THE HUNTED WOMAN

BY

JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD

Author of KAZAN, Etc. 

Illustrated by

FRANK B. HOFFMAN

1915

TO MY WIFE

AND

OUR COMRADES OF THE TRAIL

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

"'Look at MacDonald.... It's not the gold, but MacDonald, that's taking meNorth, Ladygray.... Up there, another grave is calling MacDonald. '"

A tall, slim, exquisitely poised figure.... "'Another o' them Dotty Dimplescome out to save the world. I thought I'd help eggicate her a little, an'so I sent her to Bill's place'"

"A crowd was gathering.... A slim, exquisitely formed woman in shimmeringsilk was standing beside a huge brown bear"

"'The tunnel is closed, ' she whispered.... 'That means we have justforty-five minutes to live.... Let us not lie to one another. '"

CHAPTER I

It was all new--most of it singularly dramatic and even appalling to thewoman who sat with the pearl-gray veil drawn closely about her face. Foreighteen hours she had been a keenly attentive, wide-eyed, and partlyfrightened bit of humanity in this onrush of "the horde. " She had heard avoice behind her speak of it as "the horde"--a deep, thick, gruff voicewhich she knew without looking had filtered its way through a beard. Sheagreed with the voice. It was the Horde--that horde which has always beatenthe trails ahead for civilization and made of its own flesh and blood thefoundation of nations. For months it had been pouring steadily into themountains--always in and never out, a laughing, shouting, singing, blaspheming Horde, every ounce of it toughened sinew and red brawn, exceptthe Straying Angels. One of these sat opposite her, a dark-eyed girl withover-red lips and hollowed cheeks, and she heard the bearded man saysomething to his companions about "dizzy dolls" and "the little angel inthe other seat. " This same voice, gruffened in its beard, had told her thatten thousand of the Horde had gone up ahead of them. Then it whisperedsomething that made her hands suddenly tighten and a hot flush sweepthrough her. She lifted her veil and rose slowly from her seat, as if torearrange her dress. Casually she looked straight into the faces of thebearded man and his companion in the seat behind. They stared. After thatshe heard nothing more of the Straying Angels, but only a wildly mysteriousconfabulation about "rock hogs, " and "coyotes" that blew up wholemountains, and a hundred and one things about the "rail end. " She learnedthat it was taking five hundred steers a week to feed the Horde that layalong the Grand Trunk Pacific between Hogan's Camp and the sea, and thatthere were two thousand souls at Tête Jaune Cache, which until a few monthsbefore had slumbered in a century-old quiet broken only by the Indian andhis trade. Then the train stopped in its twisting trail, and the beardedman and his companion left the car. As they passed her they glanced down. Again the veil was drawn close. A shimmering tress of hair had escaped itsbondage; that was all they saw. 

[Illustration: "Look at MacDonald.... It's not the gold, but MacDonald, that's taking me north, Ladygray.... Up there, another grave is callingMacDonald. "]

The veiled woman drew a deeper breath when they were gone. She saw thatmost of the others were getting off. In her end of the car thehollow-cheeked girl and she were alone. Even in their aloneness these twowomen had not dared to speak until now. The one raised her veil again, andtheir eyes met across the aisle. For a moment the big, dark, sick-lookingeyes of the "angel" stared. Like the bearded man and his companion, she, too, understood, and an embarrassed flush added to the colour of the rougeon her cheeks. The eyes that looked across at her were blue--deep, quiet, beautiful. The lifted veil had disclosed to her a face that she could notassociate with the Horde. The lips smiled at her--the wonderful eyessoftened with a look of understanding, and then the veil was lowered again. The flush in the girl's cheek died out, and she smiled back. 

"You are going to Tête Jaune?" she asked. 

"Yes. May I sit with you for a few minutes? I want to ask questions--somany!"

The hollow-cheeked girl made room for her at her side. 

"You are new?"

"Quite new--to this. "

The words, and the manner in which they were spoken, made the other glancequickly at her companion. 

"It is a strange place to go--Tête Jaune, " she said. "It is a terribleplace for a woman. "

"And yet you are going?"

"I have friends there. Have you?"

"No. "

The girl stared at her in amazement. Her voice and her eyes were boldernow. 

"And without friends you are going--_there?_" she cried. "You have nohusband--no brother----"

"What place is this?" interrupted the other, raising her veil so that shecould look steadily into the other's face. "Would you mind telling me?"

"It is Miette, " replied the girl, the flush reddening her cheeks again. "There's one of the big camps of the railroad builders down on the Flats. You can see it through the window. That river is the Athabasca. "

"Will the train stop here very long?"

The Little Angel shrugged her thin shoulders despairingly. 

"Long enough to get me into The Cache mighty late to-night, " shecomplained. "We won't move for two hours. "

"I'd be so glad if you could tell me where I can go for a bath andsomething to eat. I'm not very hungry--but I'm terribly dusty. I want tochange some clothes, too. Is there a hotel here?"

Her companion found the question very funny. She had a giggling fit beforeshe answered. 

"You're sure new, " she explained. "We don't have hotels up here. We havebed-houses, chuck-tents, and bunk-shacks. You ask for Bill's Shack downthere on the Flats. It's pretty good. They'll give you a room, plenty ofwater, and a looking-glass--an' charge you a dollar. I'd go with you, butI'm expecting a friend a little later, and if I move I may lose him. Anybody will tell you where Bill's place is. It's a red an' white stripedtent--and it's respectable. "

The stranger girl thanked her, and turned for her bag. As she left the car, the Little Angel's eyes followed her with a malicious gleam that gave themthe strange glow of candles in a sepulchral cavern. The colours which sheunfurled to all seeking eyes were not secret, and yet she was filled withan inward antagonism that this stranger with the wonderful blue eyes haddared to see them and recognize them. She stared after the retreatingform--a tall, slim, exquisitely poised figure that filled her with envy anda dull sort of hatred. She did not hear a step behind her. A hand fellfamiliarly on her shoulder, and a coarse voice laughed something in her earthat made her jump up with an artificial little shriek of pleasure. The mannodded toward the end of the now empty car. 

"Who's your new friend?" he asked. 

"She's no friend of mine, " snapped the girl. "She's another one of themDolly Dimples come out to save the world. She's that innocent she wonderswhy Tête Jaune ain't a nice place for ladies without escort. I thought I'dhelp eggicate her a little an' so I sent her to Bill's place. Oh, my Lord, I told her it was respectable!"

She doubled over the seat in a fit of merriment, and her companion seizedthe opportunity to look out of the window. 

The tall, blue-eyed stranger had paused for a moment on the last step ofthe car to pin up her veil, fully revealing her face. Then she steppedlightly to the ground, and found herself facing the sunlight and themountains. She drew a slow, deep breath between her parted lips, and turnedwonderingly, for a moment forgetful. It was the first time she had left thetrain since entering the mountains, and she understood now why some one inthe coach had spoken of the Miette Plain as Sunshine Pool. Where-ever shelooked the mountains fronted her, with their splendid green slopes reachingup to their bald caps of gray shale and reddish rock or gleaming summits ofsnow. Into this "pool"--this pocket in the mountains--the sun descended ina wonderful flood. It stirred her blood like a tonic. She breathed morequickly; a soft glow coloured her cheeks; her eyes grew more deeply violetas they caught the reflection of the blue sky. A gentle wind fretted theloose tendrils of brown hair about her face. And the bearded man, staringthrough the car window, saw her thus, and for an hour after that thehollow-cheeked girl wondered at the strange change in him. 

The train had stopped at the edge of the big fill overlooking the Flats. Itwas a heavy train, and a train that was helping to make history--acombination of freight, passenger, and "cattle. " It had averaged eightmiles an hour on its climb toward Yellowhead Pass and the end of steel. The"cattle" had already surged from their stifling and foul-smelling cars in anoisy inundation of curiously mixed humanity. They were of a dozendifferent nationalities, and as the girl looked at them it was not withrevulsion or scorn but with a sudden quickening of heartbeat and a littlelaugh that had in it something both of wonder and of pride. This was theHorde, that crude, monstrous thing of primitive strength and passions thatwas overturning mountains in its fight to link the new Grand Trunk Pacificwith the seaport on the Pacific. In that Horde, gathered in little groups, shifting, sweeping slowly toward her and past her, she saw something asomnipotent as the mountains themselves. They could not know defeat. Shesensed it without ever having seen them before. For her the Horde now had aheart and a soul. These were the builders of empire--the man-beasts whomade it possible for Civilization to creep warily and without peril intonew places and new worlds. With a curious shock she thought of thehalf-dozen lonely little wooden crosses she had seen through the car windowat odd places along the line of rail. 

And now she sought her way toward the Flats. To do this she had to climbover a track that was waiting for ballast. A car shunted past her, and onits side she saw the big, warning red placards--Dynamite. That one wordseemed to breathe to her the spirit of the wonderful energy that wasexpending itself all about her. From farther on in the mountains came thedeep, sullen detonations of the "little black giant" that had been rumblingpast her in the car. It came again and again, like the thunderous voice ofthe mountains themselves calling out in protest and defiance. And each timeshe felt a curious thrill under her feet and the palpitant touch ofsomething that was like a gentle breath in her ears. She found anothertrack on her way, and other cars slipped past her crunchingly. Beyond thissecond track she came to a beaten road that led down into the Flats, andshe began to descend. 

[Illustration: A tall, slim, exquisitely poised figure.... "Another o' themDotty Dimples come out to save the world. I thought I'd help eggicate her alittle, an' so I sent her to Bill's place. Oh, my Lord, I told her it wasrespectable!"]

Tents shone through the trees on the bottom. The rattle of the cars grewmore distant, and she heard the hum and laughter of voices and the jargonof a phonograph. At the bottom of the slope she stepped aside to allow ateam and wagon to pass. The wagon was loaded with boxes that rattled andcrashed about as the wheels bumped over stones and roots. The driver of theteam did not look at her. He was holding back with his whole weight; hiseyes bulged a little; he was sweating, in his face was a comedy ofexpression that made the girl smile in spite of herself. Then she saw oneof the bobbing boxes and the smile froze into a look of horror. On it waspainted that ominous word--DYNAMITE!

Two men were coming behind her. 

