Winston, his head lowered upon the other's breast, felt confident he detected breath, even a slight, spasmodic twitching of muscles, and hastily arose to his feet, his mind already aflame with expedients. The foreman yet lived; perhaps would not prove even seriously injured, if assistance only reached him promptly. Yet what could he do? What ought he to attempt doing? In his present physical condition Winston realized the utter impossibility of transporting that burly body; water, indeed, might serve to revive him, yet that faint trickle of falling drops probably came from some distant fault in the rock which would require much patient search to locate. The engineer had assumed grave chances in this venture underground; in this moment of victory he felt little inclination to surrender his information, or to sacrifice himself in any quixotic devotion to his assailant. Yet he must give the fellow a fair chance. There seemed only one course practicable, the despatching to the helpless man's assistance of some among that gang of workmen down in Number One. But could this be accomplished without danger of his own discovery? Without any immediate revealment of his part in the tragedy? First of all, he must make sure regarding his own safety; he must reach the surface before the truth became known.

Almost mechanically he picked up his revolver where it lay glittering upon the floor, and stood staring at that recumbent form, slowly maturing a plan of action. Little by little it assumed shape within his mind. Swanson was the name of the missing miner, the one Burke had gone back to seek,—a Swede beyond doubt, and, from what slight glimpse he had of the fellow before Brown grappled with him in the path above, a sturdily built fellow, awkwardly galled. In all probability such a person would have a deep voice, gruff from the dampness of long working hours below. Well, he might not succeed in duplicating that exactly, but he could imitate Swedish dialect, and, amid the excitement and darkness, trust to luck. Let us see; Burke had surely called one of those miners yonder Ole, another Peterson; it would probably help in throwing the fellows off their guard to hear their own names spoken, and they most naturally would expect Swanson to be with the foreman. It appeared feasible enough, and assuredly was the only plan possible; it must be risked, the earlier the better. The thought never once occurred to him of thus doing injury to a perfectly innocent man.

He looked once more anxiously at the limp figure of the prostrate Burke, and then, holding the lamp out before him, moved cautiously down the passage toward the main tunnel. Partially concealing himself amid the denser shadows behind the displaced falsework, he was enabled to look safely down the opening of Number One, and could perceive numerous dark figures moving about under flickering rays of light, while his ears distinguished a sound of voices between the strokes of the picks. He crept still closer, shadowing his lamp between his hands, and crouching uneasily in the shadows. The group of men nearest him were undoubtedly Swedes, as they were conversing in that language, working with much deliberation in the absence of the boss. Winston rose up, his shadow becoming plainly visible on the rock wall, one hand held before his mouth to better muffle the sound of his voice. The hollow echoing along those underground caverns tended to make all noise unrecognizable.

"Yust two of you fellars bettar come by me, an' gif a leeft," he ventured, doubtfully.

Those nearer faces down the tunnel were turned toward the voice in sudden, bewildered surprise, the lights flickering as the heads uplifted.

"Vas it you, Nels Swanson?"

"Yas, I tank so; I yust want Peterson an' Ole. Meester Burke vas got hurt in the new level, an' I couldn't leeft him alone."

He saw the two start promptly, dropping their picks, their heavy boots crunching along the floor, the flapping hat-brims hiding their eyes and shadowing their faces. For a moment he lingered beside the falsework, permitting the light from his lamp to flicker before them as a beacon; then he hid the tiny flame within his cap, and ran swiftly down the main tunnel. Confident now of Burke's early rescue, he must grasp this opportunity for an immediate escape from the mine. A hundred feet from the foot of the shaft he suddenly came upon the advancing tram-car, a diminutive mule pulling lazily in the rope traces, the humping figure of a boy hanging on behind. The two gazed at each other through the smoke of a sputtering wick.

"Hurry up," spoke Winston, sharply. "Burke's hurt, and they'll need your car to carry him out in. What's the signal for the cage?"

The boy stood silent, his mouth wide open, staring at him stupidly.

"Do you hear, you lunk-head? I 'm after a doctor; how do you signal the cage?"

"Twa yanks on the cord, meester," was the grudging reply. "Wha was ye, onyhow?" But Winston, unheeding the question, was already off, his only thought the necessity of immediately attaining the surface in safety, ahead of the spreading of an alarm.

The cage shot speedily upward through the intense darkness, past the deserted forty-foot gallery, and emerged into the gray light of dawn flooding the shafthouse. Blinking from those long hours passed in the darkness below, Winston distinguished dimly a number of strange figures grouped before him. An instant he paused in uncertainty, his hand shading his eyes; then, as he stepped almost blindly forward he came suddenly face to face with Biff Farnham. A second their glances met, both alike startled, bewildered, doubtful—then the jaw of the gambler set firm, his hand dropped like lightning toward his hip, and Winston, every ounce of strength thrown into the swift blow, struck him squarely between the eyes. The man went over as though shot, yet before he even hit the floor, the other had leaped across the reeling body, and dashed, stumbling and falling, down the steep slope of the dump-pile, crashing head first into the thick underbrush below.



CHAPTER XVII

A COUNCIL OF WAR

In the magic of a moment a dozen angry men were pouring from the shaft-house, their guns barking viciously between their curses. Beyond, at the edge of their dark cover, Hicks and Brown rose eagerly to their knees, while their ready rifles spat swift return fire, not all of it wasted. But Winston had vanished in the green underbrush as completely as though he had dropped into the sea. When he finally emerged it was behind the protecting chaparral, his clothing rags, his breathing the sobs of utter exhaustion. Brown, the spell of battle upon him, never glanced aside, his eyes along the brown rifle-barrel; but Hicks sprang enthusiastically to his feet, uttering a growl of hearty welcome.

"Damn it," he exclaimed, his old eyes twinkling with admiration, "but you 're a man!"

The engineer smiled, his hand pressed hard against his side. "Maybe I am," he gasped, "but I 'm mighty near all in just now. Say, that was a lively spin, and it's got to be an eat and a rest for me next."

Hicks shaded his forehead, leaning on his rifle.

"Sometimes I reckon maybe I don't see quite as good as I used to," he explained regretfully. "Put five shots inter that measly bunch over thar just now, an' never saw even one o' 'em hop 'round like they got stung. They look sorter misty-like ter me from here; say, Stutter, what is a-happenin' over thar now, anyway?"

Brown wiped his face deliberately, sputtering fiercely as he strove to get firm grip on his slow thought.

"A-a-ain't much o' n-nuthing, so f-f-fur's I kin s-see," he replied gravely. "C-couple o' fellars w-with g-guns h-h-hidin' back o' ther d-dump. C-c-carried two b-bucks 'hind ther sh-shaft-house; h-h-hurt some, I 'speck. R-reckon I must a' g-got both on 'em. Y-y-you shore ought t-ter wear t-t-telescopes, Bill."

Hicks stared at his partner, his gray goat-beard sticking straight out, his teeth showing.

"So yer got 'em, hey?" he retorted, savagely. "Oh, ye 're chain-lightnin', yer are, Stutter. Ye 're the 'riginal Doctor Carver, yer long-legged, sputtering lunk-head. Yer crow like a rooster thet 's just found its voice. Now, look yere; I reckon it's brain-work what's got ter git us out o' this yere hole, an' I 'll shore have ter furnish most o' that, fer yer ain 't got none ter spare, as ever I noticed. Shoot! hell, yes, yer kin shoot all right, an' make love ter Greasers; but when thet's over with, yer all in. That's when it's up ter old Bill Hicks ter do the thinkin' act, and make good. Lord! yer leave me plumb tired." The old man peered out across the vacant space toward the apparently deserted dump, the anger slowly fading away from his eyes. "I sorter imagine, gents, it will take them fellers a while ter git over ther sudden shock we 've given 'em," he continued. "Maybe we better take this yere rest spell ter git somethin' ter eat in, and talk over how we 're fixed fer when the curtain goes up again. Them fellers never won't be happy till after they git another dose into their systems, an' thar 's liable ter be some considerable lead eat afore night. When they does git braced up, an' they reckon up all this yere means, they 'll shore be an ugly bunch."

Behind the safe protection of the low-growing cedars the three men walked slowly toward the cabin of the "Little Yankee," seemingly utterly oblivious to any danger lurking behind. As they thus advanced Winston related briefly his discoveries in the lower levels of the "Independence," referring to his personal adventures merely as the needs of the simple narrative required. Brown, his rifle at trail, his boyish face sober with thought, indulged in no outward comment, but Hicks burst forth with words of fervent commendation.

"By cracky, are yer shore that was Farnham yer hit?" he exclaimed, his old eyes gleaming in appreciation. "Blame me, Stutter, what do yer think o' that? Punched him afore he cud even pull his gun; never heerd o' no sich miracle afore in this yere camp. Why, Lord, that fellar 's quicker 'n chain-lightnin'; I 've seen him onlimber more 'n once."

"I-I reckon h-h-he won't be v-very likely ter l-let up on yer now, M-m-mister W-Winston," put in the young giant cautiously. "H-he ain't ther kind t-ter fergit no sich d-d-deal."

"Him let up!—hell!" and Hicks stopped suddenly, and stared behind. "He 'll never let up on nothin', that fellar. He 'll be down after us all right, as soon as he gits his second wind, an' Winston here is a-goin' ter git plugged for this night's shindy, if Farnham ever fair gits the drop on him. He ain't got no more mercy 'n a tiger. Yer kin gamble on that, boys. He 'll git ther whole parcel o' us if he kin, 'cause he knows now his little game is up if he does n't; but he 'll aim ter git Winston, anyhow. Did ye make any tracin's while yer was down thar?"

"Yes, I've got the plans in detail; my distances may not be exactly correct, but they are approximately, and I would be willing to go on the stand with them."

"Good boy! That means we 've shore got 'em on the hip. They're a-keepin' quiet over there yet, ain't they, Stutter? Well, let 's have our chuck out yere in the open, whar' we kin keep our eyes peeled, an' while we 're eatin' we 'll talk over what we better do next."

The kitchen of the "Little Yankee" was situated out of doors, a small rift in the face of the bluff forming a natural fireplace, while a narrow crevice between rocks acted as chimney, and carried away the smoke. The preparation of an ordinary meal under such primitive conditions was speedily accomplished, the menu not being elaborate nor the service luxurious. Winston barely found time in which to wash the grime from his hands and face, and hastily shift out of his ragged working clothes to the suit originally worn, when Hicks announced the spread ready, and advised a lively falling to. The dining-room was a large, flat stone on the very edge of the bluff, sufficiently elevated to command a practically unobstructed view of the distant shaft-house of the "Independence." Hicks brought from the cabin an extra rifle, with belt filled with ammunition, which he gravely held out to the engineer.

"These yere fixings will come in handy pretty soon, I reckon," he remarked significantly, and stood quietly on the edge of the rock, holding a powerful field-glass to his eyes.

