npatience quite foreign to his peppery disposition, and spent much of\nhis time in the hills prospecting.\n\nOn this day, as the clouds broke, about noon, close down on the angry\nhorizon a drift of smoke appeared, shortly resolving itself into a\nsteamer. She lay to in the offing, and through his glasses Glenister\nsaw that it was the Roanoke. As the hours passed and no boat put off,\nhe tried to hire a crew, but the longshoremen spat wisely and shook\ntheir heads as they watched the surf.\n\n\"There's the devil of an undertow settin' along this beach,\" they told\nhim, \"and the water's too cold to drownd in comfortable.\" So he laid\nfirm hands upon his impatience.\n\nEvery day meant many dollars to the watcher, and yet it seemed that\nnature was resolute in thwarting him, for that night the wind freshened\nand daylight saw the ship hugging the lee of Sledge Island, miles to\nthe westward, while the surf, white as boiling milk, boomed and\nthundered against the shore.\n\nWord had gone through the street that Bill Wheaton was aboard with a\nwrit, or a subpoena, or an alibi, or whatever was necessary to put the\n\"kibosh\" on McNamara, so public excitement grew. McNamara hoarded his\ngold in the Alaska Bank, and it was taken for granted that there would\nlie the scene of the struggle. No one supposed for an instant that the\nusurper would part with the treasure peaceably.\n\nOn the third morning the ship lay abreast of the town again and a\nlife-boat was seen to make off from her, whereupon the idle population\nstreamed towards the beach.\n\n\"She'll make it to the surf all right, but then watch out.\"\n\n\"We'd better make ready to haul 'em out,\" said another. \"It's mighty\ndangerous.\" And sure enough, as the skiff came rushing in through the\nbreakers she was caught.\n\nShe had made it past the first line, soaring over the bar on a foamy\nroller-crest like a storm-driven gull winging in towards the land. The\nwiry figure of Bill Wheaton crouched in the stern while two sailors\nfought with their oars. As they gathered for their rush through the\nlast zone of froth, a great comber rose out of the sea behind them,\nrearing high above their heads. The crowd at the surf's edge shouted.\nThe boat wavered, sucked back into the ocean's angry maw, and with a\ncrash the deluge engulfed them. There remained nothing but a swirling\nflood through which the life-boat emerged bottom up, amid a tangle of\noars, gratings, and gear.\n\nMen rushed into the water, and the next roller pounded them back upon\nthe marble-hard sand. There came the sound of splitting wood, and then\na group swarmed in waist-deep and bore out a dripping figure. It was a\nhempen-headed seaman, who shook the water from his mane and grinned\nwhen his breath had come.\n\nA step farther down the beach the by-standers seized a limp form which\nthe tide rolled to them. It was the second sailor, his scalp split from\na blow of the gunwale. Nowhere was Wheaton.\n\nGlenister had plunged to the rescue first, a heaving-line about his\nmiddle, and although buffeted about he had reached the wreck, only to\nmiss sight of the lawyer utterly. He had time for but a glance when he\nwas drawn outward by the undertow till the line at his waist grew taut,\nthen the water surged over him and he was hurled high up on the beach\nagain. He staggered dizzily back to the struggle, when suddenly a wave\nlifted the capsized cutter and righted it, and out from beneath shot\nthe form of Wheaton, grimly clutching the life-ropes. They brought him\nin choking and breathless.\n\n\"I got it,\" he said, slapping his streaming breast. \"It's all right,\nGlenister, I knew what delay meant so I took a long chance with the\nsurf.\" The terrific ordeal he had undergone had blanched him to the\nlips, his legs wabbled uncertainly, and he would have fallen but for\nthe young man, who thrust an arm about his waist and led him up into\nthe town.\n\n\"I went before the Circuit Court of Appeals in 'Frisco,\" he explained\nlater, \"and they issued orders allowing an appeal from this court and\ngave me a writ of supersedeas directed against old Judge Stillman. That\ntakes the litigation out of his hands altogether, and directs McNamara\nto turn over the Midas and all the gold he's got. What do you think of\nthat? I did better than I expected.\"\n\nGlenister wrung his hand silently while a great satisfaction came upon\nhim. At last this waiting was over and his peaceful yielding to\ninjustice had borne fruit; had proven the better course after all, as\nthe girl had prophesied. He could go to her now with clean hands. The\nmine was his again. He would lay it at her feet, telling her once more\nof his love and the change it was working in him. He would make her see\nit, make her see that beneath the harshness his years in the wild had\ngiven him, his love for her was gentle and true and all absorbing. He\nwould bid her be patient till she saw he had mastered himself, till he\ncould come with his soul in harness.\n\n\"I am glad I didn't fight when they jumped us,\" he said. \"Now we'll get\nour property back and all the money they took out--that is, if McNamara\nhasn't salted it.\"\n\n\"Yes; all that's necessary is to file the documents, then serve the\nJudge and McNamara. You'll be back on Anvil Creek to-morrow.\"\n\nHaving placed their documents on record at the court-house, the two men\ncontinued to McNamara's office. He met them with courtesy.\n\n\"I heard you had a narrow escape this morning, Mr. Wheaton. Too bad!\nWhat can I do for you?\"\n\nThe lawyer rapidly outlined his position and stated in conclusion:\n\n\"I filed certified copies of these orders with the clerk of the court\nten minutes ago, and now I make formal demand upon you to turn over the\nMidas to Messrs. Glenister and Dextry, and also to return all the\ngold-dust in your safe-deposit boxes in accordance with this writ.\" He\nhanded his documents to McNamara, who tossed them on his desk without\nexamination.\n\n\"Well,\" said the politician, quietly, \"I won't do it.\"\n\nHad he been slapped in the face the attorney would not have been more\nastonished.\n\n\"Why--you--\"\n\n\"I won't do it, I said,\" McNamara repeated, sharply. \"Don't think for a\nminute that I haven't gone into this fight armed for everything. Writs\nof supersedeas! Bah!\" He snapped his fingers.\n\n\"We'll see whether you'll obey or not,\" said Wheaton and when he and\nGlenister were outside he continued:\n\n\"Let's get to the Judge quick.\"\n\nAs they neared the Golden Gate Hotel they spied McNamara entering. It\nwas evident that he had slipped from the rear door of his office and\nbeaten them to the judicial ear.\n\n\"I don't like that,\" said Glenister. \"He's up to something.\"\n\nSo it appeared, for they were fifteen minutes in gaining access to the\nmagistrate and then found McNamara with him. Both men were astounded at\nthe change in Stillman's appearance. During the last month his weak\nface had shrunk and altered until vacillation was betrayed in every\nline, and he had acquired the habit of furtively watching McNamara's\nslightest movement. It seemed that the part he played sat heavily upon\nhim.\n\nThe Judge examined the papers perfunctorily, and, although his air was\ndeliberate, his fingers made clumsy work of it. At last he said:\n\n\"I regret that I am forced to doubt the authenticity of these\ndocuments.\"\n\n\"My Heavens, man!\" Wheaton cried. \"They're certified copies of orders\nfrom your superior court. They grant the appeal that you have denied us\nand take the case out of your hands altogether. Yes--and they order\nthis man to surrender the mine and everything connected with it. Now,\nsir, we want you to enforce these orders.\"\n\nStillman glanced at the silent man in the window and replied:\n\n\"You will, of course, proceed regularly and make application in court\nin the proper way, but I tell you now that I won't do anything in the\nmatter.\"\n\nWheaton stared at him fixedly until the old man snapped out:\n\n\"You say they are certified copies. How do I know they are? The\nsignatures may all be false. Maybe you signed them yourself.\"\n\nThe lawyer grew very white at this and stammered until Glenister drew\nhim out of the room.\n\n\"Come, come,\" he said, \"we'll carry this thing through in open court.\nMaybe his nerve will go back on him then. McNamara has him hypnotized,\nbut he won't dare refuse to obey the orders of the Circuit Court of\nAppeals.\"\n\n\"He won't, eh? Well, what do you think he's doing right now?\" said\nWheaton. \"I must think. This is the boldest game I ever played in. They\ntold me things while I was in 'Frisco which I couldn't believe, but I\nguess they're true. Judges don't disobey the orders of their courts of\nappeal unless there is power back of them.\"\n\nThey proceeded to the attorney's office, but had not been there long\nbefore Slapjack Simms burst in upon them.\n\n\"Hell to pay!\" he panted. \"McNamara's taking your dust out of the bank.\"\n\n\"What's that?\" they cried.\n\n\"I goes into the bank just now for an assay on some quartz samples. The\nassayer is busy, and I walk back into his room, and while I'm there in\ntrots McNamara in a hurry. He don't see me, as I'm inside the private\noffice, and I overhear him tell them to get his dust out of the vault\nquick.\"\n\n\"We've got to stop that,\" said Glenister. \"If he takes ours, he'll take\nthe Swedes', too. Simms, you run up to the Pioneer Company and tell\nthem about it. If he gets that gold out of there, nobody knows what'll\nbecome of it. Come on, Bill.\"\n\nHe snatched his hat and ran out of the room, followed by the others.\nThat the loose-jointed Slapjack did his work with expedition was\nevidenced by the fact that the Swedes were close upon their heels as\nthe two entered the bank. Others had followed, sensing something\nunusual, and the space within the doors filled rapidly. At the\ndisturbance the clerks suspended their work, the barred doors of the\nsafe-deposit vault clanged to, and the cashier laid hand upon the navy\nColt's at his elbow. \"What's the matter?\" he cried.\n\n\"We want Alec McNamara,\" said Glenister.\n\nThe manager of the bank appeared, and Glenister spoke to him through\nthe heavy wire netting.\n\n\"Is McNamara in there?\"\n\nNo one had ever known Morehouse to lie. \"Yes, sir.\" He spoke\nhesitatingly, in a voice full of the slow music of Virginia. \"He is in\nhere. What of it?\"\n\n\"We hear he's trying to move that dust of ours and we won't stand for\nit. Tell him to come out and not hide in there like a dog.\"\n\nAt these words the politician appeared beside the Southerner, and the\ntwo conversed softly an instant, while the impatience of the crowd grew\nto anger. Some one cried:\n\n\"Let's go in and drag him out,\" and the rumble at this was not\npleasant. Morehouse raised his hand.\n\n\"Gentlemen, Mr. McNamara says he doesn't intend to take any of the gold\naway.\"\n\n\"Then he's taken it already.\"\n\n\"No, he hasn't.\"\n\nThe receiver's course had been quickly chosen at the interruption. It\nwas not wise to anger these men too much. Although he had planned to\nget the money into his own possession, he now thought it best to leave\nit here for the present. He could come back at any time when they were\noff guard and get it. Beyond the door against which he stood lay three\nhundred thousand dollars--weighed, sacked, sealed, and ready to move\nout of the custody of this Virginian whose confidence he had tried so\nfruitlessly to gain.\n\nAs McNamara looked into the angry eyes of the lean-faced men beyond the\ngrating, he felt that the game was growing close, and his blood tingled\nat the thought. He had not planned on a resistance so strong and swift,\nbut he would meet it. He knew that they hungered for his destruction\nand that Glenister was their leader. He saw further that the man's\nhatred now stared at him openly for the first time. He knew that back\nof it was something more than love for the dull metal over which they\nwrangled, and then a thought came to him.\n\n\"Some of your work, eh, Glenister?\" he mocked. \"Were you afraid to come\nalone, or did you wait till you saw me with a lady?\"\n\nAt the same instant he opened a door behind him, revealing Helen\nChester. \"You'd better not walk out with me, Miss Chester. This man\nmight--well, you're safer here, you know. You'll pardon me for leaving\nyou.\" He hoped he could incite the young man to some rash act or word\nin the presence of the girl, and counted on the conspicuous heroism of\nhis own position, facing the mob single-handed, one against fifty.\n\n\"Come out,\" said his enemy, hoarsely, upon whom the insult and the\nsight of the girl in the receiver's company had acted powerfully.\n\n\"Of course I'll come out, but I don't want this young lady to suffer\nany violence from your friends,\" said McNamara. \"I am not armed, but I\nhave the right to leave here unmolested--the right of an American\ncitizen.\" With that he raised his arms above his head. \"Out of my way!\"\nhe cried. Morehouse opened the gate, and McNamara strode through the\nmob.\n\nIt is a peculiar thing that although under fury of passion a man may\nfire even upon the back of a defenceless foe, yet no one can offer\nviolence to a man whose arms are raised on high and in whose glance is\nthe level light of fearlessness. Moreover, it is safer to face a crowd\nthus than a single adversary.\n\nMcNamara had seen this psychological trick tried before and now took\nadvantage of it to walk through the press slowly, eye to eye. He did it\ntheatrically, for the benefit of the girl, and, as he foresaw, the men\nfell away before him--all but Glenister, who blocked him, gun in hand.\nIt was plain that the persecuted miner was beside himself with passion.\nMcNamara came within an arm's-length before pausing. Then he stopped\nand the two stared malignantly at each other, while the girl behind the\nrailing heard her heart pounding in the stillness. Glenister raised his\nhand uncertainly, then let it fall. He shook his head, and stepped\naside so that the other brushed past and out into the street.\n\nWheaton addressed the banker:\n\n\"Mr. Morehouse, we've got orders and writs of one kind or another from\nthe Circuit Court of Appeals at 'Frisco directing that this money be\nturned over to us.\" He shoved the papers towards the other. \"We're not\nin a mood to trifle. That gold belongs to us, and we want it.\"\n\nMorehouse looked carefully at the papers.\n\n\"I can't help you,\" he said. \"These documents are not directed to me.\nThey're issued to Mr. McNamara and Judge Stillman. If the Circuit Court\nof Appeals commands me to deliver it to you I'll do it, but otherwise\nI'll have to keep this dust here till it's drawn out by order of the\ncourt that gave it to me. That's the way it was put in here, and that's\nthe way it'll be taken out.\"\n\n\"We want it now.\"\n\n\"Well, I can't let my sympathies influence me\"\n\n\"Then we'll take it out, anyway,\" cried Glenister. \"We've had the worst\nof it everywhere else and we're sick of it. Come on, men.\"\n\n\"Stand back!--all of you!\" cried Morehouse. \"Don't lay a hand on that\ngate. Boys, pick your men.\"\n\nHe called this last to his clerks, at the same instant whipping from\nbehind the counter a carbine, which he cocked. The assayer brought into\nview a shot-gun, while the cashier and clerks armed themselves. It was\nevident that the deposits of the Alaska Bank were abundantly\nsafeguarded.\n\n\"I don't aim to have any trouble with you-all,\" continued the\nSoutherner, \"but that money stays here till it's drawn out right.\"\n\nThe crowd paused at this show of resistance, but Glenister railed at\nthem:\n\n\"Come on--come on! What's the matter with you?\" And from the light in\nhis eye it was evident that he would not be balked.\n\nHelen felt that a crisis was come, and braced herself. These men were\nin deadly earnest: the white-haired banker, his pale helpers, and those\ngrim, quiet ones outside. There stood brawny, sun-browned men, with set\njaws and frowning faces, and yellow-haired Scandinavians in whose blue\neyes danced the flame of battle. These had been baffled at every turn,\ngoaded by repeated failure, and now stood shoulder to shoulder in their\nresistance to a cruel law. Suddenly Helen heard a command from the\nstreet and the quick tramp of men, while over the heads before her she\nsaw the glint of rifle barrels. A file of soldiers with fixed bayonets\nthrust themselves roughly through the crowd at the entrance.\n\n\"Clear the room!\" commanded the officer.\n\n\"What does this mean?\" shouted Wheaton.\n\n\"It means that Judge Stillman has called upon the military to guard\nthis gold, that's all. Come, now, move quick.\" The men hesitated, then\nsullenly obeyed, for resistance to the blue of Uncle Sam comes only at\nthe cost of much consideration.\n\n\"They're robbing us with our own soldiers,\" said Wheaton, when they\nwere outside.\n\n\"Ay,\" said Glenister, darkly. \"We've tried the law, but they're forcing\nus back to first principles. There's going to be murder here.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nCOUNTERPLOTS\n\n\nGlenister had said that the Judge would not dare to disobey the\nmandates of the Circuit Court of Appeals, but he was wrong. Application\nwas made for orders directing the enforcement of the writs--steps which\nwould have restored possession of the Midas to its owners, as well as\npossession of the treasure in bank--but Stillman refused to grant them.\n\nWheaton called a meeting of the Swedes and their attorneys, advising a\njunction of forces. Dextry, who had returned from the mountains, was\npresent. When they had finished their discussion, he said:\n\n\"It seems like I can always fight better when I know what the other\nfeller's game is. I'm going to spy on that outfit.\"\n\n\"We've had detectives at work for weeks,\" said the lawyer for the\nScandinavians; \"but they can't find out anything we don't know already.\"\n\nDextry said no more, but that night found him busied in the building\nadjoining the one wherein McNamara had his office. He had rented a back\nroom on the top floor, and with the help of his partner sawed through\nthe ceiling into the loft and found his way thence to the roof through\na hatchway. Fortunately, there was but little space between the two\nbuildings, and, furthermore, each boasted the square fronts common in\nmining-camps, which projected high enough to prevent observation from\nacross the way. Thus he was enabled, without discovery, to gain the\nroof adjoining and to cut through into the loft. He crept cautiously in\nthrough the opening, and out upon a floor of joists sealed on the lower\nside, then lit a candle, and, locating McNamara's office, cut a\npeep-hole so that by lying flat on the timbers he could command a\nconsiderable portion of the room beneath. Here, early the following\nmorning, he camped with the patience of an Indian, emerging in the\nstill of that night stiff, hungry, and atrociously cross. Meanwhile,\nthere had been another meeting of the mine-owners, and it had been\ndecided to send Wheaton, properly armed with affidavits and transcripts\nof certain court records, back to San Francisco on the return trip of\nthe Santa Maria, which had arrived in port. He was to institute\nproceedings for contempt of court, and it was hoped that by\nextraordinary effort he could gain quick action.\n\nAt daybreak Dextry returned to his post, and it was midnight before he\ncrawled from his hiding-place to see the lawyer and Glenister.\n\n\"They have had a spy on you all day, Wheaton,\" he began, \"and they know\nyou're going out to the States. You'll be arrested to-morrow morning\nbefore breakfast.\"\n\n\"Arrested! What for?\"\n\n\"I don't just remember what the crime is--bigamy, or mayhem, or\nattainder of treason, or something--anyway, they'll get you in jail and\nthat's all they want. They think you're the only lawyer that's wise\nenough to cause trouble and the only one they can't bribe.\"\n\n\"Lord! What 'll I do? They'll watch every lighter that leaves the\nbeach, and if they don't catch me that way, they'll search the ship.\"\n\n\"I've thought it all out,\" said the old man, to whom obstruction acted\nas a stimulant.\n\n\"Yes--but how?\"\n\n\"Leave it to me. Get your things together and be ready to duck in two\nhours.\"\n\n\"I tell you they'll search the Santa Maria from stem to stern,\"\nprotested the lawyer, but Dextry had gone.\n\n\"Better do as he says. His schemes are good ones,\" recommended\nGlenister, and accordingly the lawyer made preparation.\n\nIn the mean time the old prospector had begun at the end of Front\nStreet to make a systematic search of the gambling-houses. Although it\nwas very late they were running noisily, and at last he found the man\nhe wanted playing \"Black Jack,\" the smell of tar in his clothes, the\nlilt of the sea in his boisterous laughter. Dextry drew him aside.\n\n\"Mac, there's only two things about you that's any good--your silence\nand your seamanship. Otherwise, you're a disreppitable, drunken insect.\"\n\nThe sailor grinned.\n\n\"What is it you want now? If it's concerning money, or business, or the\ngrowed-up side of life, run along and don't disturb the carousals of a\nsailorman. If it's a fight, lemme get my hat.\"\n\n\"I want you to wake up your fireman and have steam on the tug in an\nhour, then wait for me below the bridge. You're chartered for\ntwenty-four hours, and--remember, not a word.\"\n\n\"I'm on! Compared to me the Spinks of Egyp' is as talkative as a\nphonograph.\"\n\nThe old man next turned his steps to the Northern Theatre. The\nperformance was still in progress, and he located the man he was\nhunting without difficulty.\n\nAscending the stairs, he knocked at the door of one of the boxes and\ncalled for Captain Stephens.\n\n\"I'm glad I found you, Cap,\" said he. \"It saved me a trip out to your\nship in the dark.\"\n\n\"What's the matter?\"\n\nDextry drew him to an isolated corner. \"Me an' my partner want to send\na man to the States with you.\"\n\n\"All right.\"\n\n\"Well--er--here's the point,\" hesitated the miner, who rebelled at\nasking favors. \"He's our law sharp, an' the McNamara outfit is tryin'\nto put the steel on him.\"\n\n\"I don't understand.\"\n\n\"Why, they've swore out a warrant an' aim to guard the shore to-morrow.\nWe want you to--\"\n\n\"Mr. Dextry, I'm not looking for trouble. I get enough in my own\nbusiness.\"\n\n\"But, see here,\" argued the other, \"we've GOT to send him out so he can\nmake a pow-wow to the big legal smoke in 'Frisco. We've been\ncold-decked with a bum judge. They've got us into a corner an' over the\nropes.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry I can't help you, Dextry, but I got mixed up in one of your\nscrapes and that's plenty.\"\n\n\"This ain't no stowaway. There's no danger to you,\" began Dextry, but\nthe officer interrupted him:\n\n\"There's no need of arguing. I won't do it.\"\n\n\"Oh, you WON'T, eh?\" said the old man, beginning to lose his temper.\n\"Well, you listen to me for a minute. Everybody in camp knows that me\nan' the kid is on the square an' that we're gettin' the hunk passed to\nus. Now, this lawyer party must get away to-night or these grafters\nwill hitch the horses to him on some phony charge so he can't get to\nthe upper court. It 'll be him to the bird-cage for ninety days. He's\ngoin' to the States, though, an' he's goin'--in--your--wagon! I'm\ntalkin' to you--man to man. If you don't take him, I'll go to the\nhealth inspector--he's a friend of mine--an' I'll put a crimp in you\nan' your steamboat, I don't want to do that--it ain't my reg'lar graft\nby no means--but this bet goes through as she lays. I never belched up\na secret before. No, sir; I am the human huntin'-case watch, an' I\nwon't open my face unless you press me. But if I should, you'll see\nthat it's time for you to hunt a new job. Now, here's my scheme.\" He\noutlined his directions to the sailor, who had fallen silent during the\nwarning. When he had done, Stephens said:\n\n\"I never had a man talk to me like that before, sir--never. You've\ntaken advantage of me, and under the circumstances I can't refuse. I'll\ndo this thing--not because of your threat, but because I heard about\nyour trouble over the Midas--and because I can't help admiring your\nblamed insolence.\" He went back into his stall.\n\nDextry returned to Wheaton's office. As he neared it, he passed a\nlounging figure in an adjacent doorway.\n\n\"The place is watched,\" he announced as he entered. \"Have you got a\nback door? Good! Leave your light burning and we'll go out that way.\"\nThey slipped quietly into an inky, tortuous passage which led back\ntowards Second Street. Floundering through alleys and over garbage\nheaps, by circuitous routes, they reached the bridge, where, in the\nswift stream beneath, they saw the lights from Mac's tug.\n\nSteam was up, and when the Captain had let them aboard Dextry gave him\ninstructions, to which he nodded acquiescence. They bade the lawyer\nadieu, and the little craft slipped its moorings, danced down the\ncurrent, across the bar, and was swallowed up in the darkness to\nseaward. \"I'll put out Wheaton's light so they'll think he's gone to\nbed.\"\n\n\"Yes, and at daylight I'll take your place in McNamara's loft,\" said\nGlenister. \"There will be doings to-morrow when they don't find him.\"\n\nThey returned by the way they had come to the lawyer's room,\nextinguished his light, went to their own cabin and to bed. At dawn\nGlenister arose and sought his place above McNamara's office.\n\nTo lie stretched at length on a single plank with eye glued to a crack\nis not a comfortable position, and the watcher thought the hours of the\nnext day would never end. As they dragged wearily past, his bones began\nto ache beyond endurance, yet owing to the flimsy structure of the\nbuilding he dared not move while the room below was tenanted. In fact,\nhe would not have stirred had he dared, so intense was his interest in\nthe scenes being enacted beneath him.\n\nFirst had come the marshal, who imported his failure to find Wheaton.\n\n\"He left his room some time last night. My men followed him in and saw\na light in his window until two o'clock this morning. At seven o'clock\nwe broke in and he was gone.\"\n\n\"He must have got wind of our plan. Send deputies aboard the Santa\nMaria; search her from keel to topmast, and have them watch the beach\nclose or he'll put off in a small boat. You look over the passengers\nthat go aboard yourself. Don't trust any of your men for that, because\nhe may try to slip through disguised. He's liable to make up like a\nwoman. You understand--there's only one ship in port, and--he mustn't\nget away.\"\n\n\"He won't,\" said Voorhees, with conviction, and the listener overhead\nsmiled grimly to himself, for at that moment, twenty miles offshore,\nlay Mac's little tug, hove to in the track of the outgoing steamship,\nand in her tiny cabin sat Bill Wheaton eating breakfast.\n\nAs the morning wore by with no news of the lawyer, McNamara's\nuneasiness grew. At noon the marshal returned with a report that the\npassengers were all aboard and the ship about to clear.\n\n\"By Heavens! He's slipped through you,\" stormed the politician.\n\n\"No, he hasn't. He may be hidden aboard somewhere among the\ncoal-bunkers, but I think he's still ashore and aiming to make a quick\nrun just before she sails. He hasn't left the beach since daylight,\nthat's sure. I'm going out to the ship now with four men and search her\nagain. If we don't bring him off you can bet he's lying out somewhere\nin town and we'll get him later. I've stationed men along the shore for\ntwo miles.\"\n\n\"I won't have him get away. If he should reach 'Frisco--Tell your men\nI'll give five hundred dollars to the one that finds him.\"\n\nThree hours later Voorhees returned.\n\n\"She sailed without him.\"\n\nThe politician cursed. \"I don't believe it. He tricked you. I know he\ndid.\"\n\nGlenister grinned into a half-eaten sandwich, then turned upon his back\nand lay thus on the plank, identifying the speakers below by their\nvoices.\n\nHe kept his post all day. Later in the evening he heard Struve enter.\nThe man had been drinking.\n\n\"So he got away, eh?\" he began. \"I was afraid he would. Smart fellow,\nthat Wheaton.\"\n\n\"He didn't get away,\" said McNamara. \"He's in town yet. Just let me\nland him in jail on some excuse! I'll hold him till snow flies.\" Struve\nsank into a chair and lit a cigarette with wavering hand.\n\n\"This's a hell of a game, ain't it, Mac? D'you s'pose we'll win?\"\n\nThe man overhead pricked up his ears.\n\n\"Win? Aren't we winning? What do you call this? I only hope we can lay\nhands on Wheaton. He knows things. A little knowledge is a dangerous\nthing, but more is worse. Lord! If only I had a MAN for judge in place\nof Stillman! I don't know why I brought him.\"\n\n\"That's right. Too weak. He hasn't got the backbone of an angleworm. He\nain't half the man that his niece is. THERE'S a girl for you! Say!\nWhat'd we do without her, eh? She's a pippin!\" Glenister felt a sudden\ntightening of every muscle. What right had that man's liquor-sodden\nlips to speak so of her?\n\n\"She's a brave little woman all right. Just look how she worked\nGlenister and his fool partner. It took nerve to bring in those\ninstructions of yours alone; and if it hadn't been for her we'd never\nhave won like this. It makes me laugh to think of those two men stowing\nher away in their state-room while they slept between decks with the\nsheep, and her with the papers in her bosom all the time. Then, when we\ngot ready to do business, why, she up and talks them into giving us\npossession of their mine without a fight. That's what I call\nreciprocating a man's affection.\"\n\nGlenister's nails cut into his flesh, while his face went livid at the\nwords. He could not grasp it at once. It made him sick--physically\nsick--and for many moments he strove blindly to beat back the hideous\nsuspicion, the horror that the lawyer had aroused. His was not a\ndoubting disposition, and to him the girl had seemed as one pure,\nmysterious, apart, angelically incapable of deceit. He had loved her,\nfeeling that some day she would return his affection without fail. In\nher great, unclouded eyes he had found no lurking-place for\ndouble-dealing. Now--God! It couldn't be that all the time she had\nKNOWN!\n\nHe had lost a part of the lawyer's speech, but peered through his\nobservation-hole again.\n\nMcNamara was at the window gazing out into the dark street, his back\ntowards the lawyer, who lolled in the chair, babbling garrulously of\nthe girl. Glenister ground his teeth--a frenzy possessed him to loose\nhis anger, to rip through the frail ceiling with naked hands and fall\nvindictively upon the two men.\n\n\"She looked good to me the first time I saw her,\" continued Struve. He\npaused, and when he spoke again a change had coarsened his features,\n\"Say, I'm crazy about her, Mac. I tell you, I'm crazy--and she likes\nme--I know she does--or, anyway, she would--\"\n\n\"Do you mean that you're in love with her?\" asked the man at the\nwindow, without shifting his position. It seemed that utter\nindifference was in his question, although where the light shone on his\nhands, tight-clinched behind his back, they were bloodless.\n\n\"Love her? Well--that depends--ha! You know how it is--\" he chuckled,\ncoarsely. His face was gross and bestial. \"I've got the Judge where I\nwant him, and I'll have her--\"\n\nHis miserable words died with a gurgle, for McNamara had silently\nleaped and throttled him where he sat, pinning him to the wall.\nGlenister saw the big politician shift his fingers slightly on Struve's\nthroat and then drop his left hand to his side, holding his victim\nwrithing and helpless with his right despite the man's frantic\nstruggles. McNamara's head was thrust forward from his shoulders,\npeering into the lawyer's face. Strove tore ineffectually at the iron\narm which was squeezing his life out, while for endless minutes the\nother leaned his weight against him, his idle hand behind his back, his\nlegs braced like stone columns, as he watched his victim's struggles\nabate.\n\nStruve fought and wrenched while his breath caught in his throat with\nhorrid, sickening sounds, but gradually his eyes rolled farther and\nfarther back till they stared out of his blackened visage, straight up\ntowards the ceiling, towards the hole through which Glenister peered.\nHis struggles lessened, his chin sagged, and his tongue protruded, then\nhe sat loose and still. The politician flung him out into the room so\nthat he fell limply upon his face, then stood watching him. Finally,\nMcNamara passed out of the watcher's vision, returning with a\nwater-bucket. With his foot he rolled the unconscious wretch upon his\nback, then drenched him. Replacing the pail, he seated himself, lit a\ncigar, and watched the return of life into his victim. He made no move,\neven to drag him from the pool in which he lay.\n\nStruve groaned and shuddered, twisted to his side, and at last sat up\nweakly. In his eyes there was now a great terror, while in place of his\ndrunkenness was only fear and faintness--abject fear of the great bulk\nthat sat and smoked and stared at him so fishily. He felt uncertainly\nof his throat, and groaned again.\n\n\"Why did you do that?\" he whispered; but the other made no sign. He\ntried to rise, but his knees relaxed; he staggered and fell. At last he\ngained his feet and made for the door; then, when his hand was on the\nknob, McNamara spoke through his teeth, without removing his cigar.\n\n\"Don't ever talk about her again. She is going to marry me.\"\n\nWhen he was alone he looked curiously up at the ceiling over his head.\n\"The rats are thick in this shack,\" he mused. \"Seems to me I heard a\nwhole swarm of them.\"\n\nA few moments later a figure crept through the hole in the roof of the\nhouse next door and thence down into the street. A block ahead was the\nslow-moving form of Attorney Struve. Had a stranger met them both he\nwould not have known which of the two had felt at his throat the clutch\nof a strangler, for each was drawn and haggard and swayed as he went.\n\nGlenister unconsciously turned towards his cabin, but at leaving the\nlighted streets the thought of its darkness and silence made him\nshudder. Not now! He could not bear that stillness and the company of\nhis thoughts. He dared not be alone. Dextry would be down-town,\nundoubtedly, and he, too, must get into the light and turmoil. He\nlicked his lips and found that they were cracked and dry.\n\nAt rare intervals during the past years he had staggered in from a long\nmarch where, for hours, he had waged a bitter war with cold and hunger,\nhis limbs clumsy with fatigue, his garments wet and stiff, his mind\nslack and sullen. At such extreme seasons he had felt a consuming\nthirst, a thirst which burned and scorched until his very bones cried\nout feverishly. Not a thirst for water, nor a thirst which eaten snow\ncould quench, but a savage yearning of his whole exhausted system for\nsome stimulant, for some coursing fiery fluid that would burn and\nstrangle. A thirst for whiskey--for brandy! Remembering these\noccasional ferocious desires, he had become charitable to such\nunfortunates as were too weak to withstand similar temptations.\n\nNow with a shock he caught himself in the grip of a thirst as insistent\nas though the cold bore down and the weariness of endless heavy miles\nwrapped him about. It was no foolish wish to drown his thoughts nor to\nbanish the grief that preyed upon him, but only thirst! Thirst!--a\ncrying, trembling, physical lust to quench the fires that burned\ninside. He remembered that it had been more than a year since he had\ntasted whiskey. Now the fever of the past few hours had parched his\nevery tissue.\n\nAs he elbowed in through the crowd at the Northern, those next him made\nroom at the bar for they recognized the hunger that peers thus from\nmen's faces. Their manner recalled Glenister to his senses, and he\nwrenched himself away. This was not some solitary, snow-banked\nroad-house. He would not stand and soak himself, shoulder to shoulder\nwith stevedores and longshoremen. This was something to be done in\nsecret. He had no pride in it. The man on his right raised a glass, and\nthe young man strangled a madness to tear it from his hands. Instead,\nhe hurried back to the theatre and up to a box, where he drew the\ncurtains.\n\n\"Whiskey!\" he said, thickly, to the waiter. \"Bring it to me fast. Don't\nyou hear? Whiskey!\"\n\nAcross the theatre Cherry Malotte had seen him enter and jerk the\ncurtains together. She arose and went to him, entering without ceremony.\n\n\"What's the matter, boy?\" she questioned.\n\n\"Ah! I am glad you came. Talk to me.\"\n\n\"Thank you for your few well-chosen remarks,\" she laughed. \"Why don't\nyou ask me to spring some good, original jokes? You look like the\nfinish to a six-day go-as-you please. What's up?\"\n\nShe talked to him for a moment until the waiter entered, then, when she\nsaw what he bore, she snatched the glass from the tray and poured the\nwhiskey on the floor. Glenister was on his feet and had her by the\nwrist.\n\n\"What do you mean?\" he said, roughly.\n\n\"It's whiskey, boy,\" she cried, \"and you don't drink.\"\n\n\"Of course it's whiskey. Bring me another,\" he shouted at the attendant.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" Cherry insisted. \"I never saw you act so. You know\nyou don't drink. I won't let you. It's booze--booze, I tell you, fit\nfor fools and brawlers. Don't drink it, Roy. Are you in trouble?\"\n\n\"I say I'm thirsty--and I will have it! How do you know what it is to\nsmoulder inside, and feel your veins burn dry?\"\n\n\"It's something about that girl,\" the woman said, with quiet\nconviction. \"She's double-crossed you.\"\n\n\"Well, so she has--but what of it? I'm thirsty. She's going to marry\nMcNamara. I've been a fool.\" He ground his teeth and reached for the\ndrink with which the boy had returned.\n\n\"McNamara is a crook, but he's a man, and he never drank a drop in his\nlife.\" The girl said it, casually, evenly, but the other stopped the\nglass half-way to his lips.