Lucy gave Foster a meaning glance and he said, "No; I want to understand the thing."

"It was awkward to reach the coulee, because the glacier was badly crevassed, but we got there. The gully was nearly precipitous; a narrow trough that serves as a rubbish shoot for the mountain when the thaw splits the rocks. I expect it's ground smooth in summer, but it was filled with hard, slippery snow. We stopped again and studied it, and I felt doubtful I about taking Lucy up, but she didn't want to go back. Walters took my view and said we'd all go back, but he looked disappointed and Lucy wouldn't agree."

"I lost my temper," Lucy admitted. "I never liked Walters and when he supported Lawrence I got obstinate. Besides, I thought he really wanted to get rid of me."

"Anyhow, we decided that one guide should take Lucy back down the glacier."

"Walters decided," Lucy objected. "It's important, Mr. Foster, that he chose the guide. Be careful how you tell the rest, Lawrence."

"He said she must take the best man, and one laughed and said that if we meant to get up we'd better stick to him. Walters, however, sent this fellow off with Lucy, and then we fastened on the rope and began to climb. We got up perhaps a hundred feet by kicking steps in the snow, but that's a tiring job for the leader, and when he found a crack in the wall, where we could stop, the guide had had enough."

"Why was it necessary to find a crack?" Foster asked.

"One couldn't stand on the snow, and if we had tried to sit on it, we'd have shot down to the bottom; for the most part, the walls were ground smooth. When you go up a place like that, the leader kicks a little hole as high as he can in front, and then stands in it while he makes another. The rest put their feet in the holes as they follow. Well, when we set off again I went first and had to use my ax because the snow had hardened into ice, I soon found out I hadn't quite got better, and was forced to stop when we were nearly half-way up. We lay down, with our toes in the nicks, to rest, and I slid my flask down to Walters when I'd had a drink. It was a big flask, and I'd got it filled with brandy. I thought the guide took a remarkably long drink, but he looked steady when he crawled up to take my place.

"After that it was very slow work and we were glad when we found a knob of rock sticking out of the ice. It had been ground into the shape of a bridge pier by the rubbish shooting past. We stopped a bit and argued if we should give it up, but the guide declared he knew a better way down into the next valley and Walters seemed keen, so we ate something, took another drink, and set off again. The slope was dangerously steep and I thought the guide was using his ax wildly, but we came to a deep crack in the wall and when Walters suggested that it might help us out of the gully I threw off the rope. It would have been of no use if I had fallen, and I meant to come down unless I saw a fairly safe route to the snowfield. In fact, I think I meant to give up the climb and only went to find an excuse for this.

"The crack was not quite vertical and gave a good hold, but when I'd got up eighteen or twenty feet I came to an awkward slab. It bulged out, but I found a hold for my hands and scrambled over the edge. I managed this because the alternative was falling off and shooting to the bottom of the coulee, but perhaps because I was weaker than I thought, I wrenched my shoulder during the lift. Anyhow, I couldn't use my arm. It appeared afterwards that a ligament was strained, and the joint pinches yet.

"For a minute or two I thought hard. There was no way up, and I hadn't nerve enough to lower myself over the ledge by one arm. When I moved the other cautiously it hurt worse than at first. I called to the others and told them how I was fixed, but got a shock when the guide looked up.

"'Can't get down?' he said. 'Then why in thunder don't you jump?'

"'The fool's drunk,' Walters explained and added that he'd try to bring me the rope.

"I told him to throw me the end, as there was a knob I could double it round and then slide down both parts. The trouble was that Walters had nothing much to stand on when he tried to throw the coil. He lost his balance, slid down the gully, and jerked the guide out of his step. I saw Walters' ax shoot down in front, but the guide stuck to his, and the blade dragging over the rough surface checked them a bit. For all that, it looked as if they'd go straight to the bottom and they would hardly have got there alive, but the small rock wasn't far below. I don't think I breathed while I waited to see if it would bring them up.

"Walters struck the rock first and was very quick with the rope; in fact, I was astonished at his coolness, because he must have got a heavy blow. He stopped the other fellow and they lay on the rock for a few minutes. Then Walters shouted: 'He's not to be trusted, and I can't climb back alone.'

"Well, it was some moments before I could face the situation, but I told him to get down as fast as he could and send a rescue party with the other guide. He objected, but admitted that he saw no other plan, and I felt desperately lonely as I watched them crawl down the couloir. I don't know that I felt much worse afterwards, although it began to snow and my hands and feet seemed to turn to ice; two of my left fingers aren't of much use yet. The ledge was wide enough to sit on, but slanted, and one had to be careful to keep from slipping off. The snow stopped, but when dark came I'd given up hope of the rescue party's arriving in time. As a matter of fact, they were nearly too late, and I was in bed a month after they got me down; but Lucy can tell you the rest. You see, she saved my life."

A wave of color flushed Lucy's face. "When I reached the hotel I felt uneasy, and when it got dark and Lawrence didn't come I was alarmed. I had kept the guide who brought me home, and sent him to find some of his friends at a ranch not far off. They went back to look for Lawrence."

"You went back," said Lawrence reprovingly.

"As far as the first big crevasse; they wouldn't let me cross. But before this we met Walters and the other guide, who was drunk. Walters wanted to come with us, but I wouldn't allow him."

"You thought he was too tired?" Foster suggested.

"No," said Lucy quietly, "it wasn't altogether that."

Foster saw she would say no more about it, which seemed significant, and he let her go on.

"There is not much more to tell," she said with a shiver. "I was very anxious while I waited behind a hummock of ice, but at last I heard the men coming; they were carrying Lawrence, who couldn't walk. We got him down to the hotel—and I think that's all."

"But what became of Walters?" Foster asked.

"He stayed for a few days, and we were glad when he had to leave. He was in the way when Lawrence was ill."

"Thank you," said Foster gravely and was silent for a time.

He understood why his comrade called Miss Stephen Lucy, although he had not known her very long. She had, no doubt, saved his life by hurrying off the rescue party and had afterwards taken care of him when he was ill. He thought Lawrence lucky, but was not justified in congratulating him yet, and had something else to think about. Lucy suspected Walters, though Lawrence did not, and Foster imagined that she had some ground for doing so. She had an object for making Lawrence tell his story with full particulars, because it must have been painful to recall the matter.

"We'll say no more about it now, Miss Stephen," he remarked. "Lawrence and I are old friends, and I'm heavily in your debt."

Lucy looked up with a smile and blush, and Foster understood what she meant when she answered: "I hope you will always be his friend."



XXV

FOSTER SETS OFF AGAIN

After dinner the party returned to the veranda, which was warm and well lighted. Mrs. Stephen resumed her sewing, Lawrence settled himself comfortably in his big chair, and Foster engaged Lucy in careless talk. She had a pleasant voice and pretty, animated gestures, and after the strain he had borne there was a charm in relaxing and lazily enjoying the society of an attractive girl. The trouble was that he could not be careless long. Lawrence was inclined to put off disagreeable things, and would no doubt sooner leave disturbing subjects alone; but Foster had only kept half his promise to Alice and time that might be valuable was being lost.

"Your adventure made an interesting story, Lawrence, but you took unusual trouble to make us understand all that happened," he said at length.

Lawrence's gesture hinted at humorous resignation. "You're a restless fellow, Jake, but I hoped you'd wait until to-morrow. You see, I've been warned to keep quiet."

Foster looked at Lucy and imagined that he had her support; she no doubt knew his comrade's weakness for procrastination.

"I'll try not to disturb you much," he replied.

"Then you and Lucy insisted on my relating the thing at length. I felt I had to indulge you."

Lucy's smile hinted that Foster must be firm. "That wasn't quite enough. You had another motive."

"Oh, well," said Lawrence, "I suppose I wanted to recall the thing and see how it looked in the light of what you told me about your exploits in Scotland."

"They make it look different, don't they?" Lucy remarked.

Lawrence gave her a good-humored smile and then turned to Foster. "Lucy's cleverer than I, but I really thought she was rather hard on Walters." He paused for a moment, and then resumed thoughtfully: "You must remember that my object was to keep out of Daly's way, and I thought I was safe as long as I could do so. One would have expected him to play a lone hand."

"Didn't you think there was something suspicious about Walters' turning up again after he'd learned your name? There then were rather too many coincidences."

"Suppose you enumerate them," Lawrence suggested.

"He urged you to try the mountains and followed you to Banff. Then I've no doubt he proposed the trip up the glacier, for which he chose the guides. He sent the best back with Miss Stephen, and while this was the proper thing, it's curious that the other guide got drunk. Walters gave him your flask. Then he fell when he threw the rope—at the only place where a fall would not have led to his shooting down the couloir. Afterwards, although speed was urgent, he was very slow in going back for help."

"Besides, he knew exposure to the frost would be very dangerous for you; you told him you had been ill," Lucy interposed.

"I did," Lawrence agreed. "Of course if the fellow had wanted to make an end of me, it's obvious that he took a clever line; but people don't do that kind of thing for nothing. Suppose he was a friend of Daly's, it certainly wouldn't have suited the latter's plans."

"That," said Mrs. Stephen, "is what Lucy and I thought. You can be frank, Mr. Foster, because we know Lawrence's story."

"He was very wise to tell it you," Foster replied, and turned to his partner. "You imagined that Daly only wanted to extort money? Well, my explanation is that he had another object. We'll go back to the night Fred Hulton was shot. You thought you saw the watchman in the passage; was he far in front?"

"Perhaps a dozen yards; it's a long passage."

"He was going towards the office and stopped at the door, with his back to the light?"