"They 've brought ther night-shift up ter the top," he commented finally, "an they 're 'rousin' them others outer ther bunk-house. Hell 'll be piping hot presently. 'Bout half them fellers are a-totin' guns, too. Ah, I thought so—thar goes a lad horseback, hell-bent-fer-'lection down the trail, huntin' after more roughs, I reckon. Well, ther more ther merrier, as ther ol' cat said when she counted her kittens. Darned ef they ain't got a reg'lar skirmish line thrown out 'long ther gulch yonder. Yer bet they mean business for shore, Stutter, ol' boy."

Brown, deliberately engaged in pouring the coffee, contented himself with a slight grunt, and a quick glance in the direction indicated. Hicks slowly closed his glasses, and seated himself comfortably on the edge of the rock. Winston, already eating, but decidedly anxious, glanced at the two emotionless faces with curiosity.

"The situation does n't seem to worry either of you very much," he said at last. "If you really expect an attack from those fellows over there, is n't it about time we were arranging for some defence?"

Hicks looked over at him across the rim of his tin cup.

"Defence? Hell! here 's our defence—four o' us, countin' Mike."

"Where is Mike?"

"Oh, out yonder in ther back yard amusin' that Swede Stutter yere brought in ter him fer a playthin'. Them foreigners seem ter all be gittin' mighty chummy o' late. Stutter yere is a-takin' up with Greasers, an' Mike with Swedes. I reckon I 'll have ter be lookin' round fer an Injun, er else play a lone hand purty soon."

Brown, his freckled face hotly flushed, his eyes grown hard, struck the rock with clinched hand.

"D-d-damn you, B-Bill," he stuttered desperately, his great chest heaving. "I-I 've had jist 'nough o' th-th-thet sorter talk. Yer s-s-spit out 'nuther word 'bout her, an' th-th-thar 'll be somethin' e-else a-doin'."

Old Hicks laughed, his gray goat-beard waggling, yet it was clearly evident he appreciated the temper of his partner, and realized the limit of patience.

"Oh, I 'll pass," he confessed genially. "Lord! I hed a touch o' that same disease oncet myself. But thar ain't no sense in yer fightin' me, Stutter; I bet yer git practice 'nough arter awhile, 'less them thar black eyes o' hern be mighty deceivin'. But that thar may keep. Jist now we 've got a few other p'ints ter consider. You was askin' about our defence, Mr. Winston, when this yere love-sick kid butted in?"

"Yes."

"Well, it 's ther lay o' ther ground, an' four good rifles. Thet 's ther whole o' it; them fellers over yonder can't get in, an' I 'm damned if we kin git out. Whichever party gits tired first is the one what's goin' ter git licked."

"I scarcely understand, Hicks; do you mean you propose standing a siege?"

"Don't clearly perceive nothin' else ter do," and the man's half-closed eyes glanced about questioningly. "We ain't strong enough to assault; Farnham 's got more 'n five men ter our one over thar right now. He 's sent a rider inter San Juan arter another bunch o' beauties. We've corralled the evidence, an' we've got ther law back o' us, ter send him ter the penitentiary. Shore, thar's no doubt o' it. He knows it; an' he knows, moreover, thar ain't no way out fer him except ter plant us afore we kin ever git inter ther courts. Thet's his game jist now. Do yer think Mr. Biff Farnham under them circumstances is liable ter do the baby act? Not ter no great extent, let me tell yer. He ain't built thet way. Besides, he hates me like pizen; I reckon by this time he don't harbor no great love for you; an' yer bet he means ter git us afore we kin squeal, if he has ter h'ist the whole damned mounting. Anyhow, that's how it looks ter me an' Stutter yere. What was it you was goin' ter advise, Mr. Winston?"

The engineer set down his tin coffee cup.

"The immediate despatching of a messenger to San Juan, the swearing out of a warrant for Farnham on a criminal charge, and getting the sheriff up here with a posse."

Hicks smiled grimly, his glance wandering over toward Stutter, who sat staring open-eyed at the engineer.

"Ye're a young man, sir, an' I rather reckon yer don't precisely onderstan' ther exact status o' things out yere in Echo Canyon," he admitted, gravely. "I'm law-abidin', an' all that; law's all right in its place, an' whar it kin be enforced, but Echo Canyon ain't Denver, an' out yere ther rifle, an' occasionally a chunk o' dynamite, hes got ter be considered afore ther courts git any chance ter look over ther evidence. It's ginerally lead first, an' lawyers later. Thet 's what makes the game interestin', an' gives sich chaps as Farnham a run fer their money. Well, just now we 've got the law an' ther evidence with us all right, but, damn ther luck, them other fellers hes got the rifles. It 's his play first, an' it sorter looks ter me as if the man knew how ter handle his cards. He ain't no bluffer, either. Just take a squint through them glasses down the trail, an' tell me what yer see."

Winston did so, rising to his feet, standing at the edge of the rock fairly overhanging the valley.

"Wal, do yer make out anythin' in partic'lar?"

"There is a small party of men clustered near the big boulder."

"Exactly; wal, them thar fellars ain't thar altergether fer ther health. Thar 's three more o' ther same kind a'squattin' in the bushes whar the path branches toward ther 'Independence,' an' another bunch lower down 'side ther crick. It's easy 'nough ter talk about law, an' ther sendin' o' a messenger down ter San Juan after the sheriff, but I 'd hate some ter be that messenger. He 'd have some considerable excitement afore he got thar. Farnham 's a dirty villain, all right, but he ain't no fool. He's got us bottled up yere, and ther cork druv in."

"You mean we are helpless?"

"Wal, not precisely; not while our grub and ammunition holds out. I merely intimate thet this yere difficulty hes naturally got ter be thrashed out with guns—good, honest fightin'—afore any courts will git a chance even ter sit inter ther game. We ain't got no time jist now ter fool with lawyers. Clubs is trumps this deal in Echo Canyon, an' we 're goin' ter play a lone hand. Ther one thing what's botherin' me is, how soon ther damned fracas is goin' ter begin. I reckon as how them fellers is only waitin' fer reinforcements."

Winston sat motionless, looking at the two men, his mind rapidly grasping the salient points of the situation. He was thoroughly puzzled at their apparent indifference to its seriousness. He was unused to this arbitrament of the rifle, and the odds against them seemed heavy. Old Hicks easily comprehended the expression upon his face, and solemnly stroked his goat-beard.

"Ain't used ter that sort o' thing, hey?" he asked at last, his obstinate old eyes contracting into mere slits. "Reckon we're in a sort o' pickle, don't ye? Wal, I don't know 'bout that. Yer see, me an' Stutter have bin sort o' lookin' fer somethin' like this ter occur fer a long time, an' we 've consequently got it figgered out ter a purty fine p'int. When Farnham an' his crowd come moseying up yere, they ain't goin' ter have it all their own way, let me tell yer, pardner. Do yer see that straight face o' rock over yonder?" he rose to his feet, pointing across his shoulder. "Wal, that 's got a front o' thirty feet, an' slopes back 'bout as fur, with a shelf hangin' over it like a roof. Best nat'ral fort ever I see, an' only one way o' gittin' inter it, an' that the devil o' a crooked climb. Wal, we 've stocked that place fer a siege with chuck an' ammunition, an' I reckon four men kin 'bout hold it agin the whole county till hell freezes over. It's in easy rifle shot o' both ther cabin an' ther shaft, an' that Biff Farnham is mighty liable ter git another shock when he comes traipsin' up yere fer ter wipe out ther 'Little Yankee.' Ol' Bill Hicks ain't bin prospectin' fer thirty years, an' holdin' down claims with a gun, without learnin' somethin' about ther business. I 'm ready to buck this yere Farnham at any game he wants ter play; damned if he can't take his chice, law er rifles, an' I 'll give him a bellyful either way."

No one spoke for a long while, the three men apparently occupied with their own thoughts. To Winston it was a tragedy, picturesque, heroic, the wild mountain setting furnishing a strange dignity. Brown finally cleared his throat, preparing to speak, his great hand slowly rubbing his chin.

"I-I sorter w-w-wish them w-wimmen wan't y-yere," he stuttered, doubtfully.

The engineer glanced up in sudden astonishment.

"Women!" he exclaimed. "Do you mean to say you have women with you?"

Hicks chuckled behind his beard.

"Shore we have thet—all ther comforts o' home. Nice place fer a picnic, ain't it? But I reckon as how them gals will have ter take pot-luck with the rest o' us. Leastways, I don't see no chance now ter get shuck o' 'em. I 'll tell ye how it happened, Mr. Winston; it 'd take Stutter, yere, too blame long ter relate ther story, only I hope he won't fly off an' git mad if I chance ter make mention o' his gal 'long with the other. He 's gittin' most damn touchy, is Stutter, an' I 'm all a-tremble fer fear he 'll blow a hole cl'ar through me. It's hell, love is, whin it gits a good hol' on a damn fool. Wal, these yere two bloomin' females came cavortin' up the trail this mornin', just afore daylight. Nobody sent 'em no invite, but they sorter conceived they had a mission in ther wilderness. I wa'nt nowise favorable ter organizin' a reception committee, an' voted fer shovin' 'em back downhill, bein' a bit skeery o' that sex, but it seems that, all unbeknownst ter me, Stutter, yere, hed bin gittin' broke ter harness. An' what did he do but come prancin' inter the argument with a gun, cussin' an' swearin', and insistin' they be received yere as honored guests. Oh, he 's got it bad. He 'll likely 'nough go down ter San Juan soon as ever ther road is cl'ar, an' buy one o' them motters 'God Bless Our Home' ter hang on ther cabin wall, an' a door-mat with 'Welcome' on it. That's Stutter—gone cl'ar bug-house jist 'cause a little black-haired, slim sort o' female made eyes at him. Blame a fool, anyhow. Wal, one o' them two was Stutter's catch, a high-kickin' Mexican dancin' gal down ter San Juan. I ain't goin' ter tell yer what I think o' her fer fear o' gittin' perforated. She hed 'long with her another performer, a darn good-looker, too, as near as I could make out in the dark. Wal, them two gals was purtendin' ter be huntin' arter you; wanted ter warn yer agin Farnham, er some sich rot. You was down ther mine, jist then, so that's the whole o' it up ter date."

"Where are they now?"

"In the cabin yonder, sleepin' I reckon."

Winston turned hastily toward Brown, his lips quivering, his eyes grown stern.

"Who was it with Mercedes?" he questioned sharply. "Did you learn her name?"

"Sh-she told me d-d-down at San Juan," replied Stutter, striving hard to recollect. "It w-w-was N-N-Nor-vell."

With the utterance of the word the young engineer was striding rapidly toward the cabin.