\n\n\"Well, what of it? Goon. You're good at W. C. T. U. talk. Virtue\nbecomes you.\"\n\nShe flushed, but continued, \"It simply occurred to me that if you\naren't strong enough to handle your own throat, you're not strong\nenough to beat a man who has mastered his.\"\n\nGlenister looked at the whiskey a moment, then set it back on the tray.\n\n\"Bring two lemonades,\" he said, and with a laugh which was half a sob\nCherry Malotte leaned forward and kissed him.\n\n\"You're too good a man to drink. Now, tell me all about it.\"\n\n\"Oh, it's too long! I've just learned that the girl is in, hand and\nglove, with the Judge and McNamara--that's all. She's an advance\nagent--their lookout. She brought in their instructions to Struve and\npersuaded Dex and me to let them jump our claim. She got us to trust in\nthe law and in her uncle. Yes, she hypnotized my property out of me and\ngave it to her lover, this ward politician. Oh, she's smooth, with all\nher innocence! Why, when she smiles she makes you glad and good and\nwarm, and her eyes are as honest and clear as a mountain pool, but\nshe's wrong--she's wrong--and--great God! how I love her!\" He dropped\nhis face into his hands.\n\nWhen she had pled with him for himself a moment before Cherry Malotte\nwas genuine and girlish but now as he spoke thus of the other woman a\nchange came over her which he was too disturbed to note. She took on\nthe subtleness that masked her as a rule, and her eyes were not\npleasant.\n\n\"I could have told you all that and more.\"\n\n\"More! What more?\" he questioned.\n\n\"Do you remember when I warned you and Dextry that they were coming to\nsearch your cabin for the gold? Well, that girl put them on to you. I\nfound it out afterwards. She keeps the keys to McNamara's safety vault\nwhere your dust lies, and she's the one who handles the Judge. It isn't\nMcNamara at all.\" The woman lied easily, fluently, and the man believed\nher.\n\n\"Do you remember when they broke into your safe and took that money?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Well, what made them think you had ten thousand in there?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\n\"I do. Dextry told her.\"\n\nGlenister arose. \"That's all I want to hear now. I'm going crazy. My\nmind aches, for I've never had a fight like this before and it hurts.\nYou see, I've been an animal all these years. When I wanted to drink, I\ndrank, and what I wanted, I got, because I've been strong enough to\ntake it. This is new to me. I'm going down-stairs now and try to think\nof something else--then I'm going home.\"\n\nWhen he had gone she pulled back the curtains, and, leaning her chin in\nher hands, with elbows on the ledge, gazed down upon the crowd. The\nshow was over and the dance had begun, but she did not see it, for she\nwas thinking rapidly with the eagerness of one who sees the end of a\nlong and weary search. She did not notice the Bronco Kid beckoning to\nher nor the man with him, so the gambler brought his friend along and\ninvaded her box. He introduced the man as Mr. Champian.\n\n\"Do you feel like dancing?\" the new-comer inquired.\n\n\"No; I'd rather look on. I feel sociable. You're a society man, Mr.\nChampian. Don't you know anything of interest? Scandal or the like?\"\n\n\"Can't say that I do. My wife attends to all that for the family. But I\nknow there's lots of it. It's funny to me, the airs some of these\npeople assume up here, just as though we weren't all equal, north of\nFifty-three. I never heard the like.\"\n\n\"Anything new and exciting?\" inquired Bronco, mildly interested.\n\n\"The last I heard was about the Judge's niece, Miss Chester.\"\n\nCherry Malotte turned abruptly, while the Kid slowly lowered the front\nlegs of his chair to the floor.\n\n\"What was it?\" she inquired.\n\n\"Why, it seems she compromised herself pretty badly with this fellow\nGlenister coming up on the steamer last spring. Mighty brazen,\naccording to my wife. Mrs. Champian was on the same ship and says she\nwas horribly shocked.\"\n\nAh! Glenister had told her only half the tale, thought the girl. The\ntruth was baring itself. At that moment Champian thought she looked the\ntypical creature of the dance-halls, the crafty, jealous, malevolent\nadventuress.\n\n\"And the hussy masquerades as a lady,\" she sneered.\n\n\"She IS a lady,\" said the Kid. He sat bolt upright and rigid, and the\nknuckles of his clinched hands were very white. In the shadow they did\nnot note that his dark face was ghastly, nor did he say more except to\nbid Champian good-bye when he left, later on. After the door had\nclosed, however, the Kid arose and stretched his muscles, not\nlanguidly, but as though to take out the cramp of long tension. He wet\nhis lips, and his mouth was so dry that the sound caused the girl to\nlook up.\n\n\"What are you grinning at?\" Then, as the light struck his face, she\nstarted. \"My! How you look! What ails you? Are you sick?\" No one, from\nDawson down, had seen the Bronco Kid as he looked to-night.\n\n\"No. I'm not sick,\" he answered, in a cracked voice.\n\nThen the girl laughed harshly.\n\n\"Do YOU love that girl, too? Why, she's got every man in town crazy.\"\n\nShe wrung her hands, which is a bad sign in a capable person, and as\nGlenister crossed the floor below in her sight she said, \"Ah-h--I could\nkill him for that!\"\n\n\"So could I,\" said the Kid, and left her without adieu.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nIN WHICH A MAN IS POSSESSED OF A DEVIL\n\n\nFor a long time Cherry Malotte sat quietly thinking, removed by her\nmental stress to such an infinite distance from the music and turmoil\nbeneath that she was conscious of it only as a formless clamor. She had\ntipped a chair back against the door, wedging it beneath the knob so\nthat she might be saved from interruption, then flung herself into\nanother seat and stared unseeingly. As she sat thus, and thought, and\nschemed, harsh and hateful lines seemed to eat into her face. Now and\nthen she moaned impatiently, as though fearing lest the strategy she\nwas plotting might prove futile; then she would rise and pace her\nnarrow quarters. She was unconscious of time, and had spent perhaps two\nhours thus, when amid the buzz of talk in the next compartment she\nheard a name which caused her to start, listen, then drop her\npreoccupation like a mantle. A man was speaking of Glenister.\nExcitement thrilled his voice.\n\n\"I never saw anything like it since McMaster's Night in Virginia City,\nthirteen years ago. He's RIGHT.\"\n\n\"Well, perhaps so,\" the other replied, doubtfully, \"but I don't care to\nback you. I never 'staked' a man in my life.\"\n\n\"Then LEND me the money. I'll pay it back in an hour, but for Heaven's\nsake be quick. I tell you he's as right as a golden guinea. It's the\nlucky night of his life. Why, he turned over the Black Jack game in\nfour bets. In fifteen minutes more we can't get close enough to a table\nto send in our money with a messenger-boy--every sport in camp will be\nhere.\"\n\n\"I'll stake you to fifty,\" the second man replied, in a tone that\nshowed a trace of his companion's excitement.\n\nSo Glenister was gambling, the girl learned, and with such luck as to\nbreak the Black Jack game and excite the greed of every gambler in\ncamp. News of his winnings had gone out into the street, and the\nsporting men were coming to share his fortune, to fatten like vultures\non the adversity of their fellows. Those who had no money to stake were\nborrowing, like the man next door.\n\nShe left her retreat, and, descending the stairs, was greeted by a\nstrange sight. The dance-hall was empty of all but the musicians, who\nblew and fiddled lustily in vain endeavor to draw from the rapidly\nswelling crowd that thronged the gambling-room and stretched to the\ndoor. The press was thickest about a table midway down the hall. Cherry\ncould see nothing of what went on there, for men and women stood ten\ndeep about it and others perched on chairs and tables along the walls.\nA roar arose suddenly, followed by utter silence; then came the clink\nand rattle of silver. A moment, and the crowd resumed its laughter and\ntalk.\n\n\"All down, boys,\" sounded the level voice of the dealer. \"The field or\nthe favorite. He's made eighteen straight passes. Get your money on the\nline.\" There ensued another breathless instant wherein she heard the\nthud of dice, then followed the shout of triumph that told what the\nspots revealed. The dealer payed off. Glenister reared himself head and\nshoulders above the others and pushed out through the ring to the\nroulette-wheel. The rest followed. Behind the circular table they had\nquitted, the dealer was putting away his dice, and there was not a coin\nin his rack. Mexico Mullins approached Cherry, and she questioned him.\n\n\"He just broke the crap game,\" Mullins told her; \"nineteen passes\nwithout losing the bones.\"\n\n\"How much did he win?\"\n\n\"Oh, he didn't win much himself, but it's the people betting with him\nthat does the damage! They're gamblers, most of them, and they play the\nlimit. He took out the Black Jack bank-roll first, $4,000, then cleaned\nthe 'Tub.' By that time the tin horns began to come in. It's the\ngreatest run I ever see.\"\n\n\"Did you get in?\"\n\n\"Now, don't you know that I never play anything but 'bank'? If he lasts\nlong enough to reach the faro lay-out, I'll get mine.\"\n\nThe excitement of the crowd began to infect the girl, even though she\nlooked on from the outside. The exultant voices, the sudden hush, the\ntensity of nerve it all betokened, set her a-thrill. A stranger left\nthe throng and rushed to the spot where Cherry and Mexico stood\ntalking. He was small and sandy, with shifting glance and chinless jaw.\nHis eyes glittered, his teeth shone rat-like through his dry lips, and\nhis voice was shrill. He darted towards them like some furtive,\nfrightened little animal, unnaturally excited.\n\n\"I guess that isn't so bad for three bets!\" He shook a sheaf of\nbank-notes at them.\n\n\"Why don't you stick?\" inquired Mullins.\n\n\"I am too wise. Ha! I know when to quit. He can't win steady--he don't\nplay any system.\"\n\n\"Then he has a good chance,\" said the girl.\n\n\"There he goes now,\" the little man cried as the uproar arose. \"I told\nyou he'd lose.\" At the voice of the multitude he wavered as though\naffected by some powerful magnet.\n\n\"But he won again,\" said Mexico.\n\n\"No! Did he? Lord! I quit too soon!\"\n\nHe scampered back into the other room, only to return, hesitating, his\nmoney tightly clutched.\n\n\"Do you s'pose it's safe? I never saw a man bet so reckless. I guess\nI'd better quit, eh?\" He noted the sneer on the woman's face, and\nwithout waiting a reply dashed off again. They saw him clamorously\nfight his way in towards a post at the roulette-table. \"Let me through!\nI've got money and I want to play it!\"\n\n\"Pah!\" said Mullins, disgustedly. \"He's one of them Vermont desperadoes\nthat never laid a bet till he was thirty. If Glenister loses he'll hate\nhim for life.\"\n\n\"There are plenty of his sort here,\" the girl remarked; \"his soul would\nfit in a flea-track.\" She spied the Bronco Kid sauntering back towards\nher and joined him. He leaned against the wall, watching the gossamer\nthread of smoke twist upward from his cigarette, seemingly oblivious to\nthe surroundings, and showing no hint of the emotion he had displayed\ntwo hours before.\n\n\"This is a big killing, isn't it?\" said the girl. The gambler nodded,\nmurmuring indifferently.\n\n\"Why aren't you dealing bank? Isn't this your shift?\"\n\n\"I quit last night.\"\n\n\"Just in time to miss this affair. Lucky for you.\"\n\n\"Yes; I own the place now. Bought it yesterday.\"\n\n\"Good Heavens! Then it's YOUR money he's winning.\"\n\n\"Sure, at the rate of a thousand a minute.\"\n\nShe glanced at the long trail of devastated tables behind Glenister and\nhis followers. At that instant the sound told that the miner had won\nagain, and it dawned upon Cherry that the gambler beside her stood too\nquietly, that his hand and voice were too steady, his glance too cold\nto be natural. The next moment approved her instinct.\n\nThe musicians, grown tired of their endeavors to lure back the dancers,\ndetermined to join the excitement, and ceased playing. The leader laid\ndown his violin, the pianist trailed up the key-board with a departing\ntwitter and quit his stool. They all crossed the hall, headed for the\ncrowd, some of them making ready to bet. As they approached the Bronco\nKid, his lips thinned and slid apart slightly, while out of his\nheavy-lidded eyes there flared unreasoning rage. Stepping forward, he\nseized the foremost man and spun him about violently.\n\n\"Where are you going?\"\n\n\"Why, nobody wants to dance, so we thought we'd go out front for a bit.\"\n\n\"Get back, damn you!\" It was his first chance to vent the passion\nwithin him. A glance at his maddened features was sufficient for the\nmusicians, and they did not delay. By the time they had resumed their\nduties, however, the curtains of composure had closed upon the Kid,\nmasking his emotion again; but from her brief glimpse Cherry Malotte\nknew that this man was not of ice, as some supposed. He turned to her\nand said, \"Do you mean what you said up-stairs?\"\n\n\"I don't understand.\"\n\n\"You said you could kill Glenister.\"\n\n\"I could.\"\n\n\"Don't you love--\"\n\n\"I HATE him,\" she interrupted, hoarsely. He gave her a mirthless smile,\nand spying the crap-dealer leaving his bankrupt table, called him over\nand said:\n\n\"Toby, I want you to 'drive the hearse' when Glenister begins to play\nfaro. I'll deal. Understand?\"\n\n\"Sure! Going to give him a little 'work,' eh?\"\n\n\"I never dealt a crooked card in this camp,\" exclaimed the Kid, \"but\nI'll 'lay' that man to-night or I'll kill him! I'll use a 'sand-tell,'\nsee! And I want to explain my signals to you. If you miss the signs\nyou'll queer us both and put the house on the blink.\"\n\nHe rapidly rehearsed his signals in a jargon which to a layman would\nhave been unintelligible, illustrating them by certain almost\nimperceptible shiftings of the fingers or changes in the position of\nhis hand, so slight as to thwart discovery. Through it all the girl\nstood by and followed his every word and motion with eager attention.\nShe needed no explanation of the terms they used. She knew them all,\nknew that the \"hearse-driver\" was the man who kept the cases, knew all\nthe code of the \"inside life.\" To her it was all as an open page, and\nshe memorized more quickly than did Toby the signs by which the Bronco\nKid proposed to signal what card he had smuggled from the box or held\nback.\n\nIn faro it is customary for the case-keeper to sit on the opposite side\nof the table from the dealer, with a device before him resembling an\nabacus, or Chinese adding-machine. When a card is removed from the\nfaro-box by the dealer, the \"hearse-driver\" moves a button opposite a\ncorresponding card on his little machine, in order that the players, at\na glance, may tell what spots have been played or are still in the box.\nHis duties, though simple, are important, for should he make an error,\nand should the position of his counters not tally with the cards in the\nbox on the \"last turn,\" all bets on the table are declared void. When\nhonestly dealt, faro is the fairest of all gambling games, but it is\nintricate, and may hide much knavery. When the game is crooked, it is\nfatal, for out of the ingenuity of generations of card sharks there\nhave been evolved a multitude of devices with which to fleece the\nunsuspecting. These are so carefully masked that none but the initiated\nmay know them, while the freemasonry of the craft is strong and\ndiscovery unusual.\n\nInstead of using a familiar arrangement like the \"needle-tell,\" wherein\nan invisible needle pricks the dealer's thumb, thus signalling the\npresence of certain cards, the Bronco Kid had determined to use the\n\"sand-tell.\" In other words, he would employ a \"straight box,\" but a\ndeck of cards, certain ones of which had been roughened or sand-papered\nslightly, so that, by pressing more heavily on the top or exposed card,\nthe one beneath would stick to its neighbor above, and thus enable him\nto deal two with one motion if the occasion demanded. This roughness\nwould likewise enable him to detect the hidden presence of a marked\ncard by the faintest scratching sound when he dealt. In this\nmanipulation it would be necessary, also, to shave the edges of some of\nthe pasteboards a trifle, so that, when the deck was forced firmly\nagainst one side of the box, there would be exposed a fraction of the\nsmall figure in the left-hand corner of the concealed cards. Long\npractice in the art of jugglery lends such proficiency as to baffle\ndiscovery and rob the game of its uncertainty as surely as the player\nis robbed of his money. It is, of course, vital that the confederate\ncase-keeper be able to interpret the dealer's signs perfectly in order\nto move the sliding ebony disks to correspond, else trouble will accrue\nat the completion of the hand when the cases come out wrong.\n\nHaving completed his instructions, the proprietor went forward, and\nCherry wormed her way towards the roulette-wheel. She wished to watch\nGlenister, but could not get near him because of the crowd. The men\nwould not make room for her. Every eye was glued upon the table as\nthough salvation lurked in its rows of red and black. They were packed\nbehind it until the croupier had barely room to spin the ball, and\nalthough he forced them back, they pressed forward again inch by inch,\ndrawn by the song of the ivory, drunk with its worship, maddened by the\nbreath of Chance.\n\nCherry gathered that Glenister was still winning, for a glimpse of the\nwheel-rack between the shoulders of those ahead showed that the checks\nwere nearly out of it.\n\nPlainly it was but a question of minutes, so she backed out and took\nher station beside the faro-table where the Bronco Kid was dealing. His\nface wore its colorless mask of indifference; his long white hands\nmoved slowly with the certainty that betokened absolute mastery of his\nart. He was waiting. The ex-crap dealer was keeping cases.\n\nThe group left the roulette-table in a few moments and surrounded her,\nGlenister among the others. He was not the man she knew. In place of\nthe dreary hopelessness with which he had left her, his face was\nflushed and reckless, his collar was open, showing the base of his\ngreat, corded neck, while the lust of the game had coarsened him till\nhe was again the violent, untamed, primitive man of the frontier. His\nself-restraint and dignity were gone. He had tried the new ways, and\nthey were not for him. He slipped back, and the past swallowed him.\n\nAfter leaving Cherry he had sought some mental relief by idly risking\nthe silver in his pocket. He had let the coins lie and double, then\ndouble again and again. He had been indifferent whether he won or lost,\nso assumed a reckless disregard for the laws of probability, thinking\nthat he would shortly lose the money he had won and then go home. He\ndid not want it. When his luck remained the same, he raised the stakes,\nbut it did not change--he could not lose. Before he realized it, other\nmen were betting with him, animated purely by greed and craze of the\nsport. First one, then another joined till game after game was closed,\nand each moment the crowd had grown in size and enthusiasm so that its\nfever crept into him, imperceptibly at first, but ever increasing, till\nthe mania mastered him.\n\nHe paid no attention to Cherry as he took his seat. He had eyes for\nnothing but the \"lay-out.\" She clenched her hands and prayed for his\nruin.\n\n\"What's your limit, Kid?\" he inquired.\n\n\"One hundred, and two,\" the Kid answered, which in the vernacular means\nthat any sum up to $200 be laid on one card save only on the last turn,\nwhen the amount is lessened by half.\n\nWithout more ado they commenced. The Kid handled his cards smoothly,\nsurely, paying and taking bets with machine-like calm. The on-lookers\nceased talking and prepared to watch, for now came the crucial test of\nthe evening. Faro is to other games as war is to jackstraws.\n\nFor a time Glenister won steadily till there came a moment when many\nstacks of chips lay on the deuce. Cherry saw the Kid \"flash\" to the\ncase-keeper, and the next moment he had \"pulled two.\" The deuce lost.\nIt was his first substantial gain, and the players paid no attention.\nAt the end of half an hour the winnings were slightly in favor of the\n\"house.\" Then Glenister said, \"This is too slow. I want action.\"\n\n\"All right,\" smiled the proprietor. \"We'll double the limit.\"\n\nThus it became possible to wager $400 on a card, and the Kid began\nreally to play. Glenister now lost steadily, not in large amounts, but\nwith tantalizing regularity. Cherry had never seen cards played like\nthis. The gambler was a revelation to her--his work was wonderful. Ill\nluck seemed to fan the crowd's eagerness, while, to add to its\nimpatience, the cases came wrong twice in succession, so that those who\nwould have bet heavily upon the last turn had their money given back.\nCherry saw the confusion of the \"hearse-driver\" even quicker than did\nBronco. Toby was growing rattled. The dealer's work was too fast for\nhim, and yet he could offer no signal of distress for fear of\nannihilation at the hands of those crowded close to his shoulder. In\nthe same way the owner of the game could make no objection to his\nhelper's incompetence for fear that some by-stander would volunteer to\nfill the man's part--there were many present capable of the trick. He\ncould only glare balefully across the table at his unfortunate\nconfederate.\n\nThey had not gone far on the next game before Cherry's quick eye\ndetected a sign which the man misinterpreted. She addressed him,\nquietly, \"You'd better brush up your plumes.\"\n\nIn spite of his anger the Bronco Kid smiled. Humor in him was strangely\nwithered and distorted, yet here was a thrust he would always remember\nand recount with glee in years to come. He feared there were other\nfaro-dealers present who might understand the hint, but there was none\nsave Mexico Mullins, whose face was a study--mirth seemed to be\nstrangling him. A moment later the girl spoke to the case-keeper again.\n\n\"Let me take your place; your reins are unbuckled.\"\n\nToby glanced inquiringly at the Kid, who caught Cherry's reassuring\nlook and nodded, so he arose and the girl slid into the vacant chair.\nThis woman would make no errors--the dealer knew that; her keen wits\nwere sharpened by hate--it showed in her face. If Glenister escaped\ndestruction to-night it would be because human means could not\naccomplish his downfall.\n\nIn the mind of the new case-keeper there was but one thought--Roy must\nbe broken. Humiliation, disgrace, ruin, ridicule were to be his. If he\nshould be downed, discredited, and discouraged, then, perhaps, he would\nturn to her as he had in the by-gone days. He was slipping away from\nher--this was her last chance. She began her duties easily, and her\nalertness stimulated Bronco till his senses, too, grew sharper, his\nobservation more acute and lightning-like. Glenister swore beneath his\nbreath that the cards were bewitched. He was like a drunken man, now as\ntruly intoxicated as though the fumes of wine had befogged his brain.\nHe swayed in his seat, the veins of his neck thickened and throbbed,\nhis features were congested. After a while he spoke.\n\n\"I want a bigger limit. Is this some boy's game? Throw her open.\"\n\nThe gambler shot a triumphant glance at the girl and acquiesced. \"All\nright, the limit is the blue sky. Pile your checks to the roof-pole.\"\nHe began to shuffle.\n\nWithin the crowded circle the air was hot and fetid with the breath of\nmen. The sweat trickled down Glenister's brown skin, dripping from his\njaw unnoticed. He arose and ripped off his coat, while those standing\nbehind shifted and scuffed their feet impatiently. Besides Roy, there\nwere but three men playing. They were the ones who had won heaviest at\nfirst. Now that luck was against them they were loath to quit.\n\nCherry was annoyed by stertorous breathing at her shoulder, and glanced\nback to find the little man who had been so excited earlier in the\nevening. His mouth was agape, his eyes wide, the muscles about his lips\ntwitching. He had lost back, long since, the hundreds he had won and\nmore besides. She searched the figures walling her about and saw no\nwomen. They had been crowded out long since. It seemed as though the\ntable formed the bottom of a sloping pit of human faces--eager, tense,\nstaring. It was well she was here, she thought, else this task might\nfail. She would help to blast Glenister, desolate him, humiliate him.\nAh, but wouldn't she!\n\nRoy bet $100 on the \"popular\" card. On the third turn he lost. He bet\n$200 next and lost. He set out a stack of $400 and lost for the third\ntime. Fortune had turned her face. He ground his teeth and doubled\nuntil the stakes grew enormous, while the dealer dealt monotonously.\nThe spots flashed and disappeared, taking with them wager after wager.\nGlenister became conscious of a raging, red fury which he had hard\nshift to master. It was not his money--what if he did lose? He would\nstay until he won. He would win. This luck would not, could not,\nlast--and yet with diabolic persistence he continued to choose the\nlosing cards. The other men fared better till be yielded to their\njudgment, when the dealer took their money also.\n\nStrange to say, the fickle goddess had really shifted her banner at\nlast, and the Bronco Kid was dealing straight faro now. He was too good\na player to force a winning hand, and Glenister's ill-fortune became as\nphenomenal as his winning had been. The girl who figured in this drama\nwas keyed to the highest tension, her eyes now on her counters, now\nsearching the profile of her victim. Glenister continued to lose and\nlose and lose, while the girl gloated over his swift-coming ruin. When\nat long intervals he won a bet she shrank and shivered for fear he\nmight escape. If only he would risk it all--everything he had. He would\nhave to come to her then!\n\nThe end was closer than she realized. The throng hung breathless upon\neach move of the players, while there was no sound but the noise of\nshifting chips and the distant jangle of the orchestra. The lookout sat\nfar forward upon his perch, his hands upon his knees, his eyes frozen\nto the board, a dead cigar clenched between his teeth. Crowded upon his\nplatform were miners tense and motionless as statues. When a man spoke\nor coughed, a score of eyes stared at him accusingly, then dropped to\nthe table again.\n\nGlenister took from his clothes a bundle of bank-notes, so thick that\nit required his two hands to compass it. On-lookers saw that the bills\nwere mainly yellow. No one spoke while he counted them rapidly, glanced\nat the dealer, who nodded, then slid them forward till they rested on\nthe king. He placed a \"copper\" on the pile. A great sigh of indrawn\nbreaths swept through the crowd. The North had never known a bet like\nthis--it meant a fortune. Here was a tale for one's grandchildren--that\na man should win opulence in an evening, then lose it in one deal. This\nfinal bet represented more than many of them had ever seen a one time\nbefore. Its fate lay on a single card.\n\nCherry Malotte's fingers were like ice and shook till the buttons of\nher case-keeper rattled, her heart raced till she could not breathe,\nwhile something rose up and choked her. If Glenister won this bet he\nwould quit; she felt it. If he lost, ah! what could the Kid there feel,\nthe man who was playing for a paltry vengeance, compared to her whose\nhope of happiness, of love, of life hinged on this wager?\n\nEvidently the Bronco Kid knew what card lay next below, for he offered\nher no sign, and as Glenister leaned back he slowly and firmly pushed\nthe top card out of the box. Although this was the biggest turn of his\nlife, he betrayed no tremor. His gesture displayed the nine of\ndiamonds, and the crowd breathed heavily. The king had not won. Would\nit lose? Every gaze was welded to the tiny nickelled box. If the\nface-card lay next beneath the nine-spot, the heaviest wager in Alaska\nwould have been lost; if it still remained hidden on the next turn, the\nmoney would be safe for a moment.\n\nSlowly the white hand of the dealer moved back; his middle finger\ntouched the nine of diamonds; it slid smoothly out of the box, and\nthere in its place frowned the king of clubs. At last the silence was\nbroken.\n\nMen spoke, some laughed, but in their laughter was no mirth. It was\nmore like the sound of choking. They stamped their feet to relieve the\ngrip of strained muscles. The dealer reached forth and slid the stack\nof bills into the drawer at his waist without counting. The case-keeper\npassed a shaking hand over her face, and when it came away she saw\nblood on her fingers where she had sunk her teeth into her lower lip.\nGlenister did not rise. He sat, heavy-browed and sullen, his jaw thrust\nforward, his hair low upon his forehead, his eyes bloodshot and dead.\n\n\"I'll sit the hand out if you'll let me bet the 'finger,'\" said he.\n\n\"Certainly,\" replied the dealer.\n\nWhen a man requests this privilege it means that he will call the\namount of his wager without producing the visible stakes, and the\ndealer may accept or refuse according to his judgment of the bettor's\nresponsibility. It is safe, for no man shirks a gambling debt in the\nNorth, and thousands may go with a nod of the head though never a cent\nbe on the board.\n\nThere were still a few cards in the box, and the dealer turned them,\npaying the three men who played. Glenister took no part, but sat bulked\nover his end of the table glowering from beneath his shock of hair.\n\nCherry was deathly tired. The strain of the last hour had been so\nintense that she could barely sit in her seat, yet she was determined\nto finish the hand. As Bronco paused before the last turn, many of the\nby-standers made bets. They were the \"case-players\" who risked money\nonly on the final pair, thus avoiding the chance of two cards of like\ndenomination coming together, in which event (\"splits\" it is called)\nthe dealer takes half the money. The stakes were laid at last and the\ndeal about to start when Glenister spoke. \"Wait! What's this place\nworth, Bronco?\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"You own this outfit?\" He waved his hand about the room. \"Well, what\ndoes it stand you?\"\n\nThe gambler hesitated an instant while the crowd pricked up its ears,\nand the girl turned wondering, troubled eyes upon the miner. What would\nhe do now?\n\n\"Counting bank rolls, fixtures, and all, about a hundred and twenty\nthousand dollars. Why?\"\n\n\"I'll pick the ace to lose, my one-half interest in the Midas against\nyour whole damned lay-out!\"\n\nThere was an absolute hush while the realization of this offer smote\nthe on-lookers. It took time to realize it. This man was insane. There\nwere three cards to choose from--one would win, one would lose, and one\nwould have no action.\n\nOf all those present only Cherry Malotte divined even vaguely the real\nreason which prompted the man to do this. It was not \"gameness,\" nor\naltogether a brutish stubbornness which would not let him quit, It was\nsomething deeper. He was desolate and his heart was gone. Helen was\nlost to him--worse yet, was unworthy, and she was all he cared for.\nWhat did he want of the Midas with its lawsuits, its intrigues, and its\ntrickery? He was sick of it all--of the whole game--and wanted to get\naway. If he won, very well. If he lost, the land of the Aurora would\nknow him no more.\n\nWhen he put his proposition, the Bronco Kid dropped his eyes as though\ndebating. The girl saw that he studied the cards in his box intently\nand that his fingers caressed the top one ever so softly during the\ninstant the eyes of the rest were on Glenister. The dealer looked up at\nlast, and Cherry saw the gleam of triumph in his eye; he could not mask\nit from her, though his answering words were hesitating. She knew by\nthe look that Glenister was a pauper.\n\n\"Come on,\" insisted Roy, hoarsely. \"Turn the cards.\"\n\n\"You're on!\"\n\nThe girl felt that she was fainting. She wanted to scream. The triumph\nof this moment stifled her--or was it triumph, after all? She heard the\nbreath of the little man behind her rattle as though he were being\nthrottled, and saw the lookout pass a shaking hand to his chin, then\nwet his parched lips. She saw the man she had helped to ruin bend\nforward, his lean face strained and hard, an odd look of pain and\nweariness in his eyes. She never forgot that look. The crowd was frozen\nin various attitudes of eagerness, although it had not yet recovered\nfrom the suspense of the last great wager. It knew the Midas and what\nit meant. Here lay half of it, hidden beneath a tawdry square of\npasteboard. With maddening deliberation the Kid dealt the top card.\nBeneath it was the trey of spades. Glenister said no word nor made a\nmove. Some one coughed, and it sounded like a gunshot. Slowly the\ndealer's fingers retraced their way. He hesitated purposely and leered\nat the girl, then the three-spot disappeared and beneath it lay the ace\nas the king had lain on that other wager. It spelled utter ruin to\nGlenister. He raised his eyes blindly, and then the deathlike silence\nof the room was shattered by a sudden crash. Cherry Malotte had closed\nher check-rack violently, at the same instant crying shrill and clear:\n\"That bet is off! The cases are wrong!\"\n\nGlenister half rose, overturning his chair; the Kid lunged forward\nacross the table, and his wonderful hands, tense and talon-like, thrust\nthemselves forward as though reaching for the riches she had snatched\naway. They worked and writhed and trembled as though in dumb fury, the\nnails sinking into the oil-cloth table-cover. His face grew livid and\ncruel, while his eyes blazed at her till she shrank from him\naffrightedly, bracing herself away from the table with rigid arms.\n\nReason came slowly back to Glenister, and understanding with it. He\nseemed to awake from a nightmare. He could read all too plainly the\ngambler's look of baffled hate as the man sprawled on the table, his\narms spread wide, his eyes glaring at the cowering woman, who shrank\nbefore him like a rabbit before a snake. She tried to speak, but\nchoked. Then the dealer came to himself, and cried harshly through his\nteeth one word:\n\n\"Christ!\"\n\nHe raised his fist and struck the table so violently that chips and\ncoppers leaped and rolled, and Cherry closed her eyes to lose sight of\nhis awful grimace. Glenister looked down on him and said:\n\n\"I think I understand; but the money was yours, anyhow, so I don't\nmind.\" His meaning was plain. The Kid suddenly jerked open the drawer\nbefore him, but Glenister clenched his right hand and leaned forward.\nThe miner could have killed him with a blow, for the gambler was seated\nand at his mercy. The Kid checked himself, while his face began to\ntwitch as though the nerves underlying it had broken bondage and were\ndancing in a wild, ungovernable orgy.\n\n\"You have taught me a lesson,\" was all that Glenister said, and with\nthat he pushed through the crowd and out into the cool night air.\nOverhead the arctic stars winked at him, and the sea smells struck him,\nclean and fresh. As he went homeward he heard the distant,\nfull-throated plaint of a wolf-dog. It held the mystery and sadness of\nthe North. He paused, arid, baring his thick, matted head, stood for a\nlong time gathering himself together. Standing so, he made certain\ncovenants with himself, and vowed solemnly never to touch another card.\n\nAt the same moment Cherry Malotte came hurrying to her cottage door,\nfleeing as though from pursuit or from some hateful, haunted spot. She\npaused before entering and flung her arms outward into the dark in a\nwide gesture of despair.\n\n\"Why did I do it? Oh! WHY did I do it? I can't understand myself.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nA MIDNIGHT MESSENGER\n\n\n\"My dear Helen, don't you realize that my official position carries\nwith it a certain social obligation which it is our duty to discharge?\"\n\n\"I suppose so, Uncle Arthur; but I would much rather stay at home.\"\n\n\"Tut, tut! Go and have a good time.\"\n\n\"Dancing doesn't appeal to me any more. I left that sort of thing back\nhome. Now, if you would only come along--\"\n\n\"No--I'm too busy. I must work to-night, and I'm not in a mood for such\nthings, anyhow.\"\n\n\"You're not well,\" his niece said. \"I have noticed it for weeks. Is it\nhard work or are you truly ill? You're nervous; you don't eat; you're\ngrowing positively gaunt. Why--you're getting wrinkles like an old\nman.\" She rose from her seat at the breakfast-table and went to him,\nsmoothing his silvered head with affection.\n\nHe took her cool hand and pressed it to his cheek, while the worry that\nhaunted him habitually of late gave way to a smile.\n\n\"It's work, little girl--hard and thankless work, that's all. This\ncountry is intended for young men, and I'm too far along.\" His eyes\ngrew grave again, and he squeezed her fingers nervously as though at\nthe thought. \"It's a terrible country--this--I--I--wish we had never\nseen it.\"\n\n\"Don't say that,\" Helen cried, spiritedly. \"Why, it's glorious. Think\nof the honor. You're a United States judge and the first one to come\nhere. You're making history--you're building a State--people will read\nabout you.\" She stooped and kissed him; but he seemed to flinch beneath\nher caress.\n\n\"Of course I'll go if you think I'd better,\" she said, \"though I'm not\nfond of Alaskan society. Some of the women are nice, but the others--\"\nShe shrugged her dainty shoulders. \"They talk scandal all the time. One\nwould think that a great, clean, fresh, vigorous country like this\nwould broaden the women as it broadens the men--but it doesn't.