"Six horses, a wagon an' old Fritz--blown to hell an' not a splinter leftto tell the story, " one of them was saying. "I was there three minutesafter the explosion and there wasn't even a ravelling or a horsehair left. This dynamite's a dam' funny thing. I wouldn't be a rock-hog for amillion!"

"I'd rather be a rock-hog than Joe--drivin' down this hill a dozen times aday, " replied the other. 

The girl had paused again, and the two men stared at her as they were aboutto pass. The explosion of Joe's dynamite could not have startled them morethan the beauty of the face that was turned to them in a quietly appealinginquiry. 

"I am looking for a place called--Bill's Shack, " she said, speaking theLittle Sister's words hesitatingly. "Can you direct me to it, please?"

The younger of the two men looked at his companion without speaking. Theother, old enough to regard feminine beauty as a trap and an illusion, turned aside to empty his mouth of a quid of tobacco, bent over, andpointed under the trees. 

"Can't miss it--third tent-house on your right, with canvas striped like abarber-pole. That phonnygraff you hear is at Bill's. "

"Thank you. "

She went on. 

Behind her, the two men stood where she had left them. They did not move. The younger man seemed scarcely to breathe. 

"Bill's place!" he gasped then. "I've a notion to tell her. I can'tbelieve----"

"Shucks!" interjected the other. 

"But I don't. She isn't that sort. She looked like a Madonna--with theheart of her clean gone. I never saw anything so white an' so beautiful. You call me a fool if you want to--I'm goin' on to Bill's!"

He strode ahead, chivalry in his young and palpitating heart. Quickly theolder man was at his side, clutching his arm. 

"Come along, you cotton-head!" he cried. "You ain't old enough or bigenough in this camp to mix in with Bill. Besides, " he lied, seeing thewavering light in the youth's eyes, "I know her. She's going to the rightplace. "

At Bill's place men were holding their breath and staring. They were notunaccustomed to women. But such a one as this vision that walked calmly andundisturbed in among them they had never seen. There were half a dozenlounging there, smoking and listening to the phonograph, which some one nowstopped that they might hear every word that was spoken. The girl's headwas high. She was beginning to understand that it would have been lessembarrassing to have gone hungry and dusty. But she had come this far, andshe was determined to get what she wanted--if it was to be had. The colourshone a little more vividly through the pure whiteness of her skin as shefaced Bill, leaning over his little counter. In him she recognized theBrute. It was blazoned in his face, in the hungry, seeking look of hiseyes--in the heavy pouches and thick crinkles of his neck and cheeks. Foronce Bill Quade himself was at a loss. 

"I understand that you have rooms for rent, " she said unemotionally. "May Ihire one until the train leaves for Tête Jaune Cache?"

The listeners behind her stiffened and leaned forward. One of them grinnedat Quade. This gave him the confidence he needed to offset the fearlessquestioning in the blue eyes. None of them noticed a newcomer in the door. Quade stepped from behind his shelter and faced her. 

"This way, " he said, and turned to the drawn curtains beyond them. 

She followed. As the curtains closed after them a chuckling laugh broke thesilence of the on-looking group. The newcomer in the doorway emptied thebowl of his pipe, and thrust the pipe into the breast-pocket of his flannelshirt. He was bareheaded. His hair was blond, shot a little with gray. Hewas perhaps thirty-eight, no taller than the girl herself, slim-waisted, with trim, athletic shoulders. His eyes, as they rested on thestill-fluttering curtains, were a cold and steady gray. His face was thinand bronzed, his nose a trifle prominent. He was a man far from handsome, and yet there was something of fascination and strength about him. He didnot belong to the Horde. Yet he might have been the force behind it, contemptuous of the chuckling group of rough-visaged men, almost arrogantin his posture as he eyed the curtains and waited. 

What he expected soon came. It was not the usual giggling, the usualexchange of badinage and coarse jest beyond the closed curtains. Quade didnot come out rubbing his huge hands, his face crinkling with a sort ofexultant satisfaction. The girl preceded him. She flung the curtains asideand stood there for a moment, her face flaming like fire, her blue eyesfilled with the flash of lightning. She came down the single step. Quadefollowed her. He put out a hand. 

"Don't take offence, girly, " he expostulated. "Look here--ain't itreasonable to s'pose----"

He got no farther. The man in the door had advanced, placing himself at thegirl's side. His voice was low and unexcited. 

"You have made a mistake?" he said. 

She took him in at a glance--his clean-cut, strangely attractive face, hisslim build, the clear and steady gray of his eyes. 

"Yes, I have made a mistake--a terrible mistake!"

"I tell you it ain't fair to take offence, " Quade went on. "Now, lookhere----"

In his hand was a roll of bills. The girl did not know that a man couldstrike as quickly and with as terrific effect as the gray-eyed strangerstruck then. There was one blow, and Quade went down limply. It was sosudden that he had her outside before she realized what had happened. 

"I chanced to see you go in, " he explained, without a tremor in his voice. "I thought you were making a mistake. I heard you ask for shelter. If youwill come with me I will take you to a friend's. "

"If it isn't too much trouble for you, I will go, " she said. "And forthat--in there--thank you!"

CHAPTER II

They passed down an aisle through the tall trees, on each side of whichfaced the vari-coloured and many-shaped architecture of the little town. Itwas chiefly of canvas. Now and then a structure of logs added an appearanceof solidity to the whole. The girl did not look too closely. She knew thatthey passed places in which there were long rows of cots, and that otherswere devoted to trade. She noticed signs which advertised soft drinks andcigars--always "soft drinks, " which sometimes came into camp marked as"dynamite, " "salt pork, " and "flour. " She was conscious that every onestared at them as they passed. She heard clearly the expressions of wonderand curiosity of two women and a girl who were spreading out blankets infront of a rooming-tent. She looked at the man at her side. She appreciatedhis courtesy in not attempting to force an acquaintanceship. In her eyeswas a ripple of amusement. 

"This is all strange and new to me--and not at all uninteresting, " shesaid. "I came expecting--everything. And I am finding it. Why do they stareat me so? Am I a curiosity?"

"You are, " he answered bluntly. "You are the most beautiful woman they haveever seen. "

His eyes encountered hers as he spoke. He had answered her question fairly. There was nothing that was audacious in his manner or his look. She hadasked for information, and he had given it. In spite of herself the girl'slips trembled. Her colour deepened. She smiled. 

"Pardon me, " she entreated. "I seldom feel like laughing, but I almost donow. I have encountered so many curious people and have heard so manycurious things during the past twenty-four hours. You don't believe inconcealing your thoughts out here in the wilderness, do you?"

"I haven't expressed _my_ thoughts, " he corrected. "I was telling you what_they_ think. "

"Oh-h-h--I beg your pardon again!"

"Not at all, " he answered lightly, and now his eyes were laughing franklyinto her own. "I don't mind informing you, " he went on, "that I am thebiggest curiosity you will meet between this side of the mountains and thesea. I am not accustomed to championing women. I allow them to pursue theirown course without personal interference on my part. But--I suppose it willgive you some satisfaction if I confess it--I followed you into Bill'splace because you were more than ordinarily beautiful, and because I wantedto see fair play. I knew you were making a mistake. I knew what wouldhappen. "

They had passed the end of the street, and entered a little green plainthat was soft as velvet underfoot. On the farther side of this, shelteredamong the trees, were two or three tents. The man led the way toward these. 

"Now, I suppose I've spoiled it all, " he went on, a touch of irony in hisvoice. "It was really quite heroic of me to follow you into Bill's place, don't you think? You probably want to tell me so, but don't quite dare. And I should play up to my part, shouldn't I? But I cannot--notsatisfactorily. I'm really a bit disgusted with myself for having taken asmuch interest in you as I have. I write books for a living. My name is JohnAldous. "

With a little cry of amazement, his companion stopped. Without knowing it, her hand had gripped his arm. 

"You are John Aldous--who wrote 'Fair Play, ' and 'Women!'" she gasped. 

"Yes, " he said, amusement in his face. 

"I have read those books--and I have read your plays, " she breathed, amysterious tremble in her voice. "You despise women!"

"Devoutly. "

She drew a deep breath. Her hand dropped from his arm. 

"This is very, very funny, " she mused, gazing off to the sun-capped peaksof the mountains. "You have flayed women alive. You have made them want tomob you. And yet----"

"Millions of them read my books, " he chuckled. 

"Yes--all of them read your books, " she replied, looking straight into hisface. "And I guess--in many ways--you have pointed out things that aretrue. "

It was his turn to show surprise. 

"You believe that?"

"I do. More than that--I have always thought that I knew your secret--thebig, hidden thing under your work, the thing which you do not revealbecause you know the world would laugh at you. And so--_you despise me!_"

"Not you. "

"I am a woman. "

He laughed. The tan in his cheeks burned a deeper red. 

"We are wasting time, " he warned her. "In Bill's place I heard you say youwere going to leave on the Tête Jaune train. I am going to take you to areal dinner. And now--I should let those good people know your name. "

A moment--unflinching and steady--she looked into his face. 

"It is Joanne, the name you have made famous as the dreadfulest woman infiction. Joanne Gray. "

"I am sorry, " he said, and bowed low. "Come. If I am not mistaken I smellnew-baked bread. "

As they moved on he suddenly touched her arm. She felt for a moment thefirm clasp of his fingers. There was a new light in his eyes, a glow ofenthusiasm. 

"I have it!" he cried. "You have brought it to me--the idea. I have beenwanting a name for _her_--the woman in my new book. She is to be atremendous surprise. I haven't found a name, until now--one that fits. Ishall call her Ladygray!"

He felt the girl flinch. He was surprised at the sudden startled look thatshot into her eyes, the swift ebbing of the colour from her cheeks. He drewaway his hand at the strange change in her. He noticed how quickly she wasbreathing--that the fingers of her white hands were clasped tensely. 

"You object, " he said. 

"Not enough to keep you from using it, " she replied in a low voice. "I oweyou a great deal. " He noted, too, how quickly she had recovered herself. Her head was a little higher. She looked toward the tents. "You were notmistaken, " she added. "I smell new-made bread!"

"And I shall emphasize the first half of it--_Lady_gray, " said John Aldous, as if speaking to himself. "That diminutizes it, you might say--gives itthe touch of sentiment I want. You can imagine a lover saying 'Dear little_Lady_gray, are you warm and comfy?' He wouldn't say Ladygray as if shewore a coronet, would he?"