"Yes; if he'd gone in I would have seen his face."

"And the remark you made indicated that you thought him the watchman ?"

"Suggested it," said Lawrence thoughtfully. "There might have been a doubt."

"Exactly! The man saw you. The light shone out from the office behind him."

"Yes," said Lawrence, "I see your point. I don't think the fellow could have been certain I didn't get a glimpse of his face."

"You said nothing about the meeting at the inquiry, which might look as if you had been warned not to do so."

"Nobody asked a question that led up to it. I didn't learn he wasn't the watchman until afterwards."

Foster turned to the others. "I think my story has shown you that we have to deal with a gang of clever criminals. You'll note that Lawrence saw the only man who knows the truth about Fred Hulton's death."

Mrs. Stephen made a sign of understanding. Lucy shivered, then her eyes sparkled angrily, but Lawrence looked obstinate.

"Jake," he said rather dryly, "you ought to have been a barrister! You have made a clever use of the evidence, but it has some weak points and leaves room for doubt. What are you going to do about it?"

"I'm going to start again to-morrow to look for Daly," Foster replied.

Lucy gave him a grateful glance, and Mrs. Stephen began to talk about something else. By and by she turned to Lawrence, who looked tired, and reminded him that it was past the time at which he ought to go to bed. He grumbled a little but went, and soon afterwards Mrs. Stephen left the others. Foster thought the girl wished this, but had not noticed that she gave her mother a hint. He felt rather awkward, but there was something to be said.

"I suppose you are going to marry my partner," he remarked.

"Yes," she replied, with a pretty flush. "Are you surprised?"

"I'm not surprised that he should wish it. But somehow I hadn't contemplated Lawrence's marrying."

The girl's color deepened. "Are you very frank, or only tactless?"

"I was stupid," said Foster with some confusion. "But I didn't mean what you think. Far from it! My partner has made good, I'm glad you had the wisdom and pluck to see this."

"He is a very dear fellow," she answered with a soft gleam in her eyes that moved Foster. Then she smiled. "You are forgiven—and I must confess that at first my mother took the view I thought you hinted at. She said Lawrence ought to wait until all risk of the past's being brought to light was gone. But I suppose when you guessed the truth it was something of a shock?"

"No," said Foster. "Although I haven't known you long, I feel that I won't lose my partner when he marries you. I was grateful when you said you hoped I would always be his friend."

Lucy nodded. "I saw you understood. Before we met I was rather jealous of you—and curious. I think Lawrence sometimes makes mistakes about people."

"Walters, for example? Well, I like you to be careful about Lawrence, but hope you don't feel anxious now you have seen me."

"He needs a man friend and there's something about you that makes one feel you can be trusted," said Lucy, who gave him a level glance. "You look ingenuous, but perhaps that's deceptive, in a way. I mean that I didn't quite understand you until you told us about your adventures in Scotland."

"Ah!" said Foster, "Carmen once said something like that, but she was blunt. She told me I wasn't quite such a fool as I look. However, I haven't much ground for boasting about my exploits. The main results were that I got myself suspected by the police, warned off Daly, and made Lawrence's father think I had murdered him. Now I'd much rather look a simpleton than a homicide!"

Lucy laughed, but her eyes were soft. "We all make mistakes, Mr. Foster, but your object was good. Besides, I feel that you will carry it out."

Foster hesitated for a few moments, studying the girl. She had courage and he liked the way she took care of his comrade. In some respects, Lawrence needed to be guarded.

"I hoped you would stop when your mother went," he said.

She nodded. "Yes; I knew you had something to say."

"It's important. But first of all, I expect you had a bad time when Lawrence didn't come back from the mountain."

"I shall not forget it," Lucy said with a shudder. "While I waited and wondered why he didn't come I thought the anxiety intolerable, but it was worse after we met Walters and the drunken guide. He wanted to join us, but I knew he was somehow to blame."

"Afterwards you had to wait alone upon the glacier. That wouldn't make you think any better of him."

"It did not," Lucy agreed, with a hard, fixed look. "I—you see, Lawrence was my lover—I spent two or three hours in agonizing suspense. I knew what I should feel when I stopped, but couldn't go on with the others, because I might have kept them back. It was freezing hard and now and then a little snow fell, but I scarcely noticed this; I was listening, as I hope I shall never listen again. Sometimes the ice cracked and a snow-bridge fell into the crevasse, but that was all, and afterwards the silence was awful. It seemed as if the men would never come. I couldn't go to meet them because of the crevasse; I dream about the horrible black opening yet. Lawrence was on the other side, out of my reach; he might be slowly freezing on the couloir, and I couldn't help. But I knew he was suffering for Walters' negligence or perhaps his treachery."

Foster made a sign of sympathetic comprehension. "You hate him for this?"

"Yes," said Lucy frankly; "but not altogether because I'm vindictive. The man who could make people suffer as Lawrence and I did ought to be punished."

"He ought. Well, I'm going to warn Lawrence, and no doubt the proper thing would be to be satisfied with this, but somehow I'm not. You see, Walters probably doesn't know we suspect him."

The girl's eyes narrowed and Foster knew she was afraid, but did not think fear was her strongest emotion.

"You mean he may try again?"

"That is what I mean. If he comes back, you must watch him, but keep him here until I arrive. If it's impossible for me to come, send for the police."

"Yes," said Lucy quietly, "I'll try."

"There's another risk," said Foster. "He may send an accomplice; they're a well-organized gang. In this matter, I'd sooner trust you than Lawrence." He stopped for a moment and gave her an apologetic glance. "Perhaps I've done wrong to alarm and put this heavy load on you."

"No," she said resolutely. "I have promised to marry Lawrence and must help him."

Then she rose and gave Foster her hand. "I must thank you for your confidence. If the need comes, I don't think I'll fail you."

Foster felt satisfied when she left him. Lucy was clever and had pluck. He had given her a hard part, but she would not shrink. One could trust a woman who was fighting for her lover.

After breakfast next morning, Mrs. Stephen showed Foster some photographs of the mountains, in one or two of which Lucy and Lawrence had a place, and he asked: "Have you a portrait of Walters?"

"No; the man who took these was staying here, and one day asked Walters to join the group he was posing, but he refused."

"How did he get out of it?"

Lawrence, who had come in with Lucy, laughed. "Rather neatly. Said he was a modest sentimentalist and would sooner leave his memory printed on our hearts!"

"One must admit that he did something of the kind," Lucy remarked.

"Will you or Mrs. Stephen describe his looks?" Foster asked.

The girl did so and then inquired: "Why didn't you ask Lawrence?"

"If you want an accurate description of a man, it's better to ask a women. Our classifications are rather vague; we say he's all right, a good sport, or perhaps an outsider. You note all his idiosyncrasies, the way he talks, the color of his hair——"

"I suppose we do," Mrs. Stephen agreed with a smile. "You are rather shrewd."

"I don't see why that should surprise my friends, but it sometimes does," Foster rejoined and went to the flag station to ask about the train.

It stopped for him an hour later and he set off again on his search for Daly, which was complicated by the need for being on his guard against a man he did not know. It looked as if Walters had told Daly that Lawrence was in British Columbia, and he had come out to join his accomplice; but, after all, if Foster did not know Walters, the man did not know him. Another thought gave him some comfort: Walters had plotted against Lawrence because his evidence might be dangerous, but probably knew nothing about Daly's blackmailing plan. The latter would, no doubt, consider any money he could extort was his private perquisite, and might try to protect his victim for a time.

As the train sped through the mountains Foster felt very much at a loss. Indeed, unless luck favored him, he thought he might as well give up the search, and by and by got off at a mining town. He had no particular reason for doing so, but felt that to go on to Vancouver would be to leave the place where his last clew broke off too far away.

The town, for the most part, was built of wood, and some of the smaller and older houses of logs, with ugly square fronts that hid the roof. A high, plank sidewalk ran down the main street, so that foot passengers might avoid the mud, but the ruts and holes were now hidden by beaten snow. At one end stood a big smelter, which filled the place with acrid fumes, and the scream of saws rose from sheds beside the river, where rusty iron smoke-stacks towered above sawdust dumps. The green torrent was partly covered by cakes of grinding ice. All round, in marked contrast to the utilitarian ugliness below, dark pines ran up to the glittering snowfields on the shoulders of the peaks. Foster went to a big new hotel, which he found dirty and too hot. Its bare walls were cracked and exuded resin; black drops from the central heater pipes stained the rotunda floor, which was torn by the spikes on the river-Jacks' boots. An electric elevator made a horrible noise. The supper he got in the big dining-room, where an electric organ played, was, however, very good, and he afterwards sat rather drearily in the rotunda, watching the men who came in and out through the revolving door.

There is not much domestic life in the new Western towns, whose inhabitants, for the most part, live at hotels, and the rotundas of the latter are used as a lounge by anybody who prefers them to the street. In consequence, Foster could not tell who were guests and who were not. By and by he filled his pipe, and a man who was lighting his held out the match, which Foster took with a word of thanks. It might have been a trifling politeness, but he thought the other had waited until he was ready.

"You're a stranger," the man remarked.

"Yes," said Foster, "I've just come in."

"Looking for business?"

Foster quietly studied the man. He was neatly dressed and looked keen and alert. It was possible that he was a storekeeper, or a real estate agent, which is a common occupation in a Western town.

"Well," he said, "I don't often let a chance of a trade go past, but when you're in a strange place, the trouble is to tell if you've got a snap or not."

"Sure thing," agreed the other. "What's your line?"

"Dressed lumber."