\"\n\n\"I'll tell McNamara to call for you at nine o'clock,\" said the Judge as\nhe arose. So, later in the day she prepared her long unused finery to\nsuch good purpose that when her escort called for her that evening he\nbelieved her the loveliest of women.\n\nUpon their arrival at the hotel he regarded her with a fresh access of\npride, for the function proved to bear little resemblance to a\nmining-camp party. The women wore handsome gowns, and every man was in\nevening dress. The wide hall ran the length of the hotel and was\nflanked with boxes, while its floor was like polished glass and its\nwalls effectively decorated.\n\n\"Oh, how lovely!\" exclaimed Helen as she first caught sight of it.\n\"It's just like home.\"\n\n\"I've seen quick-rising cities before,\" he said, \"but nothing like\nthis. Still, if these Northerners can build a railroad in a month and a\ncity in a summer, why shouldn't they have symphony orchestras and Louis\nQuinze ballrooms?\"\n\n\"I know you're a splendid dancer,\" she said.\n\n\"You shall be my judge and jury. I'll sign this card as often as I dare\nwithout the certainty of violence at the hands of these young men, and\nthe rest of the time I'll smoke in the lobby. I don't care to dance\nwith any one but you.\"\n\nAfter the first waltz he left her surrounded by partners and made his\nway out of the ballroom. This was his first relaxation since landing in\nthe North. It was well not to become a dull boy, he mused, and as he\nchewed his cigar he pictured with an odd thrill, quite unusual with\nhim, that slender, gray-eyed girl, with her coiled mass of hair, her\nivory shoulders, and merry smile. He saw her float past to the measure\nof a two-step, and caught himself resenting the thought of another\nman's enjoyment of the girl's charms even for an instant.\n\n\"Hold on, Alec,\" he muttered. \"You're too old a bird to lose your\nhead.\" However, he was waiting for her before the time for their next\ndance. She seemed to have lost a part of her gayety.\n\n\"What's the matter? Aren't you enjoying yourself?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes!\" she returned, brightly. \"I'm having a delightful time.\"\n\nWhen he came for his third dance, she was more distraite than ever. As\nhe led her to a seat they passed a group of women, among whom were Mrs.\nChampian and others whom he knew to be wives of men prominent in the\ntown. He had seen some of them at tea in Judge Stillman's house, and\ntherefore was astonished when they returned his greeting but ignored\nHelen. She shrank slightly, and he realized that there was something\nwrong; he could not guess what. Affairs of men he could cope with, but\nthe subtleties of women were out of his realm.\n\n\"What ails those people? Have they offended you?\"\n\n\"I don't know what it is. I have spoken to them, but they cut me.\"\n\n\"Cut YOU?\" he exclaimed.\n\n\"Yes.\" Her voice trembled, but she held her head high. \"It seems as\nthough all the women in Nome were here and in league to ignore me. It\ndazes me--I do not understand.\"\n\n\"Has anybody said anything to you?\" he inquired, fiercely. \"Any man, I\nmean?\"\n\n\"No, no! The men are kind. It's the women.\"\n\n\"Come--we'll go home.\"\n\n\"Indeed, we will not,\" she said, proudly. \"I shall stay and face it\nout. I have done nothing to run away from, and I intend to find out\nwhat is the matter.\"\n\nWhen he had surrendered her, at the beginning of the next dance,\nMcNamara sought for some acquaintance whom he might question. Most of\nthe men in Nome either hated or feared him, but he espied one that he\nthought suited his purpose, and led him into a corner.\n\n\"I want you to answer a question. No beating about the bush.\nUnderstand? I'm blunt, and I want you to be.\"\n\n\"All right.\"\n\n\"Your wife has been entertained at Miss Chester's house. I've seen her\nthere. To-night she refuses to speak to the girl. She cut her dead, and\nI want to know what it's about.\"\n\n\"How should I know?\"\n\n\"If you don't know, I'll ask you to find out.\"\n\nThe other shook his head amusedly, at which McNamara flared up.\n\n\"I say you will, and you'll make your wife apologize before she leaves\nthis hall, too, or you'll answer to me, man to man. I won't stand to\nhave a girl like Miss Chester cold-decked by a bunch of mining-camp\nswells, and that goes as it lies.\" In his excitement, McNamara reverted\nto his Western idiom.\n\nThe other did not reply at once, for it is embarrassing to deal with a\nperson who disregards the conventions utterly, and at the same time has\nthe inclination and force to compel obedience. The boss's reputation\nhad gone abroad.\n\n\"Well--er--I know about it in a general way, but of course I don't go\nmuch on such things. You'd better let it drop.\"\n\n\"Go on.\"\n\n\"There has been a lot of talk among the ladies about--well, er--the\nfact is, it's that young Glenister. Mrs. Champian had the next\nstate-room to them--er--him--I should say--on the way up from the\nStates, and she saw things. Now, as far as I'm concerned, a girl can do\nwhat she pleases, but Mrs. Champian has her own ideas of propriety.\nFrom what my wife could learn, there's some truth in the story, too, so\nyou can't blame her.\"\n\nWith a word McNamara could have explained the gossip and made this man\nput his wife right, forcing through her an elucidation of the silly\naffair in such a way as to spare Helen's feelings and cover the\nbusy-tongued magpies with confusion. Yet he hesitated. It is a wise\nskipper who trims his sails to every breeze. He thanked his informant\nand left him. Entering the lobby, he saw the girl hurrying towards him.\n\n\"Take me away, quick! I want to go home.\"\n\n\"You've changed your mind?\"'\n\n\"Yes, let us go,\" she panted, and when they were outside she walked so\nrapidly that he had difficulty in keeping pace with her. She was\nsilent, and he knew better than to question, but when they arrived at\nher house he entered, took off his overcoat, and turned up the light in\nthe tiny parlor. She flung her wraps over a chair, storming back and\nforth like a little fury. Her eyes were starry with tears of anger, her\nface was flushed, her hands worked nervously. He leaned against the\nmantel, watching her through his cigar smoke.\n\n\"You needn't tell me,\" he said, at length. \"I know all about it.\"\n\n\"I am glad you do. I never could repeat what they said. Oh, it was\nbrutal!\" Her voice caught and she bit her lip. \"What made me ask them?\nWhy didn't I keep still? After you left, I went to those women and\nfaced them. Oh, but they were brutal? Yet, why should I care?\" She\nstamped her slippered foot.\n\n\"I shall have to kill that man some day,\" he said, flecking his cigar\nashes into the grate.\n\n\"What man?\" She stood still and looked at him.\n\n\"Glenister, of course. If I had thought the story would ever reach you,\nI'd have shut him up long ago.\"\n\n\"It didn't come from him,\" she cried, hot with indignation. \"He's a\ngentleman. It's that cat, Mrs. Champian.\"\n\nHe shrugged his shoulders the slightest bit, but it was eloquent, and\nshe noted it. \"Oh, I don't mean that he did it intentionally--he's too\ndecent a chap for that--but anybody's tongue will wag to a beautiful\ngirl! My lady Malotte is a jealous trick.\"\n\n\"Malotte! Who is she?\" Helen questioned, curiously.\n\nHe seemed surprised. \"I thought every one knew who she is. It's just as\nwell that you don't.\"\n\n\"I am sure Mr. Glenister would not talk of me.\" There was a pause. \"Who\nis Miss Malotte?\"\n\nHe studied for a moment, while she watched him. What a splendid figure\nhe made in his evening clothes! The cosey room with its shaded lights\nenhanced his size and strength and rugged outlines. In his eyes was\nthat admiration which women live for. He lifted his bold, handsome face\nand met her gaze.\n\n\"I had rather leave that for you to find out, for I'm not much at\nscandal. I have something more important to tell you. It's the most\nimportant thing I have ever said to you, Helen.\" It was the first time\nhe had used that name, and she began to tremble, while her eyes sought\nthe door in a panic. She had expected this moment, and yet was not\nready.\n\n\"Not to-night--don't say it now,\" she managed to articulate.\n\n\"Yes, this is a good time. If you can't answer, I'll come back\nto-morrow. I want you to be my wife. I want to give you everything the\nworld offers, and I want to make you happy, girl. There'll be no gossip\nhereafter--I'll shield you from everything unpleasant, and if there is\nanything you want in life, I'll lay it at your feet. I can do it.\" He\nlifted his massive arms, and in the set of his strong, square face was\nthe promise that she should have whatever she craved if mortal man\ncould give it to her--love, protection, position, adoration.\n\nShe stammered uncertainly till the humiliation and chagrin she had\nsuffered this night swept over her again. This town--this crude,\nhalf-born mining-camp--had turned against her, misjudged her cruelly.\nThe women were envious, clacking scandal-mongers, all of them, who\nwould ostracize her and make her life in the Northland a misery, make\nher an outcast with nothing to sustain her but her own solitary pride.\nShe could picture her future clearly, pitilessly, and see herself\nstanding alone, vilified, harassed in a thousand cutting ways, yet\nunable to run away, or to explain. She would have to stay and face it,\nfor her life was bound up here during the next few years or so, or as\nlong as her uncle remained a judge. This man would free her. He loved\nher; he offered her everything. He was bigger than all the rest\ncombined. They were his playthings, and they knew it. She was not sure\nthat she loved him, but his magnetism was overpowering, and her\nadmiration intense. No other man she had ever known compared with him,\nexcept Glenister--Bah! The beast! He had insulted her at first; he\nwronged her now.\n\n\"Will you be my wife, Helen?\" the man repeated, softly.\n\nShe dropped her head, and he strode forward to take her in his arms,\nthen stopped, listening. Some one ran up on the porch and hammered\nloudly at the door. McNamara scowled, walked into the hall, and flung\nthe portal open, disclosing Struve.\n\n\"Hello, McNamara! Been looking all over for you. There's the deuce to\npay!\" Helen sighed with relief and gathered up her cloak, while the hum\nof their voices reached her indistinctly. She was given plenty of time\nto regain her composure before they appeared. When they did, the\npolitician spoke, sourly:\n\n\"I've been called to the mines, and I must go at once.\"\n\n\"You bet! It may be too late now. The news came an hour ago, but I\ncouldn't find you,\" said Struve. \"Your horse is saddled at the office.\nBetter not wait to change your clothes.\"\n\n\"You say Voorhees has gone with twenty deputies, eh? That's good. You\nstay here and find out all you can.\"\n\n\"I telephoned out to the Creek for the boys to arm themselves and throw\nout pickets. If you hurry you can get there in time. It's only midnight\nnow.\"\n\n\"What is the trouble?\" Miss Chester inquired, anxiously.\n\n\"There's a plot on to attack the mines to-night,\" answered the lawyer.\n\"The other side are trying to seize them, and there's apt to be a\nfight.\"\n\n\"You mustn't go out there,\" she cried, aghast. \"There will be\nbloodshed.\"\n\n\"That's just why I MUST go,\" said McNamara. \"I'll come back in the\nmorning, though, and I'd like to see you alone. Good-night!\" There was\na strange, new light in his eyes as he left her. For one unversed in\nwoman's ways he played the game surprisingly well, and as he hurried\ntowards his office he smiled grimly into the darkness.\n\n\"She'll answer me to-morrow. Thank you, Mr. Glenister,\" he said to\nhimself.\n\nHelen questioned Struve at length, but gained nothing more than that\nsecret-service men had been at work for weeks and had to-day unearthed\nthe fact that Vigilantes had been formed. They had heard enough to make\nthem think the mines would be jumped again to-night, and so had given\nthe alarm.\n\n\"Have you hired spies?\" she asked, incredulously.\n\n\"Sure. We had to. The other people shadowed us, and it's come to a\npoint where it's life or death to one side or the other. I told\nMcNamara we'd have bloodshed before we were through, when he first\noutlined the scheme--I mean when the trouble began.\"\n\nShe wrung her hands. \"That's what uncle feared before we left Seattle.\nThat's why I took the risks I did in bringing you those papers. I\nthought you got them in time to avoid all this.\"\n\nStruve laughed a bit, eying her curiously.\n\n\"Does Uncle Arthur know about this?\" she continued.\n\n\"No, we don't let him know anything more than necessary; he's not a\nstrong man.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes. He's not well.\" Again the lawyer smiled. \"Who is behind this\nVigilante movement?\"\n\n\"We think it is Glenister and his New Mexican bandit partner. At least\nthey got the crowd together.\" She was silent for a time.\n\n\"I suppose they really think they own those mines.\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly.\"\n\n\"But they don't, do they?\" Somehow this question had recurred to her\ninsistently of late, for things were constantly happening which showed\nthere was more back of this great, fierce struggle than she knew. It\nwas impossible that injustice had been done the mine-owners, and yet\nscattered talk reached her which was puzzling. When she strove to\nfollow it up, her acquaintances adroitly changed the subject. She was\nbaffled on every side. The three local newspapers upheld the court. She\nread them carefully, and was more at sea than ever. There was a\ndisturbing undercurrent of alarm and unrest that caused her to feel\ninsecure, as though standing on hollow ground.\n\n\"Yes, this whole disturbance is caused by those two. Only for them we'd\nbe all right.\"\n\n\"Who is Miss Malotte?\"\n\nHe answered, promptly: \"The handsomest woman in the North, and the most\ndangerous.\"\n\n\"In what way? Who is she?\"\n\n\"It's hard to say who or what she is--she's different from other women.\nShe came to Dawson in the early days--just came--we didn't know how,\nwhence, or why, and we never found out. We woke up one morning and\nthere she was. By night we were all jealous, and in a week we were most\nof us drivelling idiots. It might have been the mystery or, perhaps,\nthe competition. That was the day when a dance-hall girl could make a\nhomestake in a winter or marry a millionaire in a month, but she never\nbothered. She toiled not, neither did she spin on the waxed floors, yet\nSolomon in all his glory would have looked like a tramp beside her.\"\n\n\"You say she is dangerous?\"\n\n\"Well, there was the young nobleman, in the winter of '98, Dane, I\nthink--fine family and all that--big, yellow-haired boy. He wanted to\nmarry her, but a faro-dealer shot him. Then there was Rock, of the\nmounted police, the finest officer in the service. He was cashiered.\nShe knew he was going to pot for her, but she didn't seem to care--and\nthere were others. Yet, with it all, she is the most generous person\nand the most tender-hearted. Why, she has fed every 'stew bum' on the\nYukon, and there isn't a busted prospector in the country who wouldn't\nswear by her, for she has grubstaked dozens of them. I was horribly in\nlove with her myself. Yes, she's dangerous, all right--to everybody but\nGlenister.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"She had been across the Yukon to nurse a man with scurvy, and coming\nback she was caught in the spring break-up. I wasn't there, but it\nseems this Glenister got her ashore somehow when nobody else would\ntackle the job. They were carried five miles down-stream in the\nice-pack before he succeeded.\"\n\n\"What happened then?\"\n\n\"She fell in love with him, of course.\"\n\n\"And he worshipped her as madly as all the rest of you, I suppose,\" she\nsaid, scornfully.\n\n\"That's the peculiar part. She hypnotized him at first, but he ran\naway, and I didn't hear of him again till I came to Nome. She followed\nhim, finally, and last week evened up her score. She paid him back for\nsaving her.\"\n\n\"I haven't heard about it.\"\n\nHe detailed the story of the gambling episode at the Northern saloon,\nand concluded: \"I'd like to have seen that 'turn,' for they say the\nexcitement was terrific. She was keeping cases, and at the finish\nslammed her case-keeper shut and declared the bet off because she had\nmade a mistake. Of course they couldn't dispute her, and she stuck to\nit. One of the by-standers told me she lied, though.\"\n\n\"So, in addition to his other vices, Mr. Glenister is a reckless\ngambler, is he?\" said Helen, with heat. \"I am proud to be indebted to\nsuch a character. Truly this country breeds wonderful species.\"\n\n\"There's where you're wrong,\" Struve chuckled. \"He's never been known\nto bet before.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm tired of these contradictions!\" she cried, angrily. \"Saloons,\ngambling-halls, scandals, adventuresses! Ugh! I hate it! I HATE it! Why\ndid I ever come here?\"\n\n\"Those things are a part of every new country. They were about all we\nhad till this year. But it is women like you that we fellows need, Miss\nHelen. You can help us a lot.\" She did not like the way he was looking\nat her, and remembered that her uncle was up-stairs and asleep.\n\n\"I must ask you to excuse me now, for it's late and I am very tired.\"\n\nThe clock showed half-past twelve, so, after letting him out, she\nextinguished the light and dragged herself wearily up to her room. She\nremoved her outer garments and threw over her bare shoulders a negligee\nof many flounces and bewildering, clinging looseness. As she took down\nher heavy braids, the story of Cherry Malotte returned to her\ntormentingly. So Glenister had saved HER life also at risk of his own.\nWhat a very gallant cavalier he was, to be sure! He should bear a coat\nof arms--a dragon, an armed knight, and a fainting maiden. \"I succor\nladies in distress--handsome ones,\" should be the motto on his shield.\n\"The handsomest woman in the North,\" Struve had said. She raised her\neyes to the glass and made a mouth at the petulant, tired reflection\nthere. She pictured Glenister leaping from floe to floe with the hungry\nriver surging and snapping at his feet, while the cheers of the crowd\non shore gave heart to the girl crouching out there. She could see him\nsnatch her up and fight his way back to safety over the plunging\nice-cakes with death dragging at his heels. What a strong embrace he\nhad! At this she blushed and realized with a shock that while she was\nmooning that very man might be fighting hand to hand in the darkness of\na mountain-gorge with the man she was going to marry.\n\nA moment later some one mounted the front steps below and knocked\nsharply. Truly this was a night of alarms. Would people never cease\ncoming? She was worn out, but at the thought of the tragedy abroad and\nthe sick old man sleeping near by, she lit a candle and slipped\ndown-stairs to avoid disturbing him. Doubtless it was some message from\nMcNamara, she thought, as she unchained the door.\n\nAs she opened it, she fell back amazed while it swung wide and the\ncandle flame flickered and sputtered in the night air. Roy Glenister\nstood there, grim and determined, his soft, white Stetson pulled low,\nhis trousers tucked into tan half-boots, in his hand a Winchester\nrifle. Beneath his corduroy coat she saw a loose cartridge-belt, yellow\nwith shells, and the nickelled flash of a revolver. Without invitation\nhe strode across the threshold, closing the door behind him.\n\n\"Miss Chester, you and the Judge must dress quickly and come with me.\"\n\n\"I don't understand.\"\n\n\"The Vigilantes are on their way here to hang him. Come with me to my\nhouse where I can protect you.\"\n\nShe laid a trembling hand on her bosom and the color died out of her\nface, then at a slight noise above they both looked up to see Judge\nStillman leaning far over the banister. He had wrapped himself in a\ndressing-gown and now gripped the rail convulsively, while his features\nwere blanched to the color of putty and his eyes were wide with terror,\nthough puffed and swollen from sleep. His lips moved in a vain endeavor\nto speak.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nVIGILANTES\n\n\nOn the morning after the episode in the Northern, Glenister awoke under\na weight of discouragement and desolation. The past twenty-four hours\nwith their manifold experiences seemed distant and unreal. At breakfast\nhe was ashamed to tell Dextry of the gambling debauch, for he had dealt\ntreacherously with the old man in risking half of the mine, even though\nthey had agreed that either might do as he chose with his interest,\nregardless of the other. It all seemed like a nightmare, those tense\nmoments when he lay above the receiver's office and felt his belief in\nthe one woman slipping away, the frenzied thirst which Cherry Malotte\nhad checked, the senseless, unreasoning lust for play that possessed\nhim later. This lapse was the last stand of his old, untamed instincts.\nThe embers of revolt in him were dead. He felt that he would never\nagain lose mastery of himself, that his passions would never best him\nhereafter.\n\nDextry spoke. \"We had a meeting of the 'Stranglers' last night.\" He\nalways spoke of the Vigilantes in that way, because of his early\nWestern training.\n\n\"What was done?\"\n\n\"They decided to act quick and do any odd jobs of lynchin',\nclaim-jumpin', or such as needs doin'. There's a lot of law sharps and\nstorekeepers in the bunch who figure McNamara's gang will wipe them off\nthe map next.\"\n\n\"It was bound to come to this.\"\n\n\"They talked of ejectin' the receiver's men and puttin' all us fellers\nback on our mines.\"\n\n\"Good. How many can we count on to help us?\"\n\n\"About sixty. We've kept the number down, and only taken men with so\nmuch property that they'll have to keep their mouths shut.\"\n\n\"I wish we might engineer some kind of an encounter with the court\ncrowd and create such an uproar that it would reach Washington.\nEverything else has failed, and our last chance seems to be for the\ngovernment to step in; that is, unless Bill Wheaton can do something\nwith the California courts.\"\n\n\"I don't count on him. McNamara don't care for California courts no\nmore 'n he would for a boy with a pea-shooter--he's got too much pull\nat headquarters. If the 'Stranglers' don't do no good, we'd better go\nin an' clean out the bunch like we was killin' snakes. If that fails,\nI'm goin' out to the States an' be a doctor.\"\n\n\"A doctor? What for?\"\n\n\"I read somewhere that in the United States every year there is forty\nmillion gallons of whiskey used for medical purposes.\"\n\nGlenister laughed. \"Speaking of whiskey, Dex--I notice that you've been\ndrinking pretty hard of late--that is, hard for you.\"\n\nThe old man shook his head. \"You're mistaken. It ain't hard for me.\"\n\n\"Well, hard or easy, you'd better cut it out.\"\n\nIt was some time later that one of the detectives employed by the\nSwedes met Glenister on Front Street, and by an almost imperceptible\nsign signified his desire to speak with him. When they were alone he\nsaid:\n\n\"You're being shadowed.\"\n\n\"I've known that for a long time.\"\n\n\"The district-attorney has put on some new men. I've fixed the woman\nwho rooms next to him, and through her I've got a line on some of them,\nbut I haven't spotted them all. They're bad ones--'up-river' men\nmostly--remnants of Soapy Smith's Skagway gang. They won't stop at\nanything.\"\n\n\"Thank you--I'll keep my eyes open.\"\n\nA few nights after, Glenister had reason to recall the words of the\nsleuth and to realize that the game was growing close and desperate. To\nreach his cabin, which sat on the outskirts of the town, he ordinarily\nfollowed one of the plank walks which wound through the confusion of\ntents, warehouses, and cottages lying back of the two principal streets\nalong the water front. This part of the city was not laid out in\nrectangular blocks, for in the early rush the first-comers had seized\nwhatever pieces of ground they found vacant and erected thereon some\nkind of buildings to make good their titles. There resulted a formless\njumble of huts, cabins, and sheds, penetrated by no cross streets and\nquite unlighted. At night, one leaving the illuminated portion of the\ntown found this darkness intensified.\n\nGlenister knew his course so well that he could have walked it\nblindfolded. Nearing a corner of the warehouse this evening he\nremembered that the planking at this point was torn up, so, to avoid\nthe mud, he leaped lightly across. Simultaneously with his jump he\ndetected a movement in the shadows that banked the wall at his elbow\nand saw the flaming spurt of a revolver-shot. The man had crouched\nbehind the building and was so close that it seemed impossible to miss.\nGlenister fell heavily upon his side and the thought flashed over him,\n\"McNamara's thugs have shot me.\"\n\nHis assailant leaped out from his hiding-place and ran down the walk,\nthe sound of his quick, soft footfalls thudding faintly out into the\nsilence. The young man felt no pain, however, so scrambled to his feet,\nfelt himself over with care, and then swore roundly. He was untouched;\nthe other had missed him cleanly. The report, coming while he was in\nthe act of leaping, had startled him so that he had lost his balance,\nslipped upon the wet boards, and fallen. His assailant was lost in the\ndarkness before he could rise. Pursuit was out of the question, so he\ncontinued homeward, considerably shaken, and related the incident to\nDextry.\n\n\"You think it was some of McNamara's work, eh?\" Dextry inquired when he\nhad finished.\n\n\"Of course. Didn't the detective warn me to-day?\"\n\nDextry shook his head. \"It don't seem like the game is that far along\nyet. The time is coming when we'll go to the mat with them people, but\nthey've got the aige on us now, so what could they gain by putting you\naway? I don't believe it's them, but whoever it is, you'd better be\ncareful or you'll be got.\"\n\n\"Suppose we come home together after this,\" Roy suggested, and they\narranged to do so, realizing that danger lurked in the dark corners and\nthat it was in some such lonely spot that the deed would be tried\nagain. They experienced no trouble for a time, though on nearing their\ncabin one night the younger man fancied that he saw a shadow glide away\nfrom its vicinity and out into the blackness of the tundra, as though\nsome one had stood at his very door waiting for him, then became\nfrightened at the two figures approaching. Dextry had not observed it,\nhowever, and Glenister was not positive himself, but it served to give\nhim the uncanny feeling that some determined, unscrupulous force was\nbent on his destruction. He determined to go nowhere unarmed.\n\nA few evenings later he went home early and was busied in writing when\nDextry came in about ten o'clock. The old miner hung up his coat before\nspeaking, lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, then, amid mouthfuls of\nsmoke, began:\n\n\"I had my own toes over the edge to-night. I was mistook for you, which\ncompliment I don't aim to have repeated.\"\n\nGlenister questioned him eagerly.\n\n\"We're about the same height an' these hats of ours are alike. Just as\nI come by that lumber-pile down yonder, a man hopped out an throwed a\n'gat' under my nose. He was quicker than light, and near blowed my\nskelp into the next block before he saw who I was; then he dropped his\nweepon and said:\n\n\"'My mistake. Go on.' I accepted his apology.\"\n\n\"Could you see who he was?\"\n\n\"Sure. Guess.\"\n\n\"I can't.\"\n\n\"It was the Bronco Kid.\"\n\n\"Lord!\" ejaculated Glenister. \"Do you think he's after me?\"\n\n\"He ain't after nobody else, an', take my word for it, it's got nothin'\nto do with McNamara nor that gamblin' row. He's too game for that.\nThere's some other reason.\"\n\nThis was the first mention Dextry had made of the night at the Northern.\n\n\"I don't know why he should have it in for me--I never did him any\nfavors,\" Glenister remarked, cynically.\n\n\"Well, you watch out, anyhow. I'd sooner face McNamara an' all the\ncrooks he can hire than that gambler.\"\n\nDuring the next few days Roy undertook to meet the proprietor of the\nNorthern face to face, but the Kid had vanished completely from his\nhaunts. He was not in his gambling-hall at night nor on the street by\nday. The young man was still looking for him on the evening of the\ndance at the hotel, when he chanced to meet one of the Vigilantes, who\ninquired of him:\n\n\"Aren't you late for the meeting?\"\n\n\"What meeting?\"\n\nAfter seeing that they were alone, the other stated:\n\n\"There's an assembly to-night at eleven o'clock. Something important, I\nthink. I supposed, of course, you knew about it.\"\n\n\"It's strange I wasn't notified,\" said Roy. \"It's probably an\noversight. Ill go along with you.\"\n\nTogether they crossed the river to the less frequented part of town and\nknocked at the door of a large, unlighted warehouse, flanked by a high\nboard fence. The building faced the street, but was enclosed on the\nother three sides by this ten-foot wall, inside of which were stored\nlarge quantities of coal and lumber. After some delay they were\nadmitted, and, passing down through the dim-lit, high-banked lanes of\nmerchandise, came to the rear room, where they were admitted again.\nThis compartment had been fitted up for the warm storage of perishable\ngoods during the cold weather, and, being without windows, made an\nideal place for clandestine gatherings.\n\nGlenister was astonished to find every man of the organization present,\nincluding Dextry, whom he supposed to have gone home an hour since.\nEvidently a discussion had been in progress, for a chairman was\npresiding, and the boxes, kegs, and bales of goods had been shoved back\nagainst the walls for seats. On these were ranged the threescore men of\nthe \"Stranglers,\" their serious faces lighted imperfectly by scattered\nlanterns. A certain constraint seized them upon Glenister's entrance;\nthe chairman was embarrassed. It was but momentary, however. Glenister\nhimself felt that tragedy was in the air, for it showed in the men's\nattitudes and spoke eloquently from their strained faces. He was about\nto question the man next to him when the presiding officer continued:\n\n\"We will assemble here quietly with our arms at one o'clock. And let me\ncaution you again not to talk or do anything to scare the birds away.\"\n\nGlenister arose. \"I came late, Mr. Chairman, so I missed hearing your\nplan. I gather that you're out for business, however, and I want to be\nin it. May I ask what is on foot?\"\n\n\"Certainly. Things have reached such a pass that moderate means are\nuseless. We have decided to act, and act quickly. We have exhausted\nevery legal resource and now we're going to stamp out this gang of\nrobbers in our own way. We will get together in an hour, divide into\nthree groups of twenty men, each with a leader, then go to the houses\nof McNamara, Stillman, and Voorhees, take them prisoners, and--\" He\nwaved his hand in a large gesture.\n\nGlenister made no answer for a moment, while the crowd watched him\nintently.\n\n\"You have discussed this fully?\" he asked.\n\n\"We have. It has been voted on, and we're unanimous.\"\n\n\"My friends, when I stepped into this room just now I felt that I\nwasn't wanted. Why, I don't know, because I have had more to do with\norganizing this movement than any of you, and because I have suffered\njust as much as the rest. I want to know if I was omitted from this\nmeeting intentionally.\"\n\n\"This is an embarrassing position to put me in,\" said the chairman,\ngravely. \"But I shall answer as spokesman for these men if they wish.\"\n\n\"Yes. Go ahead,\" said those around the room.\n\n\"We don't question your loyalty, Mr. Glenister, but we didn't ask you\nto this meeting because we know your attitude--perhaps I'd better say\nsentiment--regarding Judge Stillman's niece--er--family. It has come to\nus from various sources that you have been affected to the prejudice of\nyour own and your partner's interest. Now, there isn't going to be any\nsentiment in the affairs of the Vigilantes. We are going to do justice,\nand we thought the simplest way was to ignore you in this matter and\nspare all discussion and hard feeling in every quarter.\"\n\n\"It's a lie!\" shouted the young man, hoarsely. \"A damned lie! You\nwouldn't let me in for fear I'd kick, eh? Well, you were right. I will\nkick. You've hinted about my feelings for Miss Chester. Let me tell you\nthat she is engaged to marry McNamara, and that she's nothing to me.\nNow, then, let me tell you, further, that you won't break into her\nhouse and hang her uncle, even if he is a reprobate. No, sir! This\nisn't the time for violence of that sort--we'll win without it. If we\ncan't, let's fight like men, and not hunt in a pack like wolves. If you\nwant to do something, put us back on our mines and help us hold them,\nbut, for God's sake, don't descend to assassination and the tactics of\nthe Mafia!\"\n\n\"We knew you would make that kind of a talk,\" said the speaker, while\nthe rest murmured grudgingly. One of them spoke up.\n\n\"We've talked this over in cold blood, Glenister, and it's a question\nof their lives or our liberty. The law don't enter into it.\"\n\n\"That's right,\" echoed another at his elbow. \"We can't seize the\nclaims, because McNamara's got soldiers to back him up. They'd shoot us\ndown. You ought to be the last one to object.\"\n\nHe saw that dispute was futile. Determination was stamped on their\nfaces too plainly for mistake, and his argument had no more effect on\nthem than had the pale rays of the lantern beside him, yet he continued:\n\n\"I don't deny that McNamara deserves lynching, but Stillman doesn't.\nHe's a weak old man\"--some one laughed derisively--\"and there's a woman\nin the house. He's all she has in the world to depend upon, and you\nwould have to kill her to get at him. If you MUST follow this course,\ntake the others, but leave him alone.\"\n\nThey only shook their heads, while several pushed by him even as he\nspoke. \"We're going to distribute our favors equal,\" said a man as he\nleft. They were actuated by what they called justice, and he could not\nsway them. The life and welfare of the North were in their hands, as\nthey thought, and there was not one to hesitate. Glenister implored the\nchairman, but the man answered him:\n\n\"It's too late for further discussion, and let me remind you of your\npromise. You're bound by every obligation that exists for an honorable\nman--\"\n\n\"Oh, don't think that I'll give the snap away!\" said the other; \"but I\nwarn you again not to enter Stillman's house.\"\n\nHe followed out into the night to find that Dextry had disappeared,\nevidently wishing to avoid argument. Roy had seen signs of unrest\nbeneath the prospector's restraint during the past few days, and\nindications of a fierce hunger to vent his spleen on the men who had\nrobbed him of his most sacred rights. He was of an intolerant,\nvindictive nature that would go to any length for vengeance.\nRetribution was part of his creed.\n\nOn his way home, the young man looked at his watch, to find that he had\nbut an hour to determine his course. Instinct prompted him to join his\nfriends and to even the score with the men who had injured him so\nbitterly, for, measured by standards of the frontier, they were pirates\nwith their lives forfeit. Yet, he could not countenance this step. If\nonly the Vigilantes would be content with making an example--but he\nknew they would not. The blood hunger of a mob is easy to whet and hard\nto hold. McNamara would resist, as would Voorhees and the\ndistrict-attorney, then there would be bloodshed, riot, chaos. The\nsoldiers would be called out and martial law declared, the streets\nwould become skirmish-grounds. The Vigilantes would rout them without\nquestion, for every citizen of the North would rally to their aid, and\nsuch men could not be stopped. The Judge would go down with the rest of\nthe ring, and what would happen to--her?\n\nHe took down his Winchester, oiled and cleaned it, then buckled on a\nbelt of cartridges. Still he wrestled with himself. He felt that he was\nbeing ground between his loyalty to the Vigilantes and his own\nconscience. The girl was one of the gang, he reasoned--she had schemed\nwith them to betray him through his love, and she was pledged to the\none man in the world whom he hated with fanatical fury. Why should he\nthink of her in this hour? Six months back he would have looked with\njealous eyes upon the right to lead the Vigilantes, but this change\nthat had mastered him--what was it? Not cowardice, nor caution. No.\nYet, being intangible, it was none the less marked, as his friends had\nshown him an hour since.\n\nHe slipped out into the night. The mob might do as it pleased\nelsewhere, but no man should enter her house. He found a light shining\nfrom her parlor window, and, noting the shade up a few inches, stole\nclose. Peering through, he discovered Struve and Helen talking. He\nslunk back into the shadows and remained hidden for a considerable time\nafter the lawyer left, for the dancers were returning from the hotel\nand passed close by. When the last group had chattered away down the\nstreet, he returned to the front of the house and, mounting the steps,\nknocked sharply. As Helen appeared at the door, he stepped inside and\nclosed it after him.\n\nThe girl's hair lay upon her neck and shoulders in tumbled brown\nmasses, while her breast heaved tumultuously at the sudden, grim sight\nof him. She stepped back against the wall, her wondrous, deep, gray\neyes wide and troubled, the blush of modesty struggling with the pallor\nof dismay.