"Smell-o'-bread--fresh bread!" sniffed Joanne Gray, as if she had not heardhim. "It's making me hungry. Will you please hurry me to it, John Aldous?"

They were approaching the first of the three tent-houses, over which was acrudely painted sign which read "Otto Brothers, Guides and Outfitters. " Itwas a large, square tent, with weather-faded red and blue stripes, and fromit came the cheerful sound of a woman's laughter. Half a dozentrampish-looking Airedale terriers roused themselves languidly as they drewnearer. One of them stood up and snarled. 

"They won't hurt you, " assured Aldous. "They belong to Jack Bruce andClossen Otto--the finest bunch of grizzly dogs in the Rockies. " Anothermoment, and a woman had appeared in the door. "And that is Mrs. Jack Otto, "he added under his breath. "If all women were like her I wouldn't havewritten the things you have read!"

He might have added that she was Scotch. But this was not necessary. Thelaughter was still in her good-humoured face. Aldous looked at hiscompanion, and he found her smiling back. The eyes of the two women hadalready met. 

Briefly Aldous explained what had happened at Quade's, and that the youngwoman was leaving on the Tête Jaune train. The good-humoured smile leftMrs. Otto's face when he mentioned Quade. 

"I've told Jack I'd like to poison that man some day, " she cried. "You poordear, come in, I'll get you a cup of tea. "

"Which always means dinner in the Otto camp, " added Aldous. 

"I'm not so hungry, but I'm tired--so tired, " he heard the girl say as shewent in with Mrs. Otto, and there was a new and strangely pathetic note inher voice. "I want to rest--until the train goes. "

He followed them in, and stood for a moment near the door. 

"There's a room in there, my dear, " said the woman, drawing back a curtain. "Make yourself at home, and lie down on the bed until I have the teaready. "

When the curtain had closed behind her, John Aldous spoke in a low voice tothe woman. 

"Will you see her safely to the train, Mrs. Otto?" he asked. "It leaves ata quarter after two. I must be going. "

He felt that he had sufficiently performed his duty. He left the tent, andpaused for a moment outside to touzle affectionately the trampish heads ofthe bear dogs. Then he turned away, whistling. He had gone a dozen stepswhen a low voice stopped him. He turned. Joanne had come from the door. 

For one moment he stared as if something more wonderful than anything hehad ever seen had risen before him. The girl was bareheaded, and she stoodin a sun mellowed by a film of cloud. Her head was piled with lustrouscoils of gold-brown hair that her hat and veil had hidden. Never had helooked upon such wonderful hair, crushed and crumpled back from her smoothforehead; nor such marvellous whiteness of skin and pure blue depths ofeyes! In her he saw now everything that was strong and splendid in woman. She was not girlishly sweet. She was not a girl. She was a woman--gloriousto look at, a soul glowing out of her eyes, a strength that thrilled him inthe quiet and beautiful mystery of her face. 

"You were going without saying good-bye, " she said. "Won't you let me thankyou--a last time?"

Her voice brought him to himself again. A moment he bent over her hand. Amoment he felt its warm, firm pressure in his own. The smile that flashedto his lips was hidden from her as he bowed his blond-gray head. 

"Pardon me for the omission, " he apologized. "Good-bye--and may good luckgo with you!"

Their eyes met once more. With another bow he had turned, and wascontinuing his way. At the door Joanne Gray looked back. He was whistlingagain. His careless, easy stride was filled with a freedom that seemed tocome to her in the breath of the mountains. And then she, too, smiledstrangely as she reëntered the tent. 

CHAPTER III

If John Aldous had betrayed no visible sign of inward vanquishment he atleast was feeling its effect. For years his writings had made him thetarget for a world of women, and many men. The men he had regarded withindifferent toleration. The women were his life--the "frail and ineffectivecreatures" who gave spice to his great adventure, and made his daysanything but monotonous. He was not unchivalrous. Deep down in hisheart--and this was his own secret--he did not even despise women. But hehad seen their weaknesses and their frailties as perhaps no other man hadever seen them, and he had written of them as no other man had everwritten. This had brought him the condemnation of the host, the admirationof the few. His own personal veneer of antagonism against woman was purelyartificial, and yet only a few had guessed it. He had built it up about himas a sort of protection. He called himself "an adventurer in the mysteriesof feminism, " and to be this successfully he had argued that he mustdestroy in himself the usual heart-emotions of the sex-man and the animal. 

How far he had succeeded in this he himself did not know--until these lastmoments when he had bid good-bye to Joanne Gray. He confessed that she hadfound a cleft in his armour, and there was an uneasy thrill in his blood. It was not her beauty alone that had affected him. He had trained himselfto look at a beautiful woman as he might have looked at a beautiful flower, confident that if he went beyond the mere admiration of it he would findonly burned-out ashes. But in her he had seen something that was more thanbeauty, something that for a flashing moment had set stirring everymolecule in his being. He had felt the desire to rest his hand upon hershining hair!

He turned off into a winding path that led into the thick poplars, restraining an inclination to look back in the direction of the Otto camp. He pulled out the pipe he had dropped into his shirt pocket, filled it withfresh tobacco, and began smoking. As he smoked, his lips wore a quizzicalsmile, for he was honest enough to give Joanne Gray credit for her triumph. She had awakened a new kind of interest in him--only a passing interest, tobe sure--but a new kind for all that. The fact amused him. In a large wayhe was a humourist--few guessing it, and he fully appreciated the humour ofthe present situation--that he, John Aldous, touted the world over as awoman-hater, wanted to peer out through the poplar foliage and see thatwonderful gold-brown head shining in the sun once more!

He wandered more slowly on his way, wondering with fresh interest what hisfriends, the women, would say when they read his new book. His title for itwas "Mothers. " It was to be a tremendous surprise. 

Suddenly his face became serious. He faced the sound of a distantphonograph. It was not the phonograph in Quade's place, but that of a rivaldealer in soft drinks at the end of the "street. " For a moment Aldoushesitated. Then he turned in the direction of the camp. 

Quade was bolstered up on a stool, his back against the thin partition, when John Aldous sauntered in. There was still a groggy look in his mottledface. His thick bulk hung a bit limply. In his heavy-lidded eyes, under-hung by watery pouches of sin and dissipation, there was a vengefuland beastlike glare. He was surrounded by his friends. One of them wastaking a wet cloth from his head. There were a dozen in the canvas-walledroom, all with their backs to the door, their eyes upon their fallen anddishonoured chief. For a moment John Aldous paused in the door. The cooland insolent smile hovered about his lips again, and little crinkles hadgathered at the corners of his eyes. 

"Did I hit you pretty hard, Bill?" he asked. 

Every head was turned toward him. Bill Quade stared, his mouth open. Hestaggered to his feet, and stood dizzily. 

"You--damn you!" he cried huskily. 

Three or four of the men had already begun to move toward the stranger. Their hands were knotted, their faces murderously dark. 

"Wait a minute, boys, " warned Aldous coolly. "I've got something to say toyou--and Bill. Then eat me alive if you want to. Do you want to be squareenough to give me a word?"

Quade had settled back sickly on his stool. The others had stopped, waiting. The quiet and insolently confident smile had not left Aldous'lips. 

"You'll feel better in a few minutes, Bill, " he consoled. "A hard blow onthe jaw always makes you sick at the pit of the stomach. That dizzinesswill pass away shortly. Meanwhile, I'm going to give you and your pals alittle verbal and visual demonstration of what you're up against, and warnyou to bait no traps for a certain young woman whom you've lately seen. She's going on to Tête Jaune. And I know how your partner plays his game upthere. I'm not particularly anxious to butt into your affairs and thebusiness of this pretty bunch that's gathered about you, but I've come togive you a friendly warning for all that. If this young woman isembarrassed up at Tête Jaune you're going to settle with me. "

Aldous had spoken without a tremor of excitement in his voice. Not one ofthe men noticed his speaking lips, his slim hands, or his careless postureas he leaned in the door. They were looking straight into his eyes, strangely scintillating and deadly earnest. In such a man mere bulk did notcount. 

"That much--for words, " he went on. "Now I'm going to give you the visualdemonstration. I know your game, Bill. You're already planning what you'regoing to do. You won't fight fair--because you never have. You've alreadydecided that some morning I'll turn up missing, or be dug out from under afall of rock, or go peacefully floating down the Athabasca. See! There'snothing in that hand, is there?"

He stretched out an empty hand toward them, palm up. 

"And now!"

A twist of the wrist so swift their eyes could not follow, a metallicclick, and the startled group were staring into the black muzzle of amenacing little automatic. 

"That's known as the sleeve trick, boys, " explained Aldous with hisimperturbable smile. "It's a relic of the old gun-fighting days when thebest man was quickest. From now on, especially at night, I shall carry thislittle friend of mine just inside my wristband. There are eleven shots init, and I shoot fairly straight. Good-day!"

Before they had recovered from their astonishment he was gone. 

He did not follow the road along which Joanne had come a short time before, but turned again into the winding trail that led riverward through thepoplars. Where before he had been a little amused at himself, he was nowmore seriously disgusted. He was not afraid of Quade, who was perhaps themost dangerous man along the line of rail. Neither was he afraid of thelawless men who worked his ends. But he knew that he had made powerfulenemies, and all because of an unknown woman whom he had never seen untilhalf an hour before. It was this that disturbed his equanimity--the _woman_of it, and the knowledge that his interference had been unsolicited andprobably unnecessary. And now that he had gone this far he found it noteasy to recover his balance. Who was this Joanne Gray? he asked himself. She was not ordinary--like the hundred other women who had gone on ahead ofher to Tête Jaune Cache. If she had been that, he would soon have been inhis little shack on the shore of the river, hard at work. He had plannedwork for himself that afternoon, and he was nettled to discover that hisenthusiasm for the grand finale of a certain situation in his novel wasgone. Yet for this he did not blame her. He was the fool. Quade and hisfriends would make him feel that sooner or later. 