CHAPTER XVIII

THE CONFESSION

Through the single unglazed window Beth Norvell saw him coming, and clutched at the casing, trembling violently, half inclined to turn and fly. This was the moment she had so greatly dreaded, yet the moment she could not avoid unless she failed to do her duty to this man. In another instant the battle had been fought and won, the die cast. She turned hastily toward her unconscious companion, grasping her arm.

"Mr. Winston is coming, Mercedes; I—I must see him this time alone."

The Mexican's great black eyes flashed up wonderingly into the flushed face bending over her, marking the heightened color, the visible embarrassment. She sprang erect, her quick glance through the window revealing the figure of the engineer striding swiftly toward them.

"Oh, si, senorita; dat iss all right. I go see Mike; he more fun as dose vat make lofe."

There was a flutter of skirts and sudden vanishment, even as Miss Norvell's ears caught the sound of a low rap on the outer door. She stood breathing heavily, her hands clasped upon her breast, until the knock had been repeated twice. Her voice utterly failing her, she pressed the latch, stepping backward to permit his entrance. The first swift, inquiring glance into his face frightened her into an impulsive explanation.

"I was afraid I arrived here too late to be of any service. It seems, however, you did not even need me."

He grasped the hand which, half unconsciously, she had extended toward him; he was startled by its unresponsive coldness, striving vainly to perceive the truth hidden away beneath her lowered lids.

"I fear I do not altogether understand," he returned gravely. "They merely said that you were here with a message of warning for me. I knew that much only a moment ago. I cannot even guess the purport of your message, yet I thank you for a very real sacrifice for my sake."

"Oh, no; truly it was nothing," the excitement bewildering her. "It was no more than I would have done for any friend; no one could have done less."

"You, at least, confess friendship?"

"Have I ever denied it?" almost indignantly, and looking directly at him for the first time. "Whatever else I may seem, I can certainly claim loyalty to those who trust me. I wear no mask off the stage."

Even as she spoke the hasty words she seemed to realize their full import, to read his doubt of their truth revealed within his eyes.

"Then," he said slowly, weighing each word as though life depended on the proper choice, "there is nothing being concealed from me? Nothing between you and this Farnham beyond what I already know?"

She stood clinging to the door, with colorless cheeks, and parted lips, her form quivering. This was when she had intended to speak in all bravery, to pour forth the whole miserable story, trusting to this man for mercy. But, O God, she could not; the words choked in her throat, the very breath seemed to strangle her.

"That—that is something different," she managed to gasp desperately. "It—it belongs to the past; it cannot be helped now."

"Yet you came here to warn me against him?"

"Yes."

"How did you chance to learn that my life was threatened?"

She uplifted her eyes to his for just one instant, her face like marble.

"He told me."

"What? Farnham himself? You have been with him?"

She bowed, a half-stifled sob shaking her body, which at any other time would have caused him to pause in sympathy. Now it was merely a new spur to his awakened suspicion. He had no thought of sparing her.

"Where? Did he call upon you at the hotel?"

She threw back her shoulders in indignation at his tone of censure.

"I met him, after the performance, in a private box at the Gayety, last evening," she replied more calmly. "He sent for me, and I was alone with him for half an hour."

Winston stood motionless, almost breathless, looking directly into the girl's face. He durst not speak the words of rebuke trembling upon his lips. He felt that the slightest mistake now would never be forgiven. There was a mystery here unsolved; in some way he failed to understand her, to appreciate her motives. In the brief pause Beth Norvell came back to partial self-control, to a realization of what this man must think of her. With a gesture almost pleading she softly touched his sleeve.

"Mr. Winston, I truly wish you to believe me, to believe in me," she began, her low voice vibrating with emotion. "God alone knows how deeply I appreciate your friendship, how greatly I desire to retain it unsullied. Perhaps I have not done right; it is not always easy, perhaps not always possible. I may have been mistaken in my conception of duty, yet have tried to do what seemed best. There is that in the pages of my past life which I intended to tell you fully and frankly before our final parting. I thought when I came here I had sufficient courage to relate it to you to-day, but I cannot—I cannot."

"At least answer me one question without equivocation—do you love that man?" He must ask that, know that; all else could wait.

An instant she stood before him motionless, a slight color creeping back into her cheeks under his intense scrutiny. Then she uplifted her eyes frankly to his own, and he looked down into their revealed depth.

"I do not," the low voice hard with decision. "I despise him."

"Have you ever loved him?"

"As God is my witness—no."

There was no possible disbelieving her; the absolute truthfulness of that utterance was evidenced by trembling lips, by the upturned face. Winston drew a deep breath of relief, his contracted brows straightening. For one hesitating moment he remained speechless, struggling for self-control. Merciful Heavens! would he ever understand this woman? Would he ever fathom her full nature? ever rend the false from the true? The deepening, baffling mystery served merely to stimulate ambition, to strengthen his unwavering purpose. He possessed the instinct that assured him she cared; it was for his sake that she had braved the night and Farnham's displeasure. What, then, was it that was holding them apart? What was the nature of this barrier beyond all surmounting? The man in him rebelled at having so spectral an adversary; he longed to fight it out in the open, to grapple with flesh and blood. In spite of promise, his heart found words of protest.

"Beth, please tell me what all this means," he pleaded simply, his hands outstretched toward her. "Tell me, because I love you; tell me, because I desire to help you. It is true we have not known each other long; yet, surely, the time and opportunity have been sufficient for each to learn much regarding the character of the other. You trust me, you believe in my word; down in the secret depths of your heart you are beginning to love me. I believe that, little girl; I believe that, even while your lips deny its truth. It is the instinct of love which teaches me, for I love you. I may not know your name, the story of your life, who or what you are, but I love you, Beth Norvell, with the life-love of a man. What is it, then, between us? What is it? God help me! I could battle against realities, but not against ghosts. Do you suppose I cannot forgive, cannot excuse, cannot blot out a past mistake? Do you imagine my love so poor a thing as that? Do not wrong me so. I am a man of the world, and comprehend fully those temptations which come to all of us. I can let the dead past bury its dead, satisfied with the present and the future. Only tell me the truth, the naked truth, and let me combat in the open against whatever it is that stands between us. Beth, Beth, this is life or death to me!"

She stood staring at him, her face gone haggard, her eyes full of misery. Suddenly she sank upon her knees beside a chair, and, with a moan, buried her countenance within her hands.

"Beth," he asked, daring to touch her trembling hair, "have I hurt you? Have I done wrong to speak thus?"

A single sob shook the slender, bowed figure, the face still hidden.

"Yes," she whispered faintly, "you have hurt me; you have done wrong."

"But why?" he insisted. "Is not my love worthy?"

She lifted her head then, resting one hand against the dishevelled hair, her eyes misty from tears.

"Worthy? O God, yes! but so useless; so utterly without power."

Winston strode to the window and back again, his hands clenched, the veins showing across his forehead. Suddenly he dropped upon his knees beside her, clasping her one disengaged hand within both his own.

"Beth, I refuse to believe," he exclaimed firmly. "Love is never useless, never without power, either in this world or the next. Tell me, then, once for all, here before God, do you love me?"

She swept the clinging tears from her lashes, the soft clasp of her fingers upon his hand unconsciously tightening.

"You may read an answer within my face," she replied, slowly. "It must be that my eyes tell the truth, although I cannot speak it with my lips."

"Cannot? In God's name, why?"

She choked, yet the voice did not wholly fail her.

"Because I have no right. I—I am the wife of another."

The head drooped lower, the hair shadowing the face, and Winston, his lips set and white, stared at her, scarcely comprehending. A moment later he sprang to his feet, one hand pressed across his eyes, slowly grasping the full measure of her confession.

"The wife of another!" he burst forth, his voice shaking. "Great God! You? What other? Farnham?"

The bowed head sank yet lower, as though in mute answer, and his ears caught the echo of a single muffled sob. Suddenly she glanced up at him, and then rose unsteadily to her feet clinging to the back of the chair for support.

"Mr. Winston," her voice strengthening with each word spoken, "it hurts me to realize that you feel so deeply. I—I wish I might bear the burden of this mistake all alone. But I cannot stand your contempt, or have you believe me wholly heartless, altogether unworthy. We—we must part, now and forever; there is no other honorable way. I tried so hard to compel you to leave me before; I accepted that engagement at the Gayety, trusting such an act would disgust you with me. I am not to blame for this; truly, I am not—no woman could have fought against Fate more faithfully; only—only I couldn't find sufficient courage to confess to you the whole truth. Perhaps I might have done so at first; but it was too late before I learned the necessity, and then my heart failed me. There was another reason I need not mention now, why I hesitated, why such a course became doubly hard. But I am going to tell you it all now, for—for I wish you to go away at least respecting my womanhood."

He made no reply, no comment, and the girl dropped her questioning eyes to the floor.

"You asked me if I had ever loved him," she continued, speaking more slowly, "and I told you no. That was the truth as I realize it now, although there was a time when the man fascinated, bewildered me, as I imagine the snake fascinates a bird. I have learned since something of what love truly is, and can comprehend that my earlier feeling toward him was counterfeit, a mere bit of dross. Be patient, please, while I tell you how it all happened. It—it is a hard task, yet, perhaps, you may think better of me from a knowledge of the whole truth. I am a Chicago girl. There are reasons why I shall not mention my family name, and it is unnecessary; but my parents are wealthy and of good position. All my earlier education was acquired through private tutors; so that beyond my little, narrow circle of a world—fashionable and restricted—all of real life remained unknown, unexplored, until the necessity for a wider development caused my being sent to a well-known boarding-school for girls in the East. I think now the choice made was unfortunate. The school being situated close to a large city, and the discipline extremely lax, temptation which I was not in any way fitted to resist surrounded me from the day of entrance. In a fashionable drawing-room, in the home of my mother's friends, I first became acquainted with Mr. Farnham."

She paused with the mention of his name, as though its utterance pained her, yet almost immediately resumed her story, not even glancing up at her listener.

"I was at an age to be easily flattered by the admiration of a man of mature years. He was considerably older than I, always well dressed, versed in social forms, liberal with money, exhibiting a certain dashing recklessness which proved most attractive to all the girls I knew. Indeed, I think it was largely because of their envy that I was first led to accept his attentions. However, I was very young, utterly inexperienced, while he was thoroughly versed in every trick by which to interest one of my nature. He claimed to be a successful dramatist and author, thus adding materially to my conception of his character and capability. Little by little the man succeeded in weaving about me the web of his fascination, until I was ready for any sacrifice he might propose. Naturally ardent, easily impressed by outward appearances, assured as to my own and his social position, ignorant of the wiles of the world, I was an easy victim. Somewhere he had formed the acquaintance of my brother, which fact merely increased my confidence in him. I need not dwell in detail upon what followed—the advice of romantic girls, the false counsel of a favorite teacher, the specious lies and explanations accounting for the necessity for secrecy, the fervent pleadings, the protestations, the continual urging, that finally conquered my earlier resolves. I yielded before the strain, the awakened imagination of a girl of sixteen seeing nothing in the rose-tinted future except happiness. We were married in Christ Church, Boston, two of my classmates witnessing the ceremony. Three months later I awoke fully from dreaming, and faced the darkness."

