"You do not love me?" he questioned, more to himself than to the shrinking woman. "You do not understand?"

He stood before her struggling with his disappointment—that she should fail to understand—she who had always felt his thought so subtly; it was this, almost as much as her lack of response to his love, that hurt him.

They stood before each other, separated by a thing which the woman would not put into words, and the man dared not question.

"Mr. Danvers—Philip," said the girl, gently, "I am sorry——" She hesitated at the trite words, her voice faltering as she looked up into his sad face; it had grown thin and tired these last days. She longed to go to him, to tell him that he should find rest at last. "No," she went on, finally, "I am not sorry that you found the clipping," she altered her words; "why should I not be honest with myself—and you?"

She spoke so simply, so easily, that Danvers almost believed that she did not care.

"You saved my life once, dear friend," she said, "and that makes me dare to ask you to be generous now. Do not judge me! Wait a little. Forget this evening, and let us go back to the old days. Will you?"

She smiled into his face, so sad a little smile in its evident effort at bravery, that he responded to her mood, eager to help her keep the mastery over her heart, that she might fight her battle in her own proud way. Almost, he was reconciled to her woman's judgment; and he sat down and talked of Fort Benton days.

For that hour Winifred was grateful to Danvers all her life; and when he rose to say good-night she was quite herself again.

"You will understand if I tell you that I must go now?" inquired Danvers. "Judge Latimer was to come in on Number Four, and I must see him to-night."

Winifred met his look with comprehension, and gave him her hand.

A faint sound reached them from the Latimer's apartment across the way as Danvers opened the door. He listened, then ran across the hall.

"What's that?" cried Winifred, startled.



Chapter XIII

The Lobbyist

Fate, woman-like, cares not what means she employs to hurt. She takes what comes first to hand. Sometimes the more unlikely the weapon, the more effective is its use.

The same afternoon that Danvers tried to overtake Miss Blair, two talkative drummers boarded the west-bound train at a small Montana station, doubling back to Helena. As they entered the smoking compartment of a sleeper they found it empty save for a slight, weary-looking man who was gazing abstractedly at the wintry plains.

"Here, don't sit that side," said one; "the sun glares on the snow too much."

As the drummer spoke to his friend he gave a passing glance at the preoccupied stranger, and chanced to take the seat directly in front of him. The other followed his advice, facing him.

"What's doing in Helena? I've been gone a week, but I see by the paper you haven't elected a senator yet."

"Naw," returned his companion; "hadn't yesterday, when I took the train."

"Pretty stiff contest."

"Pretty slick man bound to win out."

"Wish I was a member, with all the swag there is floating 'round."

"Wish I was a member with a right pretty woman coaxing for my vote!"

"What's that? I hadn't heard of that yet." The speaker leaned forward, scenting scandal.

"Aw! It's no secret in Helena. It's the talk of the town."

"I never heard a word. I thought politics was free from petticoats out here."

"They never are—anywhere. You know Charlie Blair?"

The drummer interrogated shook his head.

"Well, he's a Helena man, and one of the State senators. There's a woman lobbyin' for Burroughs, so they say, and she's got Blair batty! Last man in the world you'd expect to be caught by a woman. They say he's a great friend of her husband's, too—Judge Latimer."

A stifled moan came from the seat behind the drummers.

"You don't say! Any talk about her before?"

"Search me!"

"Probably there's nothing in it," concluded the other, with unexpected charity. "You know how people surmise the worst. She doesn't care for him, I take it."

"Naw! At least, not if I size her up correct. She's a good-looker, all right; she was pointed out to me one night in the hotel dining-room. It was easy to see where she was stuck! She couldn't keep her eyes off a tall, good-looking fellow, that I was told was the senator from Chouteau County."

The other nodded. "I've heard of him. He's the head of the opposition to Burroughs in the Republican party. Danvers, his name is—Englishman—in the cattle business."

"I saw the situation right away. Bill Moore, Burroughs' political boss, you know, says that years ago they had an affair over in the Whoop Up Country—wherever that is, and——"

"Bozeman!" said the porter, interrupting the conversation.

"I got to see a man here," said one of the drummers. "Come along. It won't take but a minute. He'll be waiting on the platform; I wired him."

"That man looked bad," commented the other, jerking his thumb backward as they stepped from the car. "Did you notice how ghastly his face was? I thought for a moment he was going to speak to you."

They passed on, and the conductor, who followed a moment later, stopped abruptly at sight of the limp figure, and hurried into the next coach.

"Is there a doctor on board?" he asked. "A man has fainted—or had a stroke. It's Judge Latimer, of Helena."

And the instruments of fate never knew what a deadly blow they had delivered.

* * * * *

That evening Mrs. Latimer, exquisitely gowned and radiating magnetism, was again trying to persuade Senator Blair to vote for Mr. Burroughs.

"Burroughs is capable of more skulduggery than any man in the State," declared her caller, after they had talked somewhat of the senatorial candidate. "I can't see why you keep on harping on his fitness for the place."

"Do you know, I admire him," responded Mrs. Latimer, with apparent frankness. "He may be unscrupulous; but he has been successful. The end justifies the means, I think."

"I've promised Senator Danvers that I would not vote for Burroughs," affirmed Blair, stubbornly. Eva had treated him coolly for a few days, and he had practically decided that he wanted neither Judge Latimer's wife nor Burroughs' money. But as he gazed at the lady's ripe beauty he became more infatuated than before. He changed the subject abruptly. "I must go down to the valley to-morrow, after the session adjourns. Will you come with me for a ride?"

"Are you crazy?" Mrs. Latimer spoke with scorn.

