"Then I may trust you in this?"

Her eyes shone fairly black with the depth of scorn glowing in them.

"Have—have you ever known me to lie?" she asked, her voice faltering from reaction.

The door closed.



CHAPTER X

A NEW ALLIANCE

Her eyes blinded by a strange mist of tears, Beth Norvell clung to the latch of the closed door, fearful lest the man within might decide to follow, endeavoring to gaze about, while gaining control over her sorely shattered nerves. Strong as she had appeared when nerved by indignation and despair, that stormy interview with Farnham—his scarcely veiled threats, his heartless scoffing—had left her a wreck, for the moment scarcely mistress of her own mind. One thing alone stood forth as a rallying point for all her benumbed energies—she must save Winston from a real danger, the nature of which she did not in the least doubt. The gambler's boast was no idle one; she, who had before tasted of his depravity, felt fully convinced of his intention now. Yet what could she hope to do? How best might she accomplish that imperative duty of rescue?

There occurred to her only one feasible plan—a complete surrender of her womanly pride, an immediate acceptance of the young man's proffered aid to Denver, with an insistence that he also accompany her. Woman enough to realize her power, she could not but have faith in the results. The color crept back in her cheeks at this daring conception, for, after those hastily uttered words of the previous night, what construction would he be likely to put on this sudden yielding? An instant she hesitated, afraid, shrinking back before the sacrifice as from fire. Then her fine eyes darkened, the clinging tears vanishing while her fingers clinched in passionate resolve. Do it? Why, of course she must do it! What was her pitiful pride in the balance against his life? He might never dream what so great a sacrifice cost her; might even despise her for such an exhibition of weakness; but she would know, and be the stronger in her own soul from the brave performance of duty. Besides, she intended to tell him the whole miserable story of her wrecked life—not now, not even to-night, but some time, on their way back into the world,—as they were nearing Denver, perhaps, and at the moment of final parting. It almost seemed easy as she faced the stern necessity, so easy that her parted lips smiled sarcastically when she heard Farnham rise and leave the darkened box through the opposite entrance. Perhaps, when he comprehended it all, this other, who had spoken love words to her, would understand where the real blame lay, and so prove manly enough to absolve her from any conception of evil. This hope was sweet, strengthening, yet it faded immediately away. Ah, no; such result was not natural, as she understood the world—it was always the woman who bore the burden of condemnation. Far safer to expect nothing, but do the right simply because it was right. She no longer questioned what that would be. It stood there before her like a blazing cross of flame; she must hold those two men apart, even though they both trampled her heart beneath their feet. This was her destiny, the payment she must return the world for having once made a mistake. One out of the multitude, she felt strong enough in the crisis to choose deliberately the straight and narrow path leading through Gethsemane.

And this very choosing gave back her womanhood, cleared her dazed brain for action, and sent the red blood throbbing through her veins. Her immediate surroundings began to take definite form. To the left the great, deserted stage extended, wrapped in total darkness, silent, forsaken, the heavy drop-curtain lowered to the floor. Through its obscuring folds resounded noisily a crash of musical instruments, the incessant shuffling of feet, a mingled hum of voices, evidencing that the dance was already on in full volume. Far back, behind much protruding scenery, a single light flickered like a twinkling star, its dim, uncertain radiance the sole guide through the intricacies of cluttered passageways leading toward the distant stage entrance. Half frightened at this gloomy loneliness, the girl moved gingerly forward, her skirts gathered closely about her slender figure, with anxious eyes scanning the gloomy shadows in vague suspicion. Suddenly a hand gripped her extended wrist, and she gazed for a startled instant into fiercely burning eyes, her own heart throbbing with nervous excitement.

"Vat vas he to you? Answer me! Answer me quick!"

The blood came back into her blanched cheeks with a sudden rush of anger. Instantly indignation swept back the mists of fear. With unnatural strength she wrenched free her captured hand, and sternly fronted the other, a barely recognized shadow in the gloom.

"Permit me to pass," she exclaimed, clearly. "How dare you hide here to halt me?"

The other exhibited her teeth, gleaming white and savage behind parted lips, yet she never stirred.

"Dare? Pah! you vaste time to talk so," she cried brokenly, her voice trembling from passion. "You no such fine lady now, senorita. You see dis knife; I know how use eet quick. Bah! you go to him like all de rest, but I vill know de truth first, if I have to cut eet out you. So vat ees de Senor Farnham to you? Say quick!"

The American remained silent, motionless, her breath quickening under the threat, her eyes striving to see clearly the face of the one confronting her.

"Do you expect to frighten me?" she asked, coldly, her earlier anger strangely changing to indifference. "It is you who wastes time, senorita, for I care little for your knife. Only it would be an extremely foolish thing for you to do, as I have not come between you and your lover."

The impulsive Mexican dancer laughed, but with no tone of joy perceptible.

"My lofer! Mother of God! sometime I think I hate, not lofe. He vas like all you Americanos, cold as de ice. He play vis Mercedes, and hurt—gracious, how he hurt! But I must be told. Vat vas he to you? Answer me dat."

Beth Norvell's eyes softened in sudden pity. The unconscious appeal within that broken voice, which had lost all semblance of threat, seemed to reveal instantly the whole sad story, and her heart gave immediate response. She reached out, touching gently the hand in which she saw the gleam of the knife-blade. There was no fear in her now, nothing but an infinite womanly sympathy.

"He is nothing to me," she said, earnestly, "absolutely nothing. I despise him—that is all. He is unworthy the thought of any woman."

The slender figure of the Mexican swayed as though stricken by a blow, the fierce, tigerish passion dying out of her face, her free hand seeking her throat as though choking.

"Nothing?" she gasped, incredulously. "Sapristi, I think you lie, senorita. Nothing? Vy you go to him in secret? Vy you stay and talk so long? I not understand."

"He sent for me; he wished me to aid him in a business matter."

The other stared incredulous, her form growing rigid with gathering suspicion that this fair American was only endeavoring to make her a fool through the use of soft speech. The white teeth gleamed again maliciously.

"You speak false to Mercedes," she cried hotly, her voice trembling. "Vy he send for you, senorita? You know him?"

There was a bare instant of seeming hesitation, then the quiet, better controlled voice answered soberly:

"Yes, in the East, three years ago."

Like a flash of powder, the girl of the hot-blooded South burst into fresh flame of passion, her foot stamping the floor, her black eyes glowing with unrestrained anger.

"Dios de Dios! Eet ees as I thought. He lofe you, not Mercedes. Vy I not kill you?—hey?"

Miss Norvell met her fiercely threatening look, her single step of advance, without tremor or lowering of the eyes. She even released her grasp upon the uplifted knife, as if in utter contempt. For a moment they confronted each other, and then, as suddenly as she had broken into flame, the excitable young Mexican burst into tears. As though this unexpected exhibition of feeling had inspired the action, the other as quickly decided upon her course.

"Listen to me, girl," she exclaimed gravely, again grasping the lowered knife hand. "I am going to trust you implicitly. You feel deeply; you will understand when I tell you all. You call me a fine lady because I hold myself aloof from the senseless revelry of this mining camp; and you believe you hate me because you suppose I feel above you. But you are a woman, and, whatever your past life may have been, your heart will respond to the story of a woman's trouble. I 'm going to tell you mine, not so much for my sake as for your own. I am not afraid of your knife; why, its sharp point would be almost welcome, were it not that I have serious work to do in the world before I die. And you are going to aid me in accomplishing it. You say you do not really know now whether you truly love or hate this man, this Farnham. But I know for myself beyond all doubt. All that once might have blossomed into love in my heart has been withered into hatred, for I know him to be a moral leper, a traitor to honor, a remorseless wretch, unworthy the tender remembrance, of any woman. You suppose I went to him this night through any deliberate choice of my own? Almighty God, no! I went because I was compelled; because there was no possible escape. Now, I am going to tell you why."

Mercedes, the tears yet clinging to her long, black lashes, stood motionless, gazing at the other with fascination, her slender, scarlet-draped figure quivering to the force of these impetuous words. She longed, yet dreaded, to hear, her own lips refusing utterance. But Beth Norvell gave little opportunity; her determination made, she swept forward unhesitatingly. As though fearful of being overheard, even in the midst of that loneliness, she leaned forward, whispering one quick, breathless sentence of confession. The startled dancer swayed backward at the words, clutching at her breast, the faint glimmer of light revealing her staring eyes and pallid cheeks.

"Mother of God!" she sobbed convulsively. "No, no! not dat! He could not lie to me like dat!"

"Lie?" in bitter scornfulness. "Lie! Why, it is his very life to lie—to women. God pity us! This world seems filled with just such men, and we are their natural victims. Love? Their only conception of it is passion, and, that once satiated, not even ordinary kindness is left with which to mock the memory. In Heaven's name, girl, in your life have you not long since learned this? Now, I will tell you what this monster wanted of me to-night." She paused, scarcely knowing how best to proceed, or just how much of the plot this other might already comprehend.

"Have you ever heard of the 'Little Yankee' mine?" she questioned.

"Si, senorita," the voice faltering slightly, the black eyes drooping. "Eet is up in de deep canyon yonder; I know eet."