His trail led him to a partly dry muskeg bottom. Beyond this was a thickergrowth of timber, mostly spruce and cedar, from behind which came therushing sound of water. A few moments more and he stood with the widetumult of the Athabasca at his feet. He had chosen this spot for his littlecabin because the river ran wild here among the rocks, and becausepack-outfits going into the southward mountains could not disturb him byfording at this point. Across the river rose the steep embankments thatshut in Buffalo Prairie, and still beyond that the mountains, thick withtimber rising billow on billow until trees looked like twigs, with grayrock and glistening snow shouldering the clouds above the last purple line. The cabin in which he had lived and worked for many weeks faced the riverand the distant Saw Tooth Range, and was partly hidden in a clump ofjack-pines. He opened the door and entered. Through the window to the southand west he could see the white face of Mount Geikie, and forty miles awayin that wilderness of peaks, the sombre frown of Hardesty; through it thesun came now, flooding his work as he had left it. The last page ofmanuscript on which he had been working was in his typewriter. He sat downto begin where he had left off in that pivotal situation in hismasterpiece. 

He read and re-read the last two or three pages of the manuscript, struggling to pick up the threads where he had dropped them. With eachreading he became more convinced that his work for that afternoon wasspoiled. And by whom? By _what?_ A little fiercely he packed his pipe withfresh tobacco. Then he leaned back, lighted it, and laughed. More and moreas the minutes passed he permitted himself to think of the strange youngwoman whose beauty and personality had literally projected themselves intohis workshop. He marvelled at the crudity of the questions which he askedhimself, and yet he persisted in asking them. Who was she? What could beher mission at Tête Jaune Cache? She had repeated to him what she had saidto the girl in the coach--that at Tête Jaune she had no friends. Beyondthat, and her name, she had offered no enlightenment. 

In the brief space that he had been with her he had mentally tabulated herage as twenty-eight--no older. Her beauty alone, the purity of her eyes, the freshness of her lips, and the slender girlishness of her figure, mighthave made him say twenty, but with those things he had found the maturerpoise of the woman. It had been a flashlight picture, but one that he wassure of. 

Several times during the next hour he turned to his work, and at last gaveup his efforts entirely. From a peg in the wall he took down a littlerifle. He had found it convenient to do much of his own cooking, and he hadbroken a few laws. The partridges were out of season, but temptingly fatand tender. With a brace of young broilers in mind for supper, he left thecabin and followed the narrow foot-trail up the river. He hunted for halfan hour before he stirred a covey of birds. Two of these he shot. Concealing his meat and his gun near the trail he continued toward the fordhalf a mile farther up, wondering if Stevens, who was due to cross thatday, had got his outfit over. Not until then did he look at his watch. Hewas surprised to find that the Tête Jaune train had been gone threequarters of an hour. For some unaccountable reason he felt easier. He wenton, whistling. 

At the ford he found Stevens standing close to the river's edge, twistingone of his long red moustaches in doubt and vexation. 

"Damn this river, " he growled, as Aldous came up. "You never can tell whatit's going to do overnight. Look there! Would you try to cross?"

"I wouldn't, " replied Aldous. "It's a foot higher than yesterday. Iwouldn't take the chance. "

"Not with two guides, a cook, and a horse-wrangler on your pay-roll--and ahospital bill as big as Geikie staring you in the face?" argued Stevens, who had been sick for three months. "I guess you'd pretty near take achance. I've a notion to. "

"I wouldn't, " repeated Aldous. 

"But I've lost two days already, and I'm taking that bunch of sightseersout for a lump sum, guaranteeing 'em so many days on the trail. This ain'twhat you might call _on the trail_. They don't expect to pay for thisdelay, and that outfit back in the bush is costing me thirty dollars a day. We can get the dunnage and ourselves over in the flat-boat. It'll make ourarms crack--but we can do it. I've got twenty-seven horses. I've a notionto chase 'em in. The river won't be any lower to-morrow. "

"But you may be a few horses ahead. "

Stevens bit off a chunk of tobacco and sat down. For a few moments helooked at the muddy flood with an ugly eye. Then he chuckled, and grinned. 

"Came through the camp half an hour ago, " he said. "Hear you cleaned up onBill Quade. "

"A bit, " said Aldous. 

Stevens rolled his quid and spat into the water slushing at his feet. 

"Guess I saw the woman when she got off the train, " he went on. "Shedropped something. I picked it up, but she was so darned pretty as shestood there looking about I didn't dare go up an' give it to her. If it hadbeen worth anything I'd screwed up my courage. But it wasn't--so I justgawped like the others. It was a piece of paper. Mebby you'd like it as asouvenir, seein' as you laid out Quade for her. "

As he spoke, Stevens fished a crumpled bit of paper from his pocket andgave it to his companion. Aldous had sat down beside him. He smoothed thepage out on his knee. There was no writing on it, but it was crowded thickwith figures, as if the maker of the numerals had been doing some problemin mathematics. The chief thing that interested him was that wherevermonetary symbols were used it was the "pound" and not the "dollar" sign. The totals of certain columns were rather startling. 

"Guess she's a millionaire if that's her own money she's been figgering, "said Stevens. "Notice that figger there!" He pointed with a stubbyforefinger. "Pretty near a billion, ain't it?"

"Seven hundred and fifty thousand, " said Aldous. 

He was thinking of the "pound" sign. She had not looked like theEnglishwomen he had met. He folded the slip of paper and put it in hispocket. 

Stevens eyed him seriously. 

"I was coming over to give you a bit of advice before I left for theMaligne Lake country, " he said. "You'd better move. Quade won't want youaround after this. Besides----"

"What?"

"My kid heard something, " continued the packer, edging nearer. "You wasmighty good to the kid when I was down an' out, Aldous. I ought to tellyou. It wasn't an hour ago the kid was behind the tent an' he heard Quadeand Slim Barker talking. So far as I can find from the kid, Quade has gonenutty over her. He's ravin'. He told Slim that he'd give ten thousanddollars to get her in his hands. What sent the boy down to me was Quadetellin' Slim that he'd get _you_ first. He told Slim to go on to TêteJaune--follow the girl!"

"The deuce you say!" cried Aldous, clutching the other's arm suddenly. "He's done that?"

"That's what the kid says. "

Aldous rose to his feet slowly. The careless smile was playing about hismouth again. A few men had learned that in those moments John Aldous wasdangerous. 

"The kid is undoubtedly right, " he said, looking down at Stevens. "But I amquite sure the young woman is capable of taking care of herself. Quade hasa tremendous amount of nerve, setting Slim to follow her, hasn't he? Slimmay run up against a husband or a brother. "

Stevens haunched his shoulders. 

"It's not the woman I'm thinking about. It's you. I'd sure change mylocation. "

"Why wouldn't it be just as well if I told the police of his threat?" askedAldous, looking across the river with a glimmer of humour in his eyes. 

"Oh, hell!" was the packer's rejoinder. 

Slowly he unwound his long legs and rose to his feet. 

"Take my advice--move!" he said. "As for me, I'm going to cross that cussedriver this afternoon or know the reason why. "

He stalked away in the direction of his outfit, chewing viciously at hisquid. For a few moments Aldous stood undecided. He would liked to havejoined the half-dozen men he saw lounging restfully a distance beyond thegrazing ponies. But Stevens had made him acutely aware of a new danger. Hewas thinking of his cabin--and the priceless achievement of his last monthsof work, his manuscript. If Quade should destroy that----

He clenched his hands and walked swiftly toward his camp. To "burn out" anenemy was one of Quade's favourite methods of retaliation. He had heardthis. He also knew that Quade's work was done so cleverly that the policehad been unable to call him to account. 

Quade's status had interested Aldous from the beginning. He had discoveredthat Quade and Culver Rann, his partner at Tête Jaune, were forces to bereckoned with even by the "powers" along the line of rail. They were thetwo chiefs of the "underground, " the men who controlled the most dangerouselement from Miette to Fort George. He had once seen Culver Rann, a quiet, keen-eyed, immaculately groomed man of forty--the cleverest scoundrel thathad ever drifted into the Canadian west. He had been told that Rann wasreally the brain of the combination, and that the two had picked up aquarter of a million in various ways. But it was Quade with whom he had todeal now, and he began to thank Stevens for his warning. He was filled witha sense of relief when he reached his cabin and found it as he had leftit. He always made a carbon copy of his work. This copy he now put into awaterproof tin box, and the box he concealed under a log a short distanceback in the bush. 

"Now go ahead, Quade, " he laughed to himself, a curious, almost exultantring in his voice. "I haven't had any real excitement for so long I can'tremember, and if you start the fun there's going to _be_ fun!"

He returned to his birds, perched himself behind a bush at the river'sedge, and began skinning them. He had almost finished when he heard hoarseshouts from up the river. From his position he could see the stream ahundred yards below the ford. Stevens had driven in his horses. He couldsee them breasting the first sweep of the current, their heads held high, struggling for the opposite shore. He rose, dropped his birds, and stared. 

"Good God, what a fool!" he gasped. 

He saw the tragedy almost before it had begun. Still three hundred yardsbelow the swimming horses was the gravelly bar which they must reach on theopposite side. He noted the grayish strip of smooth water that marked theend of the dead-line. Three or four of the stronger animals were forgingsteadily toward this. The others grouped close together, almost motionlessin their last tremendous fight, were left farther and farther behind. Thencame the break. A mare and her yearling colt had gone in with the bunch. Aldous saw the colt, with its small head and shoulders high out of thewater, sweep down like a chip with the current. A cold chill ran throughhim as he heard the whinneying scream of the mother--a warning cry thatheld for him the pathos and the despair of a creature that was human. Heknew what it meant. "Wait--I'm coming--I'm coming!" was in that cry. He sawthe mare give up and follow resistlessly with the deadly current, her eyesupon her colt. The heads behind her wavered, then turned, and in anothermoment the herd was sweeping down to its destruction. 

Aldous felt like turning his head. But the spectacle fascinated him, and helooked. He did not think of Stevens and his loss as the first of the herdplunged in among the rocks. He stood with white face and clenched hands, leaning over the water boiling at his feet, cursing softly in hishelplessness. To him came the last terrible cries of the perishing animals. He saw head after head go under. Out of the white spume of a great rockagainst which the flood split itself with the force of an avalanche he sawone horse pitched bodily, as if thrown from a huge catapault. The lastanimal had disappeared when chance turned his eyes upstream and close in toshore. Here flowed a steady current free of rock, and down this--head andshoulders still high out of the water--came the colt! What miracle hadsaved the little fellow thus far Aldous did not stop to ask. Fifty yardsbelow it would meet the fate of the others. Half that distance in thedirection of the maelstrom below was the dead trunk of a fallen spruceoverhanging the water for fifteen or twenty feet. In a flash Aldous wasracing toward it. He climbed out on it, leaned far over, and reached down. His hand touched the water. In the grim excitement of rescue he forgot hisown peril. There was one chance in twenty that the colt would come withinhis reach, and it did. He made a single lunge and caught it by the ear. Fora moment after that his heart turned sick. Under the added strain the deadspruce sagged down with a warning crack. But it held, and Aldous hung tohis grip on the ear. Foot by foot he wormed his way back, until at last hehad dragged the little animal ashore. 