"No one will see us," he pleaded. "I can pick you up where you used to live. You can wear a veil if you like. What do we care if we do meet somebody we know? You belong to the smart set—you can do anything you like." Charlie laughed loud.

"My dear friend," Eva began, cynically, believing that her position had so far made her exempt from comment, "the world is too suspicious. No man and woman can foregather without some pure soul interpreting that companionship to its own satisfaction. Besides, I expect Arthur any day now. He neither writes nor wires me just when he can come."

"You'll never do a thing to please me!" cried Blair, hotly. "I am the one who must grant favors. I——"

"Aren't you a man, and therefore to be compliant?" returned Eva, her smile tempering her insolence. Then, pleading, although her eyes grew no softer: "Only one thing do I ask, Senator. Please, please grant me that! Don't you care for me more than for Senator Danvers? Break your promise to him—for me." She was very enticing as she bent towards him, and he was conscious of the faint perfume about her.

"Mr. Burroughs needs your vote," she went on, persuasively; "and if you give it to him—as I've told you a hundred times—he has promised that he will provide for Arthur; and you like Arthur."

"And what do I get out of it?"

"You'll please me," was the caressing answer. "And—I never thought of it before," she hastened to add, as the scar grew more conspicuous—a sure register of his emotions—"why not ask Mr. Burroughs to get you to Berlin, too—as first secretary or something, if we go there?" She must throw him some encouragement. "I hate Helena. You do yourself. If we were in Berlin, we'd be where life is—a whirl of——"

"Madness," Senator Blair finished her sentence for her, thickly. "I do not have to go away from Helena for that sensation!" He lost control of himself. "You drive me mad, Eva! You are more tempting than ever! Give me one kiss—one—and I'll vote for Burroughs till hell freezes over!" The language of the frontier returned, in his abandon.

"Not now!" The temptress was thoroughly alarmed. She had thought to control any situation, but—Charlie's eyes—so near her own! "Perhaps—when you have voted for——" She must secure this man's vote for Burroughs, even if she bartered her self-respect.

"Now, by God! Now!"

"No! No!" In terror Eva gave a suppressed cry and turned to escape the arms of the man she had maddened. With his hot lips brushing her own she turned away her face in impotent writhing, and saw her husband standing in the doorway.

"Pardon me," apologized Latimer, courteously, as though in a trance. He stepped forward, closed the door and took off his coat and hat. He sat down absently, as if he had returned after only a few hours' absence. He took no notice of the presence of Senator Blair nor of his hasty exit. The scene he had interrupted seemed to have no meaning for him. He could not have told how he reached home, and his one thought was of Danvers—his supposed Judas—and of the wife who had lived a lie even while bearing his children.

But Eva could not know this, and strove hurriedly to form some excuse for her predicament.

Latimer made no response to her explanations. Instead he said, quite gently: "I'll go and see if little Arthur is asleep. I want to kiss him good-night," and disappeared through the portieres.

Eva stood motionless, voiceless, in chill terror at her husband's solicitude for the dead child! Had he forgotten—or was he going mad? What had happened? What was to happen?

When Latimer returned, his eyes had lost their dazed expression. "My name is a reproach—it is handed around by coarse gossips!" he said, hoarsely. His look went beyond accusation.

Eva suddenly sank to her knees in mortal fear. The tones were not loud, but she never could have believed that those mild, blue eyes would flash at her such a menace of death.

"Arthur!" she wailed; "what have you heard? Why have you come home like this? I have not been untrue? Who said so? I have not! I have lied to you sometimes about little things—but not now!"

The silence was terrible! She began again, miserably: "I've been helping Mr. Burroughs; but surely that's not—it was for your advancement—Arthur!—speak to me!" She broke into gasping sobs.

The pale, emaciated face above her never softened; the eyes never wavered. Yet a reasoning anguish crept into the insane glare. After all, nothing mattered except this one great pain in his heart. What was it he wanted to know? Yes—he remembered! The truth!—the truth!

"And Philip Danvers?"

The change in tone gave so great relief that Eva became hysterical, not understanding the obscure connection.

"Oh, Senator Danvers? He has had nothing to do with the lobbying. You know he is against Mr. Burroughs." She rose, again self-possessed, feeling herself able to explain all untoward circumstances.

"Come, you are worn from your journey. Lie here on the couch and I'll get you some wine."

But her husband resisted, dumbly, looking at her as a starving dog might look at the hand that had enticed him by pretending to offer food. Words came, at last, while he beat his hands together in agony.

"I cannot bear it—I cannot! They said you and Phil had an affair in the Whoop Up Country——"

"What are you saying?" came from Eva, sharply. She went from fear to fury. "You've been listening to some malicious gossip," she screamed; "and now you come home to frighten me into spasms!" The rage covered her fright. "There's not a word of truth in it!"

"Tell me the truth!" The God on high could not have been more mandatory.

The woman dared not lie again. Her anger, rather than her self-respect, brought the truth like a charge of dynamite from the muddy waters of her soul.

"Well, then, it is the truth! I was engaged to Philip Danvers at Fort Macleod. I threw him over afterwards, because he had no money and you had. Now are you satisfied?" The cruel desire to hurt gave this added thrust. "No? Then let me tell you that I have never loved you, never! I've always loved Philip Danvers—always—always—always!" Her voice rose in crescendo.

At last it was spoken. Eva stood at bay, her jewels glittering on bare shoulders and arms as balefully as her eyes flashed hate.

"God!" Latimer reeled, and put his hand on his heart, but recovered himself. "And Philip"—the words came in a chill whisper—"did he love—you?"

"You'd better ask him!" Eva was wholly beside herself, in the reaction of a weak woman's fear.