"Then I can't do much for you, but there's quite a lot of new construction planned and the boys will get busy as soon as the frost breaks," said the man.

He went on to talk about the trade of the town and province, and on the whole Foster was glad he had been in British Columbia before and knew something about the country. It was better to be cautious and he did not want to show he came from the east.

By and by another man crossed the floor and picked up a newspaper that lay near. As he did so, he gave Foster a careless glance, and then went back to the seat he had left. This was at some distance from the heaters and near the entrance, to which people kept passing, but it commanded the spot that Foster and his companion occupied. Foster, however, could not detect him watching them, and soon afterwards the other man went out.

Nothing happened next day, but Foster stopped and in the evening called for Pete, whom he had sent to a different hotel, and strolled down the snowy street. It was very cold and few people were about. A half-moon hung above the summit of the range, and the climbing pines cut in ragged black masses against the snow. After crossing a bridge on the outskirts of the town they stopped and looked about.

A few half-finished houses stood among blackened stumps in a cleared belt, where there were rubbish heaps and willows were springing up, but a little farther on the forest rose in a shadowy wall. It was quiet except for the roar of the river, and Foster shivered as he filled his pipe.

"It's a nipping wind. I'd better go down the bank a bit before I try to get a light," he said.

He pushed through the willows growing beside the creek, but dropped his matchbox, and Pete came to help him in the search. They found it, but before he could strike a match a man stopped at the end of the bridge and looked back up the street. Foster, imagining he was the fellow who had spoken to him at the hotel, touched Pete, and they stood very still.

The man might have seen them had he glanced their way, although the branches broke the outline of their figures, but he was looking back, as if he expected somebody to come up behind, and after a few moments went on again. He crossed the clearing towards a fence that seemed to indicate a road following the edge of the forest, and vanished into the gloom of the trees. Then, as Foster lighted his pipe, another man came quickly across the bridge and took the same direction as the first.

"I wunner if yon was what ye might ca' a coincidence," Pete said softly.

"So do I, but don't see how it concerns us," Foster replied. "I think we'll take the road straight in front."

They followed a track that led through the bush at a right angle to the other. The snow was beaten firm as if by the passage of logs or sledges, and there were broad gaps among the trees, which rose in ragged spires, sprinkled with clinging snow. In places, the track glittered in the moonlight, but, for the most part, one side was marked by a belt of gray shadow. After a time, they heard a branch spring back; then there was a crackle of undergrowth, and a man came out of an opening ahead. It was the man who had first passed them; Foster knew him by his rather short fur coat. For no obvious reason and half-instinctively, he drew back into the gloom. The man did not see them and went on up the track.

"Yon's a weel-kent trick in my trade," Pete remarked. "When it's no' convenient to be followed, ye send an inquisitive pairson off on anither road. But I would like to see if he has got rid o' the ither fellow."

They waited some minutes, but nobody else appeared, and Foster surmised that the first man knew the ground and the other did not. The fellow had vanished among the trees, but after a time they saw him again, crossing a belt of moonlight some distance in front, and Foster felt he must find out where he was going.

By and by the indistinct figure vanished again, and pushing on cautiously through the shadow, they came to a clearing at the foot of the range. Steep rocks rose above the narrow open space, but although the trail went no farther there was nobody about. Standing behind a fir trunk, Foster searched the edge of the bush, but saw nothing except a ruined shack and some ironwork sticking out of the snow. He could not examine the shack, because if the other man was near he would see him when he left the trees. After waiting a few minutes, he touched Pete and they turned back silently.



XXVI

THE REAL-ESTATE AGENT

Next morning Foster got up in the dark and walked briskly down the main street to the bridge. Lights were beginning to blink in the houses he passed and there was a pungent smell of burning wood. In front, the forest rolled upwards in a blurred, dark mass, but he could not see the mountains. The air was still and felt damp upon his skin, and he knew a sudden rise of temperature accounted for the obscurity. The main thing, however, was that there was nobody to watch him, and he set off along the road he had taken on the previous night.

He had some trouble to keep the trail when he plunged in among the trees, but day had broken when he reached the clearing, and a faint gray light shone through the haze. There was no obvious reason why the stranger's disappearance at the spot should interest him, but his suspicions were quickly excited and it looked as if the fellow had tried to make his acquaintance in order to learn his business in the town. He had come early, hoping to find footprints that might give him a hint, but was disappointed. There were a number of marks, but they had lost their sharpness and he could not tell which had been made recently.

In the meantime, the light was growing and he saw that the shack at the foot of the rocks had partly fallen down. Thick wooden beams and props lay beside the ironwork he had noticed on his last visit. It was obvious that he was looking at a mineral claim that had been abandoned after some development work had been done, while the trampled snow indicated that somebody had been removing the material not long since. Passing the heap of rusty iron, from which the snow was beginning to shrink, he found a narrow opening in the foot of the hill. This was a test adit, and the tilt of the strata indicated that its slope was steep. The stone that had been taken out showed that it did not penetrate far, and Foster saw no reason for entering.

He next studied the rocks, and although he saw no path, imagined that one could get up that way, but could not see why anybody should wish to do so, and the snow did not seem to have been disturbed. After a minute or two he turned back into the wood with a gesture of disappointment.

The man he had followed had apparently come there to meet somebody, but although the mine was conveniently near the town it was a cold and cheerless spot for a rendezvous, Foster surmised from this that secrecy was important, but after all there was nothing to indicate that the matter had anything to do with him. As he went back he heard a musical humming in the tops of the pines and a lump of wet snow, slipping from a branch, struck his face. The humming grew louder until the wood was filled with sound, and he began to feel clammy and hot. A warm Chinook wind from the Pacific was sweeping up the valley, driving back the frost.

When he reached the town the snow was wet and the lights were out, but the post office was open, and having telegraphed his new address, he went in to ask if there was any mail for him. A girl was busy behind a lettered brass wicket, but did not look up, and Foster saw the man in whom he was interested standing among some others farther along the counter. The fellow came towards him.

"Been for a walk?" he said. "You get up early."

"I'm used to that," Foster answered with a careless smile. "Anyhow, I want my mail, and you enjoy breakfast better if you've been out first."

"Sure thing," agreed the other. "But you want to put on rubber shoes when a Chinook wind strikes this town."

Then the girl clerk looked up and when Foster inquired for letters threw him two. His companion asked for his, giving the name of Telford, and she indicated the lettering on the wicket.

"Farther along, where you came from! Can't you read the alphabet?"

"I can, now I see it," said the other good-humoredly as he turned back.

On the whole, Foster was glad he had picked up the letters as the girl threw them down. It is customary in Western cities for people to call for their mail and girl clerks are sometimes curt, but she seemed to think it strange that the fellow had come to the wrong wicket. If he had had an object for doing so, he had learned Foster's name, but the latter did not think he had seen the postmarks or that one letter had an English stamp. Still, he had noted that Foster's boots were wet, which indicated that the latter had gone farther than the post office.

He went out before he opened the envelopes, and then glancing at the letters put them in his pocket with a thrill of satisfaction, meaning to read them carefully after breakfast. Entering the hotel, he hung up his coat and went to the dining-room. He was promptly served, and when he went out after finishing his meal, saw Telford, who had apparently just returned from the post office, standing in the passage, which was rather dark. It looked as if he had been hanging up his coat, but he stood near Foster's, and then moved on abruptly as another man came up.

Foster met them and saw that the last was the man whom he had half-suspected of watching Telford on the first evening. As he passed, he took the letters from his coat, and entering the rotunda sat down and lighted his pipe. It was possible that Telford had meant to search his pockets, but had been prevented by the appearance of the other, and Foster frowned. He was feeling the strain of the constant watchfulness and getting tired of intrigue. As a matter of fact, he hated that kind of thing, and it would be a keen relief when he could attend to his proper business and finish with the need for caution. In the meantime, he did not know if he had found a fresh clew or not. After all, he had not much ground for suspecting Telford.

Then Foster forgot his perplexities as he took out the letters. The first was from Lucy Stephen, who said that the doctor had visited Lawrence and was satisfied with his progress. She added that Foster knew Lawrence disliked writing letters, but she wanted to reassure him and wish him good luck. The note was short, but seemed to put Foster on a footing of intimate friendship that he was grateful for, and he thought Lucy had written with this object.

The other was from Alice Featherstone and his heart beat as he studied it. She did not say much; they had still no news of Lawrence and her father was very restless and anxious, while she feared her mother felt the suspense. But she knew Foster would make every effort and would not fail them; there was nobody else who could help. All she said struck a note of quiet confidence. Her faith was unshaken; she trusted him.

Foster thrilled and his weariness and dejection vanished. Alice would have got Lawrence's telegram soon after she wrote and she had proof of his honesty now. Still, he had only kept half his promise, and although he had undertaken a task that needed abilities he doubted if he possessed, he meant to keep the other half. He was hemmed in by difficulties and might make mistakes, but somehow he was going to make good.

For a time he sat in a corner, recalling what Alice had said in England and how she had looked. He pictured her standing in the dark-paneled library at the Garth, with eyes that sparkled as she spoke in his defense, sitting with a smile in the half-light by the big hearth in the hall, and waiting for him in the orchard. She moved through all the scenes with the same calm grace; even in her anger—and he had seen her angry—there was a proud reserve. But Alice stood above all other women; there was nobody like her.

Then he got up with a resolute movement. Dreams and memories would not help, and he must get to work. To begin with, he would try to find out something about Telford, and went to the office, where the clerk was unoccupied. As a rule, nobody knows more about everybody else's business than the clerk of a Western hotel.

"Is there much doing in real estate just now?" he asked.