She leaned against the wall, her face, half hidden, pressed against her arm. Speaking no word of interruption, Winston clasped her hand and waited, his gray eyes moist.

"He was a professional gambler, a brute, a cruel, cold-blooded coward," the words dropping from her lips as though they burned in utterance. "Only at the very first did he make any effort to disguise his nature, or conceal the object of his marriage. He endeavored to wring money from my people, and—and struck me when I refused him aid. He failed because I blocked him; tried blackmail and failed again, although I saved him from exposure. If he had ever cared for me, by this time his love had changed to dislike or indifference. He left me for weeks at a time, often alone and in poverty. My father sought in vain to get me away from him, but—but I was too proud to confess the truth. I should have been welcome at home, without him; but I refused to go. I had made my own choice, had committed the mistake, had done the wrong; I could not bring myself to flee from the result. I burrowed in the slums where he took me, hiding from all who sought me out. Yet I lived in an earthly hell, my dream of love dispelled, the despair of life constantly deepening. I no longer cared for the man—I despised him, shrank from his presence; yet something more potent than pride kept me loyal. I believed then, I believe now, in the sacredness of marriage; it was the teaching of my church, of my home; it had become part of my very soul. To me that formal church wedding typified the solemnity of religion; I durst not prove untrue to vows thus taken; divorce was a thought impossible."

"And now?" he interrupted gently.

She lifted her head, with one swift glance upward.

"You will think me wrong, quixotic, unnatural," she acknowledged soberly. "Yet I am not absolved, not free—this man remains my husband, wedded to me by the authority of the church. I—I must bear the burden of my vows; not even love would long compensate for unfaithfulness in the sight of God."

In the intense silence they could hear each other's strained breathing and the soft notes of a bird singing gleefully without. Winston, his lips compressed, his eyes stern with repressed feeling, neither moved nor spoke. Beth Norvell's head sank slowly back upon her arm.

"He took me with him from city to city," she went on wearily, as though unconsciously speaking to herself, "staying, I think, in each as long as the police would permit. He was seldom with me, seldom gave me money. We did not quarrel, for I refused to be drawn into any exchange of words. He never struck me excepting twice, but there are other ways of hurting a woman, and he knew them all. I was hungry at times and ill clad. I was driven to provide for myself, and worked in factories and stores. Whenever he knew I had money he took it. Money was always the cause of controversy between us. It was his god, not to hoard up, but to spend upon himself. My steady refusal to permit his bleeding my father enraged him; it was at such times he lost all control, and—and struck me. God! I could have killed him! There were times when I could, when I wonder I did not. Yet in calm deliberation I durst not break my vows. Three years ago he left me in Denver without a word, without a suggestion that the desertion was final. We had just reached there, and I had nothing. Friends of my family lived there, but I could not seek them for help. I actually suffered, until finally I found employment in a large department store. I expected he would return, and kept my rooms where he left me. I wrote home twice, cheerful letters, saying nothing to lower him in the estimation of my people, yet concealing my address for fear they might seek me out. Then there unexpectedly came to me an opportunity to go out with Albrecht, and I accepted it most thankfully. It gave me a chance to think of other things, to work hard, to forget myself in a growing ambition. I had already thrown off the old, and was laying ever firmer hands upon the new, when you came into my life, and then he came back also. It is such a small world, such a little world, all shadowed and full of heartaches!"

In the silence she glanced aside at him, her eyes clear, her hair held back by one hand.

"Please do not look at me like that," she pleaded. "Surely, you cannot blame me; you must forgive."

"There is nothing to blame, or forgive, Beth; apparently there is nothing for me to say, nothing for me to do."

She swayed slowly toward him, resting one hand upon his shoulder.

"But am I right? Won't you tell me if I am right?"

He stood hesitating for a moment, looking down upon that upturned, questioning face, his gray eyes filled with a loyalty that caused her heart to throb wildly.

"I do not know, Beth," he said at last, "I do not know; I cannot be your conscience. I must go out where I can be alone and think; but never will I come between you and your God."



CHAPTER XIX

THE POINT OF VIEW

She sank back upon the chair, her face completely hidden within her arms. Winston, his hand already grasping the latch of the door, paused and glanced around at her, a sudden revulsion of feeling leaving him unnerved and purposeless. He had been possessed by but one thought, a savage determination to seek out Farnham and kill him. The brute was no more than a mad dog who had bitten one he loved; he was unworthy of mercy. But now, in a revealing burst of light, he realized the utter futility of such an act. Coward, brutal as the man unquestionably was, he yet remained her husband, bound to her by ties she held indissoluble. Any vengeful blow which should make her a widow would as certainly separate the slayer from her forever. Unavoidably though it might occur, the act was one never to be forgiven by Beth Norvell, never to be blotted from her remembrance. Winston appreciated this as though a sudden flash-light had been turned upon his soul. He had looked down into her secret heart, he had had opened before him the religious depth of her nature—this bright-faced, brown-eyed woman would do what was right although she walked a pathway of self-denying agony. Never once did he doubt this truth, and the knowledge gripped him with fingers of steel. Even as he stood there, looking back upon her quivering figure, it was no longer hate of Farnham which controlled; it was love for her. He took a step toward her, hesitant, uncertain, his heart a-throb with sympathy; yet what could he say? What could he do? Utterly helpless to comfort, unable to even suggest a way out, he drew back silently, closed the door behind him, and shut her in. He felt one clear, unalterable conviction—under God, it should not be for long.

He stood there in the brilliant sunlight, bareheaded still; looking dreamily off across the wide reach of the canyon. How peaceful, how sublimely beautiful, it all appeared; how delicately the tints of those distant trees blended and harmonized with the brown rocks beyond! The broad, spreading picture slowly impressed itself upon his brain, effacing and taking the place of personal animosity. In so fair a world Hope is ever a returning angel with healing in his wings; and Winston's face brightened, the black frown deserting his forehead, all sternness gone from his eyes. There surely must be a way somewhere, and he would discover it; only the weakling and the coward can sit down in despair. Out of the prevailing silence he suddenly distinguished voices at hand, and the sound awoke him to partial interest. Just before the door where he stood a thick growth of bushes obstructed the view. The voices he heard indistinctly came from beyond, and he stepped cautiously forward, peering in curiosity between the parted branches.

It was a narrow section of the ledge, hemmed in by walls of rock and thinly carpeted with grass, a small fire burning near its centre. There was an appetizing smell of cookery in the air, and three figures were plainly discernible. The old miner, Mike, sat next the embers, a sizzling frying-pan not far away, his black pipe in one oratorically uplifted hand, a tin plate in his lap, his grouchy, seamed old face screwed up into argumentative ugliness, his angry eyes glaring at the Swede opposite, who was loungingly propped against a convenient stone. The latter looked a huge, ungainly, raw-boned fellow, possessing a red and white complexion, with a perfect shock of blond hair wholly unaccustomed to the ministrations of a comb. He had a long, peculiarly solemn face, rendered yet more lugubrious by unwinking blue eyes and a drooping moustache of straw color. Altogether, he composed a picture of unutterable woe, his wide mouth drawn mournfully down at the corners, his forehead wrinkled in perplexity. Somewhat to the right of these two more central figures, the young Mexican girl contributed a touch of brightness, lolling against the bank in graceful relaxation, her black eyes aglow with scarcely repressed merriment. However the existing controversy may have originated, it had already attained a stage for the display of considerable temper.

"Now, ye see here, Swanska," growled the thoroughly aroused Irishman vehemently. "It's 'bout enough Oi 've heard from ye on that now. Thar 's r'ason in all things, Oi 'm tould, but Oi don't clarely moind iver havin' met any in a Swade, bedad. Oi say ye 're nothin' betther than a dommed foreigner, wid no business in this counthry at all, at all, takin' the bread out o' the mouths of honest min. Look at the Oirish, now; they was here from the very beginnin'; they 've fought, bled, an' died for the counthry, an' the loikes o' ye comes in an' takes their jobs. Be hivins, it 's enough to rile the blood. What's the name of ye, anny how?"

"Ay ban Nels Swanson."

"Huh! Well, it's little the loikes o' ye iver railly knows about names, Oi 'm thinkin'. They tell me ye don't have no proper, dacent names of yer own over in Sweden,—wherever the divil that is, I dunno,—but jist picks up annything handy for to dhraw pay on."

"It ban't true."

"It's a loiar ye are! Bad cess to ye, ain't Oi had to be bunk-mate wid some o' ye dhirty foreigners afore now? Ye 're sons, the whole kit and caboodle o' ye—Nelsons, an' Olesons, an' Swansons, an' Andersons. Blissed Mary! an' ye call them things names? If ye have anny other cognomen, it's somethin' ye stole from some Christian all unbeknownst to him. Holy Mother! but ye ought to be 'shamed to be a Swade, ye miserable, slab-sided haythen."

"My name ban Swanson; it ban all right, hey?"

"Swanson! Swanson! Oh, ye poor benighted, ignorant foreigner!" and Mike straightened up, slapping his chest proudly. "Jist ye look at me, now! Oi'm an O'Brien, do ye moind that? An O'Brien! Mother o' God! we was O'Briens whin the Ark first landed; we was O'Briens whin yer ancestors—if iver ye had anny—was wigglin' pollywogs pokin' in the mud. We was kings in ould Oireland, begorry, whin ye was a mollusk, or maybe a poi-faced baboon swingin' by the tail. The gall of the loikes of ye to call yerselves min, and dhraw pay wid that sort of thing ferninst ye for a name! Oi 'll bet ye niver had no grandfather; ye 're nothin' but a it, a son of a say-cook, be the powers! An' ye come over here to work for a thafe—a dhirty, low-down thafe. Do ye moind that, yer lanthern-jawed spalpeen? What was it yer did over beyant?"

"Ay ban shovel-man fer Meester Burke—hard vork."

"Ye don't look that intilligent from here. Work!" with a snort, and waving his pipe in the air. "Work, is it? Sure, an' it's all the loikes of ye are iver good for. It 's not brains ye have at all, or ye 'd take it a bit aisier. Oi had a haythen Swade foreman oncet over at the 'Last Chance.' God forgive me for workin' undher the loikes of him. Sure he near worked me to death, he did that, the ignorant furriner. Work! why, Oi 'm dommed if a green Swade did n't fall the full length of the shaft one day, an' whin we wint over to pick him up, what was it ye think the poor haythen said? He opened his oies an' asked, 'Is the boss mad?' afeared he 'd lose his job! An' so ye was workin' for a thafe, was ye? An' what for?"

"Two tollar saxty cint."

Mike leaped to his feet as though a spring had suddenly uncoiled beneath him, waving his arms in wild excitement, and dancing about on his short legs.