And then a voice spoke behind him, a voice that he would have recognizedamong ten thousand, low, sweet, thrilling. 

"That was splendid, John Aldous!" it said. "If I were a man I would want tobe a man like you!"

He turned. A few steps from him stood Joanne Gray. Her face was as white asthe bit of lace at her throat. Her lips were colourless, and her bosom roseand fell swiftly. He knew that she, too, had witnessed the tragedy. And theeyes that looked at him were glorious. 

CHAPTER IV

To John Aldous Joanne's appearance at this moment was like an anti-climax. It plunged him headlong for a single moment into what he believed to be theabsurdity of a situation. He had a quick mental picture of himself out onthe dead spruce, performing a bit of mock-heroism by dragging in ahalf-drowned colt by one ear. In another instant this had passed, and hewas wondering why Joanne Gray was not on her way to Tête Jaune. 

"It was splendid!" she was saying again, her eyes glowing at him. "I knowmen who would not have risked that for a human!"

"Perhaps they would have been showing good judgment, " replied Aldous. 

He noticed now that she was holding with one hand the end of a long slendersapling which a week or two before he had cut and trimmed for a fish-pole. He nodded toward it, a half-cynical smile on his lips. 

"Were you going to fish me out--or the colt?" he asked. 

"You, " she replied. "I thought you were in danger. " And then she added, "Isuppose you are deeply grateful that fate did not compel you to be saved bya woman. "

"Not at all. If the spruce had snapped, I would have caught at the end ofyour sapling like any drowning rat--or man. Allow me to thank you. "

She had stepped down to the level strip of sand on which the colt wasweakly struggling to rise to its feet. She was breathing quickly. Her facewas still pale. She was without a hat, and as she bent for a moment overthe colt Aldous felt his eyes drawn irresistibly to the soft thick coils ofher hair, a glory of colour that made him think of the lustrous brown of aripe wintelberry. She looked up suddenly and caught his eyes upon her. 

"I came quite by accident, " she explained quickly. "I wanted to be alone, and Mrs. Otto said this path would lead to the river. When I saw you I wasabout to turn back. And then I saw the other--the horses coming down thestream. It was terrible. Are they all drowned?"

"All that you saw. It wasn't a pretty sight, was it?" There was asuggestive inquiry in his voice as he added, "If you had gone to Tête Jauneyou would have missed the unpleasantness of the spectacle. "

"I would have gone, but something happened. They say it was a cave-in, aslide--something like that. The train cannot go on until to-morrow. "

"And you are to stay with the Ottos?"

She nodded. 

Quick as a flash she had seemed to read his thoughts. 

"I am sorry, " she added, before he could speak. "I can see that I haveannoyed you. I have literally projected myself into your work, and I amafraid that I have caused you trouble. Mrs. Otto has told me of this manthey call Quade. She says he is dangerous. And I have made him your enemy. "

"I am, not afraid of Quade. The incident was nothing more than an agreeableinterruption to what was becoming a rather monotonous existence up here. Ihave always believed, you know, that a certain amount of physicalexcitement is good oil for our mental machinery. That, perhaps, was why youcaught me hauling at His Coltship's ear. "

He had spoken stiffly. There was a hard note in his voice, a suggestion ofsomething that was displeasing in his forced laugh. He knew that in thesemoments he was fighting against his inner self--against his desire to tellher how glad he was that something had held back the Tête Jaune train, andhow wonderful her hair looked in the afternoon sun. He was struggling tokeep himself behind the barriers he had built up and so long maintained inhis writings. And yet, as he looked, he felt something crumbling intoruins. He knew that he had hurt her. The hardness of his words, thecoldness of his smile, his apparently utter indifference to her had sentsomething that was almost like a quick, physical pain into her eyes. Hedrew a step nearer, so that he caught the soft contour of her cheek. JoanneGray heard him, and lowered her head slightly, so that he could not see. She was a moment too late. On her cheek Aldous saw a single creepingdrop--a tear. 

In an instant he was at her side. With a quick movement she brushed thetear away before she faced him. 

"I've hurt you, " he said, looking her straight in the eyes. "I've hurt you, and God knows I'm a brute for doing it. I've treated you as badly asQuade--only in a different way. I know how I've made you feel--that you'vebeen a nuisance, and have got me into trouble, and that I don't want tohave anything more to do with you. Have I made you feel that?"

"I am afraid--you have. "

He reached out a hand, and almost involuntarily her own came to it. She sawthe change in his face, regret, pain, and then that slow-coming, wonderfullaughter in his eyes. 

"That's just how I set out to make you feel, " he confessed, the warmth ofher hand sending a thrill through him. "I might as well be frank, don't youthink? Until you came I had but one desire, and that was to finish my book. I had planned great work for to-day. And you spoiled it. I couldn't get youout of my mind. And it made me--ugly. "

"And that was--all?" she whispered, a tense waiting in her eyes. "Youdidn't think----"

"What Quade thought, " he bit in sharply. The grip of his fingers hurt herhand. "No, not that. My God, I didn't make you think _that?_"

"I'm a stranger--and they say women don't go to Tête Jaune alone, " sheanswered doubtfully. 

"That's true, they don't--not as a general rule. Especially women like you. You're alone, a stranger, and too beautiful. I don't say that to flatteryou. You are beautiful, and you undoubtedly know it. To let you go on aloneand unprotected among three or four thousand men like most of those upthere would be a crime. And the women, too--the Little Sisters. They'dblast you. If you had a husband, a brother or a father waiting for you itwould be different. But you've told me you haven't. You have made me changemy mind about my book. You are of more interest to me just now than that. Will you believe me? Will you let me be a friend, if you need a friend?"

To Aldous it seemed that she drew herself up a little proudly. For a momentshe seemed taller. A rose-flush of colour spread over her cheeks. She drewher hand from him. And yet, as she looked at him, he could see that she wasglad. 

"Yes, I believe you, " she said. "But I must not accept your offer offriendship. You have done more for me now than I can ever repay. Friendshipmeans service, and to serve me would spoil your plans, for you are in greathaste to complete your book. "

"If you mean that you need my assistance, the book can wait. "

"I shouldn't have said that, " she cut in quickly, her lips tighteningslightly. "It was utterly absurd of me to hint that I might requireassistance--that I cannot take care of myself. But I shall be proud of thefriendship of John Aldous. "

"Yes, you can take care of yourself, Ladygray, " said Aldous softly, lookinginto her eyes and yet speaking as if to himself. "That is why you havebroken so curiously into my life. It's _that_--and not your beauty. I haveknown beautiful women before. But they were--just women, frail things thatmight snap under stress. I have always thought there is only one woman inten thousand who would not do that--under certain conditions. I believe youare that one in ten thousand. You can go on to Tête Jaune alone. You can goanywhere alone--and care for yourself. "

He was looking at her so strangely that she held her breath, her lipsparted, the flush in her cheeks deepening. 

"And the strangest part of it all is that I have always known you away backin my imagination, " he went on. "You have lived there, and have troubledme. I could not construct you perfectly. It is almost inconceivable thatyou should have borne the same name--Joanne. Joanne, of 'Fair Play. '"

She gave a little gasp. 

"Joanne was--terrible, " she cried. "She was bad--bad to the heart and soulof her!"

"She was splendid, " replied Aldous, without a change in his quiet voice. "She was splendid--but bad. I racked myself to find a soul for her, and Ifailed. And yet she was splendid. It was my crime--not hers--that shelacked a soul. She would have been my ideal, but I spoiled her. And byspoiling her I sold half a million copies of the book. I did not do itpurposely. I would have given her a soul if I could have found one. Shewent her way. "

"And you compare me to--_her?_"

"Yes, " said Aldous deliberately. "You are that Joanne. But you possess whatI could not give to her. Joanne of 'Fair Play' was splendid without a soul. You have what she lacked. You may not understand, but you have come toperfect what I only partly created. "

The colour had slowly ebbed from Joanne's face. There was a mysteriousdarkness in her eyes. 

"If you were not John Aldous I would--strike you, " she said. "As itis--yes--I want you as a friend. "

She held out her hand. For a moment he felt its warmth again in his own. He bowed over it. Her eyes rested steadily on his blond head, and again shenoted the sprinkle of premature gray in his hair. For a second time shefelt almost overwhelmingly the mysterious strength of this man. Perhapseach took three breaths before John Aldous raised his head. In that timesomething wonderful and complete passed between them. Neither could havetold the other what it was. When their eyes met again, it was in theirfaces. 

"I have planned to have supper in my cabin to-night, " said Aldous, breakingthe tension of that first moment. "Won't you be my guest, Ladygray?"

"Mrs. Otto----" she began. 

"I will go to her at once and explain that you are going to eat partridgeswith me, " he interrupted. "Come--let me show you into my workshop andhome. "

He led her to the cabin and into its one big room. 

"You will make yourself at home while I am gone, won't you?" he invited. "If it will give you any pleasure you may peel a few potatoes. I won't begone ten minutes. "

Not waiting for any protest she might have, Aldous slipped back through thedoor and took the path up to the Ottos'. 

CHAPTER V

As soon as he had passed from the view of the cabin door Aldous shortenedhis pace. He knew that never in his life had he needed to readjust himselfmore than at the present moment. A quarter of an hour had seen a completeand miraculous revolution within him. It was a change so unusual andapparently so impossible that he could not grasp the situation and the factall at once. But the truth of it swept over him more and more swiftly as hemade his way along the dark, narrow trail that led up to the Miette Plain. It was something that not only amazed and thrilled him. First--as in allthings--he saw the humour of it. He, John Aldous of all men, had utterlyobliterated himself, and for a _woman_. He had even gone so far as to offerthe sacrifice of his most important work. Frankly he had told Joanne thatshe interested him more just now than his book. Again he repeated tohimself that it had not been a surrender--but an obliteration. With a pairof lovely eyes looking quietly into him, he had wiped the slate clean ofthe things he had preached for ten years and the laws he had made forhimself. And as he came in sight of the big Otto tent, he found himselfsmiling, his breath coming quickly, strange voices singing within him. 