"He told me about it," Miss Norvell continued more calmly. "He is having trouble with those people out there. There is something wrong, and he is afraid of exposure. You remember the young man who walked home with me last night: Well, he is a mining engineer. He has agreed to examine into the claims of the 'Little Yankee' people, and this—this Farnham wants him stopped. You understand? He sent for me to use my influence and make him go away. I refused, and then this—this creature threatened to kill Mr. Winston if he remained in camp, and—and I know he will."

The Mexican's great black eyes widened, but not with horror. Suddenly in the silent pause she laughed.

"Si, si; now I know all—you lofe dis man. Bueno! I see eet as eet vas."

The telltale red blood swept to the roots of Miss Norvell's hair, but her indignant reply came swift and vehement.

"No, stop! Never dare to speak such words. I am not like that! Can you think of nothing except the cheap masquerade of love? Have you never known any true, pure friendship existing between man and woman? This mining engineer has been good to me; he has proved himself a gentleman. It is not love which makes me so anxious now to serve him, to warn him of imminent danger—it is gratitude, friendship, common humanity. Is it impossible for you to comprehend such motives?"

The other touched her for the first time with extended hand, her face losing much of its previous savagery.

"I know so ver' leettle 'bout such kinds of peoples, senorita," she explained regretfully, her voice low, "de kind vat are good and gentle and vidout vantin' somting for eet. Eet ees not de kinds I meet vis ver' much. Dey be all alike vis me—lofe, lofe, lofe, till I get seek of de vord—only de one, an' I not know him ver' vell yet. Maybe he teach me vat you mean some day. He talk better, not like a fool, an' he not try to make me bad. Is dat eet, senorita?"

"Yes; who is it you mean?"

"He? Oh! it vas most odd, yet I do not laugh, senorita, I know not vy, but he make me to feel—vat you calls eet?—si, de respect; I tink him to be de good man, de gentle. He was at de 'Little Yankee' too. I vonder vas all good out at de 'Little Yankee'? Sapristi! he vas such a funny man to talk—he sputter like de champagne ven it uncorked. I laugh at him, but I like him just de same, for he act to me like I vas de lady, de ver' fine lady. I never forget dat. You know him, senorita? So big like a great bear, vis de beautiful red hair like de color of dis dress. No? He so nice I just hate to have to fool him, but maybe I get chance to make eet all up some day—you tink so? Merciful saints! Ve are queer, ve vomens! Eet vas alvays de voman vat does like de vay you do, hey? Ve vas mooch fools all de time."

"Yes, we are 'much fools'; that seems ordained. Yet there are true, noble men in this world, Mercedes, and blessed is she who can boast of such a friendship. This Mr. Winston is one, and, perhaps, your stuttering giant may prove another." She caught at a straw of hope in thus interesting the girl. "So he is at the 'Little Yankee'? and you wish to serve him? Then listen; he is in danger also if this scheme of revenge carries—in danger of his life. Dynamite does not pick out one victim, and permit all others to escape."

"Dynamite?"

"That was Farnham's threat, and God knows he is perfectly capable of it. Now, will you aid me?"

The young Mexican girl stood staring with parted lips.

"Help you how? Vat you mean?"

"Warn the men of the 'Little Yankee.'"

The other laughed behind her white teeth, yet with no mirth in the sound.

"Ah, maybe I see, senorita; you try make a fool out me. No, I not play your game. You try turn me against Senor Farnham. I tink you not catch Mercedes so."

"You do not believe me?"

"Sapristi! I know not for sure. Maybe I help, maybe I not. First I talk vis Senor Farnham, an' den I know vether you lie, or tell true. Vatever ees right I do."

"Then permit me to pass."

Miss Norvell took a resolute step forward, clasping her skirts closely to keep them from contact with the dusty scenery crowding the narrow passage. The jealous flame within the black eyes of the Mexican dimmed.

"You can no pass dat vay," she explained swiftly, touching the other's sleeve.

"Not through the stage door?"

The other shook her head doggedly.

"Eet is alvay locked, senorita."

Beth Norvell turned about in dismay, her eyes pleading, her breath quickening.

"You mean we are shut in here for the night? Is n't there any way leading out?"

"Oh, si, si," and Mercedes smiled, waving her hands. "Zar is vay yonder vare de orchestra goes. Eet leads to de hall; I show you."

"Did he know?"

"Vat? Senor Farnham? No doubt, senorita. Come, eet ees but de step."

The bewildered American hung back, her eyes filled with dread resting upon the black shadow of the curtain, from behind which clearly arose the strains of a laboring orchestra, mingling with the discordant noise of a ribald crowd. Farnham understood she was locked in; knew she might hope to escape only through that scene of pollution; beyond doubt, he waited in its midst to gloat over her degradation, possibly even to accost her. She shrank from such an ordeal as though she fronted pestilence.

"Oh, not that way; not through the dance hall!" she exclaimed.

Mercedes clapped her hands with delight. To her it appeared amusing.

"Holy Mother! Vy not? Eet make me laugh to see you so ver' nice. Vat you 'fraid 'bout? Vas eet de men? Pah! I snap my fingers at all of dem dis vay. Dey not say boo! But come, now, Mercedes show you vay out vere you no meet vis de men, no meet vis anybody. Poof, eet ees easy."

She danced lightly away, her hand beckoning, her black eyes aglow with aroused interest. Reluctantly the puzzled American slowly followed, dipping down into the black labyrinth leading beneath the stage. Amid silence and darkness Mercedes grasped her arm firmly, leading unhesitatingly forward. Standing within the glare of light streaming through the partially open door. Miss Norvell drew a sudden breath of relief. The chairs and benches, piled high along the side of the great room, left a secluded passageway running close against the wall. Along this the two young women moved silently, catching merely occasional glimpses of the wild revelry upon the other side of that rude barrier, unseen themselves until within twenty feet of the street door. There Miss Norvell hesitated her anxious eyes searching the mixed crowd of dancers now for the first time fully revealed. Even as she gazed upon the riot, shocked into silence at the inexpressible profligacy displayed, and ashamed of her presence in the midst of it, a merry peal of laughter burst through the parted lips of the Mexican dancer.

"Dios de Dios, but I had all forgot dis vas your night for de dance, senor. But you no so easy forget Mercedes, hey?"

He stood directly before them, plainly embarrassed, gripping his disreputable hat in both hands like a great bashful boy, his face reddening under her smiling eyes, his voice appearing to catch within his throat. Mercedes laughed again, patting his broad shoulder with her white hand as though she petted a great, good-natured dog. Then her sparkling black eyes caught sight of something unexpected beyond, and, in an instant, grew hard with purpose.

"Holy Mother! but eet 's true he ees here, senorita—see yonder by de second vindow," she whispered fiercely. "Maybe it vas so he tink to get you once more, but he not looked dis vay yet. Bueno! I make him dance vis me. Dis man Stutter Brown, an' he go vis you to de hotel; ees eet not so, amigo?"

"I-I have no t-t-time," he stuttered, totally confused. "Y-you see, I 'm in a h-hell of a h-h-hurry."

"Pah; eet vill not take five minute, an' I be here ven you come back. Si, senor, I vait for you for de dance, sure." She turned eagerly to Miss Norvell. "You go vis him, senorita; he ver' good man, I, Mercedes, know."

The American looked at them both, her eyes slightly smiling in understanding.

"Yes," she assented quietly, "I believe he is."



CHAPTER XI

HALF-CONFIDENCES

Whatever Stutter Brown may secretly have thought concerning this new arrangement of his affairs, he indulged in no outward manifestations. Not greatly gifted in speech, he was nevertheless sufficiently prompt in action. The swift, nervous orders of the impulsive Mexican dancer had sufficiently impressed him with one controlling idea, that something decidedly serious was in the air; and, as she flitted across the room, looking not unlike a red bird, he watched her make directly toward a man who was leaning negligently back in a chair against the farther wall. For a moment he continued to gaze through the obscuring haze of tobacco smoke, uncertain as to the other's identity, his eyes growing angry, his square jaw set firm.

"W-who is the f-f-feller?" he questioned gruffly. "Wh-what 's she m-mean l-leavin' me to go over th-thar ter h-him?"

Beth Norvell glanced up frankly into his puzzled face.

"She has gone to keep him away from me," she explained quietly. "His name is Farnham."

Brown's right hand swung back to his belt, his teeth gripped like those of a fighting dog.

"Hell!" he ejaculated, forgetting to stutter. "Is that him? Biff Farnham? An' he 's after you is he, the damned Mormon?"

She nodded, her cheeks growing rosy from embarrassment. Brown cast a quick, comprehensive glance from the face of the woman to where the man was now leaning lazily against the wall.

"All r-right, little g-girl," he said slowly, and with grave deliberation. "I-I reckon I n-never went b-back on any p-pard yet. B-blamed if y-y-you hate thet c-cuss any worse th-than I do. Y-you bet, I 'll take you out o' h-h-here safe 'nough."

He drew her more closely against his side, completely shielding her slender figure from observation by the intervention of his giant body, and thus they passed out together into the gloomy but still riotous street. A block or more down, under the glaring light of a noisy saloon, the girl looked up questioningly into his boyish face.

"Are you Stutter Brown, of the 'Little Yankee'?" she asked doubtfully.

"I-I reckon you've c-c-called the t-turn, Miss."