"Two dollars an' sixty cints! Did ye hear that, now? For the love of Hivin! an' the union wages three sixty! Ye 're a dommed scab, an' it's meself that 'll wallup ye just for luck. It's crazy Oi am to do the job. What wud the loikes of ye work for Misther Hicks for?"

Swanson's impassive face remained imperturbable; he stroked the moustaches dangling over the corners of his dejected mouth.

"Two tollar saxty cint."

Mike glared at him, and then at the girl, his own lips puckering.

"Bedad, Oi belave the poor cr'ater do n't know anny betther. Shure, 't is not for an O'Brien to be wastin' his toime thryin' to tache the loikes of him the great sacrets of thrade. It wud be castin' pearls afore swine, as Father Kinny says. Did iver ye hear tell of the Boible, now?"

"Ay ban Lutheran."

"An' what's that? It's a Dimocrat Oi am, an' dom the O'Brien that's annything else. But Oi niver knew thar was anny of thim other things hereabout. It's no prohibitioner ye are, annyhow, fer that stuff in yer bottle wud cook a snake. Sufferin' ages! but it had an edge to it that wud sharpen a saw. What do ye think of ther blatherin' baste annyhow, seenorita?"

The little Mexican gave sudden vent to her pent-up laughter, clapping her hands in such an ecstasy of delight as to cause the unemotional Swanson to open his mild blue eyes in solemn wonder.

"He all right, I rink," she exclaimed eagerly. "He no so mooch fool as you tink him—no, no. See, senor, he busy eat all de time dat you talk; he has de meal, you has de fin' air. Vich ees de bettair, de air or de meat, senor? Bueno, I tink de laugh vas vid him."

Mr. O'Brien, his attention thus suddenly recalled to practical affairs, gazed into the emptied frying-pan, a decided expression of bewildered despair upon his wizened face. For the moment even speech failed him as he confronted that scene of total devastation. Then he dashed forward to face the victim of his righteous wrath.

"Ye dom Swade, ye!" He shook a dirty fist beneath the other's nose. "Shmell o' that! It's now Oi know ye 're a thafe, a low-down haythen thafe. What are ye sittin' thar for, grinnin' at yer betthers?"

"Two tollar saxty cint."

The startled Irishman stared at him with mouth wide open.

"An' begorry, did ye hear that, seenorita? For the love of Hivin, it's only a poll-parrot sittin' there ferninst us, barrin' the appetite of him. Saints aloive! but Oi 'd love to paste the crature av it was n't a mortal sin to bate a dumb baste. An' he 's a Lutheran! God be marciful an' keep me from iver ketchin' that same dis'ase, av it wud lave me loike this wan. What's that? What was it the haythen said then, seenorita?"

"Not von vord, senor; he only vink von eye like maybe he flirt vid me."

"The Swade did that! Holy Mother! an' wid an O'Brien here to take the part of any dacent gurl. Wait till I strip the coat off me. It's an O'Brien that'll tache him how to trate a lady. Say, Swanson, ye son of a gun, ye son of a say-cook, ye son—Sure, Oi 'd loike to tell ye what ye are av it was n't for the prisince of the seenorita. It's Michael O'Brien who 's about to paste ye in the oye fer forgittin' yer manners, an' growin' too gay in good company. Whoop! begorry, it's the grane above the red!"

There was a dull noise of a heavily struck blow. A pair of short legs, waving frantically, traversed a complete semicircle, coming down with a crash at the edge of the bushes. Through a rapidly swelling and badly damaged optic the pessimistic O'Brien gazed up in dazed bewilderment at the man already astride of his prostrate body. It was a regenerated Norseman, the fierce battle-lust of the Vikings glowing in his blue eyes. With fingers like steel claws he gripped the Irishman's shirt collar, driving his head back against the earth with every mad utterance.

"Ay ban Nels Swanson!" he exploded defiantly. "Ay ban Nels Swanson! Ay ban Nels Swanson! Ay ban shovel-man by Meester Burke! Ay ban Lutheran! Ay ban work two tollar saxty cint! You hear dose tings? Tamn the Irish—Ay show you!"

With the swift, noiseless motion of a bird Mercedes flitted across the narrow space, forcing her slender figure in between the two contestants, her white teeth gleaming merrily, the bright sunshine shimmering across her black hair. Like two stars her great eyes flashed up imploringly into the Swede's angry face.

"No, no, senors! You no fight like de dogs vid me here. I not like dat, I not let you. See! you strike him, you strike me. Dios de Dios! I not have eet so—nevah."

A strong, compelling hand fell suddenly on Winston's shoulder, and he glanced about into the grave, boyish countenance of Stutter Brown.

"Th-thar 's quite c-c-consid'able of a c-crowd comin' up the t-t-trail t-ter the 'Independence,' an' B-Bill wants yer," he announced, his calm eyes on the controversy being waged beyond in the open. "Th-thar 'll be somethin' d-doin' presently, but I r-reckon I better s-s-straighten out t-this yere i-i-international fracas first."



CHAPTER XX

THE GAME OF FOILS

The grave-faced, yet good-natured giant pressed his way through the tangled mass of obstructing bushes, and unceremoniously proceeded to proclaim peace. His methods were characteristic of one slow of speech, yet swift of action. With one great hand gripping the Swede, he suddenly swung that startled individual at full length backward into the still smouldering embers of the fire, holding the gasping Mike down to earth with foot planted heavily upon his chest. It was over in an instant, Swanson sputtering unintelligible oaths while beating sparks from his overalls, the Irishman profanely conscious of the damage wrought to his eye, and the overwhelming odds against him. Senorita Mercedes clapped her little hands in delight at the spectacle, her steps light as those of the dance, the girlish joy in her eyes frank and unreserved.

"Ah, de Senor Brown—bueno! Dey vas just children to you even ven dey fight, hey? It vas good to see such tings doin', just like de play."

She circled swiftly up toward him, a happy bird of gay, fluttering plumage, pressing her fingers almost caressingly along the swelling muscle of his arm, and gazing with earnest admiration up into his face. Beneath the witching spell of her eyes the man's cheeks reddened. He took the way of savagery out of unexpected embarrassment.

"Th-that 's enough, now, Swanson," he commanded, the stutter largely vanishing before the requirement of deeds. "Th-this is no c-continuous vaudeville, an' ther curtain's rung d-down on yer act. Mike, yer ol' varmint, if yer do any more swearin' while ther lady's yere I 'll knock ther words back down yer throat. Yer know me, so shut up. Th-thar'll be fightin' in p-plenty fer both o' yer presently, the way things look. Now, vamoose, the two o' yer, an' be quiet about it. Mike, y-yer better do something fer yer eyes if yer wanter see well 'nough ter take a pot-shot at Farnham's gang."

The two discomfited combatants slouched off unwillingly enough, but the slender white fingers of the Mexican remained clasping the speaker's arm, her upturned face filled with undisguised enthusiasm. Brown, after pretending to watch the fighters disappear, glanced uneasily down into her wondrous dark eyes, shuffling his feet awkwardly, his appearance that of a bashful boy. Mercedes laughed out of the depths of a heart apparently untroubled.

"My, but eet vas so ver' big, senor. See! I cannot make de fingers to go round—no, no. I nevah see such arm—nevah. But you no care? You vas dat great big all over, hey? Sapristi! who de woman help like such a big Americano?"

"B-but that ain't it, M-M-M-Mercedes," blurted out the perturbed giant, in desperation. "I-I want yer t-t-ter love me."

"No comprende, senor."

"O-oh, yes yer do. L-Lord! didn't I t-tell it all ter yer s-s-straight 'nough last n-night? Maybe I ain't m-much on ther t-talk, but I r-reckon I sh-sh-shot that all right. C-can't yer make over th-that like inter l-love somehow?"

She released her clasp upon his arm, her eyes drooping behind their long lashes, the merry laughter fading from her lips.

"Dat vas not von bit nice of you, senor. Vy you ever keep bodder me so, ven I good to you? No, I tol' you not ask me dat so quick soon again. Did I not do dis? I tol' you den I know not; I meet you only de twice—how I lofe ven I meet you only de twice?"

"You 've m-m-met me as often a-as I h-h-have you," he interrupted, "an' I kn-know I l-love you all right."

"Oh, dat vas diff'rent, ver' different," and she tripped back from him, with a coquettish toss of the black head. "Vy not? of course. I vas Mercedes—si; vas dat not enough? All de caballeros say dat to me; dey say me ver' pretty girl. You tink dat too, senor?"

The perplexed Brown, fully conscious that his great strength was useless here, looked an answer, although his lips merely sputtered in vain attempt at speech.

"So; I read dat in de eyes. Den of course you lofe me. It vas de nature. But vis me it vas not so easy; no, not near so easy. I tink maybe you ver' nice man," she tipped it off upon her finger ends half playfully, constantly flashing her eyes up into his puzzled face. "I tink you ver' good man; I tink you ver' strong man; I tink maybe you be ver' nice to Mercedes. 'T is for all dose tings dat I like you, senor, like you ver' mooch; but lofe, dat means more as like, an' I know not for sure. Maybe so, maybe not so; how I tell yet for true? I tink de best ting be I not say eet, but just tink 'bout eet; just keep eet in mine own heart till some odder time ven I sure know. Vas eet not so?"

Brown set his teeth half savagely, the little witch tantalizing him with the swiftness of her speech, the coy archness of her manner. To his slower mentality she was like a humming-bird darting about from flower to flower, yet ever evading him.

"M-maybe yer think I ain't in e-e-earnest?" he persisted, doggedly. "M-maybe yer imagine I d-did n't m-m-mean what I s-said when I asked yer ter m-marry me?"

She glanced up quickly into his serious eyes, half shrinking away as if she suddenly comprehended the dumb, patient strength of the man, his rugged, changeless resolution. There was a bit of falter in the quick response, yet this was lost to him.

"No, senor, I no make fun. I no dat kind. I do de right, dat all; I do de right for both of us. I no vant to do de wrong. You comprende, senor? Maybe you soon grow ver' tire Mercedes, she marry you?"

The infatuated miner shook his head emphatically, and flung out one hand toward her.

"No! Oh, you tink so now; you tink so ver' mooch now, but eet better ve vait an' see. I know de men an' de vay dey forget after vile. Maybe I not such good voman like you tink me; maybe I cross, scold, get qvick mad; maybe I no like live widout de stage, de lights, de dance, an' de fun, hey? Vat you do den? You be ver' sorry you marry. I no like dat, no, no. I want de man to lofe me always—nevah to vish he not marry me. You not know me yet; I not know you. Maybe ve vait, ve know."

He caught her gesticulating hands, prisoning them strongly within both his own, but she shook forward her loosened hair until it fell partially across her face, hiding it thus from his eager eyes bent in passion upon her.

"B-but tell me y-you love me! T-tell me th-th-that, an' I 'll let the o-other go!"