He stopped to load and light his pipe before he faced Mrs. Otto, and heclouded himself in as much smoke as possible while he explained to herthat he had almost forced Joanne to stop at his cabin and eat partridgeswith him. He learned that the Tête Jaune train could not go on until thenext day, and after Mrs. Otto had made him take a loaf of fresh bread and acan of home-made marmalade as a contribution to their feast, he turned backtoward the cabin, trying to whistle in his old careless way. 

The questions he had first asked himself about Joanne forced themselvesback upon him now with deeper import. Almost unconsciously he had revealedhimself to her. He had spread open for her eyes and understanding the pagewhich he had so long hidden. He had as much as confessed to her that shehad come to change him--to complete what he had only half created. It hadbeen an almost inconceivable and daring confession, and he believed thatshe understood him. More than that, she had read about him. She had readhis books. She knew John Aldous--the man. 

But what did he know about her beyond the fact that her name was JoanneGray, and that the on-sweeping Horde had brought her into his life asmysteriously as a storm might have flung him a bit of down from a swan'sbreast? Where had she come from? And why was she going to Tête Jaune? Itmust be some important motive was taking her to a place like Tête Jaune, the rail-end, a place of several thousand men, with its crude muscle andbrawn and the seven passions of man. It was an impossible place for a youngand beautiful woman unprotected. If Joanne had known any one among theengineers or contractors, or had she possessed a letter of introduction tothem, the tense lines would not have gathered so deeply about the cornersof Aldous' mouth. But these men whose brains were behind the Horde--theengineers and the contractors--knew what women alone and unprotected meantat Tête Jaune. Such women floated in with the Horde. And Joanne was goingin with the Horde. There lay the peril--and the mystery of it. 

So engrossed was Aldous in his thoughts that he had come very quietly tothe cabin door. It was Joanne's voice that roused him. Sweet and low shewas singing a few lines from a song which he had never heard. 

She stopped when Aldous appeared at the door. It seemed to him that hereyes were a deeper, more wonderful blue as she looked up at him, andsmiled. She had found a towel for an apron, and was peeling potatoes. 

"You will have some unusual excuses to make very soon, " she greeted him. "We had a visitor while you were gone. I was washing the potatoes when Ilooked up to find a pair of the fiercest, reddest moustaches I have everseen, ornamenting the doorway. The man had two eyes that seemed about tofall out when he saw me. He popped away like a rabbit--and--and--there'ssomething he left behind in his haste!"

Joanne's eyes were flooded with laughter as she nodded at the door. On thesill was a huge quid of tobacco. 

"Stevens!" Aldous chuckled. "God bless my soul, if you frightened him intogiving up a quid of tobacco like that you sure _did_ startle him some!" Hekicked Stevens' lost property out with the toe of his boot and turned toJoanne, showing her the fresh bread and marmalade. "Mrs. Otto sent these toyou, " he said. "And the train won't leave until to-morrow. "

In her silence he pulled a chair in front of her, sat down close, andthrust the point of his hunting knife into one of the two remainingpotatoes. 

"And when it does go I'm going with you, " he added. 

He expected this announcement would have some effect on her. As she jumpedup with the pan of potatoes, leaving the one still speared on the end ofhis knife, he caught only the corner of a bewitching smile. 

"You still believe that I will be unable to take care of myself up at thisterrible Tête Jaune?" she asked, bending for a moment over the table. "Doyou?"

"No. You can care for yourself anywhere, Ladygray, " he repeated. "But I amquite sure that it will be less troublesome for me to see that no insultsare offered you than for you to resent those insults when they come. TêteJaune is full of Quades, " he added. 

The smile was gone from her face when she turned to him. Her blue eyes werefilled with a tense anxiety. 

"I had almost forgotten that man, " she whispered. "And you mean that youwould fight for me--again?"

"A thousand times. "

The colour grew deeper in her cheeks. "I read something about you once thatI have never forgotten, John Aldous, " she said. "It was after you returnedfrom Thibet. It said that you were largely made up of two emotions--yourcontempt for woman and your love of adventure; that it would be impossiblefor you not to see a flaw in one, and that for the other--physicalexcitement--you would go to the ends of the earth. Perhaps it is this--yourdesire for adventure--that makes you want to go with me to Tête Jaune?"

"I am beginning to believe that it will be the greatest adventure of mylife, " he replied, and something in his quiet voice held her silent. Herose to his feet, and stood before her. "It is already the GreatAdventure, " he went on. "I feel it. And I am the one to judge. Until to-dayI would have staked my life that no power could have wrung from me theconfession I am going to make to you voluntarily. I have laughed at theopinion the world has held of me. To me it has all been a colossal joke. Ihave enjoyed the hundreds of columns aimed at me by excited women throughthe press. They have all asked the same question: Why do you not write ofthe good things in women instead of always the bad? I have never given theman answer. But I answer you now--here. I have not picked upon theweaknesses of women because I despise them. Those weaknesses--thedestroying frailties of womankind--I have driven over rough-shod throughthe pages of my books because I have always believed that Woman was the onething which God came nearest to creating _perfect_. I believe they shouldbe perfect. And because they have not quite that perfection which should betheirs I have driven the cold facts home as hard as I could. I have been afool and an iconoclast instead of a builder. This confession to you isproof that you have brought me face to face with the greatest adventure ofall. "

The colour in her cheeks had centred in two bright spots. Her lips formedwords which came slowly, strangely. 

"I guess--I understand, " she said. "Perhaps I, too, would have been thatkind of an iconoclast--if I could have put the things I have thought intowritten words. " She drew a deep breath, and went on, her eyes full uponhim, speaking as if out of a dream. "The Great Adventure--for you. Yes; andperhaps for both. "

Her hands were drawn tightly to her breast. Something about her as shestood there, her back to the table, drew John Aldous to her side, forcedthe question from his lips: "Tell me, Ladygray--why are you going to TêteJaune?"

In that same strange way, as if her lips were framing words beyond theirpower to control, she answered:

"I am going--to find--my husband. "

CHAPTER VI

Silent, his head bowed a little, John Aldous stood before her after thoselast words. A slight noise outside gave him the pretext to turn to thedoor. She was going to Tête Jaune--to find her husband! He had not expectedthat. For a breath, as he looked out toward the bush, his mind was in astrange daze. A dozen times she had given him to understand there was nohusband, father, or brother waiting for her at the rail-end. She had toldhim that she was alone--without friends. And now, like a confession, thosewords had come strangely from her lips. 

What he had heard was one of Otto's pack-horses coming down to drink. Heturned toward her again. 

Joanne stood with her back still to the table. She had slipped a hand intothe front of her dress and had drawn forth a long thick envelope. As sheopened it, Aldous saw that it contained banknotes. From among these shepicked out a bit of paper and offered it to him. 

"That will explain--partly, " she said. 

It was a newspaper clipping, worn and faded, with a date two years old. Ithad apparently been cut from an English paper, and told briefly of thetragic death of Mortimer FitzHugh, son of a prominent Devonshire family, who had lost his life while on a hunting trip in the British ColumbiaWilds. 

"He was my husband, " said Joanne, as Aldous finished. "Until six months agoI had no reason to believe that the statement in the paper was not true. Then--an acquaintance came out here hunting. He returned with a strangestory. He declared that he had seen Mr. FitzHugh alive. Now you know why Iam here. I had not meant to tell you. It places me in a light which I donot think that I can explain away--just now. I have come to prove ordisprove his death. If he is alive----"

For the first time she betrayed the struggle she was making against somepowerful emotion which she was fighting to repress. Her face had paled. Shestopped herself with a quick breath, as if knowing that she had alreadygone too far. 

"I guess I understand, " said Aldous. "For some reason your anxiety is notthat you will find him dead, Ladygray, but that you may find him alive. "

"Yes--yes, that is it. But you must not urge me farther. It is a terriblething to say. You will think I am not a woman, but a fiend. And I am yourguest. You have invited me to supper. And--the potatoes are ready, andthere is no fire!"

She had forced a smile back to her lips. John Aldous whirled toward thedoor. 

"I will have the partridges in two seconds!" he cried. "I dropped them whenthe horses went through the rapids. "

The oppressive and crushing effect of Joanne's first mention of a husbandwas gone. He made no effort to explain or analyze the two sudden changesthat swept over him. He accepted them as facts, and that was all. Where afew moments before there had been the leaden grip of something that seemedto be physically choking him, there was now again the strange buoyancy withwhich he had gone to the Otto tent. He began to whistle as he went to theriver's edge. He was whistling when he returned, the two birds in his hand. Joanne was waiting for him in the door. Again her face was a faintly tintedvision of tranquil loveliness; her eyes were again like the wonderful bluepools over the sunlit mountains. She smiled as he came up. He wasamazed--not that she had recovered so completely from the emotionalexcitement that had racked her, but because she betrayed in no way a signof grief--of suspense or of anxiety. A few minutes ago he had heard hersinging. He could almost believe that her lips might break into song againas she stood there. 

From that moment until the sun sank behind the mountains and gray shadowsbegan to creep in where the light had been, there was no other reference tothe things that had happened or the things that had been said sinceJoanne's arrival. For the first time in years John Aldous completely forgothis work. He was lost in Joanne. With the tremendous reaction that wasworking out in him she became more and more wonderful to him with eachbreath that he drew. He made no effort to control the change that wassweeping through him. His one effort was to keep it from being too apparentto her. 

The way in which Joanne had taken his invitation was as delightful as itwas new to him. She had become both guest and hostess. With her lovely armsbared halfway to the shoulders she rolled out a batch of biscuits. "Hotbiscuits go so well with marmalade, " she told him. He built a fire. Beyondthat, and bringing in the water, she gave him to understand that his dutieswere at an end, and that he could smoke while she prepared the supper. Withthe beginning of dusk he closed the cabin door that he might have an excusefor lighting the big hanging lamp a little earlier. He had imagined how itswarm glow would flood down upon the thick soft coils of her shining hair. 