\n\nThe picture pained him like a knife-thrust. This girl was for his\nbitterest enemy--no hope of her was for him. He forgot for a moment\nthat she was false and plotting, then, recalling it, spoke as roughly\nas he might and stated his errand. Then the old man had appeared on the\nstairs above, speechless with fright at what he overheard. It was\nevident that his nerves, so sorely strained by the events of the past\nweek, were now snapped utterly. A human soul naked and panic-stricken\nis no pleasant sight, so Glenister dropped his eyes and addressed the\ngirl again:\n\n\"Don't take anything with you. Just dress and come with me.\"\n\nThe creature on the stairs above stammered and stuttered, inquiringly:\n\n\"What outrage is this, Mr. Glenister?\"\n\n\"The people of Nome are up in arms, and I've come to save you. Don't\nstop to argue.\" He spoke impatiently.\n\n\"Is this some r-ruse to get me into your power?\"\n\n\"Uncle Arthur!\" exclaimed the girl, sharply. Her eyes met Glenister's\nand begged him to take no offence.\n\n\"I don't understand this atrocity. They must be mad!\" wailed the Judge.\n\"You run over to the jail, Mr. Glenister, and tell Voorhees to hurry\nguards here to protect me. Helen, 'phone to the military post and give\nthe alarm. Tell them the soldiers must come at once.\"\n\n\"Hold on!\" said Glenister. \"There's no use of doing that--the wires are\ncut; and I won't notify Voorhees--he can take care of himself. I came\nto help you, and if you want to escape you'll stop talking and hurry\nup.\"\n\n\"I don't know what to do,\" said Stillman, torn by terror and\nindecision. \"You wouldn't hurt an old man, would you? Wait! I'll be\ndown in a minute.\"\n\nHe scrambled up the stairs, tripping on his robe, seemingly forgetting\nhis niece till she called up to him, sharply:\n\n\"Stop, Uncle Arthur! You mustn't RUN AWAY.\" She stood erect and\ndetermined, \"You wouldn't do THAT, would you? This is our house. You\nrepresent the law and the dignity of the government. You mustn't fear a\nmob of ruffians. We will stay here and meet them, of course.\"\n\n\"Good Lord!\" said Glenister. \"That's madness. These men aren't\nruffians; they are the best citizens of Nome. You don't realize that\nthis is Alaska and that they have sworn to wipe out McNamara's gang.\nCome along.\"\n\n\"Thank you for your good intentions,\" she said, \"but we have done\nnothing to run away from. We will get ready to meet these cowards. You\nhad better go or they will find you here.\"\n\nShe moved up the stairs, and, taking the Judge by the arm, led him with\nher. Of a sudden she had assumed control of the situation\nunfalteringly, and both men felt the impossibility of thwarting her.\nPausing at the top, she turned and looked down.\n\n\"We are grateful for your efforts just the same. Good-night.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm not going,\" said the young man. \"If you stick I'll do the\nsame.\" He made the rounds of the first-floor rooms, locking doors and\nwindows. As a place of defence it was hopeless, and he saw that he\nwould have to make his stand up-stairs. When sufficient time had\nelapsed he called up to Helen:\n\n\"May I come?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she replied. So he ascended, to find Stillman in the hall, half\nclothed and cowering, while by the light from the front chamber he saw\nher finishing her toilet.\n\n\"Won't you come with me--it's our last chance?\" She only shook her\nhead. \"Well, then, put out the light. I'll stand at that front window,\nand when my eyes get used to the darkness I'll be able to see them\nbefore they reach the gate.\"\n\nShe did as directed, taking her place beside him at the opening, while\nthe Judge crept in and sat upon the bed, his heavy breathing the only\nsound in the room. The two young people stood so close beside each\nother that the sweet scent of her person awoke in him an almost\nirresistible longing. He forgot her treachery again, forgot that she\nwas another's, forgot all save that he loved her truly and purely, with\na love which was like an agony to him. Her shoulder brushed his arm; he\nheard the soft rustling of her garment at her breast as she breathed.\nSome one passed in the street, and she laid a hand upon him fearfully.\nIt was very cold, very tiny, and very soft, but he made no move to take\nit. The moments dragged along, still, tense, interminable. Occasionally\nshe leaned towards him, and he stooped to catch her whispered words. At\nsuch times her breath beat warm against his cheek, and he closed his\nteeth stubbornly. Out in the night a wolfdog saddened the air, then\ncame the sound of others wrangling and snarling in a near-by corral.\nThis is a chickless land and no cock-crow breaks the midnight peace.\nThe suspense enhanced the Judge's perturbation till his chattering\nteeth sounded like castanets. Now and then he groaned.\n\nThe watchers had lost track of time when their strained eyes detected\ndark blots materializing out of the shadows.\n\n\"There they come,\" whispered Glenister, forcing her back from the\naperture; but she would not be denied, and returned to his side.\n\nAs the foremost figures reached the gate, Roy leaned forth and spoke,\nnot loudly, but in tones that sliced through the silence, sharp, clean,\nand without warning.\n\n\"Halt! Don't come inside the fence.\" There was an instant's confusion;\nthen, before the men beneath had time to answer or take action, he\ncontinued: \"This is Roy Glenister talking. I told you not to molest\nthese people and I warn you again. We're ready for you.\"\n\nThe leader spoke. \"You're a traitor, Glenister.\"\n\nHe winced. \"Perhaps I am. You betrayed me first, though; and, traitor\nor not, you can't come into this house.\"\n\nThere was a murmur at this, and some one said:\n\n\"Miss Chester is safe. All we want is the Judge. We won't hang him, not\nif he'll wear this suit we brought along. He needn't be afraid. Tar is\ngood for the skin.\"\n\n\"Oh, my God!\" groaned the limb of the law.\n\nSuddenly a man came running down the planked pavement and into the\ngroup.\n\n\"McNamara's gone, and so's the marshal and the rest,\" he panted. There\nwas a moment's silence, and then the leader growled to his men,\n\"Scatter out and rush the house, boys.\" He raised his voice to the man\nin the window. \"This is your work--you damned turncoat.\" His followers\nmelted away to right and left, vaulted the fence, and dodged into the\nshelter of the walls. The click, click of Glenister's Winchester\nsounded through the room while the sweat stood out on him. He wondered\nif he could do this deed, if he could really fire on these people. He\nwondered if his muscles would not wither and paralyze before they\nobeyed his command.\n\nHelen crowded past him and, leaning half out of the opening, called\nloudly, her voice ringing clear and true:\n\n\"Wait! Wait a moment. I have something to say. Mr. Glenister didn't\nwarn them. They thought you were going to attack the mines and so they\nrode out there before midnight. I am telling you the truth, really.\nThey left hours ago.\" It was the first sign she had made, and they\nrecognized her to a man.\n\nThere were uncertain mutterings below till a new man raised his voice.\nBoth Roy and Helen recognised Dextry.\n\n\"Boys, we've overplayed. We don't want THESE people--McNamara's our\nmeat. Old bald-face up yonder has to do what he's told, and I'm ag'in'\nthis twenty-to-one midnight work. I'm goin' home.\" There were some\nwhisperings, then the original spokesman called for Judge Stillman. The\nold man tottered to the window, a palsied, terror-stricken object. The\ngirl was glad he could not be seen from below.\n\n\"We won't hurt you this time, Judge, but you've gone far enough. We'll\ngive you another chance, then, if you don't make good, we'll stretch\nyou to a lamp-post. Take this as a warning.\"\n\n\"I--s-shall do my d-d-duty,\" said the Judge.\n\nThe men disappeared into the darkness, and when they had gone Glenister\nclosed the window, pulled down the shades, and lighted a lamp. He knew\nby how narrow a margin a tragedy had been averted. If he had fired on\nthese men his shot would have kindled a feud which would have consumed\nevery vestige of the court crowd and himself among them. He would have\nfallen under a false banner, and his life would not have reached to the\nnext sunset. Perhaps it was forfeit now--he could not tell. The\nVigilantes would probably look upon his part as traitorous; and, at the\nvery least, he had cut himself off from their support, the only support\nthe Northland offered him. Henceforth he was a renegade, a pariah,\nhated alike by both factions. He purposely avoided sight of Stillman\nand turned his back when the Judge extended his hand with expressions\nof gratitude. His work was done and he wished to leave this house.\nHelen followed him down to the door and, as he opened it, laid her hand\nupon his sleeve.\n\n\"Words are feeble things, and I can never make amends for all you've\ndone for us.\"\n\n\"For US!\" cried Roy, with a break in his voice. \"Do you think I\nsacrificed my honor, betrayed my friends, killed my last hope,\nostracized myself, for 'US'? This is the last time I'll trouble you.\nPerhaps the last time I'll see you. No matter what else you've done,\nhowever, you've taught me a lesson, and I thank you for it. I have\nfound myself at last. I'm not an Eskimo any longer--I'm a man!\"\n\n\"You've always been that,\" she said. \"I don't understand as much about\nthis affair as I want to, and it seems to me that no one will explain\nit. I'm very stupid, I guess; but won't you come back to-morrow and\ntell it to me?\"\n\n\"No,\" he said, roughly. \"You're not of my people. McNamara and his are\nno friends of mine, and I'm no friend of theirs.\" He was half down the\nsteps before she said, softly:\n\n\"Good-night, and God bless you--friend.\"\n\nShe returned to the Judge, who was in a pitiable state, and for a long\ntime she labored to soothe him as though he were a child. She undertook\nto question him about the things which lay uppermost in her mind and\nwhich this night had half revealed, but he became fretful and irritated\nat the mention of mines and mining. She sat beside his bed till he\ndozed off, puzzling to discover what lay behind the hints she had\nheard, till her brain and body matched in absolute weariness. The\nreflex of the day's excitement sapped her strength till she could\nbarely creep to her own couch, where she rolled and sighed--too tired\nto sleep at once. She awoke finally, with one last nervous flicker,\nbefore complete oblivion took her. A sentence was on her mind--it\nalmost seemed as though she had spoken it aloud:\n\n\"The handsomest woman in the North...but Glenister ran away.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nIN WHICH THE TRUTH BEGINS TO BARE ITSELF\n\n\nIt was nearly noon of the next day when Helen awoke to find that\nMcNamara had ridden in from the Creek and stopped for breakfast with\nthe Judge. He had asked for her, but on hearing the tale of the night's\nadventure would not allow her to be disturbed. Later, he and the Judge\nhad gone away together.\n\nAlthough her judgment approved the step she had contemplated the night\nbefore, still the girl now felt a strange reluctance to meet McNamara.\nIt is true that she knew no ill of him, except that implied in the\naccusations of certain embittered men; and she was aware that every\nstrong and aggressive character makes enemies in direct proportionate\nthe qualities which lend him greatness. Nevertheless, she was aware of\nan inner conflict that she had not foreseen. This man who so\nconfidently believed that she would marry him did not dominate her\nconsciousness.\n\nShe had ridden much of late, taking long, solitary gallops beside the\nshimmering sea that she loved so well, or up the winding valleys into\nthe foot-hills where echoed the roar of swift waters or glinted the\nflash of shovel blades. This morning her horse was lame, so she\ndetermined to walk. In her early rambles she had looked timidly askance\nat the rough men she met till she discovered their genuine respect and\ncourtesy. The most unkempt among them were often college-bred,\nalthough, for that matter, the roughest of the miners showed abundant\nconsideration for a woman. So she was glad to allow the men to talk to\nher with the fine freedom inspired by the new country and its wide\nspaces. The wilderness breeds a chivalry all its own.\n\nThus there seemed to be no danger abroad, though they had told the girl\nof mad dogs which roamed the city, explaining that the hot weather\naffects powerfully the thick-coated, shaggy \"malamoots.\" This is the\nland of the dog, and whereas in winter his lot is to labor and shiver\nand starve, in summer he loafs, fights, grows fat, and runs mad with\nthe heat.\n\nHelen walked far and, returning, chose an unfamiliar course through the\noutskirts of the town to avoid meeting any of the women she knew,\nbecause of that vivid memory of the night before. As she walked swiftly\nalong she thought that she heard faint cries far behind her. Looking\nup, she noted that it was a lonely, barren quarter and that the only\nfigure in sight was a woman some distance away. A few paces farther on\nthe shouts recurred--more plainly this time, and a gunshot sounded.\nGlancing back, she saw several men running, one bearing a smoking\nrevolver, and heard, nearer still, the snarling hubbub of fighting\ndogs. In a flash the girl's curiosity became horror, for, as she\nwatched, one of the dogs made a sudden dash through the now subdued\ngroup of animals and ran swiftly along the planking on which she stood.\nIt was a handsome specimen of the Eskimo malamoot--tall, gray, and\ncoated like a wolf, with the speed, strength, and cunning of its\ncousin. Its head hung low and swung from side to side as it trotted,\nthe motion flecking foam and slaver. The creature had scattered the\npack, and now, swift, menacing, relentless, was coming towards Helen.\nThere was no shelter near, no fence, no house, save the distant one\ntowards which the other woman was making her way. The men, too far away\nto protect her, shouted hoarse warnings.\n\nHelen did not scream nor hesitate--she turned and ran, terror-stricken,\ntowards the distant cottage. She was blind with fright and felt an\nutter certainty that the dog would attack her before she could reach\nsafety. Yes--there was the quick patter of his pads close up behind\nher; her knees weakened; the sheltering door was yet some yards away.\nBut a horse, tethered near the walk, reared and snorted as the flying\npair drew near. The mad creature swerved, leaped at the horse's legs,\nand snapped in fury. Badly frightened at this attack, the horse lunged\nat his halter, broke it, and galloped away; but the delay had served\nfor Helen, weak and faint, to reach the door. She wrenched at the knob.\nIt was locked. As she turned hopelessly away, she saw that the other\nwoman was directly behind her, and was, in her turn, awaiting the mad\nanimal's onslaught, but calmly, a tiny revolver in her hand.\n\n\"Shoot!\" screamed Helen. \"Why don't you shoot?\" The little gun spoke,\nand the dog spun around, snarling and yelping. The woman fired several\ntimes more before it lay still, and then remarked, calmly, as she\n\"broke\" the weapon and ejected the shells:\n\n\"The calibre is too small to be good for much.\"\n\nHelen sank down upon the steps.\n\n\"How well you shoot!\" she gasped. Her eyes were on the gray bundle\nwhose death agonies had thrust it almost to her feet. The men had run\nup and were talking excitedly, but after a word with them the woman\nturned to Helen.\n\n\"You must come in for a moment and recover yourself,\" she said, and led\nher inside.\n\nIt was a cosey room in which the girl found herself--more than\nthat--luxurious. There was a piano with scattered music, and many of\nthe pretty, feminine things that Helen had not seen since leaving home.\nThe hostess had stepped behind some curtains for an instant and was\ntalking to her from the next room.\n\n\"That is the third mad dog I have seen this month. Hydrophobia is\nbecoming a habit in this neighborhood.\" She returned, bearing a tiny\nsilver tray with decanter and glasses.\n\n\"You're all unstrung, but this brandy will help you--if you don't\nobject to a swallow of it. Then come right in here and lie down for a\nmoment and you'll be all right.\" She spoke with such genuine kindness\nand sympathy that Helen flashed a grateful glance at her. She was tall,\nslender, and with a peculiar undulating suggestion in her movements, as\nthough she had been bred to the clinging folds of silken garments.\nHelen watched the charm of her smile, the friendly solicitude of her\nexpression, and felt her heart warm towards this one kind woman in Nome.\n\n\"You're very good,\" she answered; \"but I'm all right now. I was badly\nfrightened. It was wonderful, your saving me.\" She followed the other's\ngraceful motion as she placed her burden on the table, and in doing so\ngazed squarely at a photograph of Roy Glenister.\n\n\"Oh--!\" Helen exclaimed, then paused as it flashed over her who this\ngirl was. She looked at her quickly. Yes, probably men would consider\nthe woman beautiful, with that smile. The revelation came with a shock,\nand she arose, trying to mask her confusion.\n\n\"Thank you so much for your kindness. I'm quite myself now and I must\ngo.\"\n\nHer change of face could not escape the quick perceptions of one\nschooled by experience in the slights of her sex. Times without number\nCherry Malotte had marked that subtle, scornful change in other women,\nand reviled herself for heeding it. But in some way this girl's manner\nhurt her worst of all. She betrayed no sign, however, save a widening\nof the eyes and a certain fixity of smile as she answered:\n\n\"I wish you would stay until you are rested, Miss--\" She paused with\nout-stretched hand.\n\n\"Chester. My name is Helen Chester. I'm Judge Stillman's niece,\"\nhurried the other, in embarrassment.\n\nCherry Malotte withdrew her proffered hand and her face grew hard and\nhateful.\n\n\"Oh! So you are Miss Chester--and I--saved you!\" She laughed harshly.\n\nHelen strove for calmness. \"I'm sorry you feel that way,\" she said,\ncoolly. \"I appreciate your service to me.\" She moved towards the door.\n\n\"Wait a moment. I want to talk to you.\" Then, as Helen paid no heed,\nthe woman burst out, bitterly: \"Oh, don't be afraid! I know you are\ncommitting an unpardonable sin by talking to me, but no one will see\nyou, and in your code the crime lies in being discovered. Therefore,\nyou're quite safe. That's what makes me an outcast--I was found out. I\nwant you to know, however, that, bad as I am, I'm better than you, for\nI'm loyal to those that like me, and I don't betray my friends.\"\n\n\"I don't pretend to understand you,\" said Helen, coldly.\n\n\"Oh yes, you do! Don't assume such innocence. Of course it's your role,\nbut you can't play it with me.\" She stepped in front of her visitor,\nplacing her back against the door, while her face was bitter and\nmocking. \"The little service I did you just now entitles me to a\nprivilege, I suppose, and I'm going to take advantage of it to tell you\nhow badly your mask fits. Dreadfully rude of me, isn't it? You're in\nwith a fine lot of crooks, and I admire the way you've done your share\nof the dirty work, but when you assume these scandalized, supervirtuous\nairs it offends me.\"\n\n\"Let me out!\"\n\n\"I've done bad things,\" Cherry continued, unheedingly, \"but I was\nforced into them, usually, and I never, deliberately, tried to wreck a\nman's life just for his money.\"\n\n\"What do you mean by saying that I have betrayed my friends and wrecked\nanybody's life?\" Helen demanded, hotly.\n\n\"Bah! I had you sized up at the start, but Roy couldn't see it. Then\nStruve told me what I hadn't guessed. A bottle of wine, a woman, and\nthat fool will tell all he knows. It's a great game McNamara's playing\nand he did well to get you in on it, for you're clever, your nerve is\ngood, and your make-up is great for the part. I ought to know, for I've\nturned a few tricks myself. You'll pardon this little burst of\nfeeling--professional pique. I'm jealous of your ability, that's all.\nHowever, now that you realize we're in the same class, don't look down\non me hereafter.\" She opened the door and bowed her guest out with\nelaborate mockery.\n\nHelen was too bewildered and humiliated to make much out of this\nvicious and incoherent attack except the fact that Cherry Malotte\naccused her of a part in this conspiracy which every one seemed to\nbelieve existed. Here again was that hint of corruption which she\nencountered on all sides. This might be merely a woman's jealousy--and\nyet she said Struve had told her all about it--that a bottle of wine\nand a pretty face would make the lawyer disclose everything. She could\nbelieve it from what she knew and had heard of him. The feeling that\nshe was groping in the dark, that she was wrapped in a mysterious woof\nof secrecy, came over her again as it had so often of late. If Struve\ntalked to that other woman, why wouldn't he talk to her? She paused,\nchanging her direction towards Front Street, revolving rapidly in her\nmind as she went her course of action. Cherry Malotte believed her to\nbe an actress. Very well--she would prove her judgment right.\n\nShe found Struve busy in his private office, but he leaped to his feet\non her entrance and came forward, offering her a chair.\n\n\"Good-morning, Miss Helen. You have a fine color, considering the night\nyou passed. The Judge told me all about the affair; and let me state\nthat you're the pluckiest girl I know.\"\n\nShe smiled grimly at the thought of what made her cheeks glow, and\nlanguidly loosened the buttons of her jacket.\n\n\"I suppose you're very busy, you lawyer man?\" she inquired.\n\n\"Yes--but not too busy to attend to anything you want.\"\n\n\"Oh, I didn't come on business,\" she said, lightly. \"I was out walking\nand merely sauntered in.\"\n\n\"Well, I appreciate that all the more,\" he said, in an altered tone,\ntwisting his chair about. \"I'm more than delighted.\" She judged she was\ngetting on well from the way his professionalism had dropped off.\n\n\"Yes, I get tired of talking to uncle and Mr. McNamara. They treat me\nas though I were a little girl.\"\n\n\"When do you take the fatal step?\"\n\n\"What step do you mean?\"\n\n\"Your marriage. When does it occur? You needn't hesitate,\" he added.\n\"McNamara told we about it a month ago.\"\n\nHe felt his throat gingerly at the thought, but his eyes brightened\nwhen she answered, lightly:\n\n\"I think you are mistaken. He must have been joking.\"\n\nFor some time she led him on adroitly, talking of many things, in a way\nto make him wonder at her new and flippant humor. He had never dreamed\nshe could be like this, so tantalizingly close to familiarity, and yet\nso maddeningly aloof and distant. He grew bolder in his speech.\n\n\"How are things going with us?\" she questioned, as his warmth grew\npronounced. \"Uncle won't talk and Mr. McNamara is as close-mouthed as\ncan be, lately.\"\n\nHe looked at her quickly. \"In what respect?\"\n\nShe summoned up her courage and walked past the ragged edge of\nuncertainty.\n\n\"Now, don't you try to keep me in short dresses, too. It's getting\nwearisome. I've done my part and I want to know what the rest of you\nare doing.\" She was prepared for any answer.\n\n\"What do you want to know?\" he asked, cautiously.\n\n\"Everything. Don't you think I can hear what people are saying?\"\n\n\"Oh, that's it! Well, don't you pay any attention to what people say.\"\n\nShe recognized her mistake and continued, hurriedly:\n\n\"Why shouldn't I? Aren't we all in this together? I object to being\nused and then discarded. I think I'm entitled to know how the scheme is\nworking. Don't you think I can keep my mouth shut?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" he laughed, trying to change the subject of their talk;\nbut she arose and leaned against the desk near him, vowing that she\nwould not leave the office without piercing some part of this mystery.\nHis manner strengthened her suspicion that there WAS something behind\nit all. This dissipated, brilliant creature knew the situation\nthoroughly; and yet, though swayed by her efforts, he remained chained\nby caution. She leaned forward and smiled at him.\n\n\"You're just like the others, aren't you? You won't give me any\nsatisfaction at all.\"\n\n\"Give, give, give,\" said Struve, cynically. \"That's always the woman's\ncry. Give me this--give me that. Selfish sex! Why don't you offer\nsomething in return? Men are traders, women usurers. You are curious,\nhence miserable. I can help you, therefore I should, do it for a smile.\nYou ask me to break my promises and risk my honor on your caprice.\nWell, that's woman-like, and I'll do it. I'll put myself in your power,\nbut I won't do it gratis. No, we'll trade.\"\n\n\"It isn't curiosity,\" she denied, indignantly. \"It is my due.\"\n\n\"No; you've heard the common talk and grown suspicious, that's all. You\nthink I know something that will throw a new light or a new shadow on\neverything you have in the world, and you're worked up to such a\ncondition that you can't take your own people's word; and, on the other\nhand, you can't go to strangers, so you come to me. Suppose I told you\nI had the papers you brought to me last spring in that safe and that\nthey told the whole story--whether your uncle is unimpeachable or\nwhether he deserved hanging by that mob. What would you do, eh? What\nwould you give to see them? Well, they're there and ready to speak for\nthemselves. If you're a woman you won't rest till you've seen them.\nWill you trade?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes! Give them to me,\" she cried, eagerly, at which a wave of\ncrimson rushed up to his eyes and he rose abruptly from his chair. He\nmade towards her, but she retreated to the wall, pale and wide-eyed.\n\n\"Can't you see,\" she flung at him, \"that I MUST know?\"\n\nHe paused. \"Of course I can, but I want a kiss to bind the bargain--to\napply on account.\" He reached for her hand with his own hot one, but\nshe pushed him away and slipped past him towards the door.\n\n\"Suit yourself,\" said he, \"but if I'm not mistaken, you'll never rest\ntill you've seen those papers. I've studied you, and I'll place a bet\nthat you can't marry McNamara nor look your uncle in the eye till you\nknow the truth. You might do either if you KNEW them to be crooks, but\nyou couldn't if you only suspected it--that's the woman. When you get\nready, come back; I'll show you proof, because I don't claim to be\nanything but what I am--Wilton Struve, bargainer of some mean ability.\nWhen they come to inscribe my headstone I hope they can carve thereon\nwith truth, 'He got value received.'\"\n\n\"You're a panther,\" she said, loathingly.\n\n\"Graceful and elegant brute, that,\" he laughed. \"Affectionate and full\nof play, but with sharp teeth and sharper claws. To follow out the\nidea, which pleases me, I believe the creature owes no loyalty to its\nfellows and hunts alone. Now, when you've followed this conspiracy out\nand placed the blame where it belongs, won't you come and tell me about\nit? That door leads into an outer hall which opens into the street. No\none will see you come or go.\"\n\nAs she hurried away she wondered dazedly why she had stayed to listen\nso long. What a monster he was! His meaning was plain, had always been\nso from the first day he laid eyes upon her, and he was utterly\nconscienceless. She had known all this; and yet, in her proud, youthful\nconfidence, and in her need, every hour more desperate and urgent, to\nknow the truth, she had dared risk herself with him. Withal, the man\nwas shrewd and observant and had divined her mental condition with\nremarkable sagacity. She had failed with him; but the girl now knew\nthat she could never rest till she found an answer to her questions.\nShe MUST kill this suspicion that ate into her so. She thought tenderly\nof her uncle's goodness to her, clung with despairing faith to the last\nof her kin. The blood ties of the Chesters were close and she felt in\ndire need of that lost brother who was somewhere in this mysterious\nland--need of some one in whom ran the strain that bound her to the\nweak old man up yonder. There was McNamara; but how could he help her,\nhow much did she know of him, this man who was now within the darkest\nshadow of her new suspicions?\n\nFeeling almost intolerably friendless and alone, weakened both by her\nrecent fright and by her encounter with Struve, Helen considered as\ncalmly as her emotions would allow and decided that this was no day in\nwhich pride should figure. There were facts which it was imperative she\nshould know, and immediately; therefore, a few minutes later, she\nknocked at the door of Cherry Malotte. When the girl appeared, Helen\nwas astonished to see that she had been crying. Tears burn hottest and\nleave plainest trace in eyes where they come most seldom. The younger\ngirl could not guess the tumult of emotion the other had undergone\nduring her absence, the utter depths of self-abasement she had\nfathomed, for the sight of Helen and her fresh young beauty had roused\nin the adventuress a very tempest of bitterness and jealousy. Whether\nHelen Chester were guilty or innocent, how could Glenister hesitate\nbetween them? Cherry had asked herself. Now she stared at her visitor\ninhospitably and without sign.\n\n\"Will you let me come in?\" Helen asked her. \"I have something to say to\nyou.\"\n\nWhen they were inside, Cherry Malotte stood and gazed at her visitor\nwith inscrutable eyes and stony face.\n\n\"It isn't easy for me to come back,\" Helen began, \"but I felt that I\nhad to. If you can help me, I hope you will. You said that you knew a\ngreat wrong was being done. I have suspected it, but I didn't know, and\nI've been afraid to doubt my own people. You said I had a part in\nit--that I'd betrayed my friends. Wait a moment,\" she hurried on, at\nthe other's cynical smile. \"Won't you tell me what you know and what\nyou think my part has been? I've heard and seen things that make me\nthink--oh, they make me afraid to think, and yet I can't find the\nTRUTH! You see, in a struggle like this, people will make all sorts of\nallegations, but do they KNOW, have they any proof, that my uncle has\ndone wrong?\"\n\n\"Is that all?\"\n\n\"No. You said Struve told you the whole scheme. I went to him and tried\nto cajole the story out of him, but--\" She shivered at the memory.\n\n\"What success did you have?\" inquired the listener, oddly curious for\nall her cold dislike.\n\n\"Don't ask me. I hate to think of it.\"\n\nCherry laughed cruelly. \"So, failing there, you came back to me, back\nfor another favor from the waif. Well, Miss Helen Chester, I don't\nbelieve a word you've said and I'll tell you nothing. Go back to the\nuncle and the rawboned lover who sent you, and inform them that I'll\nspeak when the time comes. They think I know too much, do they?--so\nthey've sent you to spy? Well, I'll make a compact. You play your game\nand I'll play mine. Leave Glenister alone and I'll not tell on\nMcNamara. Is it a bargain?\"\n\n\"No, no, no! Can't you SEE? That's not it. All I want is the truth of\nthis thing.\"\n\n\"Then go back to Struve and get it. He'll tell you; I won't. Drive your\nbargain with him--you're able. You've fooled better men--now, see what\nyou can do with him.\"\n\nHelen left, realizing the futility of further effort, though she felt\nthat this woman did not really doubt her, but was scourged by jealousy\ntill she deliberately chose this attitude.\n\nReaching her own house, she wrote two brief notes and called in her Jap\nboy from the kitchen.\n\n\"Fred, I want you to hunt up Mr. Glenister and give him this note. If\nyou can't find him, then look for his partner and give the other to\nhim.\" Fred vanished, to return in an hour with the letter for Dextry\nstill in his hand.\n\n\"I don' catch dis feller,\" he explained. \"Young mans say he gone, come\nback mebbe one, two, 'leven days.\"\n\n\"Did you deliver the one to Mr. Glenister?\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am.\"\n\n\"Was there an answer?\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am.\"\n\n\"Well, give it to me.\"\n\nThe note read:\n\n\"DEAR MISS CHESTER,--A discussion of a matter so familiar to us both as\nthe Anvil Creek controversy would be useless. If your inclination is\ndue to the incidents of last night, pray don't trouble yourself. We\ndon't want your pity. I am,\n\n \"Your servant,\n\n  \"ROY GLENISTER.\"\n\nAs she read the note, Judge Stillman entered, and it seemed to the girl\nthat he had aged a year for every hour in the last twelve, or else the\nyellow afternoon light limned the sagging hollows and haggard lines of\nhis face most pitilessly. He showed in voice and manner the nervous\nburden under which he labored.\n\n\"Alec has told me about your engagement, and it lifts a terrible load\nfrom me. I'm mighty glad you're going to marry him. He's a wonderful\nman, and he's the only one who can save us.\"\n\n\"What do you mean by that? What are we in danger of?\" she inquired,\navoiding discussion of McNamara's announcement.\n\n\"Why, that mob, of course. They'll come back. They said so. But Alec\ncan handle the commanding officer at the post, and, thanks to him,\nwe'll have soldiers guarding the house hereafter.\"\n\n\"Why--they won't hurt us--\"\n\n\"Tut, tut! I know what I'm talking about. We're in worse danger now\nthan ever, and if we don't break up those Vigilantes there'll be\nbloodshed--that's what. They're a menace, and they're trying to force\nme off the bench so they can take the law into their own hands again.\nThat's what I want to see you about. They're planning to kill Alec and\nme--so he says--and we've got to act quick to prevent murder. Now, this\nyoung Glenister is one of them, and he knows who the rest are. Do you\nthink you could get him to talk?\"\n\n\"I don't think I quite understand you,\" said the girl, through\nwhitening lips.\n\n\"Oh yes, you do. I want the names of the ring-leaders, so that I can\njail them. You can worm it out of that fellow if you try.\"\n\nHelen looked at the old man in a horror that at first was dumb. \"You\nask this of me?\" she demanded, hoarsely, at last.\n\n\"Nonsense,\" he said, irritably. \"This isn't any time for silly\nscruples. It's life or death for me, maybe, and for Alec, too.\" He said\nthe last craftily, but she stormed at him:\n\n\"It's infamous! You're asking me to betray the very man who saved us\nnot twelve hours ago. He risked his life for us.\"\n\n\"It isn't treachery at all, it's protection. If we don't get them,\nthey'll get us. I wouldn't punish that young fellow, but I want the\nothers. Come, now, you've got to do it.\"\n\nBut she said \"No\" firmly, and quietly went to her own room, where,\nbehind the locked door, she sat for a long time staring with unseeing\neyes, her hands tight clenched in her lap. At last she whispered:\n\n\"I'm afraid it's true. I'm afraid it's true.\"\n\nShe remained hidden during the dinner-hour, and pleaded a headache when\nMcNamara called in the early evening. Although she had not seen him\nsince he left her the night before, bearing her tacit promise to wed\nhim, yet how could she meet him now with the conviction growing on her\nhourly that he was a master-rogue? She wrestled with the thought that\nhe and her uncle, her own uncle who stood in the place of a father,\nwere conspirators. And yet, at memory of the Judge's cold-blooded\nrequest that she should turn traitress, her whole being was revolted.\nIf he could ask a thing like that, what other heartless, selfish act\nmight he not be capable of? All the long, solitary evening she kept her\nroom, but at last, feeling faint, slipped down-stairs in search of\nFred, for she had eaten nothing since her late breakfast.\n\nVoices reached her from the parlor, and as she came to the last step\nshe froze there in an attitude of listening. The first sentence she\nheard through the close-drawn curtains banished all qualms at\neavesdropping. She stood for many breathless minutes drinking in the\nplot that came to her plainly from within, then turned, gathered up her\nskirts, and tiptoed back to her room. Here she made haste madly,\ntearing off her house clothes and donning others.\n\nShe pressed her face to the window and noted that the night was like a\nclose-hung velvet pall, without a star in sight. Nevertheless, she\nwound a heavy veil about her hat and face before she extinguished the\nlight and stepped into the hall. Hearing McNamara's \"Good-night\" at the\nfront-door, she retreated again while her uncle slowly mounted the\nstairs and paused before her chamber. He called her name softly, but\nwhen she did not answer continued on to his own room. When he was\nsafely within she descended quietly, went out, and locked the\nfront-door behind her, placing the key in her bosom. She hurried now,\nfeeling her way through the thick gloom in a panic, while in her mind\nwas but one frightened thought: \"I'll be too late. I'll be too late.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nTHE DRIP OF WATER IN THE DARK\n\n\nEven after Helen had been out for some time she could barely see\nsufficiently to avoid collisions. The air, weighted by a low-hung roof\nof clouds, was surcharged with the electric suspense of an impending\nstorm, and seemed to sigh and tremble at the hint of power in leash. It\nwas that pause before the conflict wherein the night laid finger upon\nits lips.\n\nAs the girl neared Glenister's cabin she was disappointed at seeing no\nlight there. She stumbled towards the door, only to utter a\nhalf-strangled cry as two men stepped out of the gloom and seized her\nroughly. Something cold and hard was thrust violently against her\ncheek, forcing her head back and bruising her. She struggled and cried\nout.\n\n\"Hold on--it's a woman!\" ejaculated the man who had pinioned her arms,\nloosing his hold till only a hand remained on her shoulder. The other\nlowered the weapon he had jammed to her face and peered closely.\n\n\"Why, Miss Chester,\" he said. \"What are you doing here? You came near\ngetting hurt.