"You vould make me to say de untrue, senor?"

"Of course not. I w-want ter kn-kn-know. Only if you d-do n't, I 'm a-goin' t-ter git out o' yere."

She remained silent, motionless, her telltale face shadowed, only the quick rise and fall of the bosom evidencing emotion. The man looked at her helplessly, his mouth setting firm, his eyes becoming filled with sudden doubt.

"W-well, Mercedes," he stuttered, unable to restrain himself, "wh-what is it?"

She lifted her lowered head ever so slightly, so that he saw her profile, the flush on the cheek turned toward him.

"Maybe eet better you stay, senor. Anyhow, I no vant you go just now."

For once he proved the more swift of the two, clasping her instantly within his arms, drawing her slender form close against him with a strength he failed to realize in that sudden excess of passion. Holding her thus in helpless subjection he flung aside the obstructing veil of hair, and covered the flushed cheeks with kisses. The next moment, breathless, but not with indignation, the girl had pushed his burning face aside, although she still lay quivering within the remorseless clasp of his arms.

"I no said all dat, senor; I no said all dat. You so ver' strong, you hurt Mercedes. Please, senor—eet vas not dat I meant eet should be dis vay—no, no. I no said I lofe you; I just say stay till maybe I know vich—please, senor."

"N-not till yer k-kiss me yourself," and Brown, intensely conscious of triumph, held back the mass of black hair, his eager eyes devouring the fair face pressing his shoulder. "O-one kiss w-with ther l-l-lips, an' I 'll let yer g-go."

"No, no, senor."

"Th-then I h-hold yer here till some one comes."

"Eet vas not lofe; eet vas just to get avay."

"I-I-I take ch-chances on that, l-little girl."

Their lips met and clung; all unconsciously the free arm of the girl stole upward, clasping the man's broad shoulder. For that one instant she forgot all excepting the new joy of that embrace, the crowning faith that this man loved her as no other ever had—truly, nobly, and forever. Her face was aglow as she drew reluctantly back from him, her eyes upon his, her cheeks flushed, her lips trembling. Yet with the parting came as swiftly back the resolution which made her strong.

"Eh, senor; eet shame me, but you promise—please, senor!"

Like a flash, in some mysterious manner, she had slipped free, evaded his effort to grasp her dress, and, with quick, whirling motion, was already half-way across the open space, daring to mock him even while flinging back her long hair, the sunlight full upon her. Never could she appear more delicately attractive, more coquettishly charming.

"Ah, see—you tink me de prisoner. Eet vas not all de strength, senor, not all. You no can catch me again till I lofe you; not de once till I lofe you, senor."

He started toward her blindly, taunted by these unexpected words of renunciation. But she danced away, ever managing to keep well beyond reach, until she disappeared within the narrow path leading to the cabin. He could see her through the vista of branches, pausing to look back and watch if he followed.

"B-but you do," he called out, "I-I know you d-do. Won't yer just s-s-say it for me onct?"

"Say dat I marry you?"

"Y-yes, for it means ther same. Anyhow, s-say yer love me."

She laughed, shaking her head so hard the black hair became a whirling cloud about her.

"No, no! eet not de same, senor. Maybe I lofe you, maybe not yet. Dat ees vat you must fin' out. But marry? Dat no show I lofe you. Oh, de men! to tink eet vas de only vay to prove lofe to marry. No, no! maybe I show you some day eef I lofe you; si, some day I show you ven I know true. But dat not mean I marry you. Dat mean more as dat—you see. Adios, senor."

And he stood alone, staring at the blank door, strangely happy, although not content.



CHAPTER XXI

UNDER ARREST

When Brown emerged from behind the protection of the cabin, his freckled face yet burning red in memory of his strenuous love-making, he discovered both Hicks and Winston standing upon the rock which shortly before had formed their breakfast table, gazing watchfully off into the purple depths of the canyon, occasionally lifting their eyes to search carefully the nearer surroundings about the hostile "Independence." Something serious was in the air, and all three men felt its mysterious presence. Hicks held the field-glasses in his hands, outwardly calm, yet his old face already beginning to exhibit the excitement of rapidly culminating events. That they were not to be long left undisturbed was promised by an increasing number of figures distinctly visible around the distant shaft-house and dump, as well as the continuous shouting, indistinguishable as to words but pronounced in volume, borne through the clear air to their ears.

"I 'm a liar if ther was n't twenty in that last bunch," Hicks muttered, just a trifle uneasily. "Good Lord boys! it 's an army they 're organizin' over yonder. Blame me if I onderstan' that sorter scheme at all. It don't look nat'ral. I never thought Farnham was no coward when ther time come fer fightin', but this kind o' fixin' shore looks as if we had him skeered stiff. Wal, it 'll take more 'n a bunch o' San Juan toughs to skeer me. I reckon ther present plan must be ter try rushin' ther 'Little Yankee.'"

He wheeled about, driving the extended tubes of his glass together, his gray beard forking out in front of his lean, brown face like so many bristles.

"Oh, is thet you come back, Stutter? Thought I heerd somebody walkin' behind me. I reckon, judgin' from ther outlook over thar, thet the dance is 'bout ter begin; leastwise, the fiddlers is takin' their places," and he waved his gnarled hand toward the distant crowd. "Got somethin' like a reg'ment thar now, hoss and fut, an' it's safe ter bet thar 's more a-comin'. This yere fracas must be gittin' some celebrated, an' bids fair ter draw bigger 'n a three-ringed circus. All ther scum o' San Juan must 'a got a private tip thet we was easy marks. They 're out yere like crows hopin' ter pick our bones clean afore the law kin git any show at all. Wal, it 'll be a tough meal all right, an' some of 'em are mighty liable ter have trouble with their digestion, fer thar 's goin' ter be considerable lead eat first. Now see yere, Stutter, the safest thing we kin do is git ready. You chase that whole bunch yonder back behind them rocks, where they 'll be out o' the way—the Swede an' the women. Do it lively, an' you an' Mike stay up thar with 'em, with your guns handy. Keep under cover as much as ye kin, for some o' them lads out thar will have glasses with 'em, and be watchin' of us almighty close. Hurry 'long now; me an' Winston will stop yere until we find out just what their little game is likely ter be."

He turned away from his partner, facing once again toward the "Independence." Then he readjusted the tubes, and passed them over to his silent companion.

"Just see what you make out o' it, Mr. Winston; ye 're some younger, an' yer eyes ought ter be a heap better 'n mine."

The young engineer, his heart already beginning to throb with the excitement of an unaccustomed position of danger, ran the lenses carefully back and forth from the half-concealed bunk-house to the nearer ore-dump, searching for every sign of life. Whatever emotion swayed him, there was not the slightest tremor to the steady hands supporting the levelled tubes.

"They have certainly got together a considerable number of men," he reported, the glass still at his eyes. "Roughs the most of them look to be, from their clothes. The largest number are grouped in between the shaft-house and the dump, but there must be a dozen or fifteen down below at the edge of those cedars. Farnham is at the shaft-house—no, he and another fellow have just started down the dump, walking this way. Now they have gone into the cedars, and are coming straight through. What's up, do you suppose—negotiations?"

"I 'm damned if I know," returned the old miner, staring blankly. "This whole thing kinder jiggers me. Maybe he thinks he kin skeer us out by a good brand o' talk. He 's a bit o' a bluffer, that Farnham."

The two watchers waited in breathless expectancy, leaning on their loaded Winchesters, their eyes eagerly fastened on the concealing cedars. Behind where they remained in the open, yet within easy rifle-shot, the heads of Brown and Old Mike rose cautiously above the rock rampart of their natural fort. Suddenly two men, walking abreast, emerged from out the shadow of the wood, and came straight toward them across the open ridge of rocks. They advanced carelessly, making no effort to pick their path, and in apparently utter indifference to any possible peril. The one was Farnham, his slender form erect, his shoulders squared, his hat pushed jauntily back so as to reveal fully the smoothly shaven face. The other bent slightly forward as he walked, his wide brim drawn low over his eyes, leaving little visible except the point of a closely trimmed beard. He was heavily built, and a "45" dangled conspicuously at his hip. If Farnham bore arms they were concealed beneath the skirt of his coat. Watching them approach, Winston's eyes became threatening, his hands involuntarily clinching, but Hicks remained motionless, his lean jaws continuously munching on the tobacco in his cheek.

"Who the hell is that with him?" he questioned, wonderingly. "Do you know the feller?"

Winston shook his head, his own steady gaze riveted upon Farnham. Deliberately the two climbed the low ore-dump side by side, and came forth on top into the full glare of the sun. Hicks's Winchester sank to a level, his wicked old eye peering along the polished barrel.

"I 'll have to ask ye ter stop right thar, gents," he said, genially, drawing back the hammer with a sharp click. "Ye 're trespassin' on my property."

The two men came to an instant halt, Farnham smiling unpleasantly, his hands buried in his pockets. His companion hastily shoved back his hat, as though in surprise at the summons, revealing a broad, ruddy face, shadowed by iron-gray whiskers. Hicks half lowered his gun, giving vent to a smothered oath.

"By God, it's the sheriff!" he muttered, in complete bewilderment. "What the hell are we up against?"

There was an interval of intense silence, both parties gazing at each other, the one side startled, unnerved, the other cool, contemptuous. It was the sheriff who first spoke, standing firmly on his short legs, and quietly stroking his beard.

"You probably recognize me, Bill Hicks," he said, calmly, "and it might be just as healthy for you to lower that gun. I ain't here hunting any trouble, but if it begins I 've got a posse over yonder big enough to make it mighty interesting. You sabe?"

Old Hicks hesitated, his finger yet hovering about the trigger, his eyes filled with doubt. There was some mystery in this affair he could not in the least fathom, but he was obstinate and hard-headed.

"Yes, I know you all right, Mr. Sheriff," he returned, yet speaking half angrily. "But I don't know what ye 're dippin' inter this yere affair fer. I haven't any quarrel with you, ner any cause fer one. But I have with that grinnin' cuss alongside o' yer. I 'll talk with you all right, but Farnham will either mosey back ter his own den o' thieves, 'er I 'll blow a hole plumb through him—that's flat. I don't talk ter his kind."

The sheriff held up one hand, taking a single step forward, his face grown sternly resolute.

"Mr. Farnham chances to be present as my deputy," he announced gravely. "I don't know anything about a quarrel between you two men, and I care less. I 'm here to enforce the law and arrest law-breakers. If you decide to interfere between me and my duty I 'll know how to act. I 've smelt of the business end of a gun before to-day, and I guess nobody ever saw Sam Hayes play baby when there was a fight on tap. If there 's trouble between you and Farnham, have it out, and git done with it in proper fashion, but just now he 's a sworn officer of the law, and when you threaten him you threaten all Gulpin County. Do you manage to digest that fact, Hicks?"