She hesitated a moment, but there was something about this big, awkward fellow, with his sober eyes and good-natured face, which gave her confidence.

"Do—do you know a Mr. Ned Winston?"

He shook his head, the locks of red hair showing conspicuously under the wide hat-brim.

"I r-reckon not. Leastwise, don't s-s-sorter seem to r-recall no such n-name, Miss. Was the g-gent a f-friend o' your 'n?"

"Y-yes. He is a mining engineer, and, I have been told, is under engagement at the 'Little Yankee.'"

Brown's eyes hardened, looking down into the upturned face, and his hands clinched in sudden awakening suspicion.

"You d-did, hey?" he questioned sullenly. "Wh-who told you that r-rot?"

"Farnham."

The man uttered an unrestrained oath, fully believing now that he was being led into a cunningly devised trap. His mental operations were slow, but he was swift and tenacious enough in prejudice. He stopped still, and the two stood silently facing each other, the same vague spectre of suspicion alive in the minds of both.

"Farnham," the man muttered, for one instant thrown off his guard from surprise. "How th-the hell d-d-did he g-git hold o' that?"

"I don't know; but is n't it true?"

He turned her face around toward the light, not roughly, yet with an unconscious strength which she felt irresistible, and looked at her searchingly, his own eyes perceptibly softening.

"Y-you sure l-l-look all right, little g-girl," he admitted, slowly, "but I 've h-heard th-th-that feller was hell with w-women. I-I reckon you b-better go b-back to Farnham an' find out."

He paused, wiping his perspiring face with the back of his hand, his cheeks reddening painfully under her unfaltering gaze. Finally he blurted out:

"Say, w-who are you, anyhow?"

"Beth Norvell, an actress."

"You kn-kn-know Farnham?"

She bent her head in regretful acknowledgment.

"An' you kn-kn-know the senorita?"

"Yes, a very little."

Stutter Brown wet his lips, shifting awkwardly.

"Well, y-you 'll excuse me, M-Miss," he stuttered in an excess of embarrassment, yet plunging straight ahead with manly determination to have it out. "I-I ain't much used t-t-to this sorter th-thing, an' maybe I-I ain't got no r-r-right ter be a-botherin' you with m-my affairs, nohow. But you s-see it's th-this way. I 've sorter t-took a big l-l-likin' to that dancin' girl. Sh-she 's a darn sight n-n-nearer my s-style than anything I 've been up a-against fer s-some time. I-I don't just kn-know how it h-h-happened, it was so blame s-sudden, b-but she 's got her l-l-lasso 'bout me all r-right. But Lord! sh-she 's all fun an' laugh; sh-sh-she don't seem to take n-nothin' serious like, an' you c-can't make much ou-ou-out o' that kind; you n-never know just how to t-take 'em; leastwise, I don't. N-now, I 'm a plain s-s-sorter man, an' I m-make bold ter ask ye a m-mighty plain sorter qu-question—is that there M-M-Mercedes on the squar?"

He stood there motionless before her, a vast, uncertain bulk in the dim light, but he was breathing hard, and the deep earnestness of his voice had impressed her strongly.

"Why do you ask me that?" she questioned, for the moment uncertain how to answer him. "I scarcely know her; I know almost nothing regarding her life."

"Y-you, you are a w-woman, Miss," he insisted, doggedly, "an', I t-take it, a woman who will u-understand such th-th-things. T-tell me, is she on the squar?"

"Yes," she responded, warmly. "She has not had much chance, I think, and may have made a mistake, perhaps many of them, but I believe she 's on the square."

"Did—did sh-she come out t-to our m-m-mine spying for Farnham?"

"Really, I don't know."

His grave face darkened anxiously; she could perceive the change even in that shadow, and distinguish the sharp grind of his teeth.

"Damn him," he muttered, his voice bitter with hate. "It w-would be l-l-like one of his l-low-lived tricks. Wh-what is that g-girl to him, anyhow?"

It was no pleasant task to hurt this man deliberately, yet, perhaps, it would be best. Anyway, it was not in Beth Norvell's nature either to lie or to be afraid.

"He has been her friend; there are some who say her lover."

He stared fixedly at her, as though she had struck him a stinging, unexpected blow.

"Him? A-an' you s-s-say she 's on the squar?"

"Yes; I say she is on the square, because I think so. It's a hard life she 's had to live, and no one has any right to judge her by strict rules of propriety. I may not approve, neither do I condemn. Good women have been deceived before now—have innocently done wrong in the eyes of the world—and this Mercedes is a woman. I know him also, know him to be a cold-blooded, heartless brute. She is merely a girl, pulsating with the fiery blood of the South, an artist to her fingers' tips, wayward and reckless. It would not be very difficult for one of that nature to be led astray by such a consummate deceiver as he is. I pity her, but I do not reproach. Yet God have mercy on him when she awakes from her dream, for that time is surely coming, perhaps is here already; and the girl is on the square. I believe it, she is on the square."

For a silent, breathless moment Brown did not stir, did not once take his eyes from off her face. She saw his hand slip down and close hard over the butt of his dangling revolver. Then he drew a deep breath, his head thrown back, his great shoulders squared.

"D-damn, but that helps me," he said soberly. "It—it sure does. G-good-night, little g-girl."

"Are you going to leave me now?"

"Why, sure. Th-this yere is the h-h-hotel, ain 't it? W-well, I 've got t-to be back to th-the 'Little Yankee' afore d-d-daylight, or thar 'll be h-hell to pay, an' I sure m-mean to see her first, an'—an'—maybe h-him."

She stood there in thoughtful perplexity, oblivious to all else in her strange surroundings, watching the dark shadow of his burly figure disappear through the dim light. There was a strength of purpose, a grim, unchangeable earnestness about the man which impressed her greatly, which won her admiration. He was like some great faithful dog, ready to die at his master's bidding. Down in her heart she wondered what would be the tragic end of this night's confidence.

"There goes a good friend," she said slowly, under her breath, "and a bad enemy." Then she turned away, aroused to her own insistent mission of warning, and entered the silent hotel.

The night clerk, a mere boy with pallid cheeks and heavy eyes bespeaking dissipation, reclined on a couch behind the rough counter, reading a Denver paper. He was alone in the room, excepting a drunken man noisily slumbering in an arm-chair behind the stove. Miss Norvell, clasping her skirts tightly, picked her way forward across the littered floor, the necessity for immediate action rendering her supremely callous to all ordinary questions of propriety.

"Can you inform me if Mr. Winston is in his room?" she questioned, leaning across the counter until she could see the clerk's surprised face.

The young fellow smiled knowingly, rising instantly to his feet.

"Not here at all," he returned pleasantly. "He left just before noon on horseback. Heard him say something 'bout an engineering job he had up Echo Canyon. Reckon that 's where he 's gone. Anything important, Miss Norvell?"



CHAPTER XII

THE COVER OF DARKNESS

Beth Norvell did not remember ever having fainted in her life, yet for a moment after these words reached her, all around grew dark, and she was compelled to grasp the counter to keep from falling. The strain of the long night, coupled with such unexpected news proving she had arrived too late with her warning, served to daze her brain, to leave her utterly unable either to think or plan. The clerk, alarmed by the sudden pallor of her face, was at her side instantly, holding eagerly forth that panacea for all fleshly ills in the West, a bottle of whiskey.

"Good Lord, Miss, don't faint away!" he cried excitedly. "Here, just take a swig of this; there 's plenty of water in it, and it's the stuff to pull you through. There, that's better. Great Scott, but I sure thought you was goin' to flop over that time." He assisted her to a convenient chair, then stepped back, gazing curiously into her face, the black bottle still in his hand. "What's the trouble, anyhow?" he questioned, his mind filled with sudden suspicion. "That—that fellow did n't throw you, did he?"

Miss Norvell, her fingers clasping the chair arm for support, rose hurriedly to her feet, a red flush sweeping into her pallid cheeks. For an instant her intense indignation held her speechless.

"'Throw' me? What is it you mean?" she exclaimed, her voice faltering. "Do you rank me with those shameless creatures out yonder? It is for Mr. Winston's sake I sought word with him; it has nothing whatever to do with myself. I chanced to learn news of the utmost importance, news which he must possess before morning; yet it is not a message I can trust to any one else. My God! what can I do?" She paused irresolute, her hands pressing her temples. The boy, his interest aroused, took a step forward.

"Can I be of service?"

"Oh, I hardly know; I scarcely seem able to think. Could—could you leave here for just ten minutes—long enough to go to the dance hall at the Gayety?"

"Sure thing; there 's nothin' doin'."

"Then please go; find a big, red-headed miner there named Brown—'Stutter' Brown they call him—and bring him back here to me. If—if he is n't there any longer, then get Mercedes, the Mexican dancer. You know her, don't you?"

The clerk nodded, reaching for his hat.

"Get one of those two; oh, you must get one of them. Tell them I say it is most important."