\"\n\n\"I am bound for the Wilsons', but I must have lost my way in the\ndarkness. I think you have cut my face.\" She controlled her fright\nfirmly.\n\n\"That's too bad,\" one said. \"We mistook you for--\" And the other broke\nin, sharply, \"You'd better run along. We're waiting for some one.\"\n\nHelen hastened back by the route she had come, knowing that there was\nstill time, and that as yet her uncle's emissaries had not laid hands\nupon Glenister. She had overheard the Judge and McNamara plotting to\ndrag the town with a force of deputies, seizing not only her two\nfriends, but every man suspected of being a Vigilante. The victims were\nto be jailed without bond, without reason, without justice, while the\nmechanism of the court was to be juggled in order to hold them until\nfall, if necessary. They had said that the officers were already busy,\nso haste was a crying thing. She sped down the dark streets towards the\nhouse of Cherry Malotte, but found no light nor answer to her knock.\nShe was distracted now, and knew not where to seek next among the\nthousand spots which might hide the man she wanted. What chance had she\nagainst the posse sweeping the town from end to end? There was only\none; he might be at the Northern Theatre. Even so, she could not reach\nhim, for she dared not go there herself. She thought of Fred, her Jap\nboy, but there was no time. Wasted moments meant failure.\n\nRoy had once told her that he never gave up what he undertook. Very\nwell, she would show that even a girl may possess determination. This\nwas no time for modesty or shrinking indecision, so she pulled the veil\nmore closely about her face and took her good name into her hands. She\nmade rapidly towards the lighted streets which cast a skyward glare,\nand from which, through the breathless calm, arose the sound of\ncarousal. Swiftly she threaded the narrow alleys in search of the\ntheatre's rear entrance, for she dared not approach from the front. In\nthis way she came into a part of the camp which had lain hidden from\nher until now, and of the existence of which she had never dreamed.\n\nThe vices of a city, however horrible, are at least draped scantily by\nthe mantle of convention, but in a great mining-camp they stand naked\nand without concealment. Here there were rows upon rows of crib-like\nhouses clustered over tortuous, ill-lighted lanes, like blow-flies\nswarming to an unclean feast. From within came the noise of ribaldry\nand debauch. Shrill laughter mingled with coarse, maudlin songs, till\nthe clinging night reeked with abominable revelry. The girl saw painted\ncreatures of every nationality leaning from windows or beckoning from\ndoorways, while drunken men collided with her, barred her course,\nchallenged her, and again and again she was forced to slip from their\nembraces. At last the high bulk of the theatre building loomed a short\ndistance ahead. Panting and frightened, she tried the door with weak\nhands, to find it locked. From behind it rose the blare of brass and\nthe sound of singing. She accosted a man who approached her through the\nnarrow alley, but he had cruised from the charted course in search of\nadventure and was not minded to go in quest of doormen; rather, he\nchose to sing a chantey, to the bibulous measures of which he invited\nher to dance with him, so she slipped away till he had teetered past.\nHe was some longshoreman in that particular epoch of his inebriety\nwhere life had no burden save the dissipation of wages.\n\nReturning, she pounded on the door, possessed of the sense that the man\nshe sought was here, till at last it was flung open, framing the\nsilhouette of a shirt-sleeved, thick-set youth, who shouted:\n\n\"What 'n 'ell do you want to butt in for while the show's on? Go round\nfront.\" She caught a glimpse of disordered scenery, and before he could\nslam the door in her face thrust a silver dollar into his hand, at the\nsame time wedging herself into the opening. He pocketed the coin and\nthe door clicked to behind her.\n\n\"Well, speak up. The act's closin'.\" Evidently he was the directing\ngenius of the performance, for at that moment the chorus broke into\nfull cry, and he said, hurriedly:\n\n\"Wait a minute. There goes the finally,\" and dashed away to tend his\ndrops and switches. When the curtain was down and the principals had\nsought their dressing-rooms he returned.\n\n\"Do you know Mr. Glenister?\" she asked.\n\n\"Sure. I seen him to-night. Come here.\" He led her towards the\nfootlights, and, pulling back the edge of the curtain, allowed her to\npeep past him out into the dance-hall. She had never pictured a place\nlike this, and in spite of her agitation was astonished at its gaudy\nelegance. The gallery was formed of a continuous row of compartments\nwith curtained fronts, in which men and women were talking, drinking,\nsinging. The seats on the lower floor were disappearing, and the canvas\ncover was rolling back, showing the polished hardwood underneath, while\nout through the wide folding-doors that led to the main gambling-room\nshe heard a brass-lunged man calling the commencement of the dance.\nCouples glided into motion while she watched.\n\n\"I don't see him,\" said her guide. \"You better walk out front and help\nyourself.\" He indicated the stairs which led up to the galleried boxes\nand the steps leading down on to the main floor, but she handed him\nanother coin, begging him to find Glenister and bring him to her.\n\"Hurry; hurry!\" she implored.\n\nThe stage-manager gazed at her curiously, remarking, \"My! You spend\nyour money like it had been left to you. You're a regular pie-check for\nme. Come around any time.\"\n\nShe withdrew to a dark corner and waited interminably till her\nmessenger appeared at the head of the gallery stairs and beckoned to\nher. As she drew near he said, \"I told him there was a thousand-dollar\nfilly flaggin' him from the stage door, but he's got a grouch an' won't\nstir. He's in number seven.\" She hesitated, at which he said, \"Go\non--you're in right;\" then continued, reassuringly: \"Say, pal, if he's\nyour white-haired lad, you needn't start no roughhouse, 'cause he don't\nflirt wit' these dames none whatever. Naw! Take it from me.\"\n\nShe entered the door her counsellor indicated to find Roy lounging back\nwatching the dancers. He turned inquiringly--then, as she raised her\nveil, leaped to his feet and jerked the curtains to.\n\n\"Helen! What are you doing here?\"\n\n\"You must go away quickly,\" she gasped. \"They're trying to arrest you.\"\n\n\"They! Who? Arrest me for what?\"\n\n\"Voorhees and his men--for riot, or something about last night.\"\n\n\"Nonsense,\" he said. \"I had no part in it. You know that.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes--but you're a Vigilante, and they're after you and all your\nfriends. Your house is guarded and the town is alive with deputies.\nThey've planned to jail you on some pretext or other and hold you\nindefinitely. Please go before it's too late.\"\n\n\"How do you know this?\" he asked, gravely.\n\n\"I overheard them plotting.\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"Uncle Arthur and Mr. McNamara.\" She faced him squarely as she said it,\nand therefore saw the light flame up in his eyes as he cried:\n\n\"And you came here to save me--came HERE at the risk of your good name?\"\n\n\"Of course. I would have done the same for Dextry.\" The gladness died\naway, leaving him listless.\n\n\"Well, let them come. I'm done, I guess. I heard from Wheaton to-night.\nHe's down and out, too--some trouble with the 'Frisco courts about\njurisdiction over these cases. I don't know that it's worth while to\nfight any longer.\"\n\n\"Listen,\" she said. \"You must go. I am sure there is a terrible wrong\nbeing done, and you and I must stop it. I have seen the truth at last,\nand you're in the right. Please hide for a time at least.\"\n\n\"Very well. If you have taken sides with us there's some hope left.\nThank you for the risk you ran in warning me.\"\n\nShe had moved to the front of the compartment and was peering forth\nbetween the draperies when she stifled a cry.\n\n\"Too late! Too late! There they are. Don't part the curtains. They'll\nsee you.\"\n\nPushing through the gambling-hall were Voorhees and four others,\nseemingly in quest of some one.\n\n\"Run down the back stairs,\" she breathed, and pushed him through the\ndoor. He caught and held her hand with a last word of gratitude. Then\nhe was gone. She drew down her veil and was about to follow when the\ndoor opened and he reappeared.\n\n\"No use,\" he remarked, quietly. \"There are three more waiting at the\nfoot.\" He looked out to find that the officers had searched the crowd\nand were turning towards the front stairs, thus cutting off his\nretreat. There were but two ways down from the gallery and no outside\nwindows from which to leap. As they had made no armed display, the\npresence of the officers had not interrupted the dance.\n\nGlenister drew his revolver, while into his eyes came the dancing\nglitter that Helen had seen before, cold as the glint of winter\nsunlight.\n\n\"No, not that--for God's sake!\" she shuddered, clasping his arm.\n\n\"I must for your sake, or they'll find you here, and that's worse than\nruin. I'll fight it out in the corridors so that you can escape in the\nconfusion. Wait till the firing stops and the crowd gathers.\" His hand\nwas on the knob when she tore it loose, whispering hoarsely:\n\n\"They'll kill you. Wait! There's a better way. Jump.\" She dragged him\nto the front of the box and pulled aside the curtains. \"It isn't high\nand they won't see you till it's too late. Then you can run through the\ncrowd.\" He grasped her idea, and, slipping his weapon back into its\nholster, laid hold of the ledge before him and lowered himself down\nover the dancers. He swung out unhesitatingly, and almost before he had\nbeen observed had dropped into their midst. The gallery was but twice\nthe height of a man's head from the floor, so he landed on his feet and\nhad drawn his Colts even while the men at the stairs were shouting at\nhim to halt.\n\nAt sight of the naked weapons there was confusion, wherein the commands\nof the deputies mingled with the shrieks of the women, the crash of\noverturned chairs, and the sound of tramping feet, as the crowd divided\nbefore Glenister and swept back against the wall in the same ominous\nway that a crowd in the street had once divided on the morning of\nHelen's arrival. The trombone player, who had sunk low in his chair\nwith closed eyes, looked out suddenly at the disturbance, and his alarm\nwas blown through the horn in a startled squawk. A large woman\nwhimpered, \"Don't shoot,\" and thrust her palms to her ears, closing her\neyes tightly.\n\nGlenister covered the deputies, from whose vicinity the by-standers\nsurged as though from the presence of lepers.\n\n\"Hands up!\" he cried, sharply, and they froze into motionless\nattitudes, one poised on the lowest step of the stairs, the other a\npace forward. Voorhees appeared at the head of the flight and rushed\ndown a few steps only to come abruptly into range and to assume a like\nrigidity, for the young man's aim shifted to him.\n\n\"I have a warrant for you,\" the officer cried, his voice loud in the\nhush.\n\n\"Keep it,\" said Glenister, showing his teeth in a smile in which there\nwas no mirth. He backed diagonally across the hall, his boot-heels\nclicking in the silence, his eyes shifting rapidly up and down the\nstairs where the danger lay.\n\nFrom her station Helen could see the whole tableau, all but the men on\nthe stairs, where her vision was cut off. She saw the dance girls\ncrouched behind their partners or leaning far out from the wall with\nparted lips, the men eager yet fearful, the bartender with a\nhalf-polished glass poised high. Then a quick movement across the hall\nsuddenly diverted her absorbed attention. She saw a man rip aside the\ndrapery of the box opposite and lean so far out that he seemed in peril\nof falling. He undertook to sight a weapon at Glenister, who was just\npassing from his view. At her first glance Helen gasped--her heart gave\none fierce lunge, and she cried out.\n\nThe distance across the pit was so short that she saw his every line\nand lineament clearly; it was the brother she had sought these years\nand years. Before she knew or could check it the blood call leaped\nforth.\n\n\"Drury!\" she cried, aloud, at which he whipped his head about, while\namazement and some other emotion she could not gauge spread slowly over\nhis features. For a long moment he stared at her without movement or\nsign while the drama beneath went on, then he drew back into his\nretreat with the dazed look of one doubting his senses, yet fearful of\nputting them to the test. For her part, she saw nothing except her\nbrother vanishing slowly into the shadows as though stricken at her\nglance, the curtains closing before his livid face--and then\npandemonium broke loose at her feet.\n\nGlenister, holding his enemies at bay, had retreated to the double\ndoors leading to the theatre. His coup had been executed so quickly and\nwith such lack of turmoil that the throng outside knew nothing of it\ntill they saw a man walk backward through the door. As he did so he\nreached forth and slammed the wide wings shut before his face, then\nturned and dashed into the press. Inside the dance-hall loud sounds\narose as the officers clattered down the stairs and made after their\nquarry. They tore the barrier apart in time to see, far down the\nsaloon, an eddying swirl as though some great fish were lashing through\nthe lily-pads of a pond, and then the swinging doors closed behind\nGlenister.\n\nHelen made her way from the theatre as she had come, unobserved and\nunobserving, but she walked in a dream. Emotions had chased each other\ntoo closely to-night to be distinguishable, so she went mechanically\nthrough the narrow alley to Front Street and thence to her home.\n\nGlenister, meanwhile, had been swallowed up by the darkness, the night\nenfolding him without sign or trace. As he ran he considered what\ncourse to follow--whether to carry the call to his comrades in town or\nto make for the Creek and Dextry. The Vigilantes might still distrust\nhim, and yet he owed them warning. McNamara's men were moving so\nswiftly that action must be speedy to forestall them. Another hour and\nthe net would be closed, while it seemed that whichever course he chose\nthey would snare one or the other--either the friends who remained in\ntown, or Dex and Slapjack out in the hills. With daylight those two\nwould return and walk unheeding into the trap, while if he bore the\nword to them first, then the Vigilantes would be jailed before dawn. As\nhe drew near Cherry Malotte's house he saw a light through the drawn\ncurtains. A heavy raindrop plashed upon his face, another followed, and\nthen he heard the patter of falling water increasing swiftly. Before he\ncould gain the door the storm had broken. It swept up the street with\ntropical violence, while a breath sighed out of the night, lifting the\nlitter from underfoot and pelting him with flying particles. Over the\nroofs the wind rushed with the rising moan of a hurricane while the\nnight grew suddenly noisy ahead of the tempest.\n\nHe entered the door without knocking, to find the girl removing her\ncoat. Her face gladdened at sight of him, but he checked her with quick\nand cautious words, his speech almost drowned by the roar outside.\n\n\"Are you alone?\" She nodded, and he slipped the bolt behind him, saying:\n\n\"The marshals are after me. We just had a 'run in' at the Northern, and\nI'm on the go. No--nothing serious yet, but they want the Vigilantes,\nand I must get them word. Will you help me?\" He rapidly recounted the\nrow of the last ten minutes while she nodded her quick understanding.\n\n\"You're safe here for a little while,\" she told him, \"for the storm\nwill check them. If they should come, there's a back door leading out\nfrom the kitchen and a side entrance yonder. In my room you'll find a\nFrench window. They can't corner you very well.\"\n\n\"Slapjack and Dex are out at the shaft house--you know--that quartz\nclaim on the mountain above the Midas.\" He hesitated. \"Will you lend me\nyour saddle-horse? It's a black night and I may kill him.\"\n\n\"What about these men in town?\"\n\n\"I'll warn them first, then hit for the hills.\"\n\nShe shook her head. \"You can't do it. You can't get out there before\ndaylight if you wait to rouse these people, and McNamara has probably\ntelephoned the mines to send a party up to the quartz claim after Dex.\nHe knows where the old man is as well as you do, and they'll raid him\nbefore dawn.\"\n\n\"I'm afraid so, but it's all I can offer. Will you give me the horse?\"\n\n\"No! He's only a pony, and you'd founder him in the tundra. The mud is\nknee-deep. I'll go myself.\"\n\n\"Good Heavens, girl, in such a night! Why, it's worth your life! Listen\nto it! The creeks will be up and you'll have to swim. No, I can't let\nyou.\"\n\n\"He's a good little horse, and he'll take me through.\" Then, coming\nclose, she continued: \"Oh, boy! Can't you see that I want to help?\nCan't you see that I--I'd DIE for you if it would do any good?\" He\ngazed gravely into her wide blue eyes and said, awkwardly: \"Yes, I\nknow. I'm sorry things are--as they are--but you wouldn't have me lie\nto you, little woman?\"\n\n\"No. You're the only true man I ever knew. I guess that's why I love\nyou. And I do love you, oh, so much! I want to be good and worthy to\nlove you, too.\"\n\nShe laid her face against his arm and caressed him with clinging\ntenderness, while the wind yelled loudly about the eaves and the\nwindows drummed beneath the rain. His heavy brows knit themselves\ntogether as she whispered:\n\n\"I love you! I love you! I love you!\" with such an agony of longing in\nher voice that her soft accents were sharply distinguishable above the\nturmoil. The growing wildness seemed a part of the woman's passion,\nwhich whipped and harried her like a willow in a blast.\n\n\"Things are fearfully jumbled,\" he said, finally. \"And this is a bad\ntime to talk about them. I wish they might be different. No other girl\nwould do what you have offered to-night.\"\n\n\"Then why do you think of that woman?\" she broke in, fiercely. \"She's\nbad and false. She betrayed you once; she's in the play now; you've\ntold me so yourself. Why don't you be a man and forget her?\"\n\n\"I can't,\" he said, simply. \"You're wrong, though, when you think she's\nbad. I found to-night that she's good and brave and honest. The part\nshe played was played innocently, I'm sure of that, in spite of the\nfact that she'll marry McNamara. It was she who overheard them plotting\nand risked her reputation to warn me.\"\n\nCherry's face whitened, while the shadowy eagerness that had rested\nthere died utterly. \"She came into that dive alone? She did that?\" He\nnodded, at which she stood thinking for some time, then continued:\n\"You're honest with me, Roy, and I'll be the same with you. I'm tired\nof deceit, tired of everything. I tried to make you think she was bad,\nbut in my own heart I knew differently all the time. She came here\nto-day and humbled herself to get the truth, humbled herself to me, and\nI sent her away. She suspected, but she didn't know, and when she asked\nfor information I insulted her. That's the kind of a creature I am. I\nsent her back to Struve, who offered to tell her the whole story.\"\n\n\"What does that renegade want?\"\n\n\"Can't you guess?\"\n\n\"Why, I'd rather--\" The young man ground his teeth, but Cherry hastened.\n\n\"You needn't worry; she won't see him again. She loathes the ground he\nwalks on.\"\n\n\"And yet he's no worse than that other scoundrel. Come, girl, we have\nwork to do; we must act, and act quickly.\" He gave her his message to\nDextry, then she went to her room and slipped into a riding-habit. When\nshe came out he asked: \"Where is your raincoat? You'll be drenched in\nno time.\"\n\n\"I can't ride with it. I'll be thrown, anyway, and I don't want to be\nall bound up. Water won't hurt me.\"\n\nShe thrust her tiny revolver into her dress, but he took it and upon\nexamination shook his head.\n\n\"If you need a gun you'll need a good one.\" He removed the belt from\nhis own waist and buckled his Colts about her.\n\n\"But you!\" she objected.\n\n\"I'll get another in ten minutes.\" Then, as they were leaving, he said:\n\"One other request, Cherry. I'll be in hiding for a time, and I must\nget word to Miss Chester to keep watch of her uncle, for the big fight\nis on at last and the boys will hang him sure if they catch him. I owe\nher this last warning. Will you send it to her?\"\n\n\"I'll do it for your sake, not for her--no, no; I don't mean that. I'll\ndo the right thing all round. Leave it here and I'll see that she gets\nit to-morrow. And--Roy--be careful of yourself.\" Her eyes were starry\nand in their depths lurked neither selfishness nor jealousy now, only\nthat mysterious glory of a woman who makes sacrifice.\n\nTogether they scurried back to the stable, and yet, in that short\ndistance, she would have been swept from her feet had he not seized\nher. They blew in through the barn door, streaming and soaked by the\nblinding sheets that drove scythe-like ahead of the wind. He struck a\nlight, and the pony whinnied at recognition of his mistress. She\nstroked the little fellow's muzzle while Glenister cinched on her\nsaddle. Then, when she was at last mounted, she leaned forward:\n\n\"Will you kiss me once, Roy, for the last time?\"\n\nHe took her rain-wet face between his hands and kissed her upon the\nlips as he would have saluted a little maid. As he did so, unseen by\nboth of them, a face was pressed for an instant against the pane of\nglass in the stable wall.\n\n\"You're a brave girl and may God bless you,\" he said, extinguishing the\nlight. He flung the door wide and she rode out into the storm. Locking\nthe portal, he plunged back towards the house to write his hurried\nnote, for there was much to do and scant time for its accomplishment,\ndespite the helping hand of the hurricane. He heard the voice of Bering\nas it thundered on the Golden Sands, and knew that the first great\nstorm of the fall had come. Henceforth he saw that the violence of men\nwould rival the rising elements, for the deeds of this night would stir\ntheir passions as AEolus was rousing the hate of the sea.\n\nHe neglected to bolt the house door as he entered, but flung off his\ndripping coat and, seizing pad and pencil, scrawled his message. The\nwind screamed about the cabin, the lamp flared smokily, and Glenister\nfelt a draught suck past him as though from an open door at his back as\nhe wrote:\n\n\"I can't do anything more. The end has come and it has brought the\nhatred and bloodshed that I have been trying to prevent. I played the\ngame according to your rules, but they forced me back to first\nprinciples in spite of myself, and now I don't know what the finish\nwill be. To-morrow will tell. Take care of your uncle, and if you\nshould wish to communicate with me, go to Cherry Malotte. She is a\nfriend to both of us.\n\n \"Always your servant, ROY GLENISTER.\"\n\nAs he sealed this he paused, while he felt the hair on his neck rise\nand bristle and a chill race up his spine. His heart fluttered, then\npounded onward till the blood thumped audibly at his ear-drums and he\nfound himself swaying in rhythm to its beat. The muscles of his back\ncringed and rippled at the proximity of some hovering peril, and yet an\nirresistible feeling forbade him to turn. A sound came from close\nbehind his chair--the drip, drip, drip of water. It was not from the\neaves, nor yet from a faulty shingle. His back was to the kitchen door,\nthrough which he had come, and, although there were no mirrors before\nhim, he felt a menacing presence as surely as though it had touched\nhim. His ears were tuned to the finest pin-pricks of sound, so that he\nheard the faint, sighing \"squish\" of a sodden shoe upon which a weight\nhad shifted. Still something chained him to his seat. It was as though\nhis soul laid a restraining hand upon his body, waiting for the instant.\n\nHe let his hand seek his hip carelessly, but remembered where his gun\nwas. Mechanically, he addressed the note in shaking characters, while\nbehind him sounded the constant drip, drip, drip that he knew came from\nsaturated garments. For a long moment he sat, till he heard the\nstealthy click of a gun-lock muffled by finger pressure. Then he set\nhis face and slowly turned to find the Bronco Kid standing behind him\nas though risen from the sea, his light clothes wet and clinging, his\nfeet centred in a spreading puddle. The dim light showed the convulsive\nfury of his features above the levelled weapon, whose hammer was curled\nback like the head of a striking adder, his eyes gleaming with frenzy.\nGlenister's mouth was powder dry, but his mind was leaping riotously\nlike dust before a gale, for he divined himself to be in the deadliest\nperil of his life. When he spoke the calmness of his voice surprised\nhimself.\n\n\"What's the matter, Bronco?\" The Kid made no reply, and Roy repeated,\n\"What do you want?\"\n\n\"That's a hell of a question,\" the gambler said, hoarsely. \"I want you,\nof course, and I've got you.\"\n\n\"Hold up! I am unarmed. This is your third try, and I want to know\nwhat's back of it.\"\n\n\"DAMN the talk!\" cried the faro-dealer, moving closer till the light\nshone on his features, which commenced to twitch. He raised the\nrevolver he had half lowered. \"There's reason enough, and you know it.\"\n\nGlenister looked him fairly between the eyes, gripping himself with\nfirm hands to stop the tremor he felt in his bones. \"You can't kill\nme,\" he said. \"I am too good a man to murder. You might shoot a crook,\nbut you can't kill a brave man when he's unarmed. You're no assassin.\"\nHe remained rigid in his chair, however, moving nothing but his lips,\nmeeting the other's look unflinchingly. The Kid hesitated an instant,\nwhile his eyes, which had been fixed with the glare of hatred, wavered\na moment, betraying the faintest sign of indecision. Glenister cried\nout, exultantly:\n\n\"Ha! I knew it. Your neck cords quiver.\"\n\nThe gambler grimaced. \"I can't do it. If I could, I'd have shot you\nbefore you turned. But you'll have to fight, you dog. Get up and draw.\"\n\nRoy refused. \"I gave Cherry my gun.\"\n\n\"Yes, and more too,\" the man gritted. \"I saw it all.\"\n\nEven yet Glenister had made no slightest move, realizing that a\nfeather's weight might snap the gambler's nervous tension and bring the\ninvoluntary twitch that would put him out swifter than a whip is\ncracked.\n\n\"I have tried it before, but murder isn't my game.\" The Kid's eye\ncaught the glint of Cherry's revolver where she had discarded it.\n\"There's a gun--get it.\"\n\n\"It's no good. You'd carry the six bullets and never feel them. I don't\nknow what this is all about, but I'll fight you whenever I'm heeled\nright.\"\n\n\"Oh, you black-hearted hound,\" snarled the Kid. \"I want to shoot, but\nI'm afraid. I used to be a gentleman and I haven't lost it all, I\nguess. But I won't wait the next time. I'll down you on sight, so you'd\nbetter get ironed in a hurry.\" He backed out of the room into the\nsemi-darkness of the kitchen, watching with lynx-like closeness the man\nwho sat so quietly under the shaded light. He felt behind him for the\nouter door-knob and turned it to let in a white sheet of rain, then\nvanished like a storm wraith, leaving a parched-lipped man and a zigzag\ntrail of water, which gleamed in the lamplight like a pool of blood.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nWHEREIN A TRAP IS BAITED\n\n\nGlenister did not wait long after his visitor's departure, but\nextinguished the light, locked the door, and began the further\nadventures of this night. The storm welcomed him with suffocating\nviolence, sucking the very breath from his lips, while the rain beat\nthrough till his flesh was cold and aching. He thought with a pang of\nthe girl facing this tempest, going out to meet the thousand perils of\nthe night. And it remained for him to bear his part as she bore hers,\nsmilingly.\n\nThe last hour had added another and mysterious danger to his full\nmeasure. Could the Kid be jealous of Cherry? Surely not. Then what else?\n\nThe tornado had driven his trailers to cover, evidently, for the\nstreets were given over to its violence, and Roy encountered no hostile\nsign as he was buffeted from house to house. He adventured cautiously\nand yet with haste, finding certain homes where the marshals had been\nbefore him peopled now only by frightened wives and children. A\nscattered few of the Vigilantes had been taken thus, while the warring\nelements had prevented their families from spreading the alarm or\nventuring out for succor. Those whom he was able to warn dressed\nhurriedly, took their rifles, and went out into the drifting night,\nleaving empty cabins and weeping women. The great fight was on.\n\nTowards daylight the remnants of the Vigilantes straggled into the big\nblank warehouse on the sand-spit, and there beneath the smoking glare\nof lanterns cursed the name of McNamara. As dawn grayed the ragged\neastern sky-line, Dextry and Slapjack blew in through the spindrift,\nbringing word from Cherry and lifting a load from Glenister's mind.\n\n\"There's a game girl,\" said the old miner, as he wrung out his clothes.\n\"She was half gone when she got to us, and now she's waiting for the\nstorm to break so that she can come back.\"\n\n\"It's clearing up to the east,\" Slapjack chattered. \"D'you know, I'm\ngettin' so rheumatic that ice-water don't feel comfortable to me no\nmore.\"\n\n\"Uriatic acid in the blood,\" said Dextry. \"What's our next move?\" he\nasked of his partner. \"When do we hang this politician? Seems like\nwe've got enough able-bodied piano-movers here to tie a can onto the\nwhole outfit, push the town site of Nome off the map, and start afresh.\"\n\n\"I think we had better lie low and watch developments,\" the other\ncautioned. \"There's no telling what may turn up during the day.\"\n\n\"That's right. Stranglers is like spirits--they work best in the dark.\"\n\n As the day grew, the storm died, leaving ramparts of clouds\nhanging sullenly above the ocean's rim, while those skilled in weather\nprophecy foretold the coming of the equinoctial. In McNamara's office\nthere was great stir and the coming of many men. The boss sat in his\nchair smoking countless cigars, his big face set in grim lines, his\nhard eyes peering through the pall of blue at those he questioned. He\nworked the wires of his machine until his dolls doubled and danced and\ntwisted at his touch. After a gusty interview he had dismissed Voorhees\nwith a merciless tongue-lashing, raging bitterly at the man's failure.\n\n\"You're not fit to herd sheep. Thirty men out all night and what do you\nget? A dozen mullet-headed miners. You bag the mud-hens and the big\ngame runs to cover. I wanted Glenister, but you let him slip through\nyour fingers--now it's war. What a mess you've made! If I had even ONE\nhelper with a brain the size of a flaxseed, this game would be a gift,\nbut you've bungled every move from the start. Bah! Put a spy in the\nbull-pen with those prisoners and make them talk. Offer them anything\nfor information. Now get out!\"\n\nHe called for a certain deputy and questioned him regarding the night's\nquest, remarking, finally:\n\n\"There's treachery somewhere. Those men were warned.\"\n\n\"Nobody came near Glenister's house except Miss Chester,\" the man\nreplied.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"The Judge's niece. We caught her by mistake in the dark.\"\n\nLater, one of the men who had been with Voorhees at the Northern asked\nto see the receiver and told him:\n\n\"The chief won't believe that I saw Miss Chester in the dance-hall last\nnight, but she was there with Glenister. She must have put him wise to\nour game or he wouldn't have known we were after him.\"\n\nHis hearer made no comment, but, when alone, rose and paced the floor\nwith heavy tread while his face grew savage and brutal.\n\n\"So that's the game, eh? It's man to man from now on. Very well,\nGlenister, I'll have your life for that, and then--you'll pay, Miss\nHelen.\" He considered carefully. A plot for a plot. If he could not\nswap intrigue with these miners and beat them badly, he deserved to\nlose. Now that the girl gave herself to their cause he would use her\nagain and see how well she answered. Public opinion would not stand too\ngreat a strain, and, although he had acted within his rights last\nnight, he dared not go much further. Diplomacy, therefore, must serve.\nHe must force his enemies beyond the law and into his trap. She had\npassed the word once; she would do so again.\n\nHe hurried to Stillman's house and stormed into the presence of the\nJudge. He told the story so artfully that the Judge's astonished\nunbelief yielded to rage and cowardice, and he sent for his niece. She\ncame down, white and silent, having heard the loud voices. The old man\nberated her with shrewish fury, while McNamara stood silent. The girl\nlistened with entire self-control until her uncle made a reference to\nGlenister that she found intolerable.\n\n\"Hush! I will not listen!\" she cried, passionately. \"I warned him\nbecause you would have sacrificed him after he had saved our lives.\nThat is all. He is an honest man, and I am grateful to him. That is the\nonly foundation for your insult.\"\n\nMcNamara, with apparent candor, broke in:\n\n\"You thought you were doing right, of course, but your action will have\nterrible consequences. Now we'll have riot, bloodshed, and Heaven knows\nwhat. It was to save all this that I wanted to break up their\norganization. A week's imprisonment would have done it, but now they're\narmed and belligerent and we'll have a battle to-night.\"\n\n\"No, no!\" she cried. \"There mustn't be any violence.\"\n\n\"There is no use trying to check them. They are rushing to their own\ndestruction. I have learned that they plan to attack the Midas\nto-night, and I'll have fifty soldiers waiting for them there. It is a\nshame, for they are decent fellows, blinded by ignorance and misled by\nthat young miner. This will be the blackest night the North has ever\nseen.\"\n\nWith this McNamara left the house and went in search of Voorhees,\nremarking to himself: \"Now, Miss Helen--send your warning--the sooner\nthe better. If I know those Vigilantes, it will set them crazy, and yet\nnot crazy enough to attack the Midas. They will strike for me, and when\nthey hit my poor, unguarded office, they'll think hell has moved North.\"\n\n\"Mr. Marshal,\" said he to his tool, \"I want you to gather forty men\nquietly and to arm them with Winchesters. They must be fellows who\nwon't faint at blood--you know the kind. Assemble them at my office\nafter dark, one at a time, by the back way. It must be done with\nabsolute secrecy. Now, see if you can do this one thing and not get\nballed up. If you fail, I'll make you answer to me.\"\n\n\"Why don't you get the troops?\" ventured Voorhees.\n\n\"If there's one thing I want to avoid, it's soldiers, either here or at\nthe mines. When they step in, we step out, and I'm not ready for that\njust yet.\" The receiver smiled sinisterly.\n\nHelen meanwhile had fled to her room, and there received Glenister's\nnote through Cherry Malotte's messenger. It rekindled her worst fears\nand bore out McNamara's prophecy. The more she read of it the more\ncertain she grew that the crisis was only a question of hours, and that\nwith darkness, Tragedy would walk the streets of Nome. The thought of\nthe wrong already done was lost in the lonely girl's terror of the\ncrime about to happen, for it seemed to her she had been the instrument\nto set these forces in motion, that she had loosed this swift-speeding\navalanche of greed, hatred, and brutality. And when the crash should\ncome--the girl shuddered. It must not be. She would shriek a warning\nfrom the house-tops even at cost of her uncle, of McNamara, and of\nherself. And yet she had no proof that a crime existed. Although it all\nlay clear in her own mind, the certainty of it arose only from her\nintuition. If only she were able to take a hand--if only she were not a\nwoman. Then Cherry Malotte's words anent Struve recurred to her, \"A\nbottle of wine and a woman's face.\" They brought back the lawyer's\nassurance that those documents she had safeguarded all through the long\nspring-time journey really contained the proof. If they did, then they\nheld the power to check this impending conflict. Her uncle and the boss\nwould not dare continue if threatened with exposure and prosecution.\nThe more she thought of it, the more urgent seemed the necessity to\nprevent the battle of to-night. There was a chance here, at least, and\nthe only one.\n\nAdding to her mental torment was the constant vision of that face in\nthe curtains at the Northern. It was her brother, yet what mystery\nshrouded this affair, also? What kept him from her? What caused him to\nslink away like a thief discovered? She grew dizzy and hysterical.\n\n Struve turned in his chair as the door to his private office\nopened, then leaped to his feet at sight of the gray-eyed girl standing\nthere.\n\n\"I came for the papers,\" she said.\n\n\"I knew you would.\" The blood went out of his cheeks, then surged back\nup to his eyes. \"It's a bargain, then?\"\n\nShe nodded. \"Give them to me first.\"\n\nHe laughed unpleasantly. \"What do you take me for? I'll keep my part of\nthe bargain if you'll keep yours. But this is no place, nor time.\nThere's riot in the air, and I'm busy preparing for to-night. Come back\nto-morrow when it's all over.\"\n\nBut it was the terror of to-night's doings that led her into his power.\n\n\"I'll never come back,\" she said. \"It is my whim to know to-day--yes,\nat once.\"\n\nHe meditated for a time. \"Then to-day it shall be. I'll shirk the\nfight, I'll sacrifice what shreds of duty have clung to me, because the\nfever for you is in my bones, and it seems to me I'd do murder for it.