"Phil—my friend!" he choked, started and winced, putting his hand again over his heart; then fell heavily.

The woman screamed in fright and knelt beside him.

"Arthur, he never cared—after I dismissed him. He despised me. He despises me now—more than you ever can. Oh, God in heaven! What have I done?" Remorse followed swiftly on her anger.

Latimer was conscious as his wife raised his head. He had understood her confession, and although he could not speak he motioned for her to seek assistance; but the effort was too much, and he again sank back, moaning.

Eva laid him gently down, and flew to the door. As she opened it she fell against Danvers, coming from Winifred's side.

"You've killed him, at last!" Philip flayed her with word and look as she sped for other help; but he forgot her as he knelt and raised Latimer's head to his knee. He would have carried him to a couch, but Arthur motioned that he could not endure that pain. The look of trust that greeted Danvers was returned with one of love and fidelity.

With a sigh of utter content Latimer, by a supreme effort, raised his hands to Philip's shoulders.

"Arthur!" Danvers groaned, holding him close as he looked into the glazing eyes.

"Did I doubt you?" whispered the judge. "Forgive me—my dear—friend—Phil!"



Chapter XIV

The Keystone

When Senator Blair learned of Judge Latimer's death he thought himself its prime cause and suffered as only a man can who is not wholly heartless. How poorly he had rewarded the friendship which had relieved him in his need at Fort Macleod! All his passion for Mrs. Latimer had died in that fearful moment when he looked on the curiously passive husband in the doorway; remorse bit like acid into the depths of his heart. The meaning glances and the interrupted conversations that met him everywhere the morning after the judge's death drove him to solitude. He even avoided his sister, Danvers and the doctor; but most of all he shunned the Honorable Mr. Moore. He had had enough of temptation! He would not allow himself again to be approached!

His belief that in the sight of God he was a murderer made Blair collapse during the day. He was confined to his room; and it was then that he told the Fort Benton physician all that was haunting him, hour by hour. Blair did not attempt to palliate his sin, and although the doctor had known much and suspected more, he could hardly find it in his heart to forgive either Winifred's brother or the woman who had led him on. The only ray of mercy he felt was that matters were not so bad as he had feared between these old friends of his; but in his bitterness at Arthur's death, he would not give Blair the consolation of knowing that it was only a question of a short time, at best, when the judge's weak heart must have failed. Let him suffer! Arthur had! For the first time the lenient doctor did not want to relieve pain. Neither he nor Blair knew of what had taken place between Eva and her husband after Charlie had left their rooms.

The doctor's bitterness, however, was as nothing to the inward storm which shook Danvers when Eva, in the height of her hysterical remorse and fear of exposure, told him the sorry tale of her first flutterings around the arc-light of Mr. Burroughs' ambition; of her consent to aid Mr. Moore in his efforts to influence uncertain legislators to vote for Burroughs, and that gentleman's acceptance thereof; of the clandestine meetings in her apartments with the Honorable William, and of the more open but far less harmless friendship with Senator Blair, pursued until she was singed with the flame of her own kindling and nearly consumed by its fires. And lastly, her husband's reproaches; her miserable evasions and the hurt that she had deliberately given him. When she told her silent listener of that last half hour Danvers held himself forcibly in his fear of doing the woman bodily harm. That she should have done this cruel thing! Her indiscretions had been bad enough, but they had been prompted by an ambition second only to Mr. Burroughs'. But to turn the knife wantonly in Arthur's heart of gold!... How nearly his friend had gone from him, believing that he was false!... And now he was dead!... dead!

Philip's agony broke its restraint, and Mrs. Latimer never forgot his scathing denunciation.

"You killed Arthur," he concluded, white to the lips, "as surely as if you used a stiletto! So that was what Arthur meant." For a few moments Danvers could not speak as the recollection of that look of love and trust came surging back. "No one must ever know the truth," he went on, huskily. "Let it be buried with poor Arthur. There will be more or less gossip; but we will stand by you for the judge's sake—and for Miss Blair's as well. She, of all persons, must know nothing of what you have told me."

Mrs. Latimer's sobs only roused his wrath at all the misery she had wrought. He knew her tears were for herself, not for her husband. As he turned to leave the room she caught at his hand.

"I did not mean——" she began in weak defense. "You are too hard," she protested, feeling him recoil.

"Hard!" Philip laughed harshly in his pain. "You did not expect me to condole with you on the outcome of your folly? All that I can say is, may God forgive you!" and he was gone.

So resolutely did Latimer's friends ignore all previous conditions that the ready tongue of rumor was silenced immediately. Surely if Senator Danvers and the doctor from Fort Benton, as well as Miss Blair, were ever at Mrs. Latimer's side, there could have been no breath of wrong in her sudden cultivation of Senator Blair.

Only three persons—Danvers, the doctor and Moore—knew of the hidden octopus of Burroughs' insatiable vindictiveness, whose tentacles, first fastening on Eva, had finally crushed Latimer. Moore knew, if the others did not, that Blair was doomed if he once again came within its radius. Then for the others! But he made no immediate move, and decorously gave regard to the proprieties, both for himself and as a substitute for Mr. Burroughs. His chief was almost as hysterical as Eva herself over the judge's untimely death, for he thought his prospects endangered thereby. His panic made him hasten to leave Helena for a few days.

Moore had tried to secure some other man to change to Burroughs, someone who did not hold himself as high as Blair had done on the night of the club dinner; but he had finally been obliged to report his non-success. He suggested to Burroughs that he approach Senator Blair once more, offering twenty thousand dollars. He felt sure that Charlie would take less—now!

Just before Burroughs ordered a special train to hurry him away from the prevailing gloom, the two conspirators had their final word on the subject of Senator Blair.