Every fibre in him throbbed with a keen and exquisite satisfaction as hesat down opposite her. During the meal he looked into the quiet, velvetyblue of her eyes a hundred times. He found it a delightful sensation totalk to her and look into those eyes at the same time. He told her moreabout himself than he had ever told another soul. It was she who spokefirst of the manuscript upon which he was working. He had spoken of certainadventures that had led up to the writing of one of his books. 

"And this last book you are writing, which you call 'Mothers, '" she said. "Is it to be like 'Fair Play?'"

"It was to have been the last of the trilogy. But it won't be now, Ladygray. I've changed my mind. "

"But it is so nearly finished, you say?"

"I would have completed it this week. I was rushing it to an end at feverheat when--you came. "

He saw the troubled look in her eyes, and hastened to add:

"Let us not talk about that manuscript, Ladygray. Some day I will let youread it, and then you will understand why your coming has not hurt it. Atfirst I was unreasonably disturbed because I thought that I must finish itwithin a week from to-day. I start out on a new adventure then--a strangeadventure, into the North. "

"That means--the wild country?" she asked. "Up there in the North--thereare no people?"

"An occasional Indian, perhaps a prospector now and then, " he said. "Lastyear I travelled a hundred and twenty-seven days without seeing a humanface except that of my Cree companion. "

She had leaned a little over the table, and was looking at him intently, her eyes shining. 

"That is why I have understood you, and read between the printed lines inyour books, " she said. "If I had been a man, I would have been a great deallike you. I love those things--loneliness, emptiness, the great spaceswhere you hear only the whisperings of the winds and the fall of no otherfeet but your own. Oh, I should have been a man! It was born in me. It wasa part of me. And I loved it--loved it. "

A poignant grief had shot into her eyes. Her voice broke almost in a sob. Amazed, he looked at her in silence across the table. 

"You have lived that life, Ladygray?" he said after a moment. "You haveseen it?"

"Yes, " she nodded, clasping and unclasping her slim white hands. "For yearsand years, perhaps even more than you, John Aldous! I was born in it. Andit was my life for a long time--until my father died. " She paused, and hesaw her struggling to subdue the quivering throb in her throat. "We wereinseparable, " she went on, her voice becoming suddenly strange and quiet. "He was father, mother--everything to me. It was too wonderful. Togetherwe hunted out the mysteries and the strange things in the out-of-the-wayplaces of the earth. It was his passion. He had given birth to it in me. Iwas always with him, everywhere. And then he died, soon after his discoveryof that wonderful buried city of Mindano, in the heart of Africa. Perhapsyou have read----"

"Good God, " breathed Aldous, so low that his voice did not rise above awhisper. "Joanne--Ladygray--you are not speaking of Daniel Gray--Sir DanielGray, the Egyptologist, the antiquarian who uncovered the secrets of anancient and wonderful civilization in the heart of darkest Africa?"

"Yes. "

"And you--are his daughter?"

She bowed her head. 

Like one in a dream John Aldous rose from his chair and went to her. Heseized her hands and drew her up so that they stood face to face. Againthat strange and beautiful calmness filled her eyes. 

"Our trails have strangely crossed, Lady Joanne, " he said. "They have beencrossing--for years. While Sir Daniel was at Murja, on the eve of his greatdiscovery, I was at St. Louis on the Senegal coast. I slept in that littleCape Verde hotel, in the low whitewashed room overlooking the sea. Theproprietor told me that Sir Daniel had occupied it before me, and I found abroken fountain pen in the drawer of that sickly black teakwood desk, withthe carved serpent's head. And I was at Gampola at another time, headed forthe interior of Ceylon, when I learned that I was travelling again one ofSir Daniel's trails. And you were with him!"

"Always, " said Joanne. 

For a few tense moments they had looked steadily into each other's eyes. Swiftly, strangely, the world was bridging itself for them. Their mindsswept back swiftly as the fire in a thunder-sky. They were no longerstrangers. They were no longer friends of a day. The grip of Aldous' handstightened. A hundred things sprang to his lips. Before he could speak, hesaw a sudden, startled change leap into Joanne's face. She had turned herface a little, so that she was looking toward the window. A frightened crybroke from her lips. Aldous whirled about. There was nothing there. Helooked at Joanne again. She was white and trembling. Her hands wereclutched at her breast. Her eyes, big and dark and staring, were stillfixed on the window. 

"That man!" she panted. "His face was there--against the glass--like adevil's!"

"Quade?"

"Yes. "

She caught at his arm as he sprang toward the door. 

"Stop!" she cried. "You mustn't go out----"

For a moment he turned at the door. He was as she had seen him in Quade'splace, terribly cool, a strange, quiet smile on his lips. His eyes weregray, smiling steel. 

"Close the door after me and lock it until I return, " he said. "You are thefirst woman guest I ever had, Ladygray. I cannot allow you to be insulted!"

As he went out she saw him slip something from his pocket. She caught theglitter of it in the lamp-glow. 

CHAPTER VII

It was in the blood of John Aldous to kill Quade. He ran with the quicknessof a hare around the end of the cabin, past the window, and then stopped tolisten, his automatic in his hand, his eye piercing the gloom for somemoving shadow. He had not counted on an instant's hesitation. He wouldshoot Quade, for he knew why the mottled beast had been at the window. Stevens' boy had been right. Quade was after Joanne. His ugly soul wasdisrupted with a desire to possess her, and Aldous knew that when roused bypassion he was more like a devil-fish than a man--a creeping, slimy, night-seeking creature who had not only the power of the underworld back ofhim, but wealth as well. He did not think of him as a man as he stoodlistening, but as a beast. He was ready to shoot. But he saw nothing. Heheard no sound that could have been made by a stumbling foot or a movingbody. An hour later, the moon would have been up, but it was dark nowexcept for the stars. He heard the hoot of an owl a hundred yards away. Outin the river something splashed. From the timber beyond Buffalo Prairiecame the yapping bark of a coyote. For five minutes he stood as silent asone of the rocks behind him. He realized that to go on--to seek blindly forQuade in the darkness, would be folly. He went back, tapped at the door, and reëntered the cabin when Joanne threw back the lock. 

She was still pale. Her eyes were bright. 

"I was coming--in a moment, " she said, "I was beginning to fear that----"

"--he had struck me down in the dark?" added Aldous, as she hesitated. "Well, he would like to do just that, Joanne. " Unconsciously her name hadslipped from him. It seemed the most natural thing in the world for him tocall her Joanne now. "Is it necessary for me to tell you what this manQuade is--why he was looking through the window?"

She shuddered. 

"No--no--I understand!"

"Only partly, " continued Aldous, his face white and set. "It is necessarythat you should know more than you have guessed, for your own protection. If you were like most other women I would not tell you the truth, but wouldtry to shield you from it. As it is you should know. There is only oneother man in the Rocky Mountains more dangerous than Bill Quade. He isCulver Rann, up at Tête Jaune. They are partners--partners in crime, insin, in everything that is bad and that brings them gold. Their influenceamong the rougher elements along the line of rail is complete. They are sostrongly entrenched that they have put contractors out of business becausethey would not submit to blackmail. The few harmless police we havefollowing the steel have been unable to touch them. They have cleaned uphundreds of thousands, chiefly in three things--blackmail, whisky, andwomen. Quade is the viler of the two. He is like a horrible beast. CulverRann makes me think of a sleek and shining serpent. But it is this manQuade----"

He found it almost impossible to go on with Joanne's blue eyes gazing sosteadily into his. 

"--whom we have made our enemy, " she finished for him. 

"Yes--and more than that, " he said, partly turning his head away. "Youcannot go on to Tête Jaune alone, Joanne. You must go nowhere alone. If youdo----"

"What will happen?"

"I don't know. Perhaps nothing would happen. But you cannot go alone. I amgoing to take you back to Mrs. Otto now. And to-morrow I shall go on toTête Jaune with you. It is fortunate that I have a place up there to whichI can take you, and where you will be safe. "

As they were preparing to go, Joanne glanced ruefully at the table. 

"I am ashamed to leave the dishes in that mess, " she said. 

He laughed, and tucked her hand under his arm as they went through thedoor. When they had passed through the little clearing, and the darkness ofthe spruce and balsam walls shut them in, he took her hand. 

"It is dark and you may stumble, " he apologized. "This isn't much like theshell plaza in front of the Cape Verde, is it?"

"No. Did you pick up any of the little red bloodshells? I did, and theymade me shiver. There were strange stories associated with them. "

He knew that she was staring ahead into the blank wall of gloom as shespoke, and that it was not thought of the bloodshells, but of Quade, thatmade her fingers close more tightly about his own. His right hand wasgripping the butt of his automatic. Every nerve in him was on the alert, yet she could detect nothing of caution or preparedness in his carelessvoice. 

"The bloodstones didn't trouble me, " he answered. "I can't rememberanything that upset me more than the snakes. I am a terrible coward when itcomes to anything that crawls without feet. I will run from a snake nolonger than your little finger--in fact, I'm just as scared of a littlegrass snake as I am of a python. It's the _thing_, and not its size, thathorrifies me. Once I jumped out of a boat into ten feet of water because mycompanion caught an eel on his line, and persisted in the argument that itwas a fish. Thank Heaven we don't have snakes up here. I've seen only threeor four in all my experience in the Northland. "

She laughed softly in spite of the uneasy thrill the night held for her. 

"It is hard for me to imagine you being afraid, " she said. "And yet if youwere afraid I know it would be of just some little thing like that. Myfather was one of the bravest men in the world, and a hundred times I haveseen him show horror at sight of a spider. If you were afraid of snakes, why did you go up the Gampola, in Ceylon?"

"I didn't know the snakes were there, " he chuckled. "I hadn't dreamed therewere a half so many snakes in the whole world as there were along thatconfounded river. I slept sitting up, dressed in rubber wading boots thatcame to my waist, and wore thick leather gloves. I got out of the countryat the earliest possible moment. "

When they entered the edge of the Miette clearing and saw the glow oflights ahead of them, Aldous caught the sudden upturn of his companion'sface, laughing at him in the starlight. 

"Kind, thoughtful John Aldous!" she whispered, as if to herself. "How niceof you it was to talk of such pleasant things while we were coming throughthat black, dreadful swamp--with a Bill Quade waiting for us on the side!"