\nThat's the kind of a man I am, and I have no pride in myself because of\nit. But I've always been that way We'll ride to the Sign of the Sled.\nIt's a romantic little road-house ten miles from here, perched high\nabove the Snake River trail. We'll take dinner there together.\"\n\n\"But the papers?\"\n\n\"I'll have them with me. We'll start in an hour.\"\n\n\"In an hour,\" she echoed, lifelessly, and left him.\n\nHe chuckled grimly and seized the telephone. \"Central--call the Sled\nroad-house--seven rings on the Snake River branch. Hello! That you,\nShortz? This is Struve. Anybody at the house? Good. Turn them away if\nthey come and say that you're closed. None of your business. I'll be\nout about dark, so have dinner for two. Spread yourself and keep the\nplace clear. Good-bye.\"\n\nStrengthened by Glenister's note, Helen went straight to the other\nwoman and this time was not kept waiting nor greeted with sneers, but\nfound Cherry cloaked in a shy dignity, which she clasped tightly about\nherself. Under her visitor's incoherence she lost her diffidence,\nhowever, and, when Helen had finished, remarked, with decision: \"Don't\ngo with him. He's a bad man.\"\n\n\"But I MUST. The blood of those men will be on me if I don't stop this\ntragedy. If those papers tell the tale I think they do, I can call off\nmy uncle and make McNamara give back the mines. You said Struve told\nyou the whole scheme. Did you see the PROOF?\"\n\n\"No, I have only his word, but he spoke of those documents repeatedly,\nsaying they contained his instructions to tie up the mines in order to\ngive a foothold for the lawsuits. He bragged that the rest of the gang\nwere in his power and that he could land them in the penitentiary for\nconspiracy. That's all.\"\n\n\"It's the only chance,\" said Helen. \"They are sending soldiers to the\nMidas to lie in ambush, and you must warn the Vigilantes.\" Cherry paled\nat this and ejaculated:\n\n\"Good Lord! Roy said he'd lead an attack to-night.\" The two stared at\neach other.\n\n\"If I succeed with Struve I can stop it all--all of this injustice and\ncrime--everything.\"\n\n\"Do you realize what you're risking?\" Cherry demanded. \"That man is an\nanimal. You'll have to kill him to save yourself, and he'll never give\nup those proofs.\"\n\n\"Yes, he will,\" said Helen, fiercely, \"and I defy him to harm me. The\nSign of the Sled is a public roadhouse with a landlord, a telephone,\nand other guests. Will you warn Mr. Glenister about the troops?\"\n\n\"I will, and bless you for a brave girl. Wait a moment.\" Cherry took\nfrom the dresser her tiny revolver. \"Don't hesitate to use this. I want\nyou to know also that I'm sorry for what I said yesterday.\"\n\nAs she hurried away, Helen realized with a shock the change that the\npast few months had wrought in her. In truth, it was as Glenister had\nsaid, his Northland worked strangely with its denizens. What of that\nshrinking girl who had stepped out of the sheltered life, strong only\nin her untried honesty, to become a hunted, harried thing, juggling\nwith honor and reputation, in her heart a half-formed fear that she\nmight kill a man this night to gain her end? The elements were moulding\nher with irresistible hands. Roy's contact with the primitive had not\nroughened him more quickly than had hers.\n\nShe met her appointment with Struve, and they rode away together, he\ntalkative and elated, she silent and icy.\n\nLate in the afternoon the cloud banks to the eastward assumed alarming\nproportions. They brought with them an early nightfall, and when they\nbroke let forth a tempest which rivalled that of the previous night.\nDuring the first of it armed men came sifting into McNamara's office\nfrom the rear and were hidden throughout the building. Whenever he\ndescried a peculiarly desperate ruffian the boss called him aside for\nprivate instruction and gave minute description of a wide-shouldered,\nerect, youth in white hat and half-boots. Gradually he set his trap\nwith the men Voorhees had raked from the slums, and when it was done\nsmiled to himself. As he thought it over he ceased to regret the\nmiscarriage of last night's plan, for it had served to goad his enemies\nto the point he desired, to the point where they would rush to their\nown undoing. He thought with satisfaction of the role he would play in\nthe United States press when the sensational news of this night's\nadventure came out. A court official who dared to do his duty despite a\nlawless mob. A receiver who turned a midnight attack into a rout and\nshambles. That is what they would say. What if he did exceed his\nauthority thereafter? What if there were a scandal? Who would question?\nAs to soldiers--no, decidedly no. He wished no help of soldiers at this\ntime.\n\nThe sight of a ship in the offing towards dark caused him some\nuneasiness, for, notwithstanding the assurance that the course of\njustice in the San Francisco courts had been clogged, he knew Bill\nWheaton to be a resourceful lawyer and a determined man. Therefore, it\nrelieved him to note the rising gale, which precluded the possibility\nof interference from that source. Let them come to-morrow if they\nwould. By that time some of the mines would be ownerless and his\nposition strengthened a hundredfold.\n\nHe telephoned the mines to throw out guards, although he reasoned that\nnone but madmen would think of striking there in the face of the\nwarning which he knew must have been transmitted through Helen. Putting\non his rain-coat he sought Stillman.\n\n\"Bring your niece over to my place to-night. There's trouble in the air\nand I'm prepared for it.\"\n\n\"She hasn't returned from her ride yet. I'm afraid she's caught in the\nstorm.\" The Judge gazed anxiously into the darkness.\n\n During all the long day the Vigilantes lay in hiding, impatient\nat their idleness and wondering at the lack of effort made towards\ntheir discovery, not dreaming that McNamara had more cleverly hidden\nplans behind. When Cherry's note of warning came they gathered in the\nback room and gave voice to their opinions.\n\n\"There's only one way to clear the atmosphere,\" said the chairman.\n\n\"You bet,\" chorussed the others. \"They've garrisoned the mines, so\nlet's go through the town and make a clean job of it. Let's hang the\nwhole outfit to one post.\"\n\nThis met with general approval, Glenister alone demurring. Said he: \"I\nhave reasoned it out differently, and I want you to hear me through\nbefore deciding. Last night I got word from Wheaton that the California\ncourts are against us. He attributes it to influence, but, whatever the\nreason, we are cut off from all legal help either in this court or on\nappeal. Now, suppose we lynch these officials to-night--what do we\ngain? Martial law in two hours, our mines tied up for another year, and\nwho knows what else? Maybe a corrupter court next season. Suppose, on\nthe other hand, we fail--and somehow I feel that we will, for that boss\nis no fool. What then? Those of us who don't find the morgue will end\nin jail. You say we can't meet the soldiers. I say we can and must. We\nmust carry this row to them. We must jump it past the courts of Alaska,\npast the courts of California, and up to the White House, where there's\none honest man, at least. We must do something to wake up the men in\nWashington. We must get out of politics, for McNamara can beat us\nthere. Although he's a strong man he can't corrupt the President. We\nhave one shot left, and it must reach the Potomac. When Uncle Sam takes\na hand we'll get a square deal, so I say let us strike at the Midas\nto-night and take her if we can. Some of us will go down, but what of\nit?\"\n\nFollowing this harangue, he outlined a plan which in its unique daring\ntook away their breaths, and as he filled in detail after detail they\nbrightened with excitement and that love of the long chance which makes\ngamblers of those who thread the silent valleys or tread the edge of\nthings. His boldness stirred them and enthusiasm did the rest.\n\n\"All I want for myself,\" he said, \"is the chance to run the big risk.\nIt's mine by right.\"\n\nDextry spoke, breathlessly, to Slapjack in the pause which ensued:\n\n\"Ain't he a heller?\"\n\n\"We'll go you,\" the miners chimed to a man. And the chairman added:\n\"Let's have Glenister lead this forlorn hope. I am willing to stand or\nfall on his judgment.\" They acquiesced without a dissenting voice and\nwith the firm hands of a natural leader the young man took control.\n\n\"Let's hurry up,\" said one. \"It's a long 'mush' and the mud is\nknee-deep.\"\n\n\"No walking for us,\" said Roy. \"We'll go by train.\"\n\n\"By train? How can we get a train?\"\n\n\"Steal it,\" he answered, at which Dextry grinned delightedly at his\nloose-jointed companion, and Slapjack showed his toothless gums in\nanswer, saying:\n\n\"He sure is.\"\n\nA few more words and Glenister, accompanied by these two, slipped out\ninto the whirling storm, and a half-hour later the rest followed. One\nby one the Vigilantes left, the blackness blotting them up an\narm's-length from the door, till at last the big, bleak warehouse\nechoed hollowly to the voice of the wind and water.\n\nOver in the eastern end of town, behind dark windows upon which the\nsheeted rain beat furiously, other armed men lay patiently\nwaiting--waiting some word from the bulky shadow which stood with\nfolded arms close against a square of gray, while over their heads a\nwretched old man paced back and forth, wringing his hands, pausing at\nevery turn to peer out into the night and to mumble the name of his\nsister's child.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nDYNAMITE\n\n\nEarly in the evening Cherry Malotte opened her door to find the Bronco\nKid on her step. He entered and threw off his rubber coat. Knowing him\nwell, she waited for his disclosure of his errand. His sallow skin was\nwithout trace of color, his eyes were strangely tired, deep lines had\ngathered about his lips, while his hands kept up constant little\nnervous explorations as though for days and nights he had not slept and\nnow hovered on the verge of some hysteria. He gave her the impression\nof a smouldering mine with the fire eating close up to the powder. She\njudged that his body had been racked by every passion till now it hung\njaded and weary, yielding only to the spur of his restless, revengeful\nspirit.\n\nAfter a few objectless remarks, he began, abruptly:\n\n\"Do you love Roy Glenister?\" His voice, like his manner, was jealously\neager, and he watched her carefully as she replied, without quibble or\ndeceit:\n\n\"Yes, Kid; and I always shall. He is the only true man I have ever\nknown, and I'm not ashamed of my feelings.\"\n\nFor a long time he studied her, and then broke into rapid speech,\nallowing her no time for interruption.\n\n\"I've held back and held back because I'm no talker. I can't be, in my\nbusiness; but this is my last chance, and I want to put myself right\nwith you. I've loved you ever since the Dawson days, not in the way\nyou'd expect from a man of my sort, perhaps, but with the kind of love\nthat a woman wants. I never showed my hand, for what was the use? That\nman outheld me. I'd have quit faro years back only I wouldn't leave\nthis country as long as you were a part of it, and up here I'm only a\ngambler, fit for nothing else. I'd made up my mind to let you have him\ntill something happened a couple of months ago, but now it can't go\nthrough. I'll have to down him. It isn't concerning you--I'm not a\nwelcher. No, it's a thing I can't talk about, a thing that's made me\ninto a wolf, made me skulk and walk the alleys like a dago. It's put\nmurder into my heart. I've tried to assassinate him. I tried it here\nlast night--but--I was a gentleman once--till the cards came. He knows\nthe answer now, though, and he's ready for me--so one of us will go out\nlike a candle when we meet. I felt that I had to tell you before I cut\nhim down or before he got me.\"\n\n\"You're talking like a madman, Kid,\" she replied, \"and you mustn't turn\nagainst him now. He has troubles enough. I never knew you cared for me.\nWhat a tangle it is, to be sure. You love me, I love him, he loves that\ngirl, and she loves a crook. Isn't that tragedy enough without your\nadding to it? You come at a bad time, too, for I'm half insane. There's\nsomething dreadful in the air to-night--\"\n\n\"I'll have to kill him,\" the man muttered, doggedly, and, plead or\nreason as she would, she could get nothing from him except those words,\ntill at last she turned upon him fiercely.\n\n\"You say you love me. Very well--let's see if you do. I know the kind\nof a man you are and I know what this feud will mean to him, coming\njust at this time. Put it aside and I'll marry you.\"\n\nThe gambler rose slowly to his feet. \"You do love him, don't you?\" She\nbowed her face, and he winced, but continued: \"I wouldn't make you my\nwife that way. I didn't mean it that way.\"\n\nAt this she laughed bitterly, \"Oh, I see. Of course not. How foolish of\nme to expect it of a man like you. I understand what you mean now, and\nthe bargain will stand just the same, if that is what you came for. I\nwanted to leave this life and be good, to go away and start over and\nplay the game square, but I see it's no use. I'll pay. I know how\nrelentless you are, and the price is low enough. You can have me--and\nthat--marriage talk--I'll not speak of again. I'll stay what I am for\nhis sake.\"\n\n\"Stop!\" cried the Kid. \"You're wrong. I'm not that kind of a sport.\"\nHis voice broke suddenly, its vehemence shaking his slim body. \"Oh,\nCherry, I love you the way a man ought to love a woman. It's one of the\ntwo good things left in me, and I want to take you away from here where\nwe can both hide from the past, where we can start new, as you say.\"\n\n\"You would marry me?\" she asked.\n\n\"In an hour, and give my heart's blood for the privilege; but I can't\nstop this thing, not even if your own dear life hung upon it. I MUST\nkill that man.\"\n\nShe approached him and laid her arms about his neck, every line of her\nbody pleading, but he refused steadfastly, while the sweat stood out\nupon his brow.\n\nShe begged: \"They're all against him, Kid. He's fighting a hopeless\nfight. He laid all he had at that girl's feet, and I'll do the same for\nyou.\"\n\nThe man growled savagely. \"He got his reward. He took all she had--\"\n\n\"Don't be a fool. I guess I know. You're a faro-dealer, but you haven't\nany right to talk like that about a good woman, even to a bad one like\nme.\"\n\nInto his dark eyes slowly crept a hungry look, and she felt him begin\nto tremble the least bit. He undertook to speak, paused, wet his lips,\nthen carefully chose these words:\n\n\"Do you mean--that he did not--that she is--a good girl?\"\n\n\"Absolutely.\"\n\nHe sat down weakly and passed a shaking hand over his face, which had\nbegun to twitch and jerk again as it had on that night when his\nvengeance was thwarted.\n\n\"I may as well tell you that I know she's more than that. She's honest\nand high-principled. I don't know why I'm saying this, but it was on my\nmind and I was half distracted when you came. She's in danger to-night,\nthough--at this minute. I don't dare to think of what may have\nhappened, for she's risked everything to make reparation to Roy and his\nfriends.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"She's gone to the Sign of the Sled alone with Struve.\"\n\n\"Struve!\" shouted the gambler, leaping to his feet. \"Alone with Struve\non a night like this?\" He shook her fiercely, crying: \"What for? Tell\nme quick!\"\n\nShe recounted the reasons for Helen's adventure, while the man's face\nbecame terrible.\n\n\"Oh, Kid, I am to blame for letting her go. Why did I do it? I'm\nafraid--afraid.\"\n\n\"The Sign of the Sled belongs to Struve, and the fellow who runs it is\na rogue.\" The Bronco looked at the clock, his eyes bloodshot and dull\nlike those of a goaded, fly-maddened bull. \"It's eight o'clock now--ten\nmiles--two hours. Too late!\"\n\n\"What ails you?\" she questioned, baffled by his strange demeanor. \"You\ncalled ME the one woman just now, and yet--\"\n\nHe swung towards her heavily. \"She's my sister.\"\n\n\"Your--sister? Oh, I--I'm glad. I'm glad--but don't stand there like a\nwooden man, for you've work to do. Wake up. Can't you hear? She's in\nperil!\" Her words whipped him out of his stupor so that he drew himself\nsomewhat under control. \"Get into your coat. Hurry! Hurry! My pony will\ntake you there.\" She snatched his garment from the chair and held it\nfor him while the life ran back into his veins. Together they dashed\nout into the storm as she and Roy had done, and as he flung the saddle\non the buckskin, she said:\n\n\"I understand it all now. You heard the talk about her and Glenister;\nbut it's wrong. I lied and schemed and intrigued against her, but it's\nover now. I guess there's a little streak of good in me somewhere,\nafter all.\"\n\nHe spoke to her from the saddle. \"It's more than a streak, Cherry, and\nyou're my kind of people.\" She smiled wanly back at him under the\nlantern-light.\n\n\"That's left-handed, Kid. I don't want to be your kind. I want to be\nhis kind--or your sister's kind.\"\n\nUpon leaving the rendezvous, Glenister and his two friends slunk\nthrough the night, avoiding the life and lights of the town, while the\nwind surged out of the voids to seaward, driving its wet burden through\ntheir flapping slickers, pelting their faces as though enraged at its\nfailure to wash away the purposes written there. Their course brought\nthem to a cabin at the western outskirts of the city, where they paused\nlong enough to adjust something beneath the brims of their hats.\n\nPast them ran the iron rails of the narrow-gauged road which led out\nacross the quaking tundra to the mountains and the mines. Upon this\nslender trail of steel there rolled one small, ungainly teapot of an\nengine which daily creaked and clanked back and forth at a snail's\npace, screaming and wailing its complaint of the two high-loaded\nflat-cars behind. The ties beneath it were spiked to planks laid\nlengthwise over the semi-liquid road-bed, in places sagging beneath the\nsurface till the humpbacked, short-waisted locomotive yawed and reeled\nand squealed like a drunken fish-wife. At night it panted wearily into\nthe board station and there sighed and coughed and hissed away its\nfatigue as the coals died and the breath relaxed in its lungs.\n\nEarly to bed and early to rise was perforce the motto of its grimy\ncrew, who lived near by. To-night they were just retiring when stayed\nby a summons at their door. The engineer opened it to admit what\nappeared to his astonished eyes to be a Krupp cannon propelled by a man\nin yellow-oiled clothes and white cotton mask. This weapon assumed the\nproportions of a great, one-eyed monster, which stared with baleful\nfixity at his vitals, giving him a cold and empty feeling. Away back\nbeyond this Cyclops of the Sightless Orb were two other strangers\nlikewise equipped.\n\nThe fireman arose from his chair, dropping an empty shoe with a thump,\nbut, being of the West, without cavil or waste of wind, he stretched\nhis hands above his head, balancing on one foot to keep his unshod\nmember from the damp floor. He had unbuckled his belt, and now,\nloosened by the movement, his overalls seemed bent on sinking floorward\nin an ecstasy of abashment at the intrusion, whereupon with convulsive\ngrip he hugged them to their duty, one hand and foot still elevated as\nthough in the grand hailing-sign of some secret order. The other man\nwas new to the ways of the North, so backed to the limit of his\nquarters, laid both hands protectingly upon his middle, and doubled up,\nremarking, fervidly:\n\n\"Don't point that damn thing at my stomach.\"\n\n\"Ha, ha!\" laughed the fireman, with unnatural loudness. \"Have your joke\nboys.\"\n\n\"This ain't no joke,\" said the foremost figure, its breath bellying out\nthe mask at its mouth.\n\n\"Sure it is,\" insisted the shoeless one. \"Must be--we ain't got\nanything worth stealing.\"\n\n\"Get into your clothes and come along. We won't hurt you.\" The two\nobeyed and were taken to the sleeping engine and there instructed to\nproduce a full head of steam in thirty minutes or suffer a premature\ntaking off and a prompt elision from the realms of applied mechanics.\nAs stimulus to their efforts two of the men stood over them till the\nengine began to sob and sigh reluctantly. Through the gloom that\ncurtained the cab they saw other dim forms materializing and climbing\nsilently on to the cars behind; then, as the steam-gauge touched the\nmark, the word was given and the train rumbled out from its shelter,\nits shrill plaint at curb and crossing whipped away and drowned in the\nstorm.\n\nSlapjack remained in the cab, gun in lap, while Dextry climbed back to\nGlenister. He found the young man in good spirits, despite the\ndiscomfort of his exposed position, and striving to light his pipe\nbehind the shelter of his coat.\n\n\"Is the dynamite aboard?\" the old man questioned.\n\n\"Sure. Enough to ballast a battle-ship.\"\n\nAs the train crept out of the camp and across the river bridge, its\nonly light or glimmer the sparks that were snatched and harried by the\nblast, the partners seated themselves on the powder cases and conversed\nguardedly, while about them sounded the low murmur of the men who\nrisked their all upon this cry to duty, who staked their lives and\nfutures upon this hazard of the hills, because they thought it right.\n\n\"We've made a good fight, whether we win or lose to-night,\" said Dextry.\n\nRoy replied, \"MY fight is made and won.\"\n\n\"What does that mean?\"\n\n\"My hardest battle had nothing to do with the Midas or the mines of\nAnvil. I fought and conquered myself.\"\n\n\"Awful wet night for philosophy,\" the first remarked. \"It's apt to sour\non you like milk in a thunder-storm. S'pose you put overalls an' gum\nboots on some of them Boston ideas an' lead 'em out where I can look\n'em over an' find out what they're up to.\"\n\n\"I mean that I was a savage till I met Helen Chester and she made a man\nof me. It took sixty days, but I think she did a good job. I love the\nwild things just as much as ever, but I've learned that there are\nduties a fellow owes to himself, and to other people, if he'll only\nstop and think them out. I've found out, too, that the right thing is\nusually the hardest to do. Oh, I've improved a lot.\"\n\n\"Gee! but you're popular with yourself. I don't see as it helps your\nlooks any. You're as homely as ever--an' what good does it do you after\nall? She'll marry that big guy.\"\n\n\"I know. That's what rankles, for he's no more worthy of her than I am.\nShe'll do what's right, however, you may depend upon that, and perhaps\nshe'll change him the way she did me. Why, she worked a miracle in my\nattitude towards life--my manner--\"\n\n\"Oh, your manners are good enough as they lay,\" interrupted the other.\n\"You never did eat with your knife.\"\n\n\"I don't believe in hara-kiri,\" Glenister laughed.\n\n\"No, when it comes to intimacies with decorum, you're right on the job\nalong with any of them Easterners. I watched you close at them 'Frisco\nhotels last winter, and, say--you know as much as a horse. Why, you was\nwise to them tablewares and pickle-forks equal to a head-waiter, and it\ngive me confidence just to be with you. I remember putting milk and\nsugar in my consomme the first time. It was pale and in a cup and\nlooked like tea--but not you. No, sir! You savvied plenty and squeezed\na lemon into yours--to clean your fingers, I reckon.\"\n\nRoy slapped his partner's wet back, for he was buoyant and elated. The\nsense of nearing danger pulsed through him like wine. \"That wasn't just\nwhat I meant, but it goes. Say, if we win back our mine, we'll hit for\nNew York next--eh?\"\n\n\"No, I don't aim to mingle with no higher civilization than I got in\n'Frisco. I use that word 'higher' like it was applied to meat. Not that\nI wouldn't seem apropos, I'm stylish enough for Fifth Avenue or\nanywheres, but I like the West. Speakin' of modes an' styles, when I\nget all lit up in that gray woosted suit of mine, I guess I make the\njaded sight-seers set up an' take notice--eh? Somethin' doin' every\nminute in the cranin' of necks--what? Nothin' gaudy, but the acme of\nneatness an' form, as the feller said who sold it to me.\"\n\nTheir common peril brought the friends together again, into that close\nbond which had been theirs without interruption until this recent\nchange in the younger had led him to choose paths at variance with the\nold man's ideas; and now they spoke, heart to heart, in the\nhalf-serious, half-jesting ways of old, while beneath each whimsical\nirony was that mutual love and understanding which had consecrated\ntheir partnership.\n\nArriving at the end of the road, the Vigilantes debouched and went into\nthe darkness of the canon behind their leader, to whom the trails were\nfamiliar. He bade them pause finally, and gave his last instructions.\n\n\"They are on the alert, so you want to be careful. Divide into two\nparties and close in from both sides, creeping as near to the pickets\nas possible without discovery. Remember to wait for the last blast.\nWhen it comes, cut loose and charge like Sioux. Don't shoot to kill at\nfirst, for they're only soldiers and under orders, but if they\nstand--well, every man must do his work.\"\n\nDextry appealed to the dim figures forming the circle.\n\n\"I leave it to you, gents, if it ain't better for me to go inside than\nfor the boy. I've had more experience with giant powder, an' I'm so\nblamed used up an' near gone it wouldn't hurt if they did get me, while\nhe's right in his prime--\"\n\nGlenister stopped him. \"I won't yield the privilege. Come now--to your\nplaces, men.\"\n\nThey melted away to each side while the old prospector paused to wring\nhis partner's hand.\n\n\"I'd ruther it was me, lad, but if they get you--God help 'em!\" He\nstumbled after the departing shadows, leaving Roy alone. With his naked\nfingers, Glenister ripped open the powder cases and secreted the\ncontents upon his person. Each cartridge held dynamite enough to\ndevastate a village, and he loaded them inside his pockets, inside his\nshirt, and everywhere that he had room, till he was burdened and cased\nin an armor one-hundredth part of which could have blown him from the\nface of the earth so utterly as to leave no trace except, perhaps, a\npit ripped out of the mountain-side. He looked to his fuses and saw\nthat they were wrapped in oiled paper, then placed them in his hat.\nHaving finished, he set out, walking with difficulty under the weight\nhe carried.\n\nThat his choice of location had been well made was evidenced by the\nfact that the ground beneath his feet sloped away to a basin out of\nwhich bubbled a spring. It furnished the drinking supply of the Midas,\nand he knew every inch of the crevice it had worn down the mountain, so\nfelt his way cautiously along. At the bottom of the hill where it ran\nout upon the level it had worn a considerable ditch through the soil,\nand into this he crawled on hands and knees. His bulging clothes\nhandicapped him so that his gait was slow and awkward, while the rain\nhad swelled the streamlet till it trickled over his calves and up to\nhis wrists, chilling him so that his muscles cramped and his very bones\ncried out with it. The sharp schist cut into his palms till they were\nshredded and bleeding, while his knees found every jagged bit of\nbed-rock over which he dragged himself. He could not see an\narm's-length ahead without rising, and, having removed his slicker for\ngreater freedom of movement, the rain beat upon his back till he was\nsoaked and sodden and felt streamlets cleaving downward between his\nribs. Now and again he squatted upon his haunches, straining his eyes\nto either side. The banks were barely high enough to shield him. At\nlast he came to a bridge of planks spanning the ditch and was about to\nrear himself for another look when he suddenly flattened into the\nstream bed, half damming the waters with his body. It was for this he\nhad so carefully wrapped his fuses. A man passed over him so close\nabove that he might have touched him. The sentry paused a few paces\nbeyond and accosted another, then retraced his steps over the bridge.\nEvidently this was the picket-line, so Roy wormed his way forward till\nhe saw the blacker blackness of the mine buildings, then drew himself\ndripping out from the bank. He had run the gauntlet safely.\n\nSince evicting the owners, the receiver had erected substantial houses\nin place of the tents he had found on the mine. They were of frame and\ncorrugated-iron, sheathed within and suited to withstand a moderate\nexposure. The partners had witnessed the operation from a distance, but\nknew nothing about the buildings from close examination.\n\nA thrill of affection for this place wanned the young man. He loved\nthis old mine. It had realized the dream of his boyhood, and had\nanswered the hope he had clung to during his long fight against the\nNorthland. It had come to him when he was disheartened, bringing cheer\nand happiness, and had yielded itself like a bride. Now it seemed a\ncrime to ravage it.\n\nHe crept towards the nearest wall and listened. Within was the sound of\nvoices, though the windows were dark, showing that the inhabitants were\non the alert. Beneath the foundations he made mysterious preparations,\nthen sought out the office building and cook-house, doing likewise. He\nfound that back of the seeming repose of the Midas there was a strained\nexpectancy.\n\nAlthough suspense had lengthened the time out of all calculation, he\njudged he had been gone from his companions at least an hour and that\nthey must be in place by now. If they were not--if anything failed at\nthis eleventh hour--well, those were the fortunes of war. In every\nenterprise, however carefully planned, there comes a time when chance\nmust take its turn.\n\nHe made his way inside the blacksmith-shop and fumbled for a match.\nJust as he was about to strike it he heard the swish of oiled clothes\npassing, and waited for some time. Then, igniting his punk and hiding\nit under his coat, he opened the door to listen. The wind had died down\nnow and the rain sang musically upon the metal roofs.\n\nHe ran swiftly from house to house, and, when he had done, at the\napices of the triangle he had traced three glowing coals were\nsputtering.\n\nThe final bolt was launched at last. He stepped down into the ditch and\ndrew his .45, while to his tautened senses it seemed that the very\nhills leaned forth in breathless pause, that the rain had ceased, and\nthe whole night hushed its thousand voices. He found his lower jaw set\nso stiffly that the muscles ached. Levelling his weapon at the eaves of\nthe bunk-house, he pulled trigger rapidly--the bang, bang, bang, six\ntimes repeated, sounding dull and dead beneath the blanket of mist that\noverhung. A shout sounded behind him, and then the shriek of a\nWinchester ball close over his head. He turned in time to see another\nshot stream out of the darkness, where a sentry was firing at the flash\nof his gun, then bent himself double and plunged down the ditch.\n\nWith the first impact overhead the men poured forth from their quarters\narmed and bristling, to be greeted by a volley of gunshots, the thud of\nbullets, and the dwindling whine of spent lead. They leaped from\nshelter to find themselves girt with a fitful hoop of fire, for the\n\"Stranglers\" had spread in the arc of a circle and now emptied their\nrifles towards the centre. The defenders, however, maintained\nsurprising order considering the suddenness of their attack, and ran to\njoin the sentries, whose positions could be determined by the nearer\nflashes. The voice of a man in authority shouted loud commands. No\ndemonstration came from the outer voids, nothing but the wicked streaks\nthat stabbed the darkness. Then suddenly, behind McNamara's men, the\nnight glared luridly as though a great furnace-door had opened and then\nclanged shut, while with it came a hoarse thudding roar that silenced\nthe rifle play. They saw the cook-house disrupt itself and disintegrate\ninto a thousand flying timbers and twisted sheets of tin which soared\nupward and outward over their heads and into the night. As the rocking\nhills ceased echoing, the sound of the Vigilantes' rifles recurred like\nthe cracking of dry sticks, then everywhere about the defenders the\nearth was lashed by falling debris while the iron roofs rang at the\nfusillade.\n\nThe blast had come at their very elbows, and they were too dazed and\nshaken by it to grasp its significance. Then, before they could realize\nwhat it boded, the depths lit up again till the raindrops were outlined\ndistinct and glistening like a gossamer veil of silver, while the\noffice building to their left was ripped and rended and the adjoining\nwalls leaped out into sudden relief, their shattered windows looking\nlike ghostly, sightless eyes. The curtain of darkness closed heavier\nthan velvet, and the men cowered in their tracks, shielding themselves\nbehind the nearest objects or behind one another's bodies, waiting for\nthe sky to vomit over them its rain of missiles. Their backs were to\nthe Vigilantes now, their faces to the centre. Many had dropped their\nrifles. The thunder of hoofs and the scream of terrified horses came\nfrom the stables. The cry of a maddened beast is weird and calculated\nto curdle the blood at best, but with it arose a human voice, shrieking\nfrom pain and fear of death. A wrenched and doubled mass of zinc had\nhurtled out of the heavens and struck some one down. The choking\nhoarseness of the man's appeal told the story, and those about him\nbroke into flight to escape what might follow, to escape this danger\nthey could not see but which swooped out of the blackness above and\nagainst which there was no defence. They fled only to witness another\nand greater light behind them by which they saw themselves running,\nfalling, grovelling. This time they were hurled from their balance by a\nconcussion which dwarfed the two preceding ones. Some few stood still,\nstaring at the rolling smoke-bank as it was revealed by the explosion,\ntheir eyes gleaming white, while others buried their faces in their\nhollowed arms as if to shut out the hellish glare, or to shield\nthemselves from a blow.\n\nOut in the heart of the chaos rang a voice loud and clear:\n\n\"Beware the next blast!\"\n\nAt the same instant the girdle of sharp-shooters rose up smiting the\nair with their cries and charged in like madmen through the rain of\ndetritus. They fired as they came, but it was unnecessary, for there\nwas no longer a fight. It was a rout. The defenders, feeling they had\nescaped destruction only by a happy chance in leaving the bunk-house\nthe instant they did, were not minded to tarry here where the heavens\nfell upon their heads. To augment their consternation, the horses had\nbroken from their stalls and were plunging through the confusion. Fear\nswept over the men--blind, unreasoning, contagious--and they rushed out\ninto the night, colliding with their enemies, overrunning them in the\npanic to quit this spot. Some dashed off the bluff and fell among the\npits and sluices. Others ran up the mountain-side, and cowered in the\nbrush like quail.\n\nAs the \"Stranglers\" assembled their prisoners near the ruins, they\nheard wounded men moaning in the darkness, so lit torches and searched\nout the stricken ones. Glenister came running through the smoke pall,\nrevolver in hand, crying: \"Has any one seen McNamara?\" No one had, and\nwhen they were later assembled to take stock of their injuries he was\ngreeted by Dextry's gleeful announcement:\n\n\"That's the deuce of a fight. We 'ain't got so much as a cold sore\namong us.\"\n\n\"We have captured fourteen,\" another announced, \"and there may be more\nout yonder in the brush.\"\n\nGlenister noted with growing surprise that not one of the prisoners\nlined up beneath the glaring torches wore the army blue. They were\nminers all, or thugs and ruffians gathered from the camp. Where, he\nwondered, were the soldiers.\n\n\"Didn't you have troops from the barracks to help you?\" he asked.\n\n\"Not a troop. We haven't seen a soldier since we went to work.\"\n\nAt this the young leader became alarmed. Had this whole attack\nmiscarried? Had this been no clash with the United States forces, after\nall? If so, the news would never reach Washington, and instead of\naccomplishing his end, he and his friends had thrust themselves into\nthe realms of outlawry, where the soldiers could be employed against\nthem with impunity, where prices would rest upon their heads. Innocent\nblood had been shed, court property destroyed. McNamara had them where\nhe wanted them at last. They were at bay.\n\nThe unwounded prisoners were taken to the boundaries of the Midas and\nreleased with such warnings as the imagination of Dextry could conjure\nup; then Glenister assembled his men, speaking to them plainly.\n\n\"Boys, this is no victory. In fact, we're worse off than we were\nbefore, and our biggest fight is coming. There's a chance to get away\nnow before daylight and before we're recognized, but if we're seen here\nat sun-up we'll have to stay and fight. Soldiers will be sent against\nus, but if we hold out, and the struggle is fierce enough, it may reach\nto Washington. This will be a different kind of fighting now, though.\nIt will be warfare pure and simple. How many of you will stick?\"\n\n\"All of us,\" said they, in unison, and, accordingly, preparations for a\nsiege were begun. Barricades were built, ruins removed, buildings\ntransformed into blockhouses, and all through the turbulent night the\ntired men labored till ready to drop, led always by the young giant,\nwho seemed without fatigue.\n\nIt was perhaps four hours after midnight when a man sought him out.\n\n\"Somebody's callin' you on the Assay Office telephone--says it's life\nor death.\"\n\nGlenister hurried to the building, which had escaped the shock of the\nexplosions, and, taking down the receiver, was answered by Cherry\nMalotte.