"We've got to get this thing over," said Burroughs, savagely. "There's too much talk. We'll be hung as high as Haman or sent to the pen for twenty years if we don't get a move on. And there are but six days more of the session. Give Charlie Blair his price—and be damned to him!"

"That's all right, Bob," retorted Moore, angrily. "I'll give him the money if you say so. But I don't think the whole business of being a United States senator is worth thirty thousand dollars. And if I do get it to him (and the Lord knows how I can)—what then? He is sick in bed, and who can tell when he can get to the capitol?"

"Get? We'll take him, alive or dying! Thirty thousand! It's my money, isn't it? You are nothing out of pocket. Get it to him while the rest of his folks are at the—the funeral!" The word chilled them both. Were they responsible for this death? "Get it to him! He'll keep it! Montana'll be too hot for him from now on, let me tell you! He'll take the money, vote for me, and skip—all in the same day. There's been too much talk to be agreeable to a man who's never before been mixed up with a woman—except that squaw!" Burroughs walked nervously back and forth, then: "You wire me when you've given the money to him and I'll come back. It'll all be clear sailing then."

This delay! As Burroughs reviewed the results of his schemes he felt that he had been hardly used. Not so had fortune treated him in the past. Most of all he bewailed the inclusion of a woman in the necessary chicanery of diverting votes. Catch him again being over-persuaded by Bill Moore's sophistry!

In truth Senator Blair had begun to think that he should have to take Burroughs' money. How could he ever face his sister, his world again? He made sure that he was not only called a murderer, but that he was one. He might as well be other things. No appellation could be so terrible as that first. He would take the thirty thousand dollars if it should be forthcoming, vote and take the first train west the same day. In the Orient he could lose his identity as a bribe-taker and a murderer. The torture never relaxed during the days preceding the judge's funeral.

Late on the afternoon of the day of the burial of the man whom he had so nearly wronged the senator's attention was drawn to a low rustle near the door opening from his room to the hall outside. Something white and long was being cautiously pushed under the door. Charlie was alone, and he weakly pulled himself to that mysterious package. The soft feel of it thrilled him like brandy. Burroughs had come to his terms! He could get away! But he must previously acknowledge before all men that he had been bought at a price. The odium.... A flirt of the devil's tail brought a new thought to his fevered brain—fevered by remorse and the effects of long-continued and unwonted alcoholic stimulants. Suppose that he did not vote? Suppose that he kept this fortune (he counted it over to assure himself of its reality), pleading his sickness until the last day of the session, and go ... go.... The thought swung him to uneasy sleep.

While he slept the doctor and the senator from Chouteau came into the room as they returned from the cemetery. Blair had been too much occupied in his dizzy thought to remember to hide his ill-gotten money, and on the white counterpane lay those proofs of Burroughs' infamy.

"Thirty thousand dollars!" gasped the doctor, in undertones, counting the large bills and sheafing them in one trembling hand. "What shall we do?"

"Nothing," responded Danvers, very quietly. "When Charlie wakes I will talk with him. I do not believe that he will keep that money or vote for Burroughs."

"How fortunate that Winifred did not come in with us!" said the older man. "You stay here, Phil, and I will keep her away for an hour. He will not sleep long. He is too feverish." Danvers nodded acquiescence, and the physician tiptoed away.

Before many minutes the sick man awoke. Danvers sat near the bed, reading the evening paper. Blair looked around with the impersonal eyes of the sick, then saw the pile of bank notes on the stand beside his bed. He started and gave a furtive look at Philip. Their eyes met squarely.

"You will send that money back, Charlie." The words were not so much query as certainty. Blair, shamed, was long in replying.

"I can't afford to, Danvers," he said finally. "I'm not only a poor man, but a ruined one as well. I may keep it and—get out of the State."

"And vote for Bob Burroughs?" The head of the opposition still kept his calm acceptance of his discovery. Curiously enough it threshed the sick senator, after a few words, into stubborn silence.

"Maybe I will and maybe I won't. I have the money, and Bob or Bill will never dare to ask for it back. If you ever see me in the Assembly again you'll know that I'm going to vote for Burroughs—curse him!"

"Let me have that money, Charlie," Danvers pleaded. "Think of your sister. It will break her heart if you do this thing. And," he continued huskily, for he suddenly found that he could not control his voice, "hearts enough have been broken over this business of electing a United States senator." He reached out his hand, persuasively, expectantly. "I will see that it goes to the men who gave it to you."

But Senator Blair was obdurate; and when Philip left him he felt that his long fight was to end in defeat, and that Robert Burroughs would be elected by the high-priced vote of Winifred's brother. Senator Danvers had kept in too close touch with the situation not to know that Moore would never have paid such a sum to Senator Blair if he were not their last hope for a majority of even one.

The next day of the Legislature Senator Blair was again reported not present on account of sickness, and William Moore thought it best not to show his full strength. The next, and the last day of the session, Blair was still absent. Ballot after ballot was taken. One by one men responded to the crack of Moore's whip and changed their votes to Burroughs, while the spectators indulged in significant laughter. One by one the several candidates withdrew their names as their former adherents shamelessly went over the fast increasing list for Burroughs. Still Senator Danvers held most of his men, and not until long after nightfall did the ballots come within one of electing Burroughs. The last man to change, amid hoots of derision, was Joseph Hall.

Mr. Burroughs and the Honorable William were both in the rear of the House of Representatives, for the first time during the session.