There was a terrible earnestness about the girl's words and manner, which instantly impressed the lad with the necessity for immediate haste. He was off at a run, slamming the door heavily behind him, and plunging headlong into the black street. As he disappeared, Miss Norvell sank back into the vacated chair, and sat there breathing heavily, her eyes fastened upon the drunken man opposite, her natural coolness and resource slowly emerging from out the haze of disappointment. Brown could surely be trusted in this emergency, for his interest was only second to her own. But why had she not told him the entire story before? Why, when she had opportunity, did she fail to reveal to him Farnham's threats, and warn him against impending danger? She realized fully now the possible injury wrought by her secrecy. She felt far too nervous, too intensely anxious, to remain long quiet; her eyes caught the ticking timepiece hanging above the clerk's desk, and noted the hour with a start of surprise. It was already after two. Once, twice, thrice she paced across the floor of the office and stood for a moment striving to peer through the dirty window-glass into the blackness without, faintly splotched with gleams of yellow light. Finally, she flung back the door and ventured forth upon the shadowed porch, standing behind the low railing, where those passing below were little likely to notice her presence. Her head throbbed and ached, and she loosened her heavy hair, pressing her palms to the temples. The boy returned at last hurriedly, bare-headed, but unaccompanied, and she met him at the top of the steps, realizing, even before he spoke, that those she sought had not been found.

"Not there? Neither there?"

"No, Miss." The clerk was breathing hard from his run, but his tone was sympathetic. "Darned if I did n't hustle that outfit from pit to boxes, but nobody there seemed to sabe this yere Brown. Mercedes, she was there all right, 'bout ten minutes ago, but just naturally faded away before I hit the shebang. Doorkeeper piped it she had a guy with her when she broke loose, an' he reckoned she must have lit out fer home."

"For home?" a faint ray of light breaking from the word. "Where does the girl live? Do you know?"

"Sure; I 'm wise; she has a couple of dandy rooms over at the old fort, just across the creek; you know where that is, don't you?"

She nodded silently, her eyes brightening with resolution.

"It 's a blame tough bit of hiking to take alone on a dark night like this," he commented gravely. "You was n't plannin' to try any such trip as that, was you, Miss?"

"Oh, no; certainly not. I'm going upstairs to wait for daylight. But I thank you so much," and she cordially extended her hand. "You see, I—I could hardly go to the Gayety myself at such an hour."

The boy colored, still clasping the extended hand. Something in her low tone had served to recall to his mind those hasty words uttered in the office.

"Sure not, Miss Norvell; it's a bit tough, all right, for anybody like you down there at this time o' night."

She opened the door, the bright light from within shining about her slender figure, yet leaving her face still in shadow.

"Did—did you chance to notice if Mr. Farnham remained in the dance hall?"

"Biff Farnham?" in sudden, choking surprise. "Great guns, do you know him, too? No, he was n't there, but I can tell you where he is, all the same. He 's at the Palace Livery, saddling up, along with half a dozen other fellows. I saw 'em as I come trottin' along back, and wondered what the dickens was on tap at this time o' night."

The girl made no attempt to answer. She stood clutching the edge of the door for support, her lips tightly compressed, feeling as if her heart would rise up and choke her. She realized instantly that the crisis had arrived, that Winston's life probably hung upon her next decision. Twice she endeavored bravely to speak, and when she finally succeeded, the strange calmness other voice made her doubt her own sanity.

"Thank you," she said gravely, "you have been most kind,—good-night," and vanished up the stairs.

Within the privacy of her own securely locked room Beth Norvell flung herself upon the narrow bed, not to sleep, not even to rest, but in an earnest effort to clarify her brain, to gain fresh conception of this grim reality which fronted her. She realized now precisely what Ned Winston stood for in her life—must ever stand for until the bitter end. There was no upbraiding, no reviling. Not in the slightest degree did she even attempt to deceive herself; with set, tearless eyes, and without a sigh of regret, she simply faced the naked truth. She had made the mistake herself; now she must bear the burden of discovery. It was not the dull inertia of fatalism, but rather the sober decision of a woman who had been tried in the fire, who understood her own heart, and comprehended the strength of her own will. Personal suffering and sacrifice were no new chapters written in her life; these had been met before, and now, in yet another guise, they could be courageously met again. She sat up quickly upon the edge of the bed, her hands pressing back the heavy hair from off her hot forehead. What right had she to lie there shuddering at destiny when lives—his life—might be trembling in the balance? She could at least serve, and, whatever else of weakness may have lurked in Beth Norvell, there was no germ of cowardice. Clearer and more clear she perceived duty, until it overshadowed love and brought her upon her feet in active preparation, in burning desire for action.

Standing before the little mirror, she wondered dimly at those dark circles beneath her eyes, the unusually sharp lines visible at the corners of her mouth. She felt hot, feverish, and in hope of thus relieving the painful throbbing of her temples she buried her face in the bowl of cool water. Rapidly, almost carelessly, she gathered up her dishevelled locks, fastening them in some simple, yet secure fashion back out of the way. From the open trunk standing against the wall, she caught up a plain, soft hat, one she had used in character upon the stage, and drew it down firmly over the mass of soft hair, never noting how coquettishly the wide brim swept up in front, or what witchery of archness it gave to her dark eyes. She took a quick step toward the door, and then, her hand already on the latch, she paused in uncertainty; finally, she drew a small, pearl-handled revolver from the bottom tray, and placed it carefully in a pocket of her jacket.

"I—I hardly believe I could ever use it," she thought, "but maybe I might."

Outside, in the narrow, deserted hall, she stood at the head of the steep flight of stairs and listened. The snoring of the drunken man in the office below was the only disturbing sound. Out through the open office door a dull bar of yellow light streamed across the lower steps. Like a ghost she stole silently down, treading so softly not a stair creaked beneath her cautious footfalls. The next moment she had opened the door, and was alone in the dark street.

Dark it was, but neither deserted nor silent. The unleashed evil of San Juan was now in full control, more madly riotous than ever beneath the cloak of so late an hour. Nothing short of complete return of daylight would bring semblance of peace to that carnival of saloons, gambling dens, and dance halls. Through the shadows stalked unrebuked, uncontrolled, the votaries of dissipation and recklessness, of "easy money" and brutal lust. Yellow rays of light streamed from out dirty, uncurtained windows, leaving the narrow street weirdly illuminated, with here and there patches of dense shadows. Shifting figures, often unsteady of step, appeared and disappeared like disembodied spirits, distorted from all human semblance by that uncertain radiance; on every side the discordant sounds of violins and pianos commingled in one hideous din, punctuated by drunken shouts and every species of noise of which civilized savagery is capable.

Yet this was not what she feared, this saturnalia of unbridled passion, for the way was comparatively well lighted, and in traversing it she was reasonably certain to be within call of some one sober enough to protect her from insult or injury. Even in drink these men remained courteous to women of the right sort. No, she had travelled that path alone at night before, again and again, returning from her work. She shrank, womanlike, from the sights and sounds, but was conscious of no personal fear. What she dreaded beyond expression was that long, black stretch of narrow, desolate alley-way leading down toward the creek bridge and the old fort beyond. She had been over that path once in broad daylight, and it made her shudder to think she must now feel her way there alone through the dark. The growing fear of it got upon her nerves as she stood hesitating; then, almost angry with herself, she advanced swiftly down toward the distant glowing lights of the Gayety. It was just beyond there that the alley turned off toward the foothills, a mere thread of a path wandering amid a maze of unlighted tents and disreputable shacks; she remembered this, and the single rotten strip of plank which answered for a sidewalk.

There was an unusually boisterous, quarrelsome crowd congregated in front of the Poodle-Dog, and she turned aside into the middle of the street in order to get past undisturbed. Some one called noisily for her to wait and have a drink, but she never glanced about, or gave slightest heed. At the curb a drunken woman reeled against her, peering sneeringly into her face with ribald laugh, but Beth Norvell pushed silently past, and vanished into the protecting shadows beyond.

The wide doors of the brilliantly illuminated Gayety were flung open, the bright light from within streaming far across the road. Many of its patrons, heated with liquor and the dance, had swarmed forth upon the broad platform outside in search of fresher air. To avoid pushing her way through this noisy crowd the girl swiftly crossed the street into the darkness opposite. As she paused there for an instant, scarcely conscious that the glow of the lamps reflected full upon her face, there sounded a sudden clatter of horses' hoofs to her right, and a half-dozen riders swept around the sharp corner, dashing forward into the glare. She had barely time in which to leap backward out of their direct path, when one of the horsemen jerked his mount upon its haunches, and, uttering an oath of astonishment, leaned forward across his pommel, staring down into her startled face. Then he laughed.

"Go on, boys," he cried, sitting erect, with a wave of his hand to the others. "I 'll catch up within half a mile. I 've got a word to say first to this precious dove fluttering here." He struck the flank of his horse, causing the sensitive beast to quiver, his own lips curling maliciously. The girl, panting between parted lips, never lowered her eyes from his face, and the steady look angered him.

"Still hunting for Winston?" he questioned, sneeringly. "Well, I can inform you where he may very easily be found."

"Indeed!"

"Yes, out at the 'Little Yankee.' It seems you were a trifle late in getting him word, or else your fascinations failed to move him. You must be losing your grip."

She neither moved nor spoke, her eyes—dark, unwinking beneath the wide hat-brim—telling him nothing. Yet her hand closed upon the pearl handle hidden away in the jacket pocket, and her lips formed a straight line.