"There will be soon. The mines are paying well and the bosses are planning new developments. Then there's a big scheme for opening up the ranching land in the bench country. That means a bigger city. Are you looking for building lots?"

"My line's dressed lumber, but when you get a building boom you want material. I suppose Mr. Telford does a good trade?"

"Talks as if he was going to, but he hasn't begun yet," the clerk replied with a smile that hinted that he had expected the inquiry.

"Then he hasn't been here long?"

"Only came into town a week since," said the clerk, rather dryly. "When things look like humming these fellows generally do come along. But you want to go slow when you deal with a real-estate man, unless you know all about him."

"Yes," said Foster thoughtfully, "as a rule, that's true. Thank you, anyhow."

He went back to his seat and lighted his pipe again. He had learned that Telford was a stranger and had apparently thought it advisable to account for his visiting the town. Foster saw that he ought to have guessed the fellow was not a resident when he asked for his mail, because had he been in business in the city he would have had his private box at the post office. Moreover he imagined that the clerk knew he really wanted to find out something about Telford, and thought him clumsy, but this did not matter. He had been told he had an ingenuous look, which was rather an advantage, since it suited the part he meant to play. He did not want people to think him clever, but they must not suspect that he was pretending to be dull. Remembering his mistakes, he smiled as he admitted that there was not much danger of this. By and by Telford came in and sat down in the next chair.

"Nothing doing this morning and the street's all mush," he said. "If you're not busy, would you like a game of pool?"

Foster agreed. His only business was to find out Telford's, and the man had given him an opportunity. The pool room is an institution in Canadian towns, but is not, as a rule, much frequented in the morning when trade is good. They had no trouble in getting a table and began to play for a small stake, which Telford insisted on. Foster did not know much about pool, and indeed had seldom had time for games, but he had a steady hand and, somewhat to his surprise, won. Telford, who raised the stake, won the next game, but was afterwards beaten.

In the meantime, Foster had studied his game. The man made some clever strokes, but bungled others. He was not steady enough, but on the whole Foster imagined he meant to let him win. For all that, he did not think the other was playing a common trick with the object of leading him on. The amount of the stake was not large enough for this.

"Well," said Telford, "I guess you're too good for me. Suppose we sit down and take a smoke. I'll play you again another day."

"What you want to do is to let up on the drinks the night before," remarked a man who was standing by. "If you were as cool and steady as he is, you'd beat him easy."

"Perhaps that's so," said Telford with a good-humored laugh and gave Foster a cigar.

"Are you going to make expenses this trip?" he asked.

"I can't say yet," Foster replied. "Anyhow, you don't lose much by taking a look round, and I sometimes go outside my regular line."

"Well, if you feel like speculating in building lots, I might put you wise."

Foster pondered. He knew that gambling on unused land was popular in Canada, in spite of taxes planned to prevent it, and while there are respectable real estate agents, the fringe of the profession is occupied by sharpers who prey upon what is fast becoming a national vice. Confiding strangers with money to invest are often swindled, and there was an obvious motive for Telford's trying to cultivate his acquaintance. On the whole, however, he did not think the fellow meant to victimize him in this way, though he was perhaps willing that Foster should suspect him of such a plan. If so, it might be better to indulge him.

"As a rule, I have a use for all the money I've got," he remarked. "Still if I could find a lot that was bound to go up——"

The other followed the lead and talked about city extension and the development of the neighboring land. He seemed to know his subject, and Foster was beginning to think his suspicions mistaken when Telford carelessly interpolated a few adroit questions about his usual occupation. The questions were difficult to answer without telling more than it was advisable that the other should know, or, what was equally to be avoided, showing that Foster was on his guard. He was now nearly sure that the fellow was an accomplice of Daly's, and the line he had resolved on would be difficult.

He had to deal with a clever rogue who probably knew something about him and meant to find out more. In consequence, there was no use in trying to pose as an unsophisticated simpleton; he must, so to speak, play up to the fellow and persuade him that any suspicions he entertained were about the latter's designs upon his money. With this object, he disputed some of Telford's opinions and presently proved a statement of his wrong.

Telford looked embarrassed and Foster thought he did it very well.

"Perhaps I was putting it a bit too high, but the deal ought to turn out a snap if you can wait a while," he said, and laughed. "Anyhow I've got to give you bedrock facts after the way you caught me out. Say, you're pretty smart!"

"You're apt to get stung over a land deal unless you're careful," Foster modestly replied.

It was a relief when Telford said they would stop talking business and proposed a visit to a bar. Foster felt mentally exhausted and thought a drink would brace him. He did not see Telford at dinner and kept out of his way during the afternoon, but the man came into the dining-room when supper was served. The room was large and furnished with separate tables, but Foster thought he knew the faces of the regular customers and noticed that a stranger sat at a table by himself.

Telford made for this table, which seemed natural, since there was most room there, but a few moments afterwards the man whom Foster suspected of watching him left his place. Crossing the floor carelessly, but in such a way that a pillar hid his approach, he sat down near the other two. Foster admitted that he might not have remarked this had he not been suspicious and keenly watchful. The thing looked significant, particularly when a waitress came across, frowning, with some dishes. The man must have had an object for changing his place after he had given his order, because in the small Canadian towns waitresses deal firmly with troublesome customers.

Telford did not seem to know the stranger and did not speak until the man politely handed him a cruet-stand. He did not say much after this, but Foster could not see him without leaning forward, because some other people sat down between. Still he felt a puzzling curiosity about the fellow, and after supper went to the rotunda where the man presently sat down not far off. He was young and vigorous, but walked with a slight limp as if one knee was stiff. His eyes were dark and he had a rather engaging smile when one of the rest offered him a newspaper. Telford was not about, but the other man strolled in.

Foster's curiosity got stronger. He could not remember having met the man he was studying, but had a vague feeling that he ought to know him. The strange thing was that he had not expected him to limp, but this was perhaps accounted for by his athletic figure. After a time, the fellow put down the newspaper and went off towards the bar, while Foster, who found he had run out of tobacco, went to his room.

When he got out of the elevator, he saw the other going along a passage in front, which he thought curious, because he could not have stayed more than a few moments in the bar. Moreover his limp was not noticeable now he imagined himself alone. Foster went on quietly, keeping his distance, and knitted his brows in thoughtful surprise when the other opened a door. The man, who did not seem to know Telford, had gone into his room.

When the door shut he heard another step and saw, as he had half-expected, the man who had watched Telford entering the passage, Foster immediately turned his head and went on to his room, where he sat down in the nearest chair. He had got something of a shock, since he now knew why he had studied the fellow with the limp. His brain had been unconsciously occupied with a description Lucy Stephen had given him. The man who had gone into Telford's room was Walters.



XXVII

THE MINE

When Foster was thinking of going to bed Pete, whom he had not seen all day, came into the rotunda, and Foster remarked that his boots were very wet.

"It's saft ootside an' I've been paidlin' in the snow," he said and, with the poacher's instinctive caution, put his feet out of sight beneath a table.

"Where have you been in the dark?" Foster asked.

"I thought I'd maybe better watch the bridge over yon bit creek."

Foster frowned. It looked as if he had not much talent for detective work and could only concentrate upon one point at a time. While he had been content to watch what was going on at the hotel, Pete had watched the bridge, and had found out something. Foster admitted that such success as he had had was rather due to luck than ability.

"Well," he said, "what did you see there?"

"To begin with, the man we followed cam' doon the street and went into a shop; and I allooed they might keep something I wanted. He bought a basket."

"A basket?"

"Just that," said Pete. "One o' they cheap baskets ye put grosseries in when ye gang by train."

Foster nodded. On Canadian railways, economical second-class passengers often carry provisions instead of using the meal stations.

"He bought some tinned meat and biscuits," Pete resumed. "Then some tea and a wee spirit-stove."

"There's no train until to-morrow and I imagine the fellow wouldn't be satisfied with canned meat, so long as he could get something better when the cars stopped."

Pete grinned. "I'm no' saying he meant to tak' the train. It looked mair like he was going to picnic in the woods."

"Ah!" said Foster abruptly. "I suppose you followed the man?"

"Far enough to see him tak' the road we went. Then I cam' back. Ye see, I kent where he was going."

Foster made a sign of agreement, because it was obvious that Telford was going to the shack at the mine. He understood how the fellow had got out without his seeing him, since it is usual in Canada to have a separate entrance to a hotel bar and he had stupidly been satisfied with watching the hall.

"He has gone to meet somebody; but why did he take the provisions?"

"Maybe he wanted to give them to the ither man."

"But why should the other need the food?"

"Weel," said Pete, "if I was looking for a hidie-hole convenient to the town, I'd no' find much fault with yon' auld mine. Maybe it's dry, an' the frost wouldna' get far in."

Foster started, for he thought Pete had guessed right. He and Lawrence had camped in the open in colder weather than was often felt in British Columbia, and as wood was plentiful, there was no reason the man should not make a fire after dark, if he could find an outlet for the smoke. He must now find out who was hiding in the mine, but thought he knew, for vague suspicions suddenly got clear.

To begin with, the fellow who watched Telford at the hotel was either a policeman or a private detective in Hulton's pay. Then Foster had lost Daly's track at Banff, which was not very far off, and taking it for granted that Telford belonged to the gang, it was logical to suppose that he had arranged a meeting with Daly and Walters. On arrival Daly had found that the town was watched, but was either unable to leave it without being followed or detained by his business with the others. In consequence, he had taken refuge in the mine.