"We must get Charlie Blair here!" hissed Burroughs, hearing Senator Danvers make a motion for a ten minutes' recess. Senator Hall opposed the motion. He did not know that Senator Blair's vote would elect Burroughs, or he would not have tried to block Danvers' desire to speak to some of the turncoats. But the motion prevailed and there was much seeking of the various places where a man might refresh himself after such arduous toil. "He shall come," continued the candidate for Congress, "if he dies in the next hour!" Moore, feeling sure of the men he had already lined up, consented to be the one to bring the sick senator from the hotel, only five minutes away.

In the meantime Senator Danvers was vainly trying to stem the tide. The doctor reported that Senator Blair was in bed and apparently sleeping, so Philip was comparatively easy. All that remained for him to do was to see that no other man went over to the enemy; and it had been agreed that the Legislature should adjourn at two o'clock that night.

Senator Blair, meanwhile, had made up his mind to get away that very hour. No matter if he were too sick to stand, he would get up and dress, get a carriage and go.... It was better than staying and going mad. The hotel was practically empty, he knew, for everybody who could be at the capitol was there to witness the closing hours of the Assembly. Word had spread that Robert Burroughs would surely be elected before midnight. The whole city and most of the State's inhabitants of voting age and sex were crowded into the capitol. Charlie knew that Winifred was with Mrs. Latimer across the hall. Hurriedly he dressed, trembling with fear and physical weakness, packed a suit case, felt to see if the thirty thousand dollars was safe, and cautiously opening the outer door, peeped into the hall to see if the way was clear. But it was not. There stood the Honorable William, in the very act of putting his hand on the door-knob!

"No, you don't, my beauty!" snarled Moore, pushing the sick man back and seeing in a glance what was planned. "You'll not leave Helena until you've earned that thirty thousand! Don't you ever think it! You're coming over to the capitol right now, with me, and vote for Bob! We need you in the business! And, if you don't, by God I'll make you sorry for it! It's come to a show down. This business has killed Judge Latimer and it may as well kill you—you miserable, white-livered——" Moore's language and voice were raised to the highest power.

"Charlie!" At the disturbance, Winifred came from Eva's rooms. "You up—and out in the hall! What is the trouble? You surely are not going to the capitol in your condition?"

Blair was past all words in his rage, and Moore explained with what grace he might that it was imperative for Charlie to cast his vote. Winifred insisted that she accompany them if her brother must go, and Moore did not dare to delay long enough to argue the matter. Every moment counted now.

In the cab Winifred, knowing nothing of the blood-money in her brother's pocket, begged him not to vote for Mr. Burroughs. She had heard the last of Moore's tirade. But he would not answer, and she felt Moore's foot seeking Blair's to freshen his resolve. Though her tears wet the hand she held, it did not return her caress.



Chapter XV

An Unpremeditated Speech

As the three entered the crowded chamber where the joint assembly had been once more called to order, they passed Mr. Burroughs, his wife and daughter. They had come from Butte to witness his triumph. Surely the wife would congratulate, the daughter be proud of her father.

Moore was left at the rail which separated the legislators from the spectators, but Senator Blair's sister went with him and found a seat at his side. Charlie's face was ghastly, and the doctor, surprised beyond measure at sight of him, kept guard with a watchful eye.

Blair's entrance into the chamber with its atmosphere of suspense drew every nerve taut. Senator Danvers saw him and his heart sank. His efforts had been in vain! He bowed to Winifred, though he had not seen even his own sister, far in the rear of the hall—there were no galleries for spectators.

It was a moment long remembered by that breathless crowd. Men, drowning, see their whole lives as in a flashlight's glare. So did Danvers see his past. He was again a boy, embarking on the Far West, and he breathed the wet spring air, blowing over prairie and river. He was with the men on the upper deck, and noted their glances of curiosity. Their youth seemed never to have faded, as he remembered the delicate face of the joyous Latimer, the kind glance of the doctor, the western breeziness of Toe String Joe and the quieter manner of Scar Faced Charlie; while the debonair arrogance of Sweet Oil Bob stirred his fighting blood afresh. Eva Thornhill's beautiful face came, bewitching in its youth, and little Winnie's trusting smile again reached his heart. Even Fort Benton, a busy port of entry, as he first saw it, and Wild Cat Bill's drunken animosity, leaped out as the searchlight of recollection swept the past.

Then Memory's moving picture brought the same faces, shaded or illumined as each temperament exposed its impulse; changed and moulded by hidden thoughts, unexploited forces of character and assimilated environment. Came a sigh for Arthur Latimer, asleep after life's bright beginning and shadowed close. A thought of Eva, broken and undone; of Winifred——

Every thought and act of his life led up to this moment. Could he let this plot be consummated? Not while the blood so pounded in his veins. He must speak—no one else would. Outraged decency demanded. The honor of the state demanded.

He forgot that he was an alien by birth—that he must expose many of his friends; it did not occur to him that he had never made a public speech, that his denunciation would ruin his political future and would be altogether futile. The disgraceful contest had killed his dearest friend—driven the wife into retirement to avoid the glare of scandal, and it was likely to lose him Winifred.

His hand went up, and the President of the Senate recognized him. He rose.

"Mr. President: I rise to a point of personal privilege."

"The Senator from Chouteau," announced the presiding officer of the joint assembly, surprised but courteous. Philip Danvers was not one to be ignored, no matter how inopportune the time. As he stood there for the moment silent, he conveyed the impression of perfect poise, and the honesty and sincerity of his purpose was patent to all.

"Mr. President: In the struggle to elect a United States senator which has lasted this entire session of our legislative assembly, the party with which I have the honor to be affiliated, ever since I foreswore allegiance to my native country, has, unfortunately, never been able to fix on a caucus nominee; and I have been forced, unwillingly, to lead the minority of my party against the man whose name led all others in the last ballot. As a result of the division, the election of a senator has descended to a contest of one individual, with the known antagonism of not only the best element of his party, but the ill will of the whole State, irrespective of party.