"I 'm damned sorry you did n't land the fellow, Lizzie," he went on brutally. "He 's about the best catch you 're liable to get, and besides, it leaves me a rather unpleasant job. Still, I thought I 'd better tell you, so you would n't feel it necessary to hang around the streets here any longer. Fact is, I 'm anxious to shield your reputation, you know." He looked about carelessly, his glance settling on the open doors of the Gayety. "Don't strike me this is exactly the sort of place for one of your moral respectability to be discovered in. Lord! but what would the old man or that infernal prig of a brother of yours say, if they could only see you now? A monologue artist at the Gayety was bad enough, but this, this is the limit."

There was a flash of something white and glittering within six inches of his face, a sharp click, and an eye looked directly into his own across a short steel barrel.

"Go!" The word was like the spat of a bullet.

"But, Lizzie—"

"Go, you cur! or, as God is my witness, if you stay I'll kill you!"

With a sharp dig of the spur his horse sprang half-way across the road, a black, prancing shadow against the glare of light. She saw the rider fling up one arm, and bring down the stinging quirt on the animal's flank; the next instant, with a bound, they were swallowed up in the darkness. A moment she leaned against the shack, nerveless, half fainting from reaction, her face deathly white. Then she inhaled a long, deep breath, gathered her skirts closely within one hand, and plunged boldly into the black alley.



CHAPTER XIII

TWO WOMEN

Mercedes stood in the shade of the towering hillside, the single beam of light shining from an uncurtained window alone faintly revealing her slenderness of figure in its red drapery. No other gleam anywhere cleft the prevailing darkness of the night, and the only perceptible sound was that of horses' hoofs dying away in the distance. The girl was not crying, although one of her hands was held across her eyes, and her bosom rose and fell tumultuously to labored breathing. She stood silent, motionless, the strange radiance causing her to appear unreal, some divinely moulded statue, an artist's dream carven in colored stone. Suddenly she sprang backward from out that revealing tongue of light and crouched low at the angle of the house, not unlike some affrighted wild animal, her head bent forward intently listening. There was a plainly perceptible movement in the gloom, the sound of an approaching footstep and of rapid breathing, and finally a shadow became visible. The watcher leaped to her feet half angrily.

"Ah! so eet vas you, senorita!" she exclaimed, her voice betraying her emotion,—"you, who come so dis night. Sapristi! vy you follow me dis vay? By all de saints, I make you tell me dat! You vant him, too? You vant rob me of all thing?"

The visitor, startled by this sudden challenge, stood before her trembling from head to foot with the nervous excitement of her journey, yet her eyes remained darkly resolute.

"You recognize me," she responded quickly, reaching out and touching the other with one hand, as if to make certain of her actual presence. "Then for God's sake do not waste time now in quarrelling. I did not make this trip without a purpose. 'He,' you say? Who is he? Who was it that rode away from here just now? Not Farnham?"

Mercedes laughed a trifle uneasily, her eyes suddenly lowered before the other's anxious scrutiny.

"Ah, no, senorita," she answered softly. "Eet surprises me mooch you not know; eet vas Senor Brown."

Miss Norvell grasped her firmly by the shoulder.

"Brown?" she exclaimed eagerly. "Stutter Brown? Oh, call him back; cannot you call him back?"

The young Mexican shook her head, her white teeth gleaming, as she drew her shoulder free from the fingers clasping it.

"You vas too late, senorita," she replied, sweetly confident. "He vas already gone to de 'Little Yankee.' But he speak mooch to me first."

"Much about what?"

"Vel, he say he lofe me—he say eet straight, like eet vas vat he meant."

"Oh!"

"Si, senorita; he not even talk funny, maybe he so excited he forgot how, hey? An' vat you tink dat he say den to Mercedes—vat?"

The other shook her head, undecided, hesitating as to her own purpose.

"He ask me vould I marry him. Si, si, vat you tink of dat—me, Mercedes Morales, de dancer at de Gayety—he ask me vould I marry him. Oh, Mother of God!"

The young American stared at her upturned animated face, suddenly aroused to womanly interest.

"And what did you say?"

Mercedes stamped her foot savagely on the hard ground, her eyes glowing like coals of fire.

"You ask vat I say? Saints of God! vat could I say? He vas a good man, dat Senor Brown, but I—I vas not a good voman. I no tell him dat—no! no! I vas shamed; I get red, vite; I hardly speak at all; my heart thump so I tink maybe eet choke me up here, but I say no. I say no once, tvice, tree time. I tell him he big fool to tink like dat of me. I tell him go vay an' find voman of his own race—good voman. I tell him eet could nevah be me, no, nevah."

"Then you do not love him?"

The puzzled dancer hesitated, her long lashes lowered, and outlined against her cheeks.

"Lofe? Dat vas not nice vord as eet come to me. I know not ver' vell just vat. Maybe if I not lofe him I marry him—si; I no care den. I make him to suffer, but not care; ees eet not so? Anyhow, I—vat you call dat?—respect dis Senor Brown mooch, ver' mooch. Maybe dat last longer as lofe—quien sabe?"

Scarcely comprehending this peculiar explanation, Beth Norvell's first conception was that the girl had chosen wrong, that she had allied herself upon the side of evil.

"You mean you—you will go back to Biff Farnham?" she asked, her tone full of horror.

Mercedes straightened up quickly, her young, expressive face filled with a new passion, which struggled almost vainly for utterance through her lips.

"Go back to dat man!" she panted. "Me? Sapristi! and you tink I do dat after Senor Brown ask me be hees vife! Blessed Mary! vat you tink I am? You tink I not feel, not care? I go back to dat Farnham? Eet vould not be, no! no! I tol' him dat mooch, an' he got mad. I no care, I like dat. I no lofe him, nevah; I vas sold to him for money, like sheep, but I learn to hate him to kill." The deep glow of the black eyes softened, and her head slowly dropped until it touched the other's extended arm. "But dis Senor Brown he vas not dat kind—he ask me to marry him; he say he not care vat I been, only he lofe me, an' he be good to me alvays. I vas hungry for dat, senorita, but I say no, no, no! Eet vas not for me, nevah. I send him avay so sorry, an' den I cry ven I hear his horse go out yonder. Eet vas like he tread on me, eet hurt dat vay. Maybe I no lofe him, but I know he vas good man an' he lofe me. Eet vas de honor ven he ask me dat, an' now I be good voman because a good man lofes me. Holy Mother! eet vill be easy now dat he vanted to marry me."

Impulsively Beth Norvell, her own eyes moist, held the other, sobbing like a child within the clasp of sympathetic arms. There was instantly formed between them a new bond, a new feeling of awakened womanhood. Yet, even as her fingers continued to stroke the dishevelled hair softly, there flashed across her mind a recurring memory of her purpose, the necessity for immediate action. Not for an instant longer did she doubt the complete honesty of the other's frank avowal, or question the propriety of requesting her aid in thwarting Farnham. She held the slight, quivering figure back, so that she might gaze into the uplifted, questioning face.

"Mercedes, yes, yes, I understand it all," she cried eagerly. "But we cannot talk about it any longer now. It is a wonderful thing, this love of a good man; but we are wasting time that may mean life or death to others, perhaps even to him. Listen to what I say—Farnham has already gone to the 'Little Yankee,' and taken a gang of roughs with him. They left San Juan on horseback more than half an hour ago. He threatened me first, and boasted that Mr. Winston was out there, and that I was too late to warn him of danger. Oh, girl, you understand what that means; you know him well, you must realize what he is capable of doing. I came here as fast as I could in the dark," she shuddered, glancing backward across her shoulder. "Every step was a way of horrors, but I did n't know any one who could help me. But you—you know the way to the 'Little Yankee,' and we—we must get there before daylight, if we have to crawl."

All that was savagely animal in the other's untamed nature flamed into her face.

"He say vat? Senor Farnham he say vat he do?"

"He said dynamite told no tales, but sometimes killed more than the one intended."

Mercedes' hand went to her head as though a pain had smitten her, and she stepped back, half crouching in the glow like a tiger cat.

"He say dat? De man say dat? Holy Angels! he vas de bad devil, but he find me de bad devil too. Ah, now I play him de game, an' ve see who vin! De 'Leetle Yankee,' eet tree mile, senorita, an' de road rough, mooch rough, but I know eet—si, I know eet, an' ve get dare before de day come; sure ve do eet, bueno." She grasped the arm of the other, now fully aroused, her slight form quivering from intense excitement. "Come, I show you. See! he vas my pony—ah! eet makes me to laugh to know de Senor Farnham give him me; now I make him to upset de Senor Farnham. Sapristi! eet vas vat you call de vay of de vorld, de verligig; vas eet not so? You ride de pony, senorita; I valk an' lead him—si, si, you more tired as Mercedes; I danseuse, no tire ever in de legs. Den I find de vay more easy on foot in de dark, see? You ride good, hey? He jump little, maybe, but he de ver' nice pony, an' I no let him run. No, no, de odder vay, senorita, like de man ride. Poof! it no harm in de dark. Bueno, now ve go to surprise de Senor Farnham."

She led promptly forth as she spoke, moving with perfect confidence down the irregular trail skirting the bank of the creek, her left hand grasping the pony's bit firmly, the other shading her eyes as though to aid in the selection of a path through the gloom. It was a rough, uneven, winding road they followed, apparently but little used, littered with loose stones and projecting roots; yet, after a moment of fierce but useless rebellion, the lively mustang sobered down into a cautious picking of his passage amid the debris, obedient as a dog to the soft voice of his mistress. The problems of advance were far too complicated to permit of much conversation, and little effort at speech was made by either, the principal thought in each mind being the necessity for haste.