The sturdy old prospector, his face white with rage under the tan, uncocked his rifle and dropped the butt heavily upon the earth, his eyes wandering from the face of the sheriff to that of Winston.

"What the hell is it yer want, then?" he asked sullenly. Hayes smiled, shifting easily so as to rest his weight on one leg.

"Got anybody in your bunch named Winston?" he questioned, "Ned Winston, mining engineer?"

The younger man started in surprise.

"That is my name," he replied, before Hicks could speak. The sheriff looked toward him curiously, noting the square jaw, the steady gray eyes; then he glanced aside at Farnham. The latter nodded carelessly.

"So far, so good. By the same luck, have you a Swede here called Nels Swanson?"

Hicks shook his head in uncertainty.

"There 's a Swede here, all right, who belongs ter the 'Independence' gang. I don 't know his name."

"It's Swanson," put in Farnham, cheerfully. "Those are the two birds you 're after, sheriff."

The latter official, as though fascinated by what he read there, never ventured to remove his watchfulness from the face of the engineer, yet he smiled grimly.

"Then I 'll have to trouble you to trot out the Swede, Hicks," he said, a distinct command in his voice. "After he 's here we 'll get down to business."

It was fully five minutes before the fellow arrived, his movements slow and reluctant. From his language, expressing his feelings freely to Mike and Brown, who were engaged in urging him forward, it was evident he experienced no ambition to appear in the limelight. The four men waiting his coming remained motionless, intently watchful of one another. As the slowly moving Swede finally approached, Hayes ventured to remove his eyes from Winston just long enough to scan swiftly the mournful countenance, that single glance revealing to him the character of the man. The latter gazed uneasily from one face to another, his mild blue eyes picturing distress, his fingers pulling aimlessly at his moustache.

"Ay ban yere by you fellers," he confessed sorrowfully, unable to determine which person it was that wanted him.

"So I see," admitted the sheriff laconically. "Are you Nels Swanson?"

The fellow swallowed something in his throat that seemed to choke him. This question sounded familiar; it brought back in a rush a recollection of his late controversy with Mr. O'Brien. His face flushed, his eyes hardening.

"Ay ban Nels Swanson!" he exploded, beating the air with clenched fist. "Ay ban Lutheran! Ay ban shovel-man by Meester Burke. Ay get two tollar saxty cint! Ay not give won tamn for you! Ay lick de fellar vot ask me dot again!"

The sheriff stared at him, much as he might have examined a new and peculiar specimen of bug.

"I don't recall having asked you anything about your family history," he said quietly, dropping one hand in apparent carelessness on the butt of his "45." "Your name was all I wanted." He tapped the breast of his coat suggestively, his gaze returning to Winston.

"Well, gents, we might as well bring this affair to a focus, although no doubt you two understand the meaning of it pretty well already. I 've got warrants here for the arrest of Winston and Swanson. I hope neither of you intend to kick up any row."

The white teeth of the young mining engineer set like a trap, his gray eyes gleaming dangerously beneath frowning brows. Instinctively he took a quick step forward.

"Warrants?" he exclaimed, breathlessly. "In God's name, for what?"

Hayes tightened his grip on the gun butt, drawing it half from the sheath, his eyes narrowing.

"For the murder of Jack Burke," he said tersely. "Don't you move, young man!"

There was a long moment of intense, strained silence, in which the five men could hear nothing but their own quick breathing. Before Winston everything grew indistinct, unreal, the faces fronting him a phantasy of imagination. He felt the fierce throb of his own pulses, a sudden dull pain shooting through his temples. Murder! The terrible word struck like a blow, appearing to paralyze all his faculties. In front of him, as if painted, he saw that fierce struggle in the dark, the limp figure lying huddled among the rocks. Murder! Aye, and how could he prove it otherwise? How could he hope to clear himself from the foul charge? Even as he yet swayed unsteadily upon his feet, a hand pressed across his eyes as if shielding them from that horrible vision, a voice, deep and strident, rang out:

"Mike an' me have got the two cusses covered Mr. Winston. If they move, or you give us the highball, we 'll plug 'em dead centre!"



CHAPTER XXII

THE INTERVENTION OF SWANSON

Hayes never changed his position, nor removed his eyes from Winston, his right hand still resting upon the butt of his "45," his lips set in rigid line. The engineer, the mist partially clearing from his brain, retained no thought except for Farnham, who remained motionless, staring over his head into the black, threatening muzzle of Stutter Brown's levelled gun. These were Western men; they recognized instantly the potency of "the drop," the absolute certainty of death if they stirred a muscle. They could only wait, breathless, uncertain, the next move in this desperate game. To Winston it seemed an hour he hesitated, his mind a chaos, temptation buffeting him remorselessly. He saw the sheriff's face set hard, and resolute behind its iron-gray beard; he marked the reckless sneer curling Farnham's lips, the livid mark under his eye where he had struck him. The intense hatred he felt for this man swept across him fiercely, for an instant driving out of his heart all thought of mercy. As suddenly he remembered the helpless woman yonder, within easy view, possibly even then upon her knees in supplication. It was this conception that aroused him. He withdrew his dull gaze from off that hateful, mocking face, his clenched hands opening, his mind responding to a new-born will. "Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord"—like an echo, perhaps from the very prayer her lips were speaking, the solemn words came into his consciousness. With face white, and lips trembling, he stepped suddenly back, and flung up one hand.

"Don't fire, boys!" he commanded, his voice ringing clear and purposeful. "Drop your guns; it's all right. This is my game, and I intend to play it out alone."

Farnham laughed, the quick reaction possibly affecting even his iron nerves. Winston whirled and fronted him, the gray eyes blazing.

"Damn you, you sneaking, sneering brute!" he burst forth. "You thief, you woman-beater, you unspeakable cur! I surrender to the sheriff of Gulpin County, not to you. I 've got the evidence to send you to the penitentiary, and I 'll do it, even though I stand myself in the shadow of death while I bear witness to your infamy. You think this arrest will shut my mouth! You imagine this will render me harmless! But, by God, it will not! I 'll fight you until the last breath leaves my body. I 'll tear you out from the protection of law; I 'll show you the kind of a man you have stacked up against. I don't know whether this murder charge is all a trick or not; I don't more than half believe Jack Burke is dead. But be that as it may, I 'll pull you down, Biff Farnham, not in any revenge for wrong done me, but to save a woman whom you know. I 'll do it, damn you, though it cost me my life!"

The sheriff's iron hand fell in restraint upon his shoulder, the burly body interposed between them.

"You're all right," Hayes said quietly, his eyes pleasantly interested. "You 've been squar' with me, young fellow, an' I 'm goin' ter be squar' with you. You kin bet on that. They 'll give you a chance down below to fight out your quarrel with Farnham."

Winston, his quick rage as instantly fading, drew one hand across his face, the real danger of his present situation flowing back suddenly to mind.

"Where do you mean to take us?" he questioned.

"San Juan."

"Right away?"

"Wal, 'bout as soon as we kin git you back ter whar the hosses are, yonder."

"You promise us protection from that 'Independence' outfit?"

The sheriff nodded decisively.

"Never lost no prisoner yet to a mob," he replied confidently. "I reckon thar'll be one hell of a fight before I do now. However, you don't need to worry, young man. On second thought, I 'll have the hosses brought over here, an' we 'll go down this trail."

Winston glanced about into the faces of Hicks and the Swede. There was no help forthcoming from either, but he had already reached a definite decision for himself.

"Very well," he said calmly, "I 'll go with you quietly, sheriff, only I don't need any hand-cuffing."

"Never use 'em," and Hayes affectionately patted his gun. "I reckon this yere instrument will do the business all right if any misunderstandin' should arise atween us goin' down. However, I 'll trouble yer to discard them weapons for the sake o' peace."

Without a word the engineer unbuckled his belt, tossed it over to Hicks, and then slowly turned his body about to prove himself entirely disarmed. Then he smiled, and extended his hand. The sheriff grasped it cordially.

"There need be no hard feeling between us, Hayes," he said pleasantly. "You 're only doing your sworn duty; I understand that. But there 's something rotten in this affair somewhere. All I ask is a square deal."

"An' yer kin bet you'll git it, Mr. Winston, er Sam Hayes will find out why. This yere 'Independence' outfit is no favorites o' mine, an' if the whole difficulty turns out ter be nothin' but a minin' squabble, the jury ain't likely ter be very hard on yer. That's my way o' figgerin' on it, from what little I know." He glanced keenly about, seeking to gain a clearer idea of their immediate surroundings. "Maybe you an' Swanson better mosey back yonder to the cabin, where I can keep an eye on you easy, while I send after the hosses. Farnham, climb back on top of the dump there, an' give them boys the signal to come on."

The gambler removed his hat, running one hand carelessly through his hair, his thin lips sufficiently parted to reveal his white teeth.

"I hardly think we are exactly done yet, Mr. Sheriff," he said sarcastically. "I 'm not very much worried regarding your suddenly expressed sympathy for this fellow, or your desire to get him off unscratched; but I feel compelled to insist upon receiving all the law allows me in this game we 're playing. There 's another warrant in your pocket for Winston."

"By thunder, yes; I 'd clear forgot it," fumbling at his papers.

"Well, I had n't; matter of some personal importance to me," the voice taking on a lazy, insolent drawl. "Of course, the fellow is under arrest all right, but that murder business is only part of it—I want my wife."

Winston started forward, crouching as though he would spring directly at the other's throat.

"Your wife?" he exclaimed madly, his voice choking. "Your wife? You 've sworn out a warrant for me on account of your wife?"

"Something of that nature, I believe," gazing at him insolently. "Abduction I think the lawyers call it, and I notice you 've got the lady hidden away back yonder now." He pointed across the other's shoulder. "Caught with the goods. Oh, you 're a fine preacher of morals, but I 've got you dead to rights this time."

Winston stood as though carven from stone, his face deathly white, his lips compressed, his gray eyes burning, never wavering from that mocking face. With all his strength of will he battled back the first mad impulse to throttle the man, to crush him into shapeless pulp. For one awful moment his mind became a chaos, his blood throbbing fire. To kill would be joy, a relief inexpressible. Farnham realized the impulse, and drew back, not shrinking away, but bracing for the contest. But the engineer gripped himself in time.

"Hayes," he ejaculated hoarsely, "let the lady decide this. If she says no, then, by God, I 'll fight you all single-handed before he ever puts touch upon her!"

Old Bill Hicks was beside him in a single stride, his face blazing.

"I 'm damned if yer will!" he growled madly. "I 'm in on this deal, law er no law. The whole blame thing is a bluff, an' I 'll not stan' fer it no longer. Yer step back thar, Sam Hayes, er else Gulpin County will be lookin' 'round fer another sheriff. I 've got plumb ter the limit o' patience in this game."

Winston grasped the old man's uplifted arm, whirling him sharply around.