"The shameless condition that this has fostered is now familiar to every man in the United States. When that politician, ravenous for his spoil, could not get enough supporters from his own party, he went into the highways and byways of Democrats, Populists and Laborites; he gathered not only the poor and needy, but some few men hitherto possessing apparent respectability, and good standing at home and abroad.

"Personal reasons have kept me silent on the floor of this house, however much I may have worked in other ways against this crime. But the time has come when I must put aside all thought of self in the greater interest of the reputation of Montana.

"Gentlemen: A most outrageous crime is being committed upon this State! I can keep my seat no longer while the very walls reek with bribery! Yes, bribery! No one has dared to voice that sinister word in this Assembly, but we all know that in every hotel corridor, on every street, in every home in this State that damnable word is handed from mouth to mouth as claim and counterclaim, that certain men have been purchased like cattle in open market, and that they would deliver themselves to a certain candidate when called upon. They have been called upon to-day! That is why this room is filled to overflowing! The curious, the sensation-seeker want to look upon those men, so lost to decency that they will rise here, and with no blush of shame, tacitly admit that they have been bought with a price. Even the open enemies of this candidate have voted for him, as the last ballot shamelessly proclaimed. How one senator, opposed to the candidate in every walk of life, has been debauched, we can imagine as well as though we saw the thousands counted out to him by the money-changer who has had charge of the bartering of votes."

As Danvers looked straight at Senator Hall, the bribe-taker half rose, then sank back in his degradation. One thought sustained him. His revenge on Burroughs was nearing its hour, and he felt that the mortification of this bold accusation could be endured, if that other matter was never traced to him. He knew too well what the enmity of Burroughs could compass to invite it openly, and he had become fearful of the results of his long-delayed scheme of vengeance.

Meantime the voice of the senator from Chouteau County went on, clear and distinct, creating consternation as might the voice from Sinai. In his earnestness he stepped nearer the speaker's desk, and faced the hushed audience, fearlessly. He made no pretence of oratory, but his words were terribly effective.

"In olden times, bribers were branded on the cheek with the letter B. If we had the time, I would suggest that we pass a law, before this session is over, to brand not only the bribers, but the bribed with a white-hot iron, so that the owner might identify his property. This brand should be burned into the political mavericks who, since the convening of this Assembly, have run with every herd, and openly sought the highest bidder for their worthless carcasses. For these cattle of unknown pedigree I have only words of contempt.

"Mr. President: The state in which we find ourselves on this, the last night of the session, should make us pause. We are apt to be dim-sighted to our own failings, and clear-sighted to the faults of others; but I ask you in all candor, do the men who have so nearly elected a United States senator believe that he is the choice of the State for that high office, or that he would be considered by that legislative body if it were not for the influence of his wealth? We would better be unrepresented in Congress than misrepresented, and I ask you, gentlemen," turning again to the legislators, "if you are going to vote again as you did in the last ballot, and allow a sick man to cast his vote for Robert Burroughs and thus elect him? I know," he added with impressive slowness, "whereof I speak! That we are Democrats or Republicans, Labor or Fusion, should not figure in this contest. Instead, each man should consider whether we, a young State, shall enter Washington tarred with the ineradicable pitch of bribery or shall we send a man who will show the elder States that Montana is proud of her newly acquired statehood, and that no star in the Northwest firmament shines more pure?

"To those who have allowed themselves in this fiery ordeal to swerve from their duty to their State, through the temptation of personal gain, let me say that they will be branded and dishonored, despised at home and abroad; that they will be political pariahs forever, unless they reconsider their votes while yet there is time. They have been clay, moulded on the potter's wheel of the political manipulator behind whom the leading candidate has worked his nefarious will. Because a man is rich shall we condone his base acts? A poor man is as likely to commit crime as a rich one; but he would do so for very different reasons. The rich man in politics, sins for his own self-gratification; the poor man, to better himself or his family, often not comprehending the enormity of his crime.

"So long as I possess the faculties of a man, I purpose to fight against the election of Robert Burroughs to a seat in Congress. I do not want it said that I was a State senator in a Legislature which seated a man so notoriously lost to a sense of political decency as he. I would rather go back to the Whoop Up Country to spend my days in toil and obscurity, and be able to hold up my head and look the world in the face."

For a moment he paused. The awed, sullen, furious faces before him seemed individually seared on his soul as he swept the crowded room. Many a man sat in a cold sweat of fear, with haunted eyes and compressed lips that proclaimed his guilt with deadly certainty.

For the first time Philip became aware that his sister was present, and had heard his denunciation of her husband. But it was too late to retract, and he would not if he could. Truth-telling, like the cauterizing of the snake's bite, must sometimes be done, no matter what the immediate suffering. His eyes sought Winifred's, misty with apprehension, admiration, love. And Charlie? His temple pulse beat visibly in his effort to control his nerves. His face was fixed as the face of one dead. Could any appeal snatch him from being the keystone of that elaborate structure builded by Burroughs and Moore—so nearly completed? If he refused to become that apex, even for this one ballot to be called as soon as Danvers finished speaking, there was a faint hope that the apparently inevitable could be averted. Stepping nearer his colleagues in his vehemence, Senator Danvers brought his unpremeditated speech to an end.