Swaying on the saddleless back of the pony, her anxious gaze on the dimly revealed, slender figure trudging sturdily in front, Beth Norvell began to dread the necessity of again having to meet Winston under such conditions. What would he naturally think? He could scarcely fail to construe such action on his behalf as one inspired by deep personal interest, and she instinctively shrank from such revealment, fearing his glance, his word of welcome, his expressions of surprised gratitude. The awkwardness, the probable embarrassment involved, became more and more apparent as she looked forward to that meeting. If possible, she would gladly drop out, and so permit the other to bear on the message of warning alone. But, even with Mercedes' undoubted interest in Brown, and her increasing dislike of Farnham, Beth could not as yet entirely trust her unaccompanied. Besides, there was no excuse to offer for such sudden withdrawal, no reason she durst even whisper into the ear of another. No, there was nothing left her but to go on; let him think what he might of her action, she would not fail to do her best to serve him, and beneath the safe cover of darkness she blushed scarlet, her long lashes moist with tears that could not be restrained. They were at the bottom of the black canyon now, the high, uplifting rock walls on either side blotting out the stars and rendering the surrounding gloom intense. The young Mexican girl seemed to have the eyes of a cat, or else was guided by some instinct of the wild, feeling her passage slowly yet surely forward, every nerve alert, and occasionally pausing to listen to some strange night sound. It was a weird, uncanny journey, in which the nerves tingled to uncouth shapes and the wild echoing of mountain voices. Once, at such a moment of continued suspense, Beth Norvell bent forward and whispered a sentence into her ear. The girl started, impulsively pressing her lips against the white hand grasping the pony's mane.

"No, no, senorita," she said softly. "Not dat; not because he lofe me; because he ask me dat. Si, I make him not so sorry."

She remembered that vast overhanging rock about which the dim trail circled as it swept upward toward where the "Little Yankee" perched against the sky-line. Undaunted by the narrowness of the ledge, the willing, sure-footed mustang began climbing the steep grade. Step by step they crept up, cautiously advancing from out the bottom of the cleft, the path followed winding in and out among bewildering cedars, and skirting unknown depths of ravines. Mercedes was breathing heavily, her unoccupied hand grasping the trailing skirt which interfered with her climbing. Miss Norvell, from her higher perch on the pony's back, glanced behind apprehensively. Far away to the east a faint, uncertain tinge of gray was shading into the sky. Suddenly a detached stone rattled in their front; there echoed the sharp click of a rifle hammer, mingled with the sound of a gruff, unfamiliar voice:

"You come another step, an' I 'll blow hell out o' yer. Sabe?"

It all occurred so quickly that neither spoke; they caught their breath and waited in suspense. A shadow, dim, ill-defined, seemed to take partial form in their front.

"Well, can't yer speak?" questioned the same voice, growlingly. "What yer doin' on this yere trail?"

Mercedes released the pony's bit, and leaned eagerly forward.

"Vas dat you, Beell Heeks?" she questioned, doubtfully.

The man swore, the butt of his quickly lowered rifle striking sharply against the rock at his feet.

"I 'm damned if it ain't that Mexican agin," he exclaimed, angrily. "Now, you get out o' yere; you hear me? I 'm blamed if I kin shoot at no female, but you got in one measly spyin' job on this outfit, an' I 'll not put up with another if I have ter pitch ye out inter the canyon. So you git plum out o' yere, an' tell yer friend Farnham he better take more care o' his females, or some of 'em are liable ter get hurt."

There was the harsh crunch of a footstep in the darkness, another figure suddenly slid down the smooth surface of rock, dropping almost at the pony's head. The animal shied with a quick leap, but a heavy hand held him captive.

"Y-you sh-sh-shut up, B-Bill," and the huge form of Stutter Brown loomed up directly between them, and that menacing rifle. "I-I reckon as how I'll t-t-take a h-hand in this yere g-g-game. Sh-she ain't no s-spy fer Farnham, er I 'm a l-l-liar." He touched her softly with his great hand, bending down to look into her face, half hidden beneath the ruffled black hair. "C-come, little g-g-girl, what's up?"

She made no response, her lips faltering as though suddenly stricken dumb. Beth Norvell dropped down from the pony's back, and stood with one hand resting on Mercedes' shoulder.

"She only came to show me the way," she explained bravely. "I-I have a most important message for Mr. Winston. Where is he?"

"Important, d-did you s-s-say?"

"Yes, its delivery means life or death—for Heaven's sake, take me to him!"

For a single breathless moment Brown hesitated, his eyes on the girl's upturned face, evidently questioning her real purpose.

"I c-can't right n-now, Miss," he finally acknowledged, gravely; "that's s-straight; fer ye s-s-see, he 's down the 'I-I-Independence' shaft."



CHAPTER XIV

UNDERGROUND

It was a daring ruse that had taken Ned Winston down the shaft of the "Independence" mine with the midnight shift. Not even the professional enthusiasm of a young engineer could serve to justify so vast a risk, but somehow this battle of right and wrong had become a personal struggle between himself and Farnham; he felt, without understanding clearly why, that the real stake involved was well worth the venture, and would prove in the end of infinitely more value to him than any settlement of the mere mining claims at issue. For several hours he had been below in the tunnel of the "Little Yankee," measuring distances, and sampling the grade of ore. All the afternoon and much of the early night had been utilized in a careful exploration of the surface ledges; creeping in, under protection of the low-growing cedars, as closely as a vigilant rifle-guard would permit, to the great ore dump of the busy "Independence"; diligently studying their system of labor, and slowly crystallizing into shape his later plan of action. He was already morally convinced that the Farnham people were actively engaged in stealing the "Little Yankee" ore; that they were running their tunnel along the lead of the latter; that they were doing this systematically, and fully conscious of the danger of discovery. His lines of survey, the nature of the ore bodies, the muffled sound of picks, plainly discernible in the silent breast of the "Little Yankee" while he lay listening with ear to the rock, as well as the close secrecy, all combined to convince him fully of the fact. Yet such vague suspicions were perfectly useless. He must have absolute, convincing proof, and such proof could be obtained nowhere excepting at the bottom of the "Independence" shaft.

He talked over the situation frankly with the two partners in the little single-roomed cabin perched on the cliff edge, while the obedient though grumbling Mike, rifle in hand, sat solemnly on the dump pile without. Little by little the three conspirators worked out a fairly feasible plan. There were numerous chances for failure in it, yet the very recklessness of the conception was an advantage. Winston, his face darkened as a slight disguise, and dressed in the rough garments of a typical miner, was to hide beside the footpath leading between the "Independence" bunk-house and the shaft. Should one of the men chance to loiter behind the others when the working shift changed at midnight, Brown was to attend to him silently, relying entirely upon his giant strength to prevent alarm, while Winston was promptly to take the vacated place among the descending workmen. By some grim fate this crudely devised scheme worked like a well-oiled piece of machinery. A sleepy-headed lout, endeavoring to draw on his coat as he ran blindly after the others, stumbled in the rocky path and fell heavily. Almost at the instant Stutter Brown had the fellow by the throat, dragging him back into the security of the cedars, and Winston, lamp and dinner-pail in hand, was edging his way into the crowded cage, his face turned to the black wall.

That was five hours before. At the very edge of the black, concealing chaparral, within easy rifle range of the "Independence" shaft-house, Hicks and Brown lay flat on their faces, waiting and watching for some occasion to take a hand. Back behind the little cabin old Mike sat calmly smoking his black dudheen, apparently utterly oblivious to all the world save the bound and cursing Swede he was vigilantly guarding, and whose spirits he occasionally refreshed with some choice bit of Hibernian philosophy. Beneath the flaring gleam of numerous gasoline torches, half a dozen men constantly passed and repassed between shaft-house and dump heap, casting weird shadows along the rough planking, and occasionally calling to each other, their gruff voices clear in the still night. Every now and then those two silent watchers could hear the dismal clank of the windlass chain, and a rattle of ore on the dump, when the huge buckets were hoisted to the surface and emptied of their spoil. Once—it must have been after three o'clock—other men seemed suddenly to mingle among those perspiring surface workers and the unmistakable neigh of a horse came faintly from out the blackness of a distant thicket. The two lying in the chaparral rose to their knees, bending anxiously forward. Brown drew back the hammer of his rifle, while Hicks swore savagely under his breath. But those new figures vanished in some mysterious way before either could decide who they might be—into the shaft-house, or else beyond, where denser shadows intervened. The two watchers sank back again into their cover, silently waiting, ever wondering what was happening beyond their ken, down below in the heart of the hill.