Foster sent Pete away and smoked another pipe. He would have liked to visit the mine at once, but if he went, would meet Telford coming back or find him when he reached the spot, and he must see Daly alone. He ought, of course, to warn the man he thought a detective, but did not mean to do so, and this resolve brought up a problem he had tried to solve before: what could he offer Daly in return for his keeping Lawrence's secret?

If the fellow had killed Fred Hulton, it was unthinkable that he should help him to escape. Foster felt that he had perhaps, in a sense, already become Daly's accomplice, but meant to save his comrade and keep his promise to Alice. He would see Daly in the morning and decide then what line to take; after all, luck might help him again. Then he knocked out his pipe and went to bed.

After breakfast next morning he called for Pete and walked carelessly to the main bridge. He, however, took his pistol and when they reached the woods Pete cut a heavy stick. Foster did not expect to use force, but it was better to be prepared. While Pete was trimming his cudgel they heard the heavy snorting of a locomotive and a plume of smoke moved across the town. Then they saw through an opening in the trees the cars roll along the mountain side. The Montreal express had stopped on its journey east, but Foster was preoccupied and thought nothing of this.

The snow was very soft when they plodded up the path among the trees, but it was not far to the clearing, and Foster stopped at its edge. He had met nobody, and the woods were silent except for the dying roar of the train, which came faintly down the valley. There was no smoke, but Daly would put out his fire when it got light. Crossing the wet snow noiselessly, he made for the shack and when he reached it beckoned to Pete.

"Stay here for about ten minutes, and then if I'm not back, you had better come in," he said. "If anybody runs out, don't let him pass."

Pete's nod showed he understood and Foster, moving forward quietly, stopped again for a moment at the mouth of the adit. Pete had vanished, but could be trusted to watch the mine as a terrier watches a rat-hole, and Foster knew that if he were attacked and overcome his assailant would not escape. A gray sky hung over the black tops of the firs and the wet snow threw up a curious livid light. It was an unpleasant raw morning, and Foster felt half daunted.

The adit was dark; he was embarking on a rash adventure, and wondered with some misgivings what would happen before he came out again. He heard nothing, and it was rather curious that he could not smell smoke, but bracing himself he stooped and crept into the dark hole.

The floor sloped, following the inclination of the strata, and seemed to be strewn with fallen stones, but he had put on rubber shoes and made very little noise. He did not want to warn Daly that his hiding-place had been discovered, until he was near enough to explain that he had nothing to do with the police. There would not be much danger when the fellow knew who he was and that the mine was watched, but he wanted to get as close as possible before alarming him. Daly, no doubt, carried a pistol.

Stopping for a moment, he raised his head incautiously and smothered an exclamation when he struck it against the roof. He could hear water dripping somewhere below and the slope felt steep. It was nervous work creeping down hill in the dark, and there was, perhaps, a risk of his falling into a pit. When he dislodged a stone that rattled he held his breath as he listened. He heard nothing, and set his lips as he overcame an impulse to turn back. If Daly had heard the stone, he was probably waiting for him with his finger on the trigger.

For all that, Foster went on, feeling for the rough wall, until he struck his foot against a big stone and losing his balance staggered and fell. He made a noise that echoed through the adit and, worse than all, the pistol shot out of his hand. He felt for but could not find it, and for a few moments lay still with tingling nerves. Daly must have heard him and was, no doubt, crouching in the dark, ready to shoot. He tried again to find the pistol, and then with an effort pulled himself together. The next move might draw a shot, but he must risk that and not lie there helpless. Besides, if the fellow missed, he might grapple with and disarm him, and he sprang to his feet.

"Daly!" he called in a voice that he meant to be careless but was rather hoarse. "It's Foster. I want to talk about Featherstone."

There was no reply. He heard water falling into a pool, but except for this the mine was strangely silent, and after waiting for a moment he drew back against the rock.

"Pete!" he shouted.

His voice sounded muffled and he wondered whether Pete could hear, but tried to fix his attention on the dark in front. It was there that danger might lurk. Then he heard Pete stumbling among the stones, and presently the man came up, panting with haste.

"Where's the lamp?" Foster asked.

He knew he was going to do a dangerous thing if Daly was hiding near, but something must be risked and he struck a match. It sputtered, throwing an illusive gleam on the wet rock a yard or two in front, and then went out. Foster struck another with a hoarse exclamation and touched the wick of a small, flat, metal lamp, such as Western miners hook on their hats. Candles are not common in Canadian towns where water-power makes electric lighting cheap. The lamp gave a dim smoky light, and when Foster picked up his pistol they waited a few moments, looking eagerly in front.

A trickle of water fell from a crack in the roof and running down the floor of the adit vanished into the gloom. Here and there a ragged projection caught the light, but the rest of the tunnel was hidden in impenetrable darkness. They went on cautiously, though Foster now felt anxious because there was no sign of Daly. After a minute or two, the light fell on a wall of dry rock with a pool at the bottom, and he knew they had reached the end of the adit. Next moment he saw there was an opening to one side where some ore had been taken out. If Daly was in the mine, he was there, and warning Pete with a sign, he turned the comer.

The light showed a small, dry chamber, strewn with sharp stones, some of which had been put together to make a hearth. Between these lay the ashes of a fire; bits of food were scattered about, and a blue Hudson's Bay blanket lay in a corner. Except for this, the chamber was empty. Foster savagely clenched his fist while Pete stirred the ashes and felt the blanket.

"It's dry an' the reek o' a cigar is fresh on it," he said. "Yon fire's no' been oot lang. I'm thinking it's a pity we didna' come last night."

Foster sat down and looked about. He was getting calm, but felt dull with disappointment. For all that, he saw why the mine had been abandoned. There was a fault in the strata, where the vein had slipped down, but the subsidence had cracked the rock above and he imagined that the fissure reached the surface. The air was fresh and not very cold; there was water close by, and Foster saw no reason why Daly should not have found the chamber a comfortable hiding-place. Yet he had left it.

"Can you see the basket you talked about?" he asked, giving Pete the lamp.

Pete found it behind some stones and they examined it together.

"Here's the spirit-stove, some bread, and the can of meat," said Foster. "But I see no biscuits. Can he have eaten them?"

"There were ower mony. He's ta'en them with him."

"Well," said Foster thoughtfully, "I don't see why the other fellow brought him provisions he didn't need."

"Maybe something happened since he brought the basket," Pete suggested.

Foster pondered. It was possible that something had happened at the hotel after Telford's visit that had altered the accomplices' plans, or made it easier for Daly to get away; but, if this were so, Telford must have gone back to the mine. He might have done so, but Foster thought Daly had perhaps not taken his confederate altogether into his confidence and had changed his plans without warning him. Foster could not tell what chance the fellow had of stealing away, but as he had left the basket and only taken some biscuits, it looked as if he did not expect to go very far on foot.

"We'll get out and try to find which way he's gone," he said.

It was a relief to reach the open air, and they carefully studied the sloppy snow. Foster knew something about tracking elk and moose, and Pete had a poacher's skill, but the rapid thaw had blurred the footprints they found. On the whole, however, Pete imagined that Telford had returned to the mine since his visit on the previous evening.

Then they searched about the foot of the rocks and presently found marks that showed where somebody had climbed. Getting up, they followed the marks to a beaten trail that ran along the hillside from the town to a neighboring mine. There was nothing to be learned here and Foster went back dejectedly to the hotel. Dinner was being served when he arrived, but he did not see Walters and felt annoyed when Telford stopped him as he was coming out.

"I haven't seen you since last night and thought we might have had a game," he said. "Where have you been all morning?"

"I didn't come here to play pool," Foster replied. "There was something I had to see about."

"Then I hope you found business pretty good," Telford remarked with a quiet smile that Foster found disturbing.

He thought the fellow would see him if he went to the clerk's office, and beckoning the bell-boy into a passage gave him a coin.

"Do you know if the lame gentleman with the dark hair is out?" he asked,

"He's certainly out. Left on the Montreal express this morning."

"You're quite sure of that?"

"Yep," said the lad. "I put his baggage in the transfer wagon for the depot."

Foster went to the rotunda and sat down to smoke. He felt savage, for there was no doubt that he had muddled things. Daly had again escaped him, but he thought he saw what Walters' visit meant. Three of the gang had met to make some plot, which might threaten Lawrence, whom they no doubt thought dangerous. It was ominous that Walters had gone east. Daly was obviously afraid of arrest, but the others seemed to think themselves safe and Telford was stopping at the hotel, although it looked as if he were being watched. Foster wondered whether the fellow suspected this.

Another matter demanded consideration. News of what he had done in Newcastle had probably reached the gang, and he had a check belonging to a member of it in his wallet. If they knew this, which was possible, he might be in some danger, and taking it for granted that the watcher was a detective or acting for Hulton, it would simplify things and free him from a grave responsibility if he told what he knew. For all that, he did not mean to do so. His object was to save his comrade's name.

In the afternoon he played pool with Telford, who carelessly asked him a few clever questions, which Foster answered with a misleading frankness that he hoped would put the other off the track. In the evening he read the newspapers and tried to overcome a growing anxiety about Lawrence. He ought to follow Daly, but did not know where he had gone, and thought that if he waited Telford might give him a clew.

There were no letters for him next morning, but soon after breakfast the bell-boy brought him a telegram and he tore open the envelope. The message was from Lucy Stephen and read:

"Mountaineering friend just arrived. Snow dangerous now. Would feel safer if you could join us. Come if possible."

For a moment or two Foster sat still, with his face set. Lucy was guarded, but the mountaineering friend was Walters and she had given him an urgent hint that he was needed. Then he picked up a railroad folder that lay near and noting the time of Walters' arrival, saw that the telegram had been delayed. After this he glanced at his watch and ran out into the street.