"No," he exclaimed almost wearily, "it 's not to be a fight yet; let—let her decide between us."

She was already coming, walking alone directly across the open space toward them. The eyes of the bewildered men were upon her, marking the white face, rendered more noticeable by its frame of dark, uncovered hair, the firm, womanly chin, the tightly compressed lips, the resolute, unwavering eyes. She walked firmly, confidently forward, her head proudly uplifted, a stately dignity about her bearing which could not be ignored. If she perceived either Winston or Farnham in that group she gave no sign, never halting until she stood directly before Sam Hayes. Involuntarily, unconscious of the act, the sheriff pulled off his hat, and stood twirling it in his hands.

"Is it indeed true," she asked, her voice thrilling with suppressed feeling, "that you possess a warrant sworn out by Biff Farnham, charging Mr. Winston with the abduction of his wife?"

"Yes, ma'am," and the man changed the weight of his body to the other foot. "I 'm sorry ter say it 's true."

She lifted one hand suddenly to her forehead as though in pain.

"And you intend to serve it?"

"I have no choice, ma'am; I 'm an officer of the law."

There followed a pause, seemingly endless, the eyes of the men turned away. She lifted her head, sweeping her gaze swiftly across the faces, and a flush crept into the white cheeks.

"Gentlemen," her voice low and clear, but with a slight falter occasionally yielding peculiar power to the words, "it is true I am that man's wife." She looked directly at him, apparently oblivious of his attempt at smiling indifference. "By the laws of God and men I am his wife. I neither deny this, nor have ever sought to escape from its obligations. To me, the vows of marriage were sacred when first assumed; they remain no less sacred now. This man is fully aware of how I feel in this regard; he knows I have proved true in spirit and letter to my vows; he knows exactly why I am not living with him; why I am earning my own living in the world; why I am here in this position to-day. He knows it all, I say, because the desertion was his, not mine; and his present deliberate, cowardly attempt to besmirch my character by doing an injury to another is an unbearable insult, an outrage more serious than if he had struck me a physical blow. The one I might forgive, as I have before forgiven, but the other is beyond the limits of pardon, if I would retain my own self-respect. I am a woman, an honorable woman, and my reputation is more to me than life."

She paused, breathing heavily, her head flung back, Her hands clenched as though in desperate effort at self-control.

"You—you!" the words seemed fairly forced from between her lips, "there has never been a time when I would not have gone to you at a word, at your slightest expressed desire. However I may have despised you in my secret heart, I remained loyal outwardly, and would have gone to you in response to the call of duty. There is no such duty now. You have openly insulted and degraded me; you have accused me before the world; you have dragged my name in the muck; you have attempted to dethrone my womanhood. The past is over; it is over forever. The law may continue to hold me as your wife, but I am not your wife. The records of the church may so name me, but they are false. A God of love could never have linked me to such a brute—the very thought is infamy. Do not touch me! Do not speak to me! I believe I could kill you easier than I could ever again yield to you so much as a word."

She reeled as though about to fall, her hand pressed against her heart. Before an arm could be out-stretched in support, she had rallied, and turned away. With head lowered, her face shadowed by her hair she walked slowly toward the cabin. No man in the group stirred until she had disappeared. Then the sheriff fumblingly replaced his hat, his eyes wandering in uncertainty from Farnham to Winston.

"By God!" he exclaimed, as though in relief, catching his breath quickly and wiping his forehead. "By God! but that was fierce." Recalling his own duty he reached out his hand and laid it heavily upon the shoulder of the man standing next him. It chanced to be the Swede.

"Go on into the cabin," he commanded, a returning sternness in the order.

The surprised man stared at him in dull bewilderment.

"Vat for Ay go—hey?"

"Because you 're under arrest."

"Vat dot you say? I vas arrest? Maybe you not know me, hey? Ay tells you vat Ay vas mighty quick. Ay ban Nels Swanson; Ay ban Lutheran; Ay ban shovel—"

"Oh, shut up; ye 're under arrest, I tell you—move on now."

"Vat vas dis under arrest?" the blue eyes losing their mildness, the drooping moustache beginning to bristle. "Ay no understand 'bout dis arrest. Vat Ay do, hey?"

"Helped to kill Jack Burke."

The startled Norseman stared at him, gulping, his eyes fairly protruding from his face, his breath hissing between his gritted teeth. The wild berserker blood was surging hot through his veins.

"Ut vas von lie! You kill me so! By tamn, no!"

That instant, insane with fright, he grasped the astonished officer in the vise of his great hands, swung him into the air, and dashed him down headlong upon the rocks. Uttering a yell like that of some wild animal, the fellow was off, striking against Winston with his body as he passed, leaping recklessly across the rocks, heading straight toward the nearest thicket. It was all the work of a moment. Farnham whirled and sent one shot after him; then, as suddenly remembering his own peril, wheeled back to face the others, the smoking revolver in his hand. Amid the quick turmoil old Mike sprang to the summit of the rock rampart, his face flaming with enthusiasm.

"Go it, Swanska!" he yelled, encouragingly. "Go it, ye crazy white-head! Be the powers, but it's the foinest runnin' Oi 've sane fer a whoile. Saints aloive! but wud ye moind thim legs! 'Twas a kangaroo, begorry, an' not a monkey he come from, or Oi 'm a loiar. Go it, Swanny, ould bye! Howly St. Patrick! but he 'll be out o' the State afore dhark, if he only kapes it up. It 's money Oi 'm bettin' on the Swade!"

Winston stepped swiftly across to the motionless sheriff, and knelt down beside him, his face gravely anxious. The unfortunate man lay huddled up, breathing heavily, his head bleeding freely from two plainly visible wounds. The engineer turned him over, one hand feeling for his heart. Slowly the young man rose to his feet, standing beside the body, his gray eyes fastened upon Farnham. Here was a condition of affairs he must decide upon for himself, decide instantly, decide in spite of law, in spite of everything.

"He appears to be rather badly hurt; not seriously, I think, but the man is unconscious, and in no condition to be removed," he said, managing to hold his voice to a strange quiet. "I consider myself his prisoner, and shall remain with him until he becomes fit to travel. Farnham, I do not acknowledge your deputyship, and if you attempt to arrest me it will be at your peril. There are four of us here against you, but we 'll give you a chance—go back to your own! Not a word, if you care to live! Go, damn you—go!"

They stood and watched him, until his slender figure disappeared behind the fringe of cedars. Then Hicks and Winston, neither man speaking a word, tenderly lifted the wounded sheriff from off the rocks, and bore him back into the shelter of the cabin.



CHAPTER XXIII

A NEW VOLUNTEER

The desperate seriousness of their situation was only too evident. Both men recognized this, yet had no opportunity then to reflect over its possibilities, or plan for relief. Without exchanging a word, except as related to their present labor, the two at once began ministering to the relief of Hayes, confident that Brown, stationed without, would guard vigorously against any surprise attack. The two wounds upon the sheriff's head were extremely ugly in appearance, being both deep and jagged, and having bled profusely. However, when carefully washed and probed, neither proved particularly severe or dangerous. In less than an hour, conscious yet exceedingly weak and becoming somewhat feverish, the injured man, dazed in mind but fairly comfortable in body, had been safely stowed away in a bunk, with every prospect of an early recovery.

Not until all this had been accomplished did his anxious nurses venture to look thoughtfully into each others' faces and take direct cognizance of their own perilous position. Hicks stepped outside into the sunlight, wiping the perspiration from off his face, and a moment later Winston joined him, the two standing in grave silence, gazing off toward the apparently deserted "Independence." The strain of the past night and day had plainly marked them both, yet it was not exposure and toil alone that gave such anxiety to their faces. Finally Hicks turned from his long scrutiny and glanced back toward the younger man, stroking his goat's beard solemnly.

"Looks ter me like we'd managed ter drop into a mighty bad hole, an' was up agin the real thing," he began gloomily, yet hastening to add in explanation, "not as I have any notion o' cavin', you onderstand, only I ain't overly pleased with the situation, an' thet 's a fact. I never yit objected in particular ter no fair fight, not o' any kind, free fer all, or stan' up, but I ain't used ter buckin' agin the law nohow, an' someway thet seems ter be 'bout what we 're up agin this trip. Beats hell the way things turned out, don't it?"

Winston nodded without opening his lips. He was thinking more earnestly about Miss Norvell's unpleasant position than of their own, yet compelled himself to attention.

"Now, this yere Farnham is a gambler an' a thief; he 's all round crooked, an' we 've got a cinch on him fer the penitentiary. But we ain't got the right holt," the old miner continued, squinting his eyes as if thus endeavoring to get the thought firmly lodged in his brain. "He 's ben made a deputy sheriff. He kin turn that crowd o' toughs over thar into a posse, an' come over here with the whole law o' the State backin' them in any deviltry they decide on, even ter killin' off the lot o' us for resistin' officers. Es Sam Hayes said, if we shoot, we 'll be a-shootin' up Gulpin County. An' yet, by thunder, we 've plumb got ter do it, er git off the earth. I jest don't see no other way. Biff, he won't care a damn how he gits us, so he gits us afore we have any chance ter turn the tables on him, an' shift the law over ter our side. Hayes can't help any, fer he 's out o' his head. Consequent, it's up ter us. Thet warrant business, an' deputy sheriff racket, was a blame smart trick, all right. It would 'a' corralled us good an' proper if thet fool Swede had n't run amuck. Not that he left us in no bed o' roses, but, at least, we got a fightin' chance now, an' afore we did n't have even that. I was inclined ter let yer surrender to the sheriff, fer Sam Hayes is a squar' man, but not ter Farnham an' his gang—not much, Mary Ann! Thet would mean lynchin', an' I know it. So, I reckon we jest got to plug it out, an' trust ter luck. Thet 's my view-point, but ye 're a more higher edycated man ner me, Mr. Winston, an' maybe you kin see some other way out."

The old man sat down on an outcropping stone, pulled out his pipe and lit it, puffing thick rings of smoke into the air with manifest enjoyment. Winston did not answer until the other again turned his eyes upon him questioningly.

"I was busy thinking," explained the engineer, "but must confess the situation looks about as bad to me as it does to you. The silver lining of this cloud is not apparent. Of course, we 've got the right of it, but in some way Fate has managed to leave us set square against the law. We 're outlaws without having done a thing to warrant it. There is n't but one possible way out, and that is for us to get on the right side again. Now, how can it be done? Some one of us will have to go down to San Juan, before those fellows get over here in force, swear out warrants against Farnham and his partners, and have this whole affair probed to the bottom. We 've got them, if we can only get the ear of the District Attorney, and shift this fight into the courts. The trouble is, Farnham was smart enough to get there ahead of us, and he 'll win out if we don't move quick and block him. I can't go myself, for I 'm a prisoner, and must remain with the sheriff, or will be considered a fugitive. The only question is, Can any one hope to get through?"