Some of this even Winston never knew, although he was a portion of it. He had gone down with the descending cage, standing silent among the grimy workmen crowding it, and quickly discerning from their speech that they were largely Swedes and Poles, of a class inclined to ask few questions, provided their wages were promptly paid. There was a deserted gallery opening from the shaft-hole some forty feet below the surface; he saw the glimmer of light reflected along its wall as they passed, but the cage dropped to a considerably lower level before it stopped, and the men stepped forth into the black entry. Winston went with them, keeping carefully away from the fellow he supposed to be foreman of the gang, and hanging back, under pretence of having difficulty in lighting his lamp, until the others had preceded him some distance along the echoing gallery. The yellow flaring of their lights through the intense darkness proved both guidance and warning, so he moved cautiously forward, counting his steps, his hand feeling the trend of the side wall, his lamp unlit. The floor was rough and uneven, but dry, the tunnel apparently having been blasted through solid rock, for no props supporting the roof were discernible. For quite an extended distance this entry ran straight away from the foot of the shaft—directly south he made it—into the heart of the mountain; then those twinkling lights far in advance suddenly winked out, and Winston groped blindly forward until he discovered a sharp turn in the tunnel.

He lingered for a moment behind the protection of that angle of rock wall, struck a safety match, and held the tiny flame down close against the face of his pocket compass. Exactly; this new advance extended southeast by east. He snuffed out the glowing splinter between his fingers, crossed over to the opposite side, and watchfully rounded the corner to where he could again perceive the twinkling lights ahead. His foot met some obstacle along the floor, and he bent down, feeling for it with his fingers in the dark; it proved to be a rude scrap-iron rail, evidence that they carried out their ore by means of mules and a tram-car. A few yards farther this new tunnel began to ascend slightly, and he again mysteriously lost his view of the miners' lamps, and was compelled to grope his way more slowly, yet ever carefully counting his steps. The roof sank with the advance until it became so low he was compelled to stoop. The sound of picks smiting the rock was borne to him, made faint by distance, but constantly growing clearer. There he came to another curve in the tunnel.

He crouched upon one knee, peering cautiously around the edge in an effort to discover what was taking place in front. The scattered lights on the hats of the miners rendered the whole weird scene fairly visible. There were two narrow entries branching off from the main gallery not more than thirty feet from where he lay. One ran, as nearly as he could judge, considerably to the east of south, but the second had its trend directly to the eastward. Along the first of these tunnels there was no attempt at concealment, a revealing twinkle of light showing where numerous miners were already at work. But the second was dark, and would have remained unnoticed entirely had not several men been grouped before the entrance, their flaring lamps reflected over the rock wall. Winston's eyes sparkled, his pulse leaped, as he marked the nature of their task—they were laboriously removing a heavy mask, built of wood and canvas, which had been snugly fitted over the hole, making it resemble a portion of the solid rock wall.

There were four workmen employed at this task, while the foreman, a broad-jawed, profane-spoken Irishman, his moustache a bristling red stubble, stood a little back, noisily directing operations, the yellow light flickering over him. The remainder of the fellows composing the party had largely disappeared farther down, although the sound of their busy picks was clearly audible.

"Where the hell is Swanson?" blurted out the foreman suddenly. "He belongs in this gang. Here you, Ole, what 's become o' Nelse Swanson?"

The fellow thus directly addressed drew his hand across his mouth, straightening up slightly to answer.

"Eet iss not sumtings dot I know, Meester Burke. He seems not here."

"Not here; no, I should say not, ye cross-oied Swade. But Oi 'm dommed if he did n't come down in the cage wid' us, for Oi counted the lot o' yez. Don't any o' you lads know whut 's become o' the drunken lout?"

There was a universal shaking of heads, causing the lights to dance dizzily, forming weird shadows in the gloom, and the irritated foreman swore aloud, his eyes wandering back down the tunnel.

"No doubt he's dhrunk yet, an' laid down to slape back beyant in the passage," he growled savagely. "Be all the powers, but Oi 'll tache that humpin' fool a lesson this day he 'll not be apt to fergit fer a while. I will that, or me name 's not Jack Burke. Here you, Peterson, hand me over that pick-helve." He struck the tough hickory handle sharply against the wall to test its strength, his ugly red moustache bristling. "Lave the falsework sthandin' where it is till I git back," he ordered, with an authoritative wave of the hand; "an' you fellers go in beyant, an' help out on Number Wan till Oi call ye. Dom me sowl, but Oi'll make that Swanson think the whole dom mounting has slid down on top o' him—the lazy, dhrunken Swade."

The heavy pick-handle swinging in his hand his grim, red face glowing angrily beneath the sputtering flame of the lamp stuck in his hat, the irate Burke strode swiftly back into the gloomy passage, muttering gruffly.



CHAPTER XV

THE PROOF OF CRIME

Winston sprang to his feet and ran back along the deserted tunnel, bending low to avoid collision with the sloping roof, striving to move rapidly, yet in silence. The intense darkness blinded him, but one hand touching the wall acted as safeguard. For a moment the bewildering surprise of this new situation left his brain in a whirl of uncertainty. He could remember no spot in which he might hope to secrete himself safely; the rock wall of that narrow passageway afforded no possible concealment against the reflection of the foreman's glaring lamp. But he must get beyond sight and sound of those others before the inevitable meeting and the probable struggle occurred. This became the one insistent thought which sent him scurrying back into the gloom, recklessly accepting every chance of encountering obstacles in his haste. At the second curve he paused, panting heavily from the excitement of his hard run, and leaned against the face of the rock, peering anxiously back toward that fast approaching flicker of light. The angry foreman came crunching savagely along, his heavy boots resounding upon the hard floor, the hickory club in his hand occasionally striking against the wall as though he imagined himself already belaboring the recreant Swanson. About him, causing his figure to appear gigantic, his shadow grotesque, the yellow gleam of the light shone in spectral coloring. Winston set his teeth determinedly, and noiselessly cocked his revolver. The man was already almost upon him, a black, shapeless bulk, like some unreal shadow. Then the younger stepped suddenly forth into the open, the two meeting face to face. The startled foreman stared incredulous, bending forward as though a ghost confronted him, his teeth showing between parted lips.

"Drop that club!" commanded Winston coldly, the gleam of an uplifted steel barrel in the other's eyes. "Lively, my man; this is a hair-trigger."

"What the hell—"

"Drop that club! We 'll discuss this case later. There—no, up with your hands; both of them. Turn around slowly; ah, I see you don 't tote a gun down here. So much the better, for now we can get along to business with fewer preliminaries."

He kicked the released pick-helve to one side out of sight in the darkness, his watchful eyes never straying from the Irishman's face. Burke stood sputtering curses, his hands held high, his fighting face red from impotent passion. The trembling light gave to the scene a fantastic effect, grimly humorous.

"Who—who the divil be ye?" The surprised man thrust his head yet farther forward in an effort to make the flame more clearly reveal the other's features. Winston drew the peak of his miner's cap lower.

"That will make very little difference to you, Jack Burke," he said quietly, "if I have any occasion to turn loose this arsenal. However, stand quiet, and it will afford me pleasure to give you all necessary information. Let us suppose, for instance, that I am a person to whom Biff Farnham desires to sell some stock in this mine; becoming interested, I seek to discover its real value for myself, and come down with the night shift. Quite a natural proceeding on my part, is n't it? Now, under such circumstances, I presume you, as foreman, would be perfectly willing to show me exactly what is being accomplished down here?"

He paused, his lips smiling pleasantly, and Burke stared at him, with mouth wide open, his eyes mere black slits in the gloom. It was a full minute before he regained control of his voice.

"Ye think Oi 'm a dommed fool?" he ejaculated, hoarsely.

"No; that is exactly what I do not think, Burke," and Winston smiled again beneath his stern gray eyes. "That is precisely why I know you will show me all I desire to see. A damn fool might possibly be tempted to take chances with this gun, and get hurt, but you are smart enough to understand that I 've got the drop all right, and that I mean business—I mean business." These words were uttered slowly, deliberately, and the foreman involuntarily dropped his lids as though feeling them physically, the fingers of his uplifted hands clinching.

"What—what is it ye want to see?"

"That tunnel you 've got concealed by falsework."

Burke spat against the rock wall, the perspiration standing forth on his forehead. But Irish pugnacity made him stubborn.

"Who tould ye that loie? Shure, an' it's not here ye 'll be apt to foind the loikes o' that, me man."

Winston eyed him scornfully.

"You lie, Burke; I saw it with my own eyes just beyond that second turn yonder. You cannot play with me, and the sooner you master that fact the better. Now, you can take your choice—lead on as I order, and keep your men away, or eat lead. It's one or the other within the next sixty seconds. Turn around!"

No man in his senses would ever doubt the determined purpose lying behind those few low-spoken, earnest words. Whoever this man might be, whatever his purpose, he was assuredly not there in sport, and Burke wheeled about as though some concealed spring controlled his action.

"Good," commented Winston, briefly. "You can lower your hands. Now, walk straight forward, speaking only when I tell you, and never forget there is a gun-barrel within two feet of your back. The slightest movement of treachery, and, God helping me, Burke, I 'll turn loose every cartridge into your body. I don 't want to do it, but I will."