A trail of black smoke moved across the roofs and he heard the roll of wheels as the heavy train climbed the incline. He had got Lucy's warning ten minutes too late, and could not leave until next day.



XXVIII

THE LOG BRIDGE

Lawrence had gone to his room to rest and Lucy Stephen was sitting alone in the veranda when she heard the roar of an east-bound train coming up the valley. It stopped, which did not often happen, and she put down her book and looked out at the opening in the pines that led to the track. The smoke that rose into the clear, cold air began to move, and Lucy frowned, because the train had just stopped long enough for passengers to alight. Although the hotel was generally full in summer, there were then only a few other guests, quiet people whose acquaintance she had made, and she did not wish Lawrence to be disturbed by new arrivals. He was getting better, but not so quickly as she wished. Besides, she had another ground for anxiety.

A man came up the road between the pines. It was a relief to see one man instead of a party, but she went to the glass front and watched him with keen curiosity. He vanished among the trees where the road curved and when he came out not far off she set her lips. It was Walters and her vague fears were realized, but he would not reach the hotel for a few minutes and this gave her time to brace herself.

Ringing a bell, she asked for a telegraph form and hurriedly filling it up, said to the waiting lad, "Take this down to the office."

The lad wore a smart uniform and was called a page, but he had the pertness that generally marks the bellboy in Western hotels.

"Certainly, miss. But I reckon I'll be wanted when the stranger who's coming up the road gets here. Guess it will be all right if I take your message when he's fixed."

Lucy, who scarcely heard, sent the page away. Walters would arrive in a minute or two, and now she had warned Foster she thought she had better not avoid him. If she hid her distrust, she might find out something, and she would sooner he saw her before he met Lawrence. There was nobody else in the veranda just then. Walters came in with a smile that somehow intensified her antagonism, but she waited calmly, although she did not give him her hand.

"It looks as if you were rather surprised to see me," he remarked.

"I am," said Lucy. "Perhaps that's not unnatural!"

He laughed and since she did not suggest his sitting down, remained standing in a rather graceful pose. She meant to hide her real feelings if she could, but as she had been angry when he left it was better that he should think her angry now. A marked change in her attitude would be illogical and might excite suspicion.

"I suppose that means you blame me for Lawrence's illness and haven't forgiven me yet?" he suggested.

"I do blame you. You let the guide get drunk and left Lawrence on the couloir. Then you were a long time coming back, when you knew the danger he was in."

"Well," said Walters in an apologetic tone, "I suppose all this is true, but I must point out that when we slipped down the gully it was impossible to get up again. Then there were some big crevasses in the glacier and I had a half-drunk man to help across; I really didn't know he would drink too much when I gave him the flask. However, although perhaps I was rather careless, I hope you won't forbid my seeing Lawrence."

"I couldn't forbid your seeing him, as you must know."

"You couldn't, in a sense," Walters agreed. "Still, of course, your wishes go a long way with him, and I imagine he is what one might call amenable."

"I don't understand that."

Walters smiled. "I always found Lawrence good-humored and it would surprise me if he did anything you didn't like. I don't know that I can go farther without venturing on an open compliment. But I'm anxious to know how he is."

"He is getting better, but must be kept quiet for some time. But why did you come here?"

"It ought to be obvious," Walters replied in a tone of mild protest. "You blame me for my friend's illness, and though I don't know what I left undone, I am, in a sense, responsible; anyway, I was with him. Well, I found I had to go east, and determined to put off my business for a day or two so I could stop over and see how he is getting on."

"You may see him. But you must remember that he isn't strong and needs quietness."

"I'll be very careful," Walters said with a grateful look. "May I take it that your consent is a sign that you'll try to forgive me for my share in the accident?"

Lucy forced a smile. "We'll see how you keep your promise."

She sat down, feeling rather limp, when he left her. He had, on the surface, taken a very proper line, and his excuse for coming was plausible, but she knew that it was false. The man had meant to leave her lover to freeze among the rocks and was horribly clever. It was hard to preserve her calm when she hated and feared him, and although she thought she had not acted badly, the interview had been trying. Besides, Lawrence was generous and not very discriminating. Walters might find a way of disarming the suspicions Foster had roused.

When the page showed Walters to his room, he said to the lad, "I want somebody to go to the station for my bag. Have they a telegraph office?"

"Yep; I'm going down to send a wire. Office isn't open long. Agent quits as soon as the east-bound freight comes through."

"I suppose the wire's from Miss Stephen?"

The page nodded and Walters gave him twenty-five cents. "Well, if you can wait a little, I'll have a message to send; it will save you a journey."

The boy hesitated; but the money banished his doubts. "All right; you'd better get it written. The freight's nearly due."

Walters went to Lawrence's room before he wrote the telegram, and met Lucy again at dinner. There were only two tables in use in the large dining-room, and the waiter sent him to Mrs. Stephen's. Lucy wondered whether Walters had arranged this with the man beforehand, but it gave her an opportunity of watching him and she did not object. She admitted that he had nerve and tact, for although she feared him and her mother shared her distrust, he was able to banish the constraint both felt and amuse the party. Lucy could not tell what Lawrence thought, but he laughed at the other's stories and now and then bantered him.

After dinner Walters left them and when they went; to Mrs. Stephen's sitting-room Lucy remarked rather sharply: "You seemed to find Walters amusing!"

"He is amusing," Lawrence answered. "In fact, the fellow puzzles me."

"You mean he couldn't talk in that good-humored, witty way if he had plotted to leave you on the couloir?"

"Well," said Lawrence, "I suppose I did feel something of the kind."

"I don't know that it's very logical," Lucy rejoined, hiding her alarm. "You agreed with Foster's conclusions when he was here."

"I did, to some extent. The way Jake argued out the matter made things look pretty bad."

"But they look better now? Walters was talking to you in your room?"

"He didn't say much about our climb; just a word or two of regret for his carelessness in not seeing what had happened to the guide."

"Words that were very carefully chosen, no doubt!"

"Well," said Lawrence, "I'm frankly puzzled; the more I think about our adventure, the harder it is to decide how much one could hold Walters accountable for. It was difficult to throw me up the rope without slipping, and there was only a small, projecting rock, on which he might have broken his bones, to prevent his tobogganing to the bottom. If he had slid past it, he would have been killed."

"Walters wouldn't hesitate about a risk. It might have looked like an accident if you hadn't heard Foster's story."

Lawrence knitted his brows, rather impatiently. "After all, Jake's a romantic fellow, and his explanation's theatrical."

"You don't like theatrical things," Mrs. Stephen interposed. "You must admit that they happen, but you feel it's ridiculous that they should happen to you."

"I imagine I do feel that," Lawrence agreed with a smile. "When they happen to somebody else they're not so unnatural."

Lucy tried to preserve her self-control, but her tone was sharp as she said, "Then you feel inclined to forgive Walters the pain and illness he caused you."

"It would be harder to forgive him your anxiety," Lawrence rejoined, and his face set hard. "In fact, if I knew he really had plotted the thing———" He paused and resumed: "One would be justified in killing a brute who could do what you imagine, but there's a difference between hating a crime and punishing the man accused of it before you have proved his guilt. In the meantime, I'm trying to keep an open mind."

"But you will be careful and not trust him far," Lucy urged.

"I'll run no risks; I've some ground for being cautious."

Lucy said no more. Lawrence was not well yet and sometimes got obstinate if one argued with him. She thought he would be prudent, but it was comforting to remember that she had telegraphed for his comrade. Unfortunately, she did not know that her message was then in the page's pocket. He had waited some time for Walters' telegram, and when he reached the station found the agent gone. In consequence, fearing a reprimand, he resolved to send the messages in the morning and say nothing about the matter.

The next day was clear and calm, with bright sunshine on the snow, and Mrs. Stephen agreed when Lawrence insisted on going for a short walk with her and some of the guests. Walters joined the party, although Lucy tried to leave him behind, and they leisurely climbed a winding path among the pines. The snow was thin and crisp beneath the trees, the air exhilarating, and through openings they caught glimpses of fissured glaciers, rocks that glistened in the steely light, and majestic glittering peaks. The pines were straight and tall, and the great soft-colored trunks rose in long climbing ranks against the blue shadow on the snow.

They stopped for a few minutes at the foot of a crag, and then Lawrence, who had been sitting rather slackly on a log, got up with a shiver.

"The air's keen," he said. "Can't we go back another way where we'll get the sun?"

One of the party said there was a lower and more open trail, and they went down until they reached a narrow track that followed the edge of a steep fall to the river. The hillside above made a sharp angle with the pines that cut, in scattered cones of somber green, against the long, glittering slope. Below, the ground dropped nearly sheer to the green flood that roared among the ice. Although the trail was safe enough, Lucy kept close to Lawrence and was glad to see Walters talking to one of the others some distance behind. She felt jaded, for she had not relaxed her watchfulness since the man arrived. By and by Lawrence gave her a grateful smile.

"You look tired; I expect I'm something of a responsibility. If you like, I'll make an excuse for stopping in until Walters goes."

"No," she said with an effort, "that would be cowardly and not good for you. After all, I may be giving my imagination rein; but I wish he hadn't come."

"He won't be here long. Anyhow, we'll keep out of his way as much as we can for the rest of the time."

"That's a relief. Still, I expect you really think you are indulging me."

"I don't know what to think," Lawrence replied. "You're clever, and Jake, who takes your view, is not a fool. But it doesn't look as if Walters meant to do me much harm."

"He can't, so long as you don't give him an opportunity."