\n\n\"Thank God, you're safe,\" she began. \"The men have just come in and the\nwhole town is awake over the riot. They say you've killed ten people in\nthe fight--is it true?\"\n\nHe explained to her briefly that all was well, but she broke in:\n\n\"Wait, wait! McNamara has called for troops and you'll all be shot. Oh,\nwhat a terrible night it has been! I haven't been to bed. I'm going\nmad. Now, listen, carefully--yesterday Helen went with Struve to the\nSign of the Sled and she hasn't come back.\"\n\nThe man at the end of the wire cried out at this, then choked back his\nwords to hear what followed. His free hand began making strange, futile\nmotions as though he traced patterns in the air.\n\n\"I can't raise the road-house on the wire and--something dreadful has\nhappened, I know.\"\n\n\"What made her go?\" he shouted.\n\n\"To save you,\" came Cherry's faint reply. \"If you love her, ride fast\nto the Sign of the Sled or you'll be too late. The Bronco Kid has gone\nthere--\"\n\nAt that name Roy crashed the instrument to its hook and burst out of\nthe shanty, calling loudly to his men.\n\n\"What's up?\"\n\n\"Where are you going?\"\n\n\"To the Sign of the Sled,\" he panted.\n\n\"We've stood by you, Glenister, and you can't quit us like this,\" said\none, angrily. \"The trail to town is good, and we'll take it if you do.\"\nRoy saw they feared he was deserting, feared that he had heard some\nalarming rumor of which they did not know.\n\n\"We'll let the mine go, boys, for I can't ask you to do what I refuse\nto do myself, and yet it's not fear that's sending me. There's a woman\nin danger and I MUST go. She courted ruin to save us all, risked her\nhonor to try and right a wrong--and--I'm afraid of what has happened\nwhile we were fighting here. I don't ask you to stay till I come\nback--it wouldn't be square, and you'd better go while you have a\nchance. As for me--I gave up the old claim once--I can do it again.\" He\nswung himself to the horse's back, settled into the saddle, and rode\nout through the lane of belted men.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\nIN WHICH THREE GO TO THE SIGN OF THE SLED AND BUT TWO RETURN\n\n\nAs Helen and her companion ascended the mountain, scarred and swept by\nthe tempest of the previous night, they heard, far below, the swollen\ntorrent brawling in its bowlder-ridden bed, while behind them the angry\nocean spread southward to a blood-red horizon. Ahead, the bleak\nmountains brooded over forbidding valleys; to the west a suffused sun\nglared sullenly, painting the high-piled clouds with the gorgeous hues\nof a stormy sunset. To Helen the wild scene seemed dyed with the colors\nof flame and blood and steel.\n\n\"That rain raised the deuce with the trails,\" said Struve, as they\npicked their way past an unsightly \"slip\" whence a part of the\noverhanging mountain, loosened by the deluge, had slid into the gulch.\n\"Another storm like that would wash out these roads completely.\"\n\nEven in the daylight it was no easy task to avoid these danger spots,\nfor the horses floundered on the muddy soil. Vaguely the girl wondered\nhow she would find her way back in the darkness, as she had planned.\nShe said little as they approached the road-house, for the thoughts\nwithin her brain had begun to clamor too wildly; but Struve, more\narrogant than ever before, more terrifyingly sure of himself, was\nloudly garrulous. As they drew nearer and nearer, the dread that\npossessed the girl became of paralyzing intensity. If she should\nfail--but she vowed she would not, could not, fail.\n\nThey rounded a bend and saw the Sign of the Sled cradled below them\nwhere the trail dipped to a stream which tumbled from the comb above\ninto the river twisting like a silver thread through the distant\nvalley. A peeled flag-pole topped by a spruce bough stood in front of\nthe tavern, while over the door hung a sled suspended from a beam. The\nhouse itself was a quaint structure, rambling and amorphous, from whose\nsod roof sprang blooming flowers, and whose high-banked walls were\npierced here and there with sleepy windows. It had been built by a\nhomesick foreigner of unknown nationality whom the army of \"mushers\"\nwho paid for his clean and orderly hospitality had dubbed duly and as a\nmatter of course a \"Swede.\" When travel had changed to the river trail,\nleaving the house lonesome and high as though left by a receding wave,\nStruve had taken it over on a debt, and now ran it for the convenience\nof a slender traffic, mainly stampeders, who chose the higher route\ntowards the interior. His hireling spent the idle hours in prospecting\na hungry quartz lead and in doing assessment work on near-by claims.\n\nShortz took the horses and answered his employer's questions curtly,\nflashing a curious look at Helen. Under other conditions the girl would\nhave been delighted with the place, for this was the quaintest spot she\nhad found in the north country. The main room held bar and gold-scales,\na rude table, and a huge iron heater, while its walls and ceiling were\nsheeted with white cloth so cunningly stitched and tacked that it\nseemed a cavern hollowed from chalk. It was filled with trophies of the\nhills, stuffed birds and animals, skins and antlers, from which\ndepended, in careless confusion, dog harness, snow-shoes, guns, and\narticles of clothing. A door to the left led into the bunk-room where\ntravellers had been wont to sleep in tiers three deep. To the rear was\na kitchen and cache, to the right a compartment which Struve called the\nart gallery. Here, free reign had been allowed the original owner's\nartistic fancies, and he had covered the place with pictures clipped\nfrom gazettes of questionable repute till it was a bewildering\narrangement of pink ladies in tights, pugilists in scanty trunks, prize\nbulldogs, and other less moral characters of the sporting world.\n\n\"This is probably the worst company you were ever in,\" Struve observed\nto Helen, with a forced attempt at lightness.\n\n\"Are there no guests here?\" she asked him, her anxiety very near the\nsurface.\n\n\"Travel is light at this time of the year. They'll come in later,\nperhaps.\"\n\nA fire was burning in this pink room where the landlord had begun\nspreading the table for two, and its warmth was grateful to the girl.\nHer companion, thoroughly at his ease, stretched himself on a\nfur-covered couch and smoked.\n\n\"Let me see the papers, now, Mr. Struve,\" she began, but he put her off.\n\n\"No, not now. Business must wait on our dinner. Don't spoil our little\nparty, for there's time enough and to spare.\"\n\nShe arose and went to the window, unable to sit still. Looking down the\nnarrow gulch she saw that the mountains beyond were indistinct for it\nwas growing dark rapidly. Dense clouds had rolled up from the east. A\nrain-drop struck the glass before her eyes, then another and another,\nand the hills grew misty behind the coming shower. A traveller with a\npack on his back hurried around the corner of the building and past her\nto the door. At his knock, Struve, who had been watching Helen through\nhalf-shut eyes, arose and went into the other room.\n\n\"Thank Heaven, some one has come,\" she thought. The voices were\ndeadened to a hum by the sod walls, till that of the stranger raised\nitself in such indignant protest that she distinguished his words.\n\n\"Oh, I've got money to pay my way. I'm no dead-head.\"\n\nShortz mumbled something back.\n\n\"I don't care if you are closed. I'm tired and there's a storm coming.\"\n\nThis time she heard the landlord's refusal and the miner's angry\nprofanity. A moment later she saw the traveller plodding up the trail\ntowards town.\n\n\"What does that mean?\" she inquired, as the lawyer re-entered.\n\n\"Oh, that fellow is a tough, and Shortz wouldn't let him in. He's\ncareful whom he entertains--there are so many bad men roaming the\nhills.\"\n\nThe German came in shortly to light the lamp, and, although she asked\nno further questions, Helen's uneasiness increased. She half listened\nto the stories with which Struve tried to entertain her and ate little\nof the excellent meal that was shortly served to them. Struve,\nmeanwhile, ate and drank almost greedily, and the shadowy, sinister\nevening crept along. A strange cowardice had suddenly overtaken the\ngirl; and if, at this late hour, she could have withdrawn, she would\nhave done so gladly and gone forth to meet the violence of the tempest.\nBut she had gone too far for retreat; and realizing that, for the\npresent, apparent compliance was her wisest resource, she sat quiet,\nanswering the man with cool words while his eyes grew brighter, his\nskin more flushed, his speech more rapid. He talked incessantly and\nwith feverish gayety, smoking numberless cigarettes and apparently\nunconscious of the flight of time. At last he broke off suddenly and\nconsulted his watch, while Helen remembered that she had not heard\nShortz in the kitchen for a long time. Suddenly Struve smiled on her\npeculiarly, with confident cunning. As he leered at her over the\ndisorder between them he took from his pocket a flat bundle which he\ntossed to her.\n\n\"Now for the bargain, eh?\"\n\n\"Ask the man to remove these dishes,\" she said, as she undid the parcel\nwith clumsy fingers.\n\n\"I sent him away two hours ago,\" said Struve, arising as if to come to\nher. She shrank back, but he only leaned across, gathered up the four\ncorners of the tablecloth, and, twisting them together, carried the\nwhole thing out, the dishes crashing and jangling as he threw his\nburden recklessly into the kitchen. Then he returned and stood with his\nback to the stove, staring at her while she perused the contents of the\npapers, which were more voluminous than she had supposed.\n\nFor a long time the girl pored over the documents. The purport of the\npapers was only too obvious; and, as she read, the proof of her uncle's\nguilt stood out clear and damning. There was no possibility of mistake;\nthe whole wretched plot stood out plain, its darkest infamies revealed.\n\nIn spite of the cruelty of her disillusionment, Helen was nevertheless\nexalted with the fierce ecstasy of power, with the knowledge that\njustice would at last be rendered. It would be her triumph and her\nexpiation that she, who had been the unwitting tool of this miserable\nclique, would be the one through whom restitution was made. She arose\nwith her eyes gleaming and her lips set.\n\n\"It is here.\"\n\n\"Of course it is. Enough to convict us all. It means the penitentiary\nfor your precious uncle and your lover.\" He stretched his chin upward\nat the mention as though to free his throat from an invisible clutch.\n\"Yes, your lover particularly, for he's the real one. That's why I\nbrought you here. He'll marry you, but I'll be the best man.\" The\ntimbre of his voice was unpleasant.\n\n\"Come, let us go,\" she said.\n\n\"Go,\" he chuckled, mirthlessly. \"That's a fine example of unconscious\nhumor.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Well, first, no human being could find his way down to the coast in\nthis tempest; second--but, by-the-way, let me explain something in\nthose papers while I think of it.\" He spoke casually and stepped\nforward, reaching for the package, which she was about to give up, when\nsomething prompted her to snatch it behind her back; and it was well\nshe did, for his hand was but a few inches away. He was no match for\nher quickness, however, and she glided around the table, thrusting the\npapers into the front of her dress. The sudden contact with Cherry's\nrevolver gave her a certain comfort. She spoke now with determination.\n\n\"I intend to leave here at once. Will you bring my horse? Very well, I\nshall do it myself.\"\n\nShe turned, but his indolence vanished like a flash, and springing in\nfront of the door he barred her way.\n\n\"Hold on, my lady. You ought to understand without my saying any more.\nWhy did I bring you here? Why did I plan this little party? Why did I\nsend that man away? Just to give you the proof of my complicity in a\ncrime, I suppose. Well, hardly. You won't leave here to-night. And when\nyou do, you won't carry those papers--my own safety depends on that and\nI am selfish, so don't get me started. Listen!\" They caught the wail of\nthe night crying as though hungry for sacrifice. \"No, you'll stay here\nand--\"\n\nHe broke off abruptly, for Helen had stepped to the telephone and taken\ndown the receiver. He leaped, snatched it from her, and then, tearing\nthe instrument loose from the wall, raised it above his head, dashed it\nupon the floor, and sprang towards her, but she wrenched herself free\nand fled across the room. The man's white hair was wildly tumbled, his\nface was purple, and his neck and throat showed swollen, throbbing\nveins. He stood still, however, and his lips cracked into his\never-present, cautious smile.\n\n\"Now, don't let's fight about this. It's no use, for I've played to\nwin. You have your proof--now I'll have my price--or else I'll take it.\nThink over which it will be, while I lock up.\"\n\nFar down the mountain-side a man was urging a broken pony recklessly\nalong the trail. The beast was blown and spent, its knees weak and\nbending, yet the rider forced it as though behind him yelled a thousand\ndevils, spurring headlong through gully and ford, up steep slopes and\ndown invisible ravines. Sometimes the animal stumbled and fell with its\nmaster, sometimes they arose together, but the man was heedless of all\nexcept his haste, insensible to the rain which smote him blindingly,\nand to the wind which seized him savagely upon the ridges, or gasped at\nhim in the gullies with exhausted malice. At last he gained the plateau\nand saw the road-house light beneath, so drove his heels into the\nflanks of the wind-broken creature, which lunged forward gamely. He\nfelt the pony rear and drop away beneath him, pawing and scrambling,\nand instinctively kicked his feet free from the stirrups, striving to\nthrow himself out of the saddle and clear of the thrashing hoofs. It\nseemed that he turned over in the air before something smote him and he\nlay still, his gaunt, dark face upturned to the rain, while about him\nthe storm screamed exultantly.\n\nThe moment Struve disappeared into the outer room Helen darted to the\nwindow. It was merely a single sash, nailed fast and immovable, but\nseizing one of the little stools beside the stove she thrust it through\nthe glass, letting in a smother of wind and water. Before she could\nescape, Struve bounded into the room, his face livid with anger, his\nvoice hoarse and furious.\n\nBut as he began to denounce her he paused in amazement, for the girl\nhad drawn Cherry's weapon and levelled it at him. She was very pale and\nher breast heaved as from a swift run, while her wondrous gray eyes\nwere lit with a light no man had ever seen there before, glowing like\ntwo jewels whose hearts contained the pent-up passion of centuries. She\nhad altered as though under the deft hand of a master-sculptor, her\nnostrils growing thin and arched, her lips tight pressed and pitiless,\nher head poised proudly. The rain drove in through the shattered\nwindow, over and past her, while the cheap red curtain lashed and\nwhipped her as though in gleeful applause. Her bitter abhorrence of the\nman made her voice sound strangely unnatural as she commanded:\n\n\"Don't dare to stop me.\" She moved towards the door, motioning him to\nretreat before her, and he obeyed, recognizing the danger of her\ncoolness. She did not note the calculating treachery of his glance,\nhowever, nor fathom the purposes he had in mind.\n\n Out on the rain-swept mountain the prostrate rider had regained\nhis senses and now was crawling painfully towards the road-house. Seen\nthrough the dark he would have resembled some misshapen, creeping\nmonster, for he dragged himself, reptile-like, close to the ground. But\nas he came closer the man heard a cry which the wind seemed guarding\nfrom his ear, and, hearing it, he rose and rushed blindly forward,\nstaggering like a wounded beast.\n\nHelen watched her captive closely as he backed through the door before\nher, for she dared not lose sight of him until free. The middle room\nwas lighted by a glass lamp on the bar and its rays showed that the\nfront-door was secured by a large iron bolt. She thanked Heaven there\nwas no lock and key.\n\nStruve had retreated until his back was to the counter, offering no\nword, making no move, but the darting brightness of his eyes showed\nthat he was alert and planning. But when the door behind Helen, urged\nby the wind through the broken casement, banged to, the man made his\nfirst lightning-like sign. He dashed the lamp to the floor, where it\nburst like an eggshell, and darkness leaped into the room as an animal\npounces. Had she been calmer or had time for an instant's thought Helen\nwould have hastened back to the light, but she was midway to her\nliberty and actuated by the sole desire to break out into the open air,\nso plunged forward. Without warning, she was hurled from her feet by a\nbody which came out of the darkness upon her. She fired the little gun,\nbut Struve's arms closed about her, the weapon was wrenched from her\nhand, and she found herself fighting against him, breast to breast,\nwith the fury of desperation. His wine-burdened breath beat into her\nface and she felt herself bound to him as though by hoops, while the\ntouch of his cheek against hers turned her into a terrified, insensate\nanimal, which fought with every ounce of its strength and every nerve\nof its body. She screamed once, but it was not like the cry of a woman.\nThen the struggle went on in silence and utter blackness, Strove\nholding her like a gorilla till she grew faint and her head began to\nwhirl, while darting lights drove past her eyes and there was the roar\nof a cataract in her ears. She was a strong girl, and her ripe young\nbody, untried until this moment, answered in every fibre, so that she\nwrestled with almost a man's strength and he had hard shift to hold\nher. But so violent an encounter could not last. Helen felt herself\ndrifting free from the earth and losing grip of all things tangible,\nwhen at last they tripped and fell against the inner door. This gave\nway, and at the same moment the man's strength departed as though it\nwere a thing of darkness and dared not face the light that streamed\nover them. She tore herself from his clutch and staggered into the\nsupper-room, her loosened hair falling in a gleaming torrent about her\nshoulders, while he arose from his knees and came towards her again,\ngasping:\n\n\"I'll show you who's master here--\"\n\nThen he ceased abruptly, cringingly, and threw up an arm before his\nface as if to ward off a blow. Framed in the window was the pallid\nvisage of a man. The air rocked, the lamp flared, and Struve whirled\ncompletely around, falling back against the wall. His eyes filled with\nhorror and shifted down where his hand had clutched at his breast,\nplucking at one spot as if tearing a barb from his bosom. He jerked his\nhead towards the door at his elbow in quest of a retreat a shudder ran\nover him, his knees buckled and he plunged forward upon his face, his\narm still doubled under him.\n\nIt had happened like a flash of light, and although Helen felt, rather\nthan heard, the shot and saw her assailant fall, she did not realize\nthe meaning of it till a drift of powder smoke assailed her nostrils.\nEven so, she experienced no shock nor horror of the sight. On the\ncontrary, a savage joy at the spectacle seized her and she stood still,\nleaning slightly forward, staring at it almost gloatingly, stood so\ntill she heard her name called, \"Helen, little sister!\" and, turning,\nsaw her brother in the window.\n\nThat which he witnessed in her face he had seen before in the faces of\nmen locked close with a hateful death and from whom all but the most\nelemental passions had departed--but he had never seen a woman bear the\nmarks till now. No artifice nor falsity was there, nothing but the\ncrudest, intensest feeling, which many people live and die without\nknowing. There are few who come to know the great primitive, passionate\nlongings. But in this black night, fighting in defence of her most\nsacred self, this girl's nature had been stripped to its purely savage\nelements. As Glenister had predicted, Helen at last had felt and\nyielded to irresistibly powerful impulse.\n\nGlancing backward at the creature sprawled by the door, Helen went to\nher brother, put her arms about his neck, and kissed him.\n\n\"He's dead?\" the Kid asked her.\n\nShe nodded and tried to speak, but began to shiver and sob instead.\n\n\"Unlock the door,\" he begged her. \"I'm hurt, and I must get in.\"\n\nWhen the Kid had hobbled into the room, she pressed him to her and\nstroked his matted head, regardless of his muddy, soaking garments.\n\n\"I must look at him. He may not be badly hurt,\" said the Kid.\n\n\"Don't touch him!\" She followed, nevertheless, and stood near by while\nher brother examined his victim. Struve was breathing, and, discovering\nthis, the others lifted him with difficulty to the couch.\n\n\"Something cracked in here--ribs, I guess,\" the Kid remarked, gasping\nand feeling his own side. He was weak and pale, and the girl led him\ninto the bunk-room, where he could lie down. Only his wonderful\ndetermination had sustained him thus far, and now the knowledge of his\nhelplessness served to prevent Helen's collapse.\n\nThe Kid would not hear of her going for help till the storm abated or\ndaylight came, insisting that the trails were too treacherous and that\nno time could be saved by doing so. Thus they waited for the dawn. At\nlast they heard the wounded man faintly calling. He spoke to Helen\nhoarsely. There was no malice, only fear, in his tones:\n\n\"I said this was my madness--and I got what I deserved, but I'm going\nto die. O God--I'm going to die and I'm afraid.\" He moaned till the\nBronco Kid hobbled in, glaring with unquenched hatred.\n\n\"Yes, you're going to die and I did it. Be game, can't you? I sha'n't\nlet her go for help until daylight.\"\n\nHelen forced her brother back to his couch, and returned to help the\nwounded man, who grew incoherent and began to babble.\n\nA little later, when the Kid seemed stronger and his head clearer,\nHelen ventured to tell him of their uncle's villany and of the proof\nshe held, with her hope of restoring justice. She told him of the\nattack planned that very night and of the danger which threatened the\nminers. He questioned her closely and, realizing the bearing of her\nstory, crept to the door, casting the wind like a hound.\n\n\"We'll have to risk it,\" said he. \"The wind is almost gone and it's not\nlong till daylight.\"\n\nShe pleaded to go alone, but he was firm. \"I'll never leave you again,\nand, moreover, I know the lower trail quite well. We'll go down the\ngulch to the valley and reach town that way. It's farther but it's not\nso dangerous.\"\n\n\"You can't ride,\" she insisted.\n\n\"I can if you'll tie me into the saddle. Come, get the horses.\"\n\nIt was still pitchy dark and the rain was pouring, but the wind only\nsighed weakly as though tired by its violence when she helped the\nBronco into his saddle. The effort wrenched a groan from him, but he\ninsisted upon her tying his feet beneath the horse's belly, saying that\nthe trail was rough and he could take no chance of falling again; so,\nhaving performed the last services she might for Struve, she mounted\nher own animal and allowed it to pick its way down the steep descent\nbehind her brother, who swayed and lurched drunkenly in his seat,\ngripping the horn before him with both hands.\n\n They had been gone perhaps a half-hour when another horse plunged\nfuriously out of the darkness and halted before the road-house door.\nIts rider, mud-stained and dishevelled, flung himself in mad haste to\nthe ground and bolted in through the door. He saw the signs of\nconfusion in the outer room, chairs upset and broken, the table wedged\nagainst the stove, and before the counter a shattered lamp in a pool of\noil. He called loudly, but, receiving no answer, snatched a light\nwhich, he found burning and ran to the door at his left. Nothing\ngreeted him but the empty tiers of bunks. Turning, he crossed to the\nother side and burst through. Another lamp was lighted beside the couch\nwhere Struve lay, breathing heavily, his lids half closed over his\nstaring eyes. Roy noted the pool of blood at his feet and the broken\nwindow; then, setting down his lamp, he leaned over the man and spoke\nto him.\n\nWhen he received no answer he spoke again loudly. Then, in a frenzy,\nGlenister shook the wounded man cruelly, so that he cried out in terror:\n\n\"I'm dying--oh, I'm dying.\" Roy raised the sick man up and thrust his\nown face before his eyes.\n\n\"This is Glenister. I've come for Helen--where is she?\" A spark of\nrecognition flickered into the dull stare.\n\n\"You're too late--I'm dying--and I'm afraid.\"\n\nHis questioner shook Struve again. \"Where is she?\" he repeated, time\nafter time, till by very force of his own insistence he compelled\nrealization in the sufferer.\n\n\"The Kid took her away. The Kid shot me,\" and then his voice rose till\nit flooded the room with terror. \"The Kid shot me and I'm dying.\" He\ncoughed blood to his lips, at which Roy laid him back and stood up. So\nthere was no mistake, after all, and he had arrived too late. This was\nthe Kid's revenge. This was how he struck. Lacking courage to face a\nman's level eyes, he possessed the foulness to prey upon a woman. Roy\nfelt a weakening physical sickness sweep over him till his eye fell\nupon a sodden garment which Helen had removed from her brother's\nshoulders and replaced with a dry one. He snatched it from the floor\nand in a sudden fury felt it come apart in his hands like wet\ntissue-paper.\n\nHe found himself out in the rain, scanning the trampled soil by light\nof his lamp, and discerned tracks which the drizzle had not yet erased.\nHe reasoned mechanically that the two riders could have no great start\nof him, so strode out beyond the house to see if they had gone farther\ninto the hills. There were no tracks here, therefore they must have\ndoubled back towards town. It did not occur to him that they might have\nleft the beaten path and followed down the little creek to the river;\nbut, replacing the light where he had found it, he remounted and lashed\nhis horse into a stiff canter up towards the divide that lay between\nhim and the city. The story was growing plainer to him, though as yet\nhe could not piece it all together. Its possibilities stabbed him with\nsuch horror that he cried out aloud and beat his steed into faster time\nwith both hands and feet. To think of those two ruffians fighting over\nthis girl as though she were the spoils of pillage! He must overtake\nthe Kid--he WOULD! The possibility that he might not threw him into\nsuch ungovernable mental chaos that he was forced to calm himself. Men\nwent mad that way. He could not think of it. That gasping creature in\nthe road-house spoke all too well of the Bronco's determination. And\nyet, who of those who had known the Kid in the past would dream that\nhis vileness was so utter as this?\n\nAway to the right, hidden among the shadowed hills, his friends rested\nthemselves for the coming battle, waiting impatiently his return, and\ntiming it to the rising sun. Down in the valley to his left were the\ntwo he followed, while he, obsessed and unreasoning, now cursing like a\nmadman, now grim and silent, spurred southward towards town and into\nthe ranks of his enemies.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\nTHE HAMMER-LOCK\n\n\nDay was breaking as Glenister came down the mountain. With the first\nlight he halted to scan the trail, and having no means of knowing that\nthe fresh tracks he found were not those of the two riders he followed,\nhe urged his lathered horse ahead till he became suddenly conscious\nthat he was very tired and had not slept for two days and nights. The\nrecollection did not reassure the young man, for his body was a weapon\nwhich must not fail in the slightest measure now that there was work to\ndo. Even the unwelcome speculation upon his physical handicap offered\nrelief, however, from the agony which fed upon him whenever he thought\nof Helen in the gambler's hands. Meanwhile, the horse, groaning at his\nmaster's violence, plunged onward towards the roofs of Nome, now\ngrowing gray in the first dawn.\n\nIt seemed years since Roy had seen the sunlight, for this night,\nburdened with suspense, had been endlessly long. His body was faint\nbeneath the strain, and yet he rode on and on, tired, dogged, stony,\nhis eyes set towards the sea, his mind a storm of formless, whirling\nthoughts, beneath which was an undeviating, implacable determination.\n\nHe knew now that he had sacrificed all hope of the Midas, and likewise\nthe hope of Helen was gone; in fact, he began to realize dimly that\nfrom the beginning he had never had the possibility of winning her,\nthat she had never been destined for him, and that his love for her had\nbeen sent as a light by which he was to find himself. He had failed\neverywhere, he had become an outlaw, he had fought and gone down,\ncertain only of his rectitude and the mastery of his unruly spirit. Now\nthe hour had come when he would perform his last mission, deriving\ntherefrom that satisfaction which the gods could not deny. He would\nhave his vengeance.\n\nThe scheme took form without conscious effort on his part and embraced\ntwo things--the death of the gambler and a meeting with McNamara. Of\nthe former, he had no more doubt than that the sun rising there would\nsink in the west. So well confirmed was this belief that the details\ndid not engage his thought; but on the result of the other encounter he\nspeculated with some interest. From the first McNamara had been a\nriddle to him, and mystery breeds curiosity. His blind, instinctive\nhatred of the man had assumed the proportions of a mania; but as to\nwhat the outcome would be when they met face to face, fate alone could\ntell. Anyway, McNamara should never have Helen--Roy believed his\nmission covered that point as well as her deliverance from the Bronco\nKid. When he had finished--he would pay the price. If he had the luck\nto escape, he would go back to his hills and his solitude; if he did\nnot, his future would be in the hands of his enemies.\n\nHe entered the silent streets unobserved, for the mists were heavy and\nlow. Smoke columns arose vertically in the still air. The rain had\nceased, having beaten down the waves which rumbled against the beach,\nfilling the streets with their subdued thunder. A ship, anchored in the\noffing, had run in from the lee of Sledge Island with the first lull,\nwhile midway to the shore a tender was rising and falling, its oars\nflashing like the silvered feelers of a sea insect crawling upon the\nsurface of the ocean.\n\nHe rode down Front Street heedless of danger, heedless of the comment\nhis appearance might create, and, unseen, entered his enemy's\nstronghold. He passed a gambling-hall, through the windows of which\ncame a sickly yellow gleam. A man came out unsteadily and stared at the\nhorseman, then passed on.\n\nGlenister's plan was to go straight to the Northern and from there to\ntrack down its owner relentlessly, but in order to reach the place his\ncourse led him past the office of Dunham & Struve. This brought back to\nhis mind the man dying out there ten miles at his back. The scantiest\nhumanity demanded that assistance be sent at once. Yet he dared not\ngive word openly, thus betraying his presence, for it was necessary\nthat he maintain his liberty during the next hour at all hazards. He\nsuddenly thought of an expedient and reined in his horse, which stopped\nwith wide-spread legs and dejected head while he dismounted and climbed\nthe stairs to leave a note upon the door. Some one would see the\nmessage shortly and recognize its urgency.\n\nIn dressing for the battle at the Midas on the previous night he had\nreplaced his leather boots with \"mukluks,\" which are waterproof, light,\nand pliable footgear made from the skin of seal and walrus. He was thus\nable to move as noiselessly as though in moccasins. Finding neither\npencil nor paper in his pocket, he tried the outer door of the office,\nto find it unlocked. He stepped inside and listened, then moved towards\na table on which were writing materials, but in doing so heard a rustle\nin Struve's private office. Evidently his soft soles had not disturbed\nthe man inside. Roy was about to tiptoe out as he had come when the\nhidden man cleared his throat. It is in these involuntary sounds that\nthe voice retains its natural quality more distinctly even than in\nspeaking, A strange eagerness grew in Glenister's face and he\napproached the partition stealthily. It was of wood and glass, the\npanes clouded and opaque to a height of some six feet; but stepping\nupon a chair he peered into the room beyond. A man knelt in a litter of\npapers before the open safe, its drawers and compartments removed and\ntheir contents scattered. The watcher lowered himself, drew his gun,\nand laid soft hand upon the door-knob, turning the latch with firm\nfingers. His vengeance had come to meet him.\n\n After lying in wait during the long night, certain that the\nVigilantes would spring his trap, McNamara was astounded at news of the\nbattle at the Midas and of Glenister's success. He stormed and cursed\nhis men as cowards. The Judge became greatly exercised over this new\ndevelopment, which, coupled with his night of long anxiety, reduced him\nto a pitiful hysteria.\n\n\"They'll blow us up next. Great Heavens! Dynamite! Oh, that is\nbarbarous. For Heaven's sake, get the soldiers out, Alec.\"\n\n\"Ay, we can use them now.\" Thereupon McNamara roused the commanding\nofficer at the post and requested him to accoutre a troop and have them\nready to march at daylight, then bestirred the Judge to start the\nwheels of his court and invoke this military aid in regular fashion.\n\n\"Make it all a matter of record,\" he said. \"We want to keep our skirts\nclear from now on.\"\n\n\"But the towns-people are against us,\" quavered Stillman. \"They'll tear\nus to pieces.\"\n\n\"Let 'em try. Once I get my hand on the ringleader, the rest may riot\nand be damned.\"\n\nAlthough he had made less display than had the Judge, the receiver was\nno less deeply worried about Helen, of whom no news came. His jealousy,\nfanned to red heat by the discovery of her earlier defection, was\nenhanced fourfold by the thought of this last adventure. Something told\nhim there was treachery afoot, and when she did not return at dawn he\nbegan to fear that she had cast in her lot with the rioters. This\naroused a perfect delirium of doubt and anger till he reasoned further\nthat Struve, having gone with her, must also be a traitor. He\nrecognized the menace in this fact, knowing the man's venality, so\nbegan to reckon carefully its significance. What could Struve do? What\nproof had he? McNamara started, and, seizing his hat, hurried straight\nto the lawyer's office and let himself in with the key he carried. It\nwas light enough for him to decipher the characters on the safe lock as\nhe turned the combination, so he set to work scanning the endless\nbundles within, hoping that after all the man had taken with him no\nincriminating evidence. Once the searcher paused at some fancied sound,\nbut when nothing came of it drew his revolver and laid it before him\njust inside the safe door and close beneath his hand, continuing to run\nthrough the documents while his uneasiness increased. He had been\nengaged so for some time when he heard the faintest creak at his back,\ntoo slight to alarm and just sufficient to break his tension and cause\nhim to jerk his head about. Framed in the open door stood Roy Glenister\nwatching him.\n\nMcNamara's astonishment was so genuine that he leaped to his feet,\nfaced about, and prompted by a secretive instinct swung to the safe\ndoor as though to guard its contents. He had acted upon the impulse\nbefore realizing that his weapon was inside and that now, although the\ndoor was not locked, it would require that one dangerous, yes, fatal,\nsecond to open it.\n\nThe two men stared at each other for a time, silent and malignant,\ntheir glances meeting like blades; in the older man's face a look of\ndefiance, in the younger's a dogged and grim-purposed enmity.\nMcNamara's first perturbation left him calm, alert, dangerous; whereas\nthe continued contemplation of his enemy worked in Glenister to destroy\nhis composure, and his purpose blazed forth unhidden.\n\nHe stood there unkempt and soiled, the clean sweep of jaw and throat\novergrown with a three days' black stubble, his hair wet and matted,\nhis whole left side foul with clay where he had fallen in the darkness.\nA muddy red streak spread downward from a cut above his temple, beneath\nhis eyes were sagging folds, while the flicker at his mouth corners\nbetrayed the high nervous pitch to which he was keyed.\n\n\"I have come for the last act, McNamara; now we'll have it out, man to\nman.\"\n\nThe politician shrugged his shoulders. \"You have the drop on me. I am\nunarmed.\" At which the miner's face lighted fiercely and he chuckled.\n\n\"Ah, that's almost too good to be true. I have dreamed about such a\nthing and I have been hungry to feel your throat since the first time I\nsaw you. It's grown on me till shooting wouldn't satisfy me. Ever had\nthe feeling? Well, I'm going to choke the life out of you with my bare\nhands.\"\n\nMcNamara squared himself.\n\n\"I wouldn't advise you to try it. I have lived longer than you and I\nwas never beaten, but I know the feeling you speak about. I have it\nnow.\"\n\nHis eyes roved rapidly up and down the other's form, noting the lean\nthighs and close-drawn belt which lent the appearance of spareness,\nbelied only by the neck and shoulders. He had beaten better men, and he\nreasoned that if it came to a physical test in these cramped quarters\nhis own great weight would more than offset any superior agility the\nminer might possess. The longer he looked the more he yielded to his\nhatred of the man before him, and the more cruelly he longed to satisfy\nit.