They moved slowly forward along the deserted tunnel, not unlike two convicts in lock-step. Burke sullenly growling, a burly, shapeless figure under the light in his hat; Winston alert, silent, watchful for treachery, the glimmer of the lamp full on his stern face. Their shadows glided, ever changing in conformation, along the walls, their footfalls resounding hollow from the echoing passage. There were no words wasted in either command or explanation. Without doubt, the foreman understood fairly well the purpose of this unknown invader; but he realized, also, that the man had never lightly assumed such risk of discovery, and he had lived long enough among desperate men to comprehend all that a loaded gun meant when the eye behind was hard and cool. The persuasive eloquence of "the drop" was amply sufficient to enforce obedience. Farnham be hanged! He felt slight inclination at that moment to die for the sake of Farnham. Winston, accustomed to gauging men, easily comprehended this mental attitude of his prisoner, his eyes smiling in appreciation of the other's promptness, although his glance never once wavered, his guarding hand never fell. Burke was safe enough now, yet he was not to be trifled with, not to be trusted for an instant, in the playing out of so desperate a game. At the angle the two halted, while the engineer cautiously reconnoitred the dimly revealed regions in front. He could perceive but little evidence of life, excepting the faint radiance of constantly moving lights down Number One tunnel. Burke stood sullenly silent, venturing upon no movement except under command.

"Anybody down that other entry?"

The foreman shook his head, without glancing around, his jaws moving steadily on the tobacco that swelled his cheek.

"Then lead on down it."

Winston stretched forth his unused left hand as they proceeded, his fingers gliding along the wall, his observant eyes wandering slightly from off the broad back of his prisoner toward the sides and roof of the tunnel. To his experience it was at once plainly evident this preliminary cutting had been made through solid rock, not in the following of any seam, but crossways. Here alone was disclosed evidence in plenty of deliberate purpose, of skilfully planned depredation. He halted Burke, with one hand gripping his shoulder.

"Are you people following an ore-lead back yonder?" he asked sharply.

The Irishman squirmed, glancing back at his questioner. He saw nothing in that face to yield any encouragement to deceit.

"Sure," he returned gruffly, "we're follyin' it all down that Number Wan."

"What 's the nature of the ore body?"

"A bit low grade, wid a thrifle of copper, an' the vein is n't overly tick."

"How far have you had to cut across here before striking color?"

"'Bout thirty fate o' rock work."

"Hike on, you thief," commanded the engineer, his jaw setting threateningly.

It proved a decidedly crooked passage, the top uneven in height, clearly indicating numerous faults in the vein, although none of these were sufficiently serious to necessitate the solution of any difficult mining problem. In spite of the turns the general direction could be ascertained easily. The walls were apparently of some soft stone, somewhat disintegrated by the introduction of air, and the engineer quickly comprehended that pick and lever alone had been required to dislodge the interlying vein of ore. At the extreme end of this tunnel the pile of broken rock lying scattered about clearly proclaimed recent labor, although no discarded mining tools were visible. Winston examined the exposed ore-vein, now clearly revealed by Burke's flickering lamp, and dropped a few detached specimens into his pocket. Then he sat down on an outcropping stone, the revolver still gleaming within his fingers, and ordered the sullen foreman to a similar seat opposite. The yellow rays of the light sparkled brilliantly from off the outcropping mass, and flung its radiance across the faces of the two men. For a moment the silence was so intense they could hear water drip somewhere afar off.

"Burke," asked the engineer suddenly, "how long have you fellows been in here?"

The uneasy Irishman shifted his quid, apparently considering whether to speak the truth or take the chances of a lie. Something within Winston's face must have decided him against the suggested falsehood.

"Well, sorr, Oi 've only been boss over this gang for a matter o' three months," he said slowly, "an' they was well into this vein be then."

"How deep are we down?"

"Between sixty an' siventy fate, countin' it at the shaft."

"And this tunnel—how long do you make it?"

"Wan hundred an' forty-six fate, from the rock yonder."

Winston's gray eyes, grave with thought, were upon the man's face, but the other kept his own concealed, lowered to the rock floor.

"Who laid out this work, do you know? Who did the engineering?"

"Oi think ut was the ould man hisself. Annyhow, that 's how thim Swades tell ut."

Winston drew a deep breath.

"Well, he knew his business, all right; it's a neat job," he admitted, a sudden note of admiration in his voice. His glance wandered toward the dull sparkle of the exposed ore. "I suppose you know who all this rightly belongs to, don 't you, Burke?"

The foreman spat reflectively into the dark, a grim smile bristling his red moustache.

"Well, sorr, Oi 'm not mooch given up to thinkin'," he replied calmly. "If it's them ide's yer afther, maybe it wud be Farnham ye'd betther interview, sure, an he 's the lad whut 'tinds to that end o' it for this outfit. Oi 'm jist bossin' me gang durin' workin' hours, an' slapin' the rist o' the toime in the bunk-house. Oi 'm dommed if Oi care who owns the rock."

The two men sat in silence. Burke indifferently chewing on his quid. Winston shifted the revolver into his left hand, and began slowly tracing lines, and marking distances, on the back of an old envelope. The motionless foreman steadily watched him through cautiously lowered lashes, holding the lamp in his hat perfectly steady. Slowly, with no other muscle moving, both his hands stole upward along his body; inch by inch attaining to a higher position without awakening suspicion. His half-concealed eyes, as watchful as those of a cat, gleamed feverishly beneath his hat-brim, never deserting Winston's partially lowered face. Then suddenly his two palms came together, the sputtering flame of the lamp between them.



CHAPTER XVI

A RETURN TO THE DAY

Burke knew better than to attempt running; three steps in the midst of such blinding darkness would have dashed him against unyielding rock. Instantly, his teeth gripped like those of a bulldog, he clutched at Winston's throat, trusting to his great strength for victory. Instinctively, as one without knowing why closes the eyes to avoid injury, the engineer dodged sideways, Burke's gripping fingers missed their chosen mark, and the two men went crashing down together in desperate struggle.

His revolver knocked from his grasp in the first impetus of assault, his cheek bleeding from forcible contact with a rock edge, Winston fought in silent ferocity, one hand holding back the Irishman's searching fingers, the other firmly twisting itself into the soft collar of his antagonist's shirt. Twice Burke struck out heavily, driving his clinched fist into the other's body, unable to reach the protected face; then Winston succeeded in getting one groping foot braced firmly against a surface of rock, and whirled the surprised miner over upon his back with a degree of violence that caused his breath to burst forth in a great sob. A desperate struggle ensued, mad and merciless—arms gripping, bodies straining, feet rasping along the loose stones, muttered curses, the dull impact of blows. Neither could see the other, neither could feel assured his antagonist possessed no weapon; yet both fought furiously,—Burke enraged and merciless, Winston intoxicated with the lust of fight. Twice they reversed positions, the quickness of the one fairly offsetting the burly strength of the other, their sinews straining, the hot breath hissing between set teeth. Pain was unfelt, mercy unknown.

In the midst of the blind melee, following some savage instinct, Winston clinched his fingers desperately in the Irishman's hair, and began jamming him back against the irregularities of the rock floor. Suddenly Burke went limp, and the engineer, panting painfully, lay outstretched upon him, his whole body quivering, barely conscious that he had gained the victory. The miner did not move, apparently he had ceased breathing, and Winston, shrinking away from contact with the motionless body, grasped a rock support and hauled himself to his feet.

The intense blackness all about dazed him; he retained no sense of direction, scarcely any memory of where he was. His body, bruised and strained, pained him severely; his head throbbed as from fever. Little by little the exhausted breath came back, and with it a slow realization of his situation. Had he killed Burke? He stared down toward the spot where he knew the body lay, but could perceive nothing. The mystery of the dark suddenly unnerved him; he could feel his hands tremble violently as he groped cautiously along the smooth surface of the rock. He experienced a shrinking, nervous dread of coming into contact with that man lying there beneath the black mantle, that hideous, silent form, perhaps done to death by his hands. It was a revolt of the soul. A moment he actually thought he was losing his mind, feverish fancies playing grim tricks before his strained, agonized vision, imagination peopling the black void with a riot of grotesque figures.

He gripped himself slowly and sternly, his jaws set, his tingling nerves mastered by the resolute dominance of an aroused will. Compelling himself to the act, he bent down, feeling along the ground for the foreman's hat having the extinguished lamp fixed on it. He was a long time discovering his object, yet the continued effort brought back a large measure of self-control, and gave birth to a certain clearness of perception. He held the recovered lamp in his hands, leaning against the side of the tunnel, listening. The very intensity of silence seemed to press against him from every direction as though it had weight. He was still breathing heavily, but his strained ears could not distinguish the slightest sound where he knew Burke lay shrouded In the darkness. Nothing reached him to break the dread, horrible silence, excepting that far-off, lonely trickle of dripping water. He hesitated, match in hand, shrinking childishly from the coming revealment of his victim. Yet why should he? Fierce as the struggle had proved, on his part the fight had been entirely one of defence. He had been attacked, and had fought back only in self-preservation. Winston harbored no animosity; the fierceness of actual combat past, he dreaded now beyond expression the thought that through his savagery a human life might have been sacrificed. The tiny flame of the ignited match played across his white face, caught the wick of the lamp, and flared up in faint radiance through the gloom. Burke, huddled into the rock shadow, never stirred, and the anxious engineer bent over his motionless form in a horrid agony of fear. The man rested partially upon one side, his hands still gripped as in struggle, an ugly wound, made by a jagged edge of rock, showing plainly in the side of his head. Blood had flowed freely, crimsoning the stone beneath, but was already congealing amid the thick mass of hair, serving somewhat to conceal the nature of the injury.