Lawrence's eyes twinkled. "And you'll take care that I don't? Well, it's rather nice to be protected."

Lucy blushed. "If you would take things seriously sometimes——"

"If I did, you'd find me dull. Now I like you exactly as you are, except that, in one way, I'd sooner you were not so anxious about me. That's partly why I'm not so serious as you expect I'm afraid you'd get worse if I played up to you."

"Never mind me," said Lucy. "Only take care!"

By and by the slope grew gentler, and tall forest crept up the hill when they came to a ravine a torrent had worn out of the mountain side. The ravine was narrow and for a short distance below the top the banks shelved steeply; then a wall of rock fell straight to the water that brawled in the bottom of the deep gap. The light was dim down there, but one could see livid flashes of foam through a haze of spray. The trail had been made by lumbermen or prospectors, who had provided a bridge by chopping a big fir so that it fell across the chasm. Somebody had made the passage easier by roughly squaring its upper surface, though it is seldom a Canadian bushman takes this precaution with his primitive bridge. There was no reason anybody with normal nerve should hesitate to cross, but the party stopped.

"You have gone farther than usual to-day, Featherstone, and perhaps you'd sooner cut out the bridge," said one. "I think we could get round the head of the canon without lengthening the distance much."

Lawrence smiled. "My object is to keep on going farther than I did before, and I don't see why the log should bother me. It's my legs that are weak—not my head."

"Very well," said the other. "I'll go first and Miss Chisholm will come next."

"Am I to be encouraged or shamed into crossing?" Lawrence asked with a laugh.

He let them go, and Lucy did not object. Lawrence was not well yet, but she had seen him climb among the crevasses and knew his steadiness. Then, although she did not know how much this counted, she was proud of his courage and forgot that physical weakness sometimes affects one's nerve. Walters could not harm him, because he was not near enough.

When the first two had gone over, Lawrence walked out upon the log. Lucy was not afraid, but she watched and remarked that he seemed unusually careful. After a few paces, he moved slowly, and when near the middle stopped. She saw him clench his hands as he tried to brace himself.

"Go on, Lawrence," she said, as quietly as she could.

He moved another pace or two uncertainly, and then stopped again, and Lucy struggled with her terror as she tried to think. If he were well, it would not be difficult to turn and come back, or sit upon the log, but either would be dangerous if his nerve had gone. She had failed to rouse him and durst not try again. If he slipped or stumbled, he would plunge into the canon. It was horrible to reflect that she had allowed him to make the venture. Then, throwing off the numbing fear, she sprang to her feet.

"Stand quite still; I'm coming to help you," she said in a strained voice and went towards the log.

Next moment she was seized from behind, and Walters ran past. She struggled fiercely, biting her lips as she stopped the scream that might startle her lover, and heard the man who held her breathing hard. But he held her firmly and she stopped struggling, with a paralyzing horror that made her muscles limp. Still, she could see and think, and the scene fixed itself upon her brain like a photograph; long afterwards she could remember each minute detail.

The log occupied the foreground of the picture, running boldly across the gap in the pines, with a shadowy gulf beneath. Near the middle, Lawrence stood slackly, with his back to her, and behind him Walters walked across the trunk. His step was firm and agile, his figure well-proportioned and athletic, and it was somehow obvious that he relished the opportunity of showing his powers. Afterwards, she hated him for his vanity.

It was plain that little physical help could be given. All that was possible was moral support; a firm, guiding grasp that would restore the shaken man's confidence, and the comfort of feeling there was somebody near who was not afraid. But a very slight push the wrong way, or even an unsteadiness in the hand that should have guided, might be fatal. Lawrence was at the mercy of a man who had plotted to destroy him and could do so now without risk. Lucy could not warn him, because if he were startled, he would fall. Waiting in an agony of suspense, she saw Walters grasp his shoulder.

"Steady, partner; we'll soon be across," he said in a quiet, reassuring voice, and Lawrence's slack pose stiffened, as if he had gathered confidence.

Lucy thought he did not know who had spoken, but the horrible tension did not slacken yet, though Lawrence began to move forward. Walters came close behind, rather guiding than supporting him, and in a few moments they stepped down on the other side. Then Lucy gasped and logs and pines got blurred and indistinct. She conquered the faintness and went resolutely towards the log.

"Wait and let me help you," somebody said.

"No," she answered in a strained voice; "I'm quite steady."

She crossed the log without a tremor and running to where Lawrence sat put her arm round him. Lawrence said nothing, but took and held her hand.



XXIX

FOSTER ARRIVES

When Lucy looked up, the others had gathered round and Walters smiled sympathetically.

"Are you better?" he asked Lawrence.

"Yes; we'll go on in a minute. I don't know what was the matter; felt dizzy and couldn't keep my balance. Think I needed a rest."

"The thing's obvious," Walters agreed. "After seeing you on the glaciers, I reckon your nerve's all right, but you're not well yet and we brought you up the last hill too fast. The exertion disturbed the beating of your heart and a few drops too much blood sent to the brain makes a big difference. That's what happened; it's our fault."

Lucy was grateful for the explanation, and thought it correct, but she noted with some concern that Lawrence did not show the embarrassment she had expected, which indicated that he had not recovered yet. In the meantime, Walters gave her a look of ironical amusement. She could not resent this and it seemed ridiculous to doubt him, but she did.

"Thank you; you were very quick and cool," she said with an effort.

Walters tactfully bowed his acknowledgment, as if he did not want to press his claim on her gratitude, and Lucy turned to one of the others.

"Was it you who held me back?" she asked, and when the man nodded, resumed: "Of course, you were right. I might have startled him and we would both have fallen."

"That's what I was afraid of. Anyhow, Mr. Walters deserves your thanks most. He saw what was needed and did it smartly."

Then Lawrence got up, with some color in his face, and gave Walters his hand. "I expect I would have fallen if you hadn't come along," he said and turned to the rest. "I feel I must apologize for frightening you. My best excuse is that I wasn't as fit as I thought."

They urged him to rest and one offered to run to the hotel for brandy, but he declared he was able to go on, and they tactfully began to talk about something else and after a few minutes let him drop behind. He was grateful and went slowly, with his hand on Lucy's arm. Sometimes he pressed it gently and she gave him a tender look, but said nothing. She could not talk; her relief was too great. When they reached the hotel Lawrence went to his room, and soon afterwards Lucy met Walters on the veranda.

"I hope Lawrence is not much the worse," he said.

Lucy remembered the part she had taken and resolved to play it out.

"I expect he will be as well as usual after a rest. You took a very generous revenge."

Walters laughed. "After all, I was only a little quicker than the rest and really ran no risk. I was behind him and he couldn't get hold of me. In fact, I don't know that I'd have had grit enough to stick to him if he had slipped."

He left her and Lucy could find no fault with his reply, which she admitted was frank and modest. For all that, her distrust had not been banished, and when, after a time, Lawrence came down, she said, "I suppose you're now satisfied that it wasn't Walters' fault you were left on the couloir?"

"Aren't you?" Lawrence asked with some surprise.

"No," said Lucy firmly. "I'm not quite satisfied. You see, there were a number of accidents, all leading to one result. Coincidences of that kind don't happen unless somebody arranges them."

Lawrence laughed. "Then they're not coincidences. Do you still hold Walters accountable for the accidents?"

"If he was accountable, they wouldn't be accidents," Lucy rejoined with some color in her face.

"A fair retort! But let's be serious. I'm not sure I'd have fallen off the log if I'd been left alone, but it's very possible. Walters' help was useful, whether he saved my life or not, and you can't deny that he meant to save it."

"No; I think he meant to save you. Did you know who it was when he touched you?"

"I did. Remembering Jake's theory, I saw it was possible he had come to push me off, but I knew he hadn't. That's why I gave him my hand afterwards."

"Ah!" said Lucy. "I was sorry when you did that, because I knew what it meant"

Lawrence looked at her deprecatingly. "I don't like you to be prejudiced, dear, even on my account. I can do nothing that might injure Walters now and can't treat him with suspicion; but he's going soon and, if it's any comfort, I won't leave the hotel grounds for the next day or two. Anyhow I've rather overdone things lately."

"Thank you for the promise," Lucy said, and was glad when her mother joined them, for she felt baffled and wanted to think.

She hated Walters with a half-instinctive hatred that reflection showed her was justified; but beyond the concession he had made Lawrence would not be moved. On the surface, so to speak, he was logical and she was not. She was sure Walters had plotted to leave him on the couloir, although she admitted that he had meant to save his life when he turned dizzy upon the trunk. It was possible that he had yielded to sudden generous emotion, but she did not accept the explanation. The fellow was cold-blooded and calculating; she thought he had deliberately let his opportunity pass, because, after this, nobody would believe him guilty if he found another. But he must not find an opportunity, and it was a keen relief to know that Foster would soon arrive. She had not told Lawrence yet; it might be better to let Foster make an excuse for his visit.

When it began to get dark, she stood near the glass front of the veranda and glanced at her watch. She could see for some distance down the valley and knew that the smoke of a locomotive would spread in a dark cloud across the tops of the pines. The train was late, but there was no smoke yet. It was a long climb from sea-level at Vancouver Inlet and in winter the line was sometimes blocked. There was no obvious ground for alarm, but somehow she was worse afraid of Walters than before.

The massed pines gradually faded to a formless blur on the cold blue-gray slopes of snow. There was no sound from the valley by the roar of the river, and by and by a servant turned on the lamps. Lucy could now see nothing outside and shivered as she looked at her watch. She hoped no accident had delayed the tram.