\n\n\"Take off your coat,\" said Glenister. \"Now turn around. All right! I\njust wanted to see if you were lying about your gun.\"\n\n\"I'll kill you,\" cried McNamara.\n\nGlenister laid his six-shooter upon the safe and slipped off his own\nwet garment. The difference was more marked now and the advantage more\nstrongly with the receiver. Though they had avoided allusion to it,\neach knew that this fight had nothing to do with the Midas and each\nrealized whence sprang their fierce enmity. And it was meet that they\nshould come together thus. It had been the one certain and logical\nevent which they had felt inevitably approaching from long back. And it\nwas fitting, moreover, that they should fight alone and unwitnessed,\narmed only with the weapons of the wilderness, for they were both of\nthe far, free lands, were both of the fighter's type, and had both\nwarred for the first, great prize.\n\nThey met ferociously. McNamara aimed a fearful blow, but Glenister met\nhim squarely, beating him off cleverly, stepping in and out, his arms\nswinging loosely from his shoulders like whalebone withes tipped with\nlead. He moved lightly, his footing made doubly secure by reason of his\nsoft-soled mukluks. Recognizing his opponent's greater weight, he\nundertook merely to stop the headlong rushes and remain out of reach as\nlong as possible. He struck the politician fairly in the mouth so that\nthe man's head snapped back and his fists went wild, then, before the\narms could grasp him, the miner had broken ground and whipped another\nblow across; but McNamara was a boxer himself, so covered and blocked\nit. The politician spat through his mashed lips and rushed again,\nsweeping his opponent from his feet. Again Glenister's fist shot\nforward like a lump of granite, but the other came on head down and the\nblow finished too high, landing on the big man's brow. A sudden darting\nagony paralyzed Roy's hand, and he realized that he had broken the\nmetacarpal bones and that henceforth it would be useless. Before he\ncould recover, McNamara had passed under his extended arm and seized\nhim by the middle, then, thrusting his left leg back of Roy's, he\nwhirled him from his balance, flinging him clear and with resistless\nforce. It seemed that a fatal fall must follow, but the youth squirmed\ncatlike in the air, landing with set muscles which rebounded like\nrubber. Even so, the receiver was upon him before he could rise,\nreaching for the young man's throat with his heavy hands. Roy\nrecognized the fatal \"strangle hold,\" and, seizing his enemy's wrists,\nendeavored to tear them apart, but his left hand was useless, so with a\nmighty wrench he freed himself, and, locked in each other's arms, the\nmen strained and swayed about the office till their neck veins were\nbursting, their muscles paralyzed.\n\nMen may fight duels calmly, may shoot or parry or thrust with cold\ndeliberation; but when there comes the jar of body to body, the sweaty\ncontact of skin to skin, the play of iron muscles, the painful gasp of\nexhaustion--then the mind goes skittering back into its dark recesses\nwhile every venomous passion leaps forth from its hiding-place and\njoins in the horrid war.\n\nThey tripped across the floor, crashing into the partition, which\nsplit, showering them with glass. They fell and rolled in it; then, by\nconsent, wrenched themselves apart and rose, eye to eye, their jaws\nhanging, their lungs wheezing, their faces trickling blood and sweat.\nRoy's left hand pained him excruciatingly, while McNamara's macerated\nlips had turned outward in a hideous pout. They crouched so for an\ninstant, cruel, bestial--then clinched again. The office-fittings were\nwrecked utterly and the room became a litter of ruins. The men's\ngarments fell away till their breasts were bare and their arms swelled\nwhite and knotted through the rags. They knew no pain, their bodies\nwere insensate mechanisms.\n\nGradually the older man's face was beaten into a shapeless mass by the\nother's cunning blows, while Glenister's every bone was wrenched and\ntwisted under his enemy's terrible onslaughts. The miner's chief\neffort, it is true, was to keep his feet and to break the man's\nembraces. Never had he encountered one whom he could not beat by sheer\nstrength till he met this great, snarling creature who worried him\nhither and yon as though he were a child. Time and again Roy beat upon\nthe man's face with the blows of a sledge. No rules governed this\nsolitary combat; the men were deaf to all but the roaring in their\nears, blinded to all but hate, insensible to everything but the blood\nmania. Their trampling feet caused the building to rumble and shake as\nthough some monster were running amuck.\n\nMeanwhile a bareheaded man rushed out of the store beneath, bumping\ninto a pedestrian who had paused on the sidewalk, and together they\nscurried up the stairs. The dory which Roy had seen at sea had shot the\nbreakers, and now its three passengers were tracking through the wet\nsand towards Front Street, Bill Wheaton in the lead. He was followed by\ntwo rawboned men who travelled without baggage. The city was awakening\nwith the sun which reared a copper rim out of the sea--Judge Stillman\nand Voorhees came down from the hotel and paused to gaze through the\nmists at a caravan of mule teams which trotted into the other end of\nthe street with jingle and clank. The wagons were blue with soldiers,\nthe early golden rays slanting from their Krags, and they were bound\nfor the Midas.\n\nOut of the fogs which clung so thickly to the tundra there came two\nother horses, distorted and unreal, on one a girl, on the other a\nfigure of pain and tragedy, a grotesque creature that swayed stiffly to\nthe motion of its steed, its face writhed into lines of suffering, its\nhands clutching cantle and horn.\n\nIt was as though Fate, with invisible touch, were setting her stage for\nthe last act of this play, assembling the principals close to the\nGolden Sands where first they had made entrance.\n\nThe man and the girl came face to face with the Judge and marshal, who\ncried out upon seeing them, but as they reined in, out from the stairs\nbeside them a man shot amid clatter and uproar.\n\n\"Give me a hand--quick!\" he shouted to them.\n\n\"What's up?\" inquired the marshal.\n\n\"It's murder! McNamara and Glenister!\" He dashed back up the steps\nbehind Voorhees, the Judge following, while muffled cries came from\nabove.\n\nThe gambler turned towards the three men who were hurrying from the\nbeach, and, recognizing Wheaton, called to him: \"Untie my feet! Cut the\nropes! Quick!\"\n\n\"What's the trouble?\" the lawyer asked, but on hearing Glenister's name\nbounded after the Judge, leaving one of his companions to free the\nrider. They could hear the fight now, and all crowded towards the door,\nHelen with her brother, in spite of his warning to stay behind.\n\nShe never remembered how she climbed those stairs, for she was borne\nalong by that hypnotic power which drags one to behold a catastrophe in\nspite of his will. Reaching the room, she stood appalled; for the group\nshe had joined watched two raging things that rushed at each other with\ninhuman cries, ragged, bleeding, fighting on a carpet of debris. Every\nloose and breakable thing had been ground to splinters as though by\niron slugs in a whirling cylinder.\n\nTo this day, from Dawson to the Straits, from Unga to the Arctics, men\ntell of the combat wherever they foregather at flaring camp-fires or in\ndingy bunkhouses; and although some scout the tale, there are others\nwho saw it and can swear to its truth. These say that the encounter was\nlike the battle of bull moose in the rutting season, though more\nterrible, averring that two men like these had never been known in the\nland since the days of Vitus Bering and his crew; for their rancor had\nswollen till at feel of each other's flesh they ran mad and felt\nsuperhuman strength. It is true, at any rate, that neither was\nconscious of the filling room, nor the cries of the crowd, even when\nthe marshal forced himself through the wedged door and fell upon the\nnearest, which was Glenister. He came at an instant when the two had\npaused at arm's-length, glaring with rage-drunken eyes, gasping the\nlabored breath back into their lungs.\n\nWith a fling of his long arms the young man hurled the intruder aside\nso violently that his head struck the iron safe and he collapsed\ninsensible. Then, without apparent notice of the interruption, the\nfight went on. It was seen during this respite that McNamara's mouth\nwas running water as though he were deathly sick, while every retch\nbrought forth a groan. Helen heard herself crying: \"Stop them! Stop\nthem!\" But no one seemed capable of interference. She heard her brother\nmuttering and his breath coming heavily like that of the fighters, his\nbody swaying in time to theirs. The Judge was ashy, imbecile, helpless.\n\nMcNamara's distress was patent to his antagonist, who advanced upon him\nwith the hunger of promised victory; but the young man's muscles obeyed\nhis commands sluggishly, his ribs seemed broken, his back was weak, and\non the inner side of his legs the flesh was quivering. As they came\ntogether the boss reached up his right hand and caught the miner by the\nface, burying thumb and fingers crab like into his cheeks, forcing his\nslack jaws apart, thrusting his head backward, while he centred every\nounce of his strength in the effort to maim. Roy felt the flesh giving\nway and flung himself backward to break the hold, whereupon the other\nsummoned his wasting energy and plunged towards the safe, where lay the\nrevolver. Instinct warned Glenister of treachery, told him that the man\nhad sought this last resource to save himself, and as he saw him turn\nhis back and reach for the weapon, the youth leaped like a panther,\nseizing him about the waist, grasping McNamara's wrist with his right\nhand. For the first time during the combat they were not face to face,\nand on the instant Roy realized the advantage given him through the\nother's perfidy, realized the wrestler's hold that was his, and knew\nthat the moment of victory was come.\n\nThe telling takes much time, but so quickly had these things happened\nthat the footsteps of the soldiers had not yet reached the door when\nthe men were locked beside the safe.\n\nOf what happened next many garbled accounts have gone forth, for of all\nthose present, none but the Bronco Kid knew its significance and ever\nrecounted the truth concerning it. Some claim that the younger man was\nseized with a fear of death which multiplied his enormous strength,\nothers that the power died in his adversary as reward for his treason;\nbut it was not so.\n\nNo sooner had Roy encompassed McNamara's waist from the rear than he\nslid his damaged hand up past the other's chest and around the back of\nhis neck, thus bringing his own left arm close under his enemy's left\narmpit, wedging the receiver's head forward, while with his other hand\nhe grasped the politician's right wrist close to the revolver, thus\nholding him in a grasp which could not be broken. Now came the test.\nThe two bodies set themselves rocklike and rigid. There was no lunging\nabout. Calling up the final atom of his strength, Glenister bore\nbackward with his right arm and it became a contest for the weapon\nwhich, clutched in the two hands, swayed back and forth or darted up\nand down, the fury of resistance causing it to trace formless patterns\nin the air with its muzzle. McNamara shook himself, but he was close\nagainst the safe and could not escape, his head bowed forward by the\nlock of the miner's left arm, and so he strained till the breath\nclogged in his throat. Despite the grievous toil his right hand moved\nback slightly. His feet shifted a bit, while the blood seemed bursting\nfrom his eyes, but he found that the long fingers encircling his wrist\nwere like gyves weighted with the strength of the hills and the\nirresistible vigor of youth which knew no defeat. Slowly, inch by inch,\nthe great man's arm was dragged back, down past his side, while the\nstrangling labor of his breath showed at what awful cost. The muzzle of\nthe gun described a semicircle and the knotted hands began to travel\ntowards the left, more rapidly now, across his broad back. Still he\nstruggled and wrenched, but uselessly. He strove to fire the weapon,\nbut his fingers were woven about it so that the hammer would not work.\nThen the miner began forcing upward.\n\nThe white skin beneath the men's strips of clothing was stretched over\ngreat knots and ridges which sunk and swelled and quivered. Helen,\nwatching in silent terror, felt her brother sinking his fingers into\nher shoulder and heard him panting, his face ablaze with excitement,\nwhile she became conscious that he had repeated time and again:\n\n\"It's the hammer-lock--the hammer-lock.\"\n\nBy now McNamara's arm was bent and cramped upon his back, and then they\nsaw Glenister's shoulder dip, his elbow come closer to his side, and\nhis body heave in one final terrific effort as though pushing a heavy\nweight. In the silence something snapped like a stick. There came a\ndeafening report and the scream of a strong man overcome with agony.\nMcNamara went to his knees and sagged forward on to his face as though\nevery bone in his huge bulk had turned to water, while his master\nreeled back against the opposite wall, his heels dragging in the\nlitter, bringing up with outflung arms as though fearful of falling,\nswaying, blind, exhausted, his face blackened by the explosion of the\nrevolver, yet grim with the light of victory.\n\nJudge Stillman shouted, hysterically:\n\n\"Arrest that man, quick! Don't let him go!\"\n\nIt was the miner's first realization that others were there. Raising\nhis head he stared at the faces close against the partition, then\ngroaned the words:\n\n\"I beat the traitor and--and--I broke him with--my hands!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\nTHE PROMISE OF DREAMS\n\n\nSoldiers seized the young man, who made no offer at resistance, and the\nroom became a noisy riot. Crowds surged up from below, clamoring,\nquestioning, till some one at the head of the stairs shouted down:\n\n\"They've got Roy Glenister. He's killed McNamara,\" at which a murmur\narose that threatened to become a cheer.\n\nThen one of the receiver's faction called: \"Let's hang him. He killed\nten of our men last night.\" Helen winced, but Stillman, roused to a\nsort of malevolent courage, quieted the angry voices.\n\n\"Officer, hold these people back. I'll attend to this man. The law's in\nmy hands and I'll make him answer.\"\n\nMcNamara reared himself groaning from the floor, his right arm swinging\nfrom the shoulder strangely loose and distorted, with palm twisted\noutward, while his battered face was hideous with pain and defeat. He\ngrowled broken maledictions at his enemy.\n\nRoy, meanwhile, said nothing, for as the savage lust died in him he\nrealized that the whirling faces before him were the faces of his\nenemies, that the Bronco Kid was still at large, and that his vengeance\nwas but half completed. His knees were bending, his limbs were like\nleaden bars, his chest a furnace of coals. As he reeled down the lane\nof human forms, supported by his guards, he came abreast of the girl\nand her companion and paused, clearing his vision slowly.\n\n\"Ah, there you are!\" he said, thickly, to the gambler, and began to\nwrestle with his captors, baring his teeth in a grimace of painful\neffort; but they held him as easily as though he were a child and drew\nhim forward, his body sagging limply, his face turned back over his\nshoulder.\n\nThey had him near the door when Wheaton barred their way, crying: \"Hold\nup a minute--it's all right, Roy--\"\n\n\"Ay, Bill--it's all right. We did our--best, but we were done by a\ndamned blackguard. Now he'll send me up--but I don't care. I broke\nhim--with my naked hands. Didn't I, McNamara?\" He mocked unsteadily at\nthe boss, who cursed aloud in return, glowering like an evil mask,\nwhile Stillman ran up dishevelled and shrilly irascible.\n\n\"Take him away, I tell you! Take him to jail.\"\n\nBut Wheaton held his place while the room centred its eyes upon him,\nscenting some unexpected denouement. He saw it, and in concession to a\nnatural vanity and dramatic instinct, he threw back his head and\nstuffed his hands into his coat-pockets while the crowd waited. He\ngrinned insolently at the Judge and the receiver.\n\n\"This will be a day of defeats and disappointments to you, my friends.\nThat boy won't go to jail because you will wear the shackles\nyourselves. Oh, you played a shrewd game, you two, with your senators,\nyour politics, and your pulls; but it's our turn now, and we'll make\nyou dance for the mines you gutted and the robberies you've done and\nthe men you've ruined. Thank Heaven there's ONE honest court and I\nhappened to find it.\" He turned to the strangers who had accompanied\nhim from the ship, crying, \"Serve those warrants,\" and they stepped\nforward.\n\nThe uproar of the past few minutes had brought men running from every\ndirection till, finding no room on the stairs, they had massed in the\nstreet below while the word flew from lip to lip concerning this\nclosing scene of their drama, the battle at the Midas, the great fight\nup-stairs, and the arrest by the 'Frisco deputies. Like Sindbad's\ngenie, a wondrous tale took shape from the rumors. Men shouldered one\nanother eagerly for a glimpse of the actors, and when the press\nstreamed out, greeted it with volleys of questions. They saw the\nunconscious marshal borne forth, followed by the old Judge, now a\npalsied wretch, slinking beside his captor, a very shell of a man at\nwhom they jeered. When McNamara lurched into view, an image of defeat\nand chagrin, their voices rose menacingly. The pack was turning and he\nknew it, but, though racked and crippled, he bent upon them a visage so\nfull of defiance and contemptuous malignity that they hushed\nthemselves, and their final picture of him was that of a big man\ndowned, but unbeaten to the last. They began to cry for Glenister, so\nthat when he loomed in the doorway, a ragged, heroic figure, his heavy\nshock low over his eyes, his unshaven face aggressive even in its\nweariness, his corded arms and chest bare beneath the fluttering\nstreamers, the street broke into wild cheering. Here was a man of their\nown, a son of the Northland who labored and loved and fought in a way\nthey understood, and he had come into his due.\n\nBut Roy, dumb and listless, staggered up the street, refusing the help\nof every man except Wheaton. He heard his companion talking, but\ngrasped only that the attorney gloated and gloried.\n\n\"We have whipped them, boy. We have whipped them at their own game.\nArrested in their very door-yards--cited for contempt of court--that's\nwhat they are. They disobeyed those other writs, and so I got them.\"\n\n\"I broke his arm,\" muttered the miner.\n\n\"Yes, I saw you do it! Ugh! it was an awful thing. I couldn't prove\nconspiracy, but they'll go to jail for a little while just the same,\nand we have broken the ring.\"\n\n\"It snapped at the shoulder,\" the other continued, dully, \"just like a\nshovel handle. I felt it--but he tried to kill me and I had to do it.\"\n\nThe attorney took Roy to his cabin and dressed his wounds, talking\nincessantly the while, but the boy was like a sleep-walker, displaying\nno elation, no excitement, no joy of victory. At last Wheaton broke out:\n\n\"Cheer up! Why, man, you act like a loser. Don't you realize that we've\nwon? Don't you understand that the Midas is yours? And the whole world\nwith it?\"\n\n\"Won?\" echoed the miner. \"What do you know about it, Bill? The\nMidas--the world--what good are they? You're wrong. I've\nlost--yes--I've lost everything she taught me, and by some damned trick\nof Fate she was there to see me do it. Now, go away; I want to sleep.\"\n\nHe sank upon the bed with its tangle of blankets and was unconscious\nbefore the lawyer had covered him over.\n\nThere he lay like a dead man till late in the afternoon, when Dextry\nand Slapjack came in from the hills, answering Wheaton's call, and fell\nupon him hungrily. They shook Roy into consciousness with joyous riot,\npommelling him with affectionate roughness till he rose and joined with\nthem stiffly. He bathed and rubbed the soreness from his muscles,\nemerging physically fit. They made him recount his adventures to the\ntiniest detail, following his description of the fight with absorbed\ninterest till Dextry broke into mournful complaint:\n\n\"I'd have give my half of the Midas to see you bust him. Lord, I'd have\nscreeched with soopreme delight at that.\"\n\n\"Why didn't you gouge his eyes out when you had him crippled?\"\nquestioned Slapjack, vindictively. \"I'd 'a' done it.\"\n\nDextry continued: \"They tell me that when he was arrested he swore in\neighteen different languages, each one more refreshin'ly repulsive an'\nvig'rous than the precedin'. Oh, I have sure missed a-plenty to-day,\npartic'lar because my own diction is gettin' run down an' skim-milky of\nlate, showin' sad lack of new idees. Which I might have assim'lated\nsomethin' robustly original an' expressive if I'd been here. No, sir; a\nnose-bag full of nuggets wouldn't have kept me away.\"\n\n\"How did it sound when she busted?\" insisted the morbid Simms, but\nGlenister refused to discuss his combat.\n\n\"Come on, Slap,\" said the old prospector, \"let's go down-town. I'm so\nhet up I can't set still, an' besides, mebbe we can get the story the\nway it really happened, from somebody who ain't bound an' gagged an'\nchloroformed by such unbecomin' modesties. Roy, don't never go into\nvawdyville with them personal episodes, because they read about as\nthrillin' as a cook-book. Why, say, I've had the story of that fight\nfrom four different fellers already, none of which was within four\nblocks of the scrimmage, an' they're all diff'rent an' all better 'n\nyour account.\"\n\nNow that Glenister's mind had recovered some of its poise he realized\nwhat he had done.\n\n\"I was a beast, an animal,\" he groaned, \"and that after all my\nstriving. I wanted to leave that part behind, I wanted to be worthy of\nher love and trust even though I never won it, but at the first test I\nam found lacking. I have lost her confidence, yes--and what is worse,\ninfinitely worse, I have lost my own. She's always seen me at my\nworst,\" he went on, \"but I'm not that kind at bottom, not that kind. I\nwant to do what's right, and if I have another chance I will, I know I\nwill. I've been tried too hard, that's all.\"\n\nSome one knocked, and he opened the door to admit the Bronco Kid and\nHelen.\n\n\"Wait a minute, old man,\" said the Kid. \"I'm here as a friend.\" The\ngambler handled himself with difficulty, offering in explanation:\n\n\"I'm all sewed up in bandages of one kind or another.\"\n\n\"He ought to be in bed now, but he wouldn't let me come alone, and I\ncould not wait,\" the girl supplemented, while her eyes avoided\nGlenister's in strange hesitation.\n\n\"He wouldn't let you. I don't understand.\"\n\n\"I'm her brother,\" announced the Bronco Kid. \"I've known it for a long\ntime, but I--I--well, you understand I couldn't let her know. All I can\nsay is, I've gambled square till the night I played you, and I was as\nmad as a dervish then, blaming you for the talk I'd heard. Last night I\nlearned by chance about Struve and Helen and got to the road-house in\ntime to save her. I'm sorry I didn't kill him.\" His long white fingers\nwrithed about the arm of his chair at the memory.\n\n\"Isn't he dead?\" Glenister inquired.\n\n\"No. The doctors have brought him in and he'll get well. He's like half\nthe men in Alaska--here because the sheriffs back home couldn't shoot\nstraight. There's something else. I'm not a good talker, but give me\ntime and I'll manage it so you'll understand. I tried to keep Helen\nfrom coming on this errand, but she said it was the square thing and\nshe knows better than I. It's about those papers she brought in last\nspring. She was afraid you might consider her a party to the deal, but\nyou don't, do you?\" He glared belligerently, and Roy replied, with\nfervor:\n\n\"Certainly not. Go on.\"\n\n\"Well, she learned the other day that those documents told the whole\nstory and contained enough proof to break up this conspiracy and\nconvict the Judge and McNamara and all the rest, but Struve kept the\nbundle in his safe and wouldn't give it up without a price. That's why\nshe went away with him--She thought it was right, and--that's all. But\nit seems Wheaton had succeeded in another way. Now, I'm coming to the\npoint. The Judge and McNamara are arrested for contempt of court and\nthey're as good as convicted; you have recovered your mine, and these\nmen are disgraced. They will go to jail--\"\n\n\"Yes, for six months, perhaps,\" broke in the other, hotly, \"but what\ndoes that amount to? There never was a bolder crime consummated nor one\nmore cruelly unjust. They robbed a realm and pillaged its people, they\ndefiled a court and made Justice a wanton, they jailed good men and\nsent others to ruin; and for this they are to suffer--how? By a paltry\nfine or a short imprisonment, perhaps, by an ephemeral disgrace and the\nloss of their stolen goods. Contempt of court is the accusation, but\nyou might as well convict a murderer for breach of the peace. We've\nthrown them off, it's true, and they won't trouble us again, but\nthey'll never have to answer for their real infamy. That will go\nunpunished while their lawyers quibble over technicalities and rules of\ncourt. I guess it's true that there isn't any law of God or man north\nof Fifty-three; but if there is justice south of that mark, those\npeople will answer for conspiracy and go to the penitentiary.\"\n\n\"You make it hard for me to say what I want to. I am almost sorry we\ncame, for I am not cunning with words, and I don't know that you'll\nunderstand,\" said the Bronco Kid, gravely, \"We looked at it this way:\nyou have had your victory, you have beaten your enemies against odds,\nyou have recovered your mine, and they are disgraced. To men like them\nthat last will outlive and outweigh all the rest; but the Judge is our\nuncle and our blood runs in his veins. He took Helen when she was a\nbaby and was a father to her in his selfish way, loving her as best he\nknew how. And she loves him.\"\n\n\"I don't quite understand you,\" said Roy.\n\nAnd then Helen spoke for the first time eagerly, taking a packet from\nher bosom as she began:\n\n\"This will tell the whole wretched story, Mr. Glenister, and show the\nplot in all its vileness. It's hard for me to betray my uncle, but this\nproof is yours by right to use as you see fit, and I can't keep it.\"\n\n\"Do you mean that this evidence will show all that? And you're going to\ngive it to me because you think it is your duty?\"\n\n\"It belongs to you. I have no choice. But what I came for was to plead\nand to ask a little mercy for my uncle, who is an old, old man, and\nvery weak. This will kill him.\"\n\nHe saw that her eyes were swimming while the little chin quivered ever\nso slightly and her pale cheeks were flushed. There rose in him the old\nwild desire to take her in his arms, a yearning to pillow her head on\nhis shoulder and kiss away the tears, to smooth with tender caress the\nwavy hair, and bury his face deep in it till he grew drunk with the\nmadness of her. But he knew at last for whom she really pleaded.\n\nSo he was to forswear this vengeance, which was no vengeance after all,\nbut in verity a just punishment. They asked him--a man--a man's man--a\nNorthman--to do this, and for what? For no reward, but on the contrary\nto insure himself lasting bitterness. He strove to look at the\nproposition calmly, clearly, but it was difficult. If only by freeing\nthis other villain as well as her uncle he would do a good to her, then\nhe would not hesitate. Love was not the only thing. He marvelled at his\nown attitude; this could not be his old self debating thus. He had\nasked for another chance to show that he was not the old Roy Glenister;\nwell, it had come, and he was ready.\n\nRoy dared not look at Helen any more, for this was the hardest moment\nhe had ever lived.\n\n\"You ask this for your uncle, but what of--of the other fellow? You\nmust know that if one goes free so will they both; they can't be\nseparated.\"\n\n\"It's almost too much to ask,\" the Kid took up, uncertainly. \"But don't\nyou think the work is done? I can't help but admire McNamara, and\nneither can you--he's been too good an enemy to you for\nthat--and--and--he loves Helen.\"\n\n\"I know--I know,\" said Glenister, hastily, at the same time stopping an\nunintelligible protest from the girl. \"You've said enough.\" He\nstraightened his slightly stooping shoulders and looked at the unopened\npackage wearily, then slipped the rubber band from it, and, separating\nthe contents, tore them up--one by one--tore them into fine bits\nwithout hurry or ostentation, and tossed the fragments away, while the\nwoman began to sob softly, the sound of her relief alone disturbing the\nsilence. And so he gave her his enemy, making his offer gamely,\naccording to his code.\n\n\"You're right--the work is done. And now, I'm very tired.\"\n\nThey left him standing there, the glory of the dying day illumining his\nlean, brown features, the vision of a great loneliness in his weary\neyes.\n\nHe did not rouse himself till the sky before him was only a curtain of\nsteel, pencilled with streaks of soot that lay close down above the\ndarker sea. Then he sighed and said, aloud:\n\n\"So this is the end, and I gave him to her with these hands\"--he held\nthem out before him curiously, becoming conscious for the first time\nthat the left one was swollen and discolored and fearfully painful. He\nnoted it with impersonal interest, realizing its need of medical\nattention--so left the cabin and walked down into the city. He\nencountered Dextry and Simms on the way, and they went with him, both\nflowing with the gossip of the camp.\n\n\"Lord, but you're the talk of the town,\" they began. \"The curio hunters\nhave commenced to pull Struve's office apart for souvenirs, and the\nSwedes want to run you for Congress as soon as ever we get admitted as\na State. They say that at collar-an'-elbow holts you could lick any of\nthem Eastern senators and thereby rastle out a lot of good legislation\nfor us cripples up here.\"\n\n\"Speakin' of laws goes to show me that this here country is gettin' too\nblamed civilized for a white man,\" said Simms, pessimistically, \"and\nnow that this fight is ended up it don't look like there would be\nanything doin' fit to claim the interest of a growed-up person for a\nlong while. I'm goin' west.\"\n\n\"West! Why, you can throw a stone into Bering Strait from here,\" said\nRoy, smiling.\n\n\"Oh, well, the world's round. There's a schooner outfittin' for\nSibeery--two years' cruise. Me an' Dex is figgerin' on gettin' out\ntowards the frontier fer a spell.\"\n\n\"Sure!\" said Dextry. \"I'm beginnin' to feel all cramped up hereabouts\nowin' to these fillymonarch orchestras an' French restarawnts and such\ndiscrepancies of scenery. They're puttin' a pavement on Front Street\nand there's a shoe-shinin' parlor opened up. Why, I'd like to get where\nI could stretch an' holler without disturbin' the pensiveness of some\ndude in a dress suit. Better come along, Roy; we can sell out the\nMidas.\"\n\n\"I'll think it over,\" said the young man.\n\nThe night was bright with a full moon when they left the doctor's\noffice. Roy, in no mood for the exuberance of his companions, parted\nfrom them, but had not gone far before he met Cherry Malotte. His head\nwas low and he did not see her till she spoke.\n\n\"Well, boy, so it's over at last!\"\n\nHer words chimed so perfectly with his thoughts that he replied: \"Yes,\nit's all over, little girl.\"\n\n\"You don't need my congratulations--you know me too well for that. How\ndoes it feel to be a winner?\"\n\n\"I don't know. I've lost.\"\n\n\"Lost what?\"\n\n\"Everything--except the gold-mine.\"\n\n\"Everything except--I see. You mean that she--that you have asked her\nand she won't?\" He never knew the cost at which she held her voice so\nsteady.\n\n\"More than that. It's so new that it hurts yet, and it will continue to\nhurt for a long time, I suppose--but to-morrow I am going back to my\nhills and my valleys, back to the Midas and my work, and try to begin\nall over. For a time I've wandered in strange paths, seeking new gods,\nas it were, but the dazzle has died out of my eyes and I can see true\nagain. She isn't for me, although I shall always love her. I'm sorry I\ncan't forget easily, as some do. It's hard to look ahead and take an\ninterest in things. But what about you? Where shall you go?\"\n\n\"I don't know. It doesn't really matter--now.\" The dusk hid her white,\nset face and she spoke monotonously. \"I am going to see the Bronco Kid.\nHe sent for me. He's ill.\"\n\n\"He's not a bad sort,\" said Roy. \"And I suppose he'll make a new start,\ntoo.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" said she, gazing far out over the gloomy ocean. \"It all\ndepends.\" After a moment, she added, \"What a pity that we can't all\nsponge off the slate and begin afresh and--forget.\"\n\n\"It's part of the game,\" said he. \"I don't know why it's so, but it is.\nI'll see you sometimes, won't I?\"\n\n\"No, boy--I think not.\"\n\n\"I believe I understand,\" he murmured; \"and perhaps it's better so.\" He\ntook her two soft hands in his one good right and kissed them. \"God\nbless you and keep you, dear, brave little Cherry.\"\n\nShe stood straight and still as he melted into the shadows, and only\nthe moonlight heard her pitiful sob and her hopeless whisper:\n\n\"Good-bye, my boy, my boy.\"\n\nHe wandered down beside the sea, for his battle was not yet won, and\nuntil he was surer of himself he could not endure the ribaldry and\nrejoicing of his fellows. A welcome lay waiting for him in every public\nplace, but no one there could know the mockery of it, no one could\ngauge the desolation that was his.\n\nThe sand, wet, packed, and hard as a pavement, gave no sound to his\ncareless steps; and thus it was that he came silently upon the one\nwoman as she stood beside the silver surf. Had he seen her first he\nwould have slunk past in the landward shadows; but, recognizing his\ntall form, she called and he came, while it seemed that his lungs grew\nsuddenly constricted, as though bound about with steel hoops. The very\npleasure of her sight pained him. He advanced eagerly, and yet with\nhesitation, standing stiffly aloof while his heart fluttered and his\ntongue grew dumb. At last she saw his bandages and her manner changed\nabruptly. Coming closer she touched them with caressing fingers.\n\n\"It's nothing--nothing at all,\" he said, while his voice jumped out of\nall control. \"When are you--going away?\"\n\n\"I do not know--not for some time.\"\n\nHe had supposed she would go to-morrow with her uncle and--the other,\nto be with them through their travail.\n\nWith warm impetuosity she began: \"It was a noble thing you did to-day.\nOh, I am glad and proud.\"\n\n\"I prefer you to think of me in that way, rather than as the wild beast\nyou saw this morning, for I was mad, perfectly mad with hatred and\nrevenge, and every wild impulse that comes to a defeated man. You see,\nI had played and lost, played and lost, again and again, till there was\nnothing left. What mischance brought you there? It was a terribly\nbrutal thing, but you can't understand.\"\n\n\"But I can understand. I do. I know all about it now. I know the wild\nrage of desperation; I know the exultation of victory; I know what hate\nand fear are now. You told me once that the wilderness had made you a\nsavage, and I laughed at it just as I did when you said that my contact\nwith big things would teach me the truth, that we're all alike, and\nthat those motives are in us all. I see now that you were right and I\nwas very simple. I learned a great deal last night.\"\n\n\"I have learned much also,\" said he. \"I wish you might teach me more.\"\n\n\"I--I--don't think I could teach you any more,\" she hesitated.\n\nHe moved as though to speak, but held back and tore his eyes away from\nher.\n\n\"Well,\" she inquired, gazing at him covertly.\n\n\"Once, a long time ago, I read a Lover's Petition, and ever since\nknowing you I have made the constant prayer that I might be given the\npurity to be worthy the good in you, and that you might be granted the\npatience to reach the good in me--but it's no use. But at least I'm\nglad we have met on common ground, as it were, and that you understand,\nin a measure. The prayer could not be answered; but through it I have\nfound myself and--I have known you. That last is worth more than a\nking's ransom to me. It is a holy thing which I shall reverence always,\nand when you go you will leave me lonely except for its remembrance.\"\n\n\"But I am not going,\" she said. \"That is--unless--\"\n\nSomething in her voice swept his gaze back from the shimmering causeway\nthat rippled seaward to the rising moon. It brought the breath into his\nthroat, and he shook as though seized by a great fear.\n\n\"Unless--what?\"\n\n\"Unless you want me to.\"\n\n\"Oh, God! don't play with me!\" He flung out his hand as though to stop\nher while his voice died out to a supplicating hoarseness. \"I can't\nstand that.\"\n\n\"Don't you see? Won't you see?\" she asked. \"I was waiting here for the\ncourage to go to you since you have made it so very hard for me--my\npagan.\" With which she came close to him, looking upward into his face,\nsmiling a little, shrinking a little, yielding yet withholding, while\nthe moonlight made of her eyes two bottomless, boundless pools, dark\nwith love, and brimming with the promise of his dreams.\n\nTHE END"