"For God's sake, are there not men enough in this body to help me to drive out corruption and fraud and dishonor, and establish integrity and justice? I ask in the name of women and children, wives and sweethearts, pioneers and posterity! Let us not become a disgrace to the nations of the world! We can clean these Augean stables by one concentrated effort, even as England cleaned her corrupt borough elections of a century and a half ago. Let us fix on one man who will stand for civic purity, virtue and honor, no matter what his party. Let us elect a United States senator who is above reproach, above the taint of gaining a victory by the downfall of his fellow men! In the next ballot, let us each vote as his conscience dictates!"

It was said. Senator Danvers stepped back to his seat amid a buzz of blended approval and hisses, which came to his brain as the sound of swarming bees. He felt sick and weak. His appeal seemed hopelessly futile. But he sat erect, with no sign of discouragement, and looked fixedly at Senator Blair in the hope of seeing some inkling of change from his declaration that if he came to the capitol he should vote for Burroughs. But Blair would not look his way.



Chapter XVI

The Election

Danvers did not hear the clerk of the Senate as he began the roll-call of the senators after the presiding officer had rapped for order. The first three men in the A's were irrevocably opposed to Burroughs and Danvers concentrated his whole thought on Senator Blair's change of heart.

While the men preceding Charlie were voting, Winifred whispered to her brother. He did not seem to hear, and his dazed eyes were still fixed straight ahead. The flaming red of the scar made his face look still more ghastly, and at times his form swayed dizzily.

"Do not vote for Mr. Burroughs," Winifred entreated. "For my sake, Charlie. You've always been willing to please me. Vote for any one else. Philip expects your loyalty. Vote for him, even. Show him that you, if no one else, appreciate his courage in facing these men and denouncing them before the entire Assembly."

"Blair!" came the stentorian voice from the desk. Necks were craned and men rose to whisper and to look as this man's name was called. How would he vote? Burroughs' throat grew dry to suffocation. Moore's gaze was imperturbable, but the muscles in his neck twitched perceptibly, while sweat beaded his upper lip. Danvers still kept his eye on the miserably shaken Blair, and still hoped.

Suddenly Charlie turned and threw him one look. Then he rose, slowly, with painful effort, holding his sister's supporting arm. He showed the effect of stormy weeks of passion as he stood a moment, silent.

"Vote for Philip, Charlie," whispered Winifred, under cover of assisting him. Blair looked around the room.

"Mr. President," he began, in a trembling voice. "Before I cast my vote in this ballot, I wish to say that I have listened to my honored colleague from Chouteau County with mingled feelings of shame at my own unworthiness and admiration for the courage which had dared to say what every man of us should have said six weeks ago. Senator Danvers beseeches us to send to Washington a man who will guard the fair name of Montana, who will work for our best interests, and reflect honor on every inhabitant of the State. He asks us to vote for one above reproach, one who would accept no position at the expense of his fellows. I am inclined to give his plea serious consideration. But before I cast my ballot," his voice gained in strength and firmness, and he stepped forward with a gesture of irrevocable decision and placed upon the speaker's desk a long white envelope, "I will place here thirty thousand dollars, to be redeemed by the party who shoved it under my door two days ago.

"And now," turning to the gasping assembly, "as the senator from Chouteau has unconsciously suggested the very man to represent our State in Congress—the man on whom, I am sure, we can all agree—I take great pleasure, Mr. President, in casting my vote, the first vote, for the Honorable Philip Danvers of Fort Benton!"

Quick applause rang out as Blair took his seat, and Winifred kissed his hand as it lay trembling on his desk.

Danvers gasped in dismay. Had Blair's sickness quite turned his head? But, no! Never had his eye been clearer; never had he looked more the man as he returned full and strong Philip's amazed gaze.

Danvers half rose to protest, but the doctor pulled him down. Winifred began to cry behind her veil as the applause continued. A responsive note had been struck. When quiet was somewhat restored, the automatic clerk called the next name—the name of the senator who had promised Eva his vote. Since Latimer's death he had heartily wished for some excuse to be absolved from that promise. Here was his opportunity.

"Philip Danvers!" he called loudly, defiantly, perhaps. He owed Burroughs nothing. But as a rolling stone gathers momentum, so did this unexpected addition to the new name on the list of candidates give impetus to a stampede which soon made itself understood, as much to the surprise of Blair as Danvers.

"Never mind, Bob," whispered Moore, hoarsely. "It's only a spurt that will die out. They often run like a flock of sheep. You'll get there on the next ballot."

When Senator Hall's name was called, he rose airily. He not only wished to hide his hand, but to get even with Danvers for many an upright act unconsciously done while they two were troopers together at Fort Macleod.

"I wish to explain my vote," began the lanky senator. "My esteemed colleague from Chouteau County has made a very pretty speech, intended, I take it, for the ladies who are honoring us with their fair presence, and also to enhance his own reputation. His accusations can hardly be proven. And while I voted for Burroughs for reasons which no man has a right to question, I wish to state that even if I had not so voted in the past, I should feel it incumbent on me as a native born American to vote for him at this time. I do not approve of a foreigner, an Englishman, a man who has been one of that force across our northern border which has frequently done grave injustice not only to many of our citizens, but, I dare say, to Burroughs himself, undertaking to teach us anything in a political way."

O'Dwyer rose at this. His red face was redder than ever, and he shook his fist at the speaker; but the doctor pulled him down, and he reluctantly subsided. For Hall to speak thus of the North West Mounted Police when he had been drummed out of the force!

"I may also say," went on Hall, "that I believe this thirty thousand dollars (if there is such a sum of money in the envelope which Senator Blair has just placed on the desk) was put up for the purpose of stampeding the Assembly for this man who professes to be so honest and so upright—Senator Danvers!"

Hisses came from all over the room, but Hall was impervious.