In the meantime, Lawrence, who was sitting near her mother, had picked up a book, but put it down when Walters came in, and Lucy felt a curious tremor of repugnance as she glanced at him. It was a shrinking she sometimes experienced at the sight of a noxious insect. Yet there was nothing about Walters to excite aversion. He was rather a handsome man, and stood in a careless pose, smiling at the group.

"The trouble about a pleasant time is that it comes to an end, and I'll have to pull out to-morrow," he said. "When are you going to give me the photographs you promised, Lawrence?"

"I'll get them now and you can choose which you like. They're in my room."

"I want one with Miss Stephen in it as well as yourself," Walters replied. "It will be something to remind me of our climbs."

"Send the boy for the packet," Lucy interposed.

"I think the drawer's locked; anyhow I don't want the boy to upset my things," Lawrence objected.

"Then I'll go with you," said Walters. "It will save you taking the packet back and you can get ready for dinner while you are upstairs."

Lawrence got up. "Very well; we'll go now."

"Take the elevator, even if you have to wait," Lucy said as they went to the door.

Lawrence had chosen a room at the top of the building because the view was good and it got the sun early in the morning, but now and then walked up the stairs to see how fast he was recovering his strength. After a minute or two, Lucy heard the elevator start and its harsh rumble jarred her nerves. The electric lifts they use in Canada seldom run silently, and the elevator had not been working well. Lucy was annoyed that the sound disturbed her, and imagined she had not recovered from the shock she got during their walk. She was nervous and admitted that she did not like Lawrence to be out of her sight when Walters was with him. She tried to persuade herself that this was foolish, but could not banish her uneasiness. Then Mrs. Stephen looked up.

"There's the train; I didn't hear it stop."

Lucy listened. She had forgotten the train for the last few minutes, and it seemed to be going fast. The sharp snorting of the mountain engine and rhythmic clang of wheels seemed to indicate that its long climb had not been interrupted. The Montreal express did not stop at the flag station unless the conductor was warned. She felt daunted as she realized that Foster might not have come, and she had not told her mother she had telegraphed for him.

A few minutes later she heard steps outside; then the door opened, and she felt a thrill of satisfaction as Foster came in with Pete. He looked grave and rather hot, as if he had been walking fast, but it was strangely comforting to see him. Besides, she liked his big companion, who waited with Scottish calm.

Foster bowed to Mrs. Stephen and then turned to Lucy.

"Is Lawrence all right?"

"Yes. He overtired himself this morning, but is better now."

Foster looked relieved. "Is Walters here?"

"He goes to-morrow."

"Ah!" said Foster, as if he thought this important. "I should have arrived yesterday if your message had come earlier. I got it just after the train started in the morning."

Mrs. Stephen looked at her daughter, but Lucy offered no explanation. Foster's abruptness disturbed her. He obviously wanted to understand the situation, but seemed to think he had no time to lose.

"I sent the telegram half an hour before the office closed and as the agent goes early you ought to have got it in the evening," she said.

"Then it must have been kept back. Where's Lawrence now?"

"He went to his room with Walters about ten minutes since."

Foster beckoned Pete. "Then I'll go straight up; I know the number."

They went out and Lucy sat down, feeling disturbed but somewhat comforted. It was plain that Foster shared her fears and knew more than she did, but in another minute or two he would join his comrade, and Lawrence would be safe when he was there.

In the meantime, Walters lighted a cigarette Lawrence gave him in his room and sat down to examine the photographs. There were a number of views of the mountains and a group of figures occupied the foreground of several. A guest at the hotel with some talent for photography had taken the pictures, and after a time Walters picked out two in which Lucy and Lawrence appeared.

"I'll take these, if I'm not robbing you," he said and waited until Lawrence put on a Tuxedo jacket, when he resumed: "Well, I suppose we had better go down. Are you coming?"

He went out and as Lawrence crossed the floor to turn off the light, called back: "I forgot the pictures; they're on the bureau. The elevator's coming up and I'll keep it when it's here."

Lawrence told him to do so. The lift had stopped between the floors on their ascent, and the electric light inside it had gone out, while the boy said something about his not being able to run it much longer. The photographs, however, were not on the bureau and Lawrence searched the room before he found them on the bed. Then he turned off the light and went into the passage, which was rather dark. The lamp at the shaft was not burning, but he could see Walters beckoning at the gate.

"He wants to get down before the motor stops," the latter said.

Lawrence hurried along the passage, and when he reached the shaft Walters put his hand on the folding ironwork.

"Come along; his light's out," he said to Lawrence, and added, as if to somebody in the lift: "Start her off! I'll shut the gate."

Lawrence stepped forward and then clutched the ironwork as his advanced foot went down into empty space. Instead of the floor of the lift, there was a dark gap beneath him, and he knew he had come very near to plunging down the shaft. He hung over it, with one foot on the edge and his hand on an iron bar, and looked at the black hole with horror as he braced himself for the effort to swing his body back. There was some strain upon his right arm, because his right knee was bent and his other leg dangled over the shaft. His hold on the ironwork had saved him and he must use it to regain the passage.

Next moment a hand fastened on his wrist and he thought Walters had come to his help. But the fellow was stupid; he ought to have seized his shoulder. Then the sweat ran down his face as he guessed the truth. Walters had not come to help; he meant to throw him down the shaft.

He set his teeth and felt the veins on his forehead swell with the effort he made. He was in horrible danger and must fight for his life. Walters was trying to pull his hand off the bar, but he resolved that if the fellow succeeded, he should go down the shaft with him. But although his situation was desperate, he did not mean to fall.

Then Walters' fingers slipped away, and something jarred Lawrence's knuckles as he got a firmer hold. The brute had struck him with a pistol butt and the pain was sharp, but he did not let go. Though his muscles were badly strained and his brain struggled with numbing horror, he could think. Walters could have made him loose his grasp had he used his knife, but the thing must look like an accident and there must be no cut to show. The fellow had set a cunning trap for him, but he might escape yet.

Then he thought he heard steps, but his hearing was dull, for there was a sound like bells in his ears and the hand fastened on his wrist again. He arched his back to ease the strain on his arm and wondered vaguely how long he could hold on. Afterwards, he calculated that he had hung over the shaft for about a minute.

Suddenly his antagonist's grasp slackened and his hand was loose. There were running steps; somebody seized his arm and pulled him strongly back. As he staggered across the passage he heard a heavy blow. Walters, reeling past, struck the wall and leaned against it with blood on his white face. He put his hand into his pocket, but a man sprang forward and grappled with him.

They lurched away from the wall and fell down the stairs. Another man ran down after them, and Lawrence, who felt very limp, followed awkwardly. There were lights on the next landing and he saw the struggling men strike the banisters and stop. One had his hand loose and held a pistol; his tense, savage face was uppermost. The man who had gone down after them stooped and struck him with his fist. The struggle stopped, and Lawrence sat down on the steps and tried to pull himself together. He knew now how his illness had weakened him.

Then Foster came up the stairs, very hot and breathless, with his jacket torn, and stopping beside Lawrence, forced a smile.

"It's lucky I got here when I did," he said. "The brute yonder stopped me coming yesterday."

Foster did not remember his reply, but he got up and went down to where Walters lay unconscious. As he reached the spot the hotel manager and a waiter arrived.

"What's the matter? Is he dead?" the manager asked.

"I don't know," said Foster coolly. "It will save the police some trouble if he is."

"But I want to know what's happened,"

Foster indicated a pistol lying on the steps. "That's his; he tried to use it. I'll tell you about the thing later. In the meantime, you can take him to his room and telegraph for the police." He paused and beckoned Pete. "Go with them and don't lose sight of him until I come. He'll probably come round soon."

"Weel," said Pete dryly, "I'm thinking he'll no' be verra sensible for a while yet, but I'll see he doesna' get away."

He and the waiter picked up Walters, and Foster turned to Lawrence.

"Now I'd better wash and straighten myself up. Perhaps you can lend me a jacket."

Lawrence laughed, a rather strained laugh. "Certainly; come along. You're a curious combination, partner. I've called you romantic, but you're not a sentimentalist when you get into action."



XXX

RUN DOWN

Foster did not know what Lawrence told Lucy, because he was occupied for some time in his room. His lip was cut, his face was bruised, and there was a lump on his head where he had struck the steps. After he had attended to the injuries and frowned at his reflection in the glass, he rang the bell, and asking for some paper took out his fountain pen. It was not easy to write, but there was something to be done that had better not be put off. He knew now what the gang was capable of, and meant to leave a record, in case an accident of the kind to which his comrade had nearly fallen a victim happened to him. Moreover, it might be a safeguard to let his antagonists know that they could not destroy his evidence if they took his life.

He related his adventures in Scotland, his pursuit of Daly, and his surmises about the gang, and then going down, asked the hotel clerk to witness his signature and put the document in the safe. After this, he went to the veranda, where Lucy came to meet him with shining eyes.

"Jake," she said with emotion, "I felt we would be safe as soon as you arrived. If you knew how I listened for the train and longed for your step! But the wretch has hurt you; your face is bruised and cut." Foster felt embarrassed, but laughed. "My face will soon recover its usual charm, and if it's any comfort, the other fellow looks, and no doubt feels, much worse." Then he turned to Lawrence, who sat near. "You have evidently been telling Miss Stephen a highly-colored tale."

"Lucy!" she corrected him. "I'm not going to call you Mr. Foster. You're our friend—mother's and mine—-as well as Lawrence's." She stopped and shuddered. "But you shall not make a joke of what you did! What might have happened won't bear thinking of. If you hadn't come in time!"