"Mr. President: I hereby make my protest against such spectacular performances by casting my vote, altogether uninfluenced, for the Honorable Robert Burroughs," he gave a quick glance to the rear of the room where a new group had just crowded in, "and I defy anyone to detect 'a blush of shame' on my brow."

The speech and the bravado fell flat. The crowd was not with this bribe-taker. The voting proceeded, and Danvers' name was spoken with gusto by many who thought, on the next ballot, to return to their respective candidates.

"Philip Danvers!" yelled Representative O'Dwyer, hardly waiting for his name as the representatives were called. "Danvers! Danvers! Danvers!" he repeated, in a frenzy of friendly fervor. Pounding feet and canes accentuated the Irishman's cry.

"You've given him the deciding vote, O'Dwyer!" shouted the doctor, forgetting decorum in the delirium of the moment. He had kept close check on the various candidates while the angry Moore and Burroughs, purple and speechless, stood aghast, not believing that this flurry could abolish the results of their expensive campaign.

"Philip Danvers it is!" yelled O'Dwyer, overjoyed, leaping to the top of his desk and jumping madly. "Danvers forever! Hooray!"

"Danvers! Danvers! Danvers!" The name was taken up as a slogan by the cheering legislators and citizens—men and women alike. Shouts and hisses, congratulations and curses, laughter and consternation mingled over this unexpected denouement of the long-drawn-out contest.

The speaker's gavel came near to breaking, and the desk was cracked before the tumult could be quieted sufficiently to proceed with the balloting.

The remaining numbers, almost to a man, voted for Danvers; and when O'Dwyer moved that the vote be made unanimous, the noise and enthusiasm which had preceded was as silence to what followed when the motion was put, seconded and carried, that Philip Danvers of Fort Benton be declared unanimously elected as the United States senator from Montana to fill the vacancy for the four years beginning March four, eighteen hundred and ninety——.

Even Senator Hall joined the majority—for did he not already have his money safely invested? Besides, he could be censured by Burroughs no more than many others who had taken his money and betrayed him.

"Speech! speech!" yelled the crowd. But Danvers could not speak.

"Let us go," whispered Mrs. Burroughs, as the demonstration continued. She looked half in scorn, half in pity, on her husband, frustrated in the ambition of years by the man he most hated—her brother. "Let us go, Robert," she repeated.

The young daughter crept nearer and clasped her father's icy hand. She did not understand the accusations made against a father who had shown her nothing but love.

"Better luck next time, Bob," consoled Moore. "Don't let everybody see how hard hit you are. Danvers is elected only for the short term, you know—four years."

Choking, Burroughs attempted to force his way through the cheering, struggling mob, and to clear a path for his wife and daughter. But as the crowd gave way, in deference to the women, a new obstruction presented itself.

Robert Burroughs did not recognize the slouching, dirty buck blocking his way as Me-Casto, the once haughty pride of the Blackfeet federation, or the obese, filthy squaw as Pine Coulee. The work of civilization had obviously been in vain. But this tall, strapping 'breed reaching out his unwashed hand! Burroughs gazed at a replica of himself as he had been at Fort Macleod.

"Him you father?" questioned the half-breed, addressing the frightened daughter. He had been well coached by the grinning McDevitt, so close behind him.

"She you mother?" He pointed to Kate Danvers, high bred and aristocratic in her scorn.

"She my mother," the 'breed went on, fiendishly, indicating the toothless, loathsome squaw, whose vindictive eyes never wavered from Burroughs' craven face. "Him both our father!" The common parent was given a fillip of a contemptuous thumb and finger.

Burroughs could not look at his wife, but he threw a furtive glance at the flower-like face of his daughter. Her look of terror and of shame was more than he could bear. Before all men he had been confounded; before the wife whose love he had never won, his own passion proving his torment; before his daughter, the idol of his heart.

As the surge of curious men pressed nearer he saw the malevolent joy of Joseph Hall and of Chaplain McDevitt, and he knew who had planned his disgrace. He saw Danvers, vainly striving to reach his sister.

"Let me out!" came in a thick gurgle from his swelling throat. Something in his face made the throng give way and Moore quickly pushed him outside into the midnight cold.

"Go back for my wife and daughter," Burroughs commanded. "Go back!"

The street was empty, for everybody had stayed within the capitol to feast on the sensation of the Indians and the fainting women. Moore hesitated.

"They'll be right out, Bob. Let me call a cab."

"Go!" The old, imperious fire came from the deep-set eyes.

Moore had no sooner turned his back to obey than a pistol shot broke the stillness.

The rabble poured from the capitol at the sound of the shot. Moore, the only friend that Burroughs ever had, raised his companion. The plotting and planning was over. Robert Burroughs, having forced his way through life's stockade, stepped out, alone, into the Dark Trail.

In the confusion of that midnight scene Danvers was conscious of but one desire, held in abeyance by the tragic necessities of the moment. At last the surging crowd dispersed, the officers of the law performed their hasty duty, and Moore drove away in a closed carriage with Mrs. Burroughs and her daughter.

Then Danvers turned wearily, eagerly, like a man famished and athirst, to the woman who meant peace and rest and inspiration.

She stood in the dim light, clinging to her brother's arm, while the doctor waited beside the carriage.

Charlie reached out a trembling hand and looked into Philip's face. Then he bent and kissed his sister, and gently withdrawing his arm, gave her to Danvers. The doctor hurried the sick man into the carriage, and it drove into the night.

The lovers clung together like tired, frightened children, and walked silently.

"It is all over," said Winifred, at last.

"No, dear one; it is just begun!"

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Transcriber's note

The following changes have been made to the text:

Page 89: "She clnug to him" changed to "She clung to him".

Page 289 "like the the cauterizing" changed to "like the cauterizing".

THE END