A low ripple of laughter broke from her lips, and he stopped dead in histracks, forgetting to put the automatic back in his pocket. At sight of itthe amusement died in her face. She caught his arm, and one of her handsseized the cold steel of the pistol. 

"Would he--_dare?_" she demanded. 

"You can't tell, " replied Aldous, putting the gun in his pocket. "And thatwas a creepy sort of conversation to load you down with, wasn't it, Ladygray? I imagine you'll catch me in all sorts of blunders like that. " Hepointed ahead. "There's Mrs. Otto now. She's looking this way and wonderingwith all her big heart if you ought not to be at home and in bed. "

The door of the Otto home was wide open, and silhouetted in the flood oflight was the good-natured Scotchwoman. Aldous gave the whistling signalwhich she and her menfolk always recognized, and hurried on with Joanne. 

Before they had quite reached the tent-house, Joanne put a detaining handon his arm. 

"I don't want you to go back to the cabin to-night, " she said. "The face atthe window--was terrible. I am afraid. I don't want you to be there alone. "

Her words sent a warm glow through him. 

"Nothing will happen, " he assured her. "Quade will not come back. "

"I don't want you to return to the cabin, " she persisted. "Is there noother place where you can stay?"

"I might go down and console Stevens, and borrow a couple of his horseblankets for a bed if that will please you. "

"It will, " she cried quickly. "If you don't return to the cabin you may goon to Tête Jaune with me to-morrow. Is it a bargain?"

"It is!" he accepted eagerly. "I don't like to be chased out, but I'llpromise not to sleep in the cabin to-night. "

Mrs. Otto was advancing to meet them. At the door he bade them good-night, and walked on in the direction of the lighted avenue of tents and shacksunder the trees. He caught a last look in Joanne's eyes of anxiety andfear. Glancing back out of the darkness that swallowed him up, he saw herpause for a moment in the lighted doorway, and look in his direction. Hisheart beat faster. Joyously he laughed under his breath. It was strangelynew and pleasing to have some one thinking of him in that way. 

He had not intended to go openly into the lighted avenue. From the momenthe had plunged out into the night after Quade, his fighting blood wasroused. He had subdued it while with Joanne, but his determination to findQuade and have a settlement with him had grown no less. He told himselfthat he was one of the few men along the line whom it would be difficultfor Quade to harm in other than a physical way. He had no business thatcould be destroyed by the other's underground methods, and he had no job tolose. Until he had seen Joanne enter the scoundrel's red-and-white stripedtent he had never hated a man as he now hated Quade. He had loathed himbefore, and had evaded him because the sight of him was unpleasant; now hewanted to grip his fingers around his thick red throat. He had meant tocome up behind Quade's tent, but changed his mind and walked into thelighted trail between the two rows of tents and shacks, his hands thrustcarelessly into his trousers pockets. The night carnival of the railroadbuilders was on. Coarse laughter, snatches of song, the click of pool ballsand the chink of glasses mingled with the thrumming of three or fourmusical instruments along the lighted way. The phonograph in Quade's placewas going incessantly. Half a dozen times Aldous paused to greet men whomhe knew. He noted that there was nothing new or different in their mannertoward him. If they had heard of his trouble with Quade, he was certainthey would have spoken of it, or at least would have betrayed some sign. For several minutes he stopped to talk with MacVeigh, a young Scotchsurveyor. MacVeigh hated Quade, but he made no mention of him. Purposely hepassed Quade's tent and walked to the end of the street, nodding andlooking closely at those whom he knew. It was becoming more and moreevident to him that Quade and his pals were keeping the affair of theafternoon as quiet as possible. Stevens had heard of it. He wondered how. 

Aldous retraced his steps. As though nothing had happened, he enteredQuade's place. There were a dozen men inside, and among them he recognizedthree who had been there that afternoon. He nodded to them. Slim Barker wasin Quade's place behind the counter. Barker was Quade's right-hand man atMiette, and there was a glitter in his rat-like eyes as Aldous leaned overthe glass case at one end of the counter and asked for cigars. He fumbled abit as he picked out half a dollar's worth from the box. His eyes metSlim's. 

"Where is Quade?" he asked casually. 

Barker shrugged his shoulders. 

"Busy to-night, " he answered shortly. "Want to see him?"

"No, not particularly. Only--I don't want him to hold a grudge. "

Barker replaced the box in the case and turned away. After lighting a cigarAldous went out. He was sure that Quade had not returned from the river. Was he lying in wait for him near the cabin? The thought sent a suddenthrill through him. In the same breath it was gone. With half a dozen menready to do his work, Aldous knew that Quade would not redden his own handsor place himself in any conspicuous risk. During the next hour he visitedthe places where Quade was most frequently seen. He had made up his mind towalk over to the engineers' camp, when a small figure darted after him outof the gloom of the trees. 

It was Stevens' boy. 

"Dad wants to see you down at the camp, " he whispered excitedly. "He saysright away--an' for no one to see you. He said not to let any one see me. I've been waiting for you to come out in the dark. "

"Skip back and tell him I'll come, " replied Aldous quickly. "Be sure youmind what he says--and don't let any one see you!"

The boy disappeared like a rabbit. Aldous looked back, and ahead, and thendived into the darkness after him. 

A quarter of an hour later he came out on the river close to Stevens' camp. A little nearer he saw Stevens squatted close to a smouldering fire aboutwhich he was drying some clothes. The boy was huddled in a disconsolateheap near him. Aldous called softly, and Stevens slowly rose and stretchedhimself. The packer advanced to where he had screened himself behind aclump of bush. His first look at the other assured him that he was right inusing caution. The moon had risen, and the light of it fell in the packer'sface. It was a dead, stonelike gray. His cheeks seemed thinner than whenAldous had seen him a few hours before and there was despair in the droopof his shoulders. His eyes were what startled Aldous. They were like coalsof fire, and shifted swiftly from point to point in the bush. For a momentthey stood silent. 

"Sit down, " Stevens said then. "Get out of the moonlight. I've gotsomething to tell you. "

They crouched behind the bush. 

"You know what happened, " Stevens said, in a low voice. "I lost my outfit. "

"Yes, I saw what happened, Stevens. "

The packer hesitated for a moment. One of his big hands reached out andgripped John Aldous by the arm. 

"Let me ask you something before I go on, " he whispered. "You won't takeoffence--because it's necessary. She looked like an angel to me when I sawher up at the train. But you _know_. Is she good, or----You know what wethink of women who come in here alone. That's why I ask. "

"She's what you thought she was, Stevens, " replied Aldous. "As pure and assweet as she looks. The kind we like to fight for. "

"I was sure of it, Aldous. That's why I sent the kid for you. I saw her inyour cabin--after the outfit went to hell. When I come back to camp, Quadewas here. I was pretty well broken up. Didn't talk to him much. But he seenI had lost everything. Then he went on down to your place. He told me thatlater. But I guessed it soon as he come back. I never see him look like hedid then. I'll cut it short. He's mad--loon mad--over that girl. I playedthe sympathy act, thinkin' of you--an' _her_. He hinted at some easy money. I let him understand that at the present writin' I'd be willing to takemoney most any way, and that I didn't have any particular likin' for you. Then it come out. He made me a proposition. "

Stevens lowered his voice, and stopped to peer again about the bush. 

"Go on, " urged Aldous. "We're alone. "

Stevens bent so near that his tobacco-laden breath swept his companion'scheek. 

"He said he'd replace my lost outfit if I'd put you out of the way sometime day after to-morrow!"

"Kill me?"

"Yes. "

For a few moments there was a silence broken only by their tense breathing. Aldous had found the packer's hand. He was gripping it hard. 

"Thank you, old man, " he said. "And he believes you will do it?"

"I told him I would--day after to-morrow--an' throw your body in theAthabasca. "

"Splendid, Stevens! You've got Sherlock Holmes beat by a mile! And does hewant you to do this pretty job because I gave him a crack on the jaw?"

"Not a bit of it!" exclaimed Stevens quickly. "He knows the girl is astranger and alone. You've taken an interest in her. With you out of theway, she won't be missed. Dammit, man, don't you know his system? And, ifhe ever wanted anything in his life he wants her. She's turned thatpoison-blood of his into fire. He raved about her here. He'll go the limit. He'll do anything to get her. He's so crazy I believe he'd give everydollar he's got. There's just one thing for you to do. Send the girl backwhere she come from. Then you get out. As for myself--I'm goin' toemigrate. Ain't got a dollar now, so I might as well hit for the prairiesan' get a job on a ranch. Next winter I guess me 'n the kid will trap up onthe Parsnip River. "

"You're wrong--clean wrong, " said Aldous quietly. "When I saw your outfitgoing down among the rocks I had already made up my mind to help you. Whatyou've told me to-night hasn't made any difference. I would have helped youanyway, Stevens. I've got more money than I know what to do with right now. Roper has a thirty-horse outfit for sale. Buy it to-morrow. I'll pay forit, and you needn't consider yourself a dollar in debt. Some day I'll haveyou take me on a long trip, and that will make up for it. As for the girland myself--we're going on to Tête Jaune to-morrow. "

Aldous could see the amazed packer staring at him in the gloom. "You don'tthink I'm sellin' myself, do you, Aldous?" he asked huskily. "That ain'twhy you're doin' this--for me 'n the kid--is it?"

"I had made up my mind to do it before I saw you to-night, " repeatedAldous. "I've got lots of money, and I don't use but a little of it. Itsometimes accumulates so fast that it bothers me. Besides, I've promised toaccept payment for the outfit in trips. These mountains have got a hold onme, Stevens. I'm going to take a good many trips before I die. "

"Not if you go on to Tête Jaune, you ain't, " replied Stevens, biting a hugequid from a black plug. 

Aldous had risen to his feet. Stevens stood up beside him. 

"If you go on to Tête Jaune you're a bigger fool than I was in tryin' toswim the outfit across the river to-day, " he added. "Listen!" He leanedtoward Aldous, his eyes gleaming. "In the last six months there's beenforty dead men dragged out of the Frazer between Tête Jaune an' FortGeorge. You know that. The papers have called 'em accidents--the 'toll ofrailroad building. ' Mebby a part of it is. Mebby a half of them forty diedby accident. The other half didn't. They were sent down by Culver Rann andBill Quade. Once you go floatin' down the Frazer there ain't no questionsasked. Somebody sees you an' pulls you out--mebby a Breed or an Indian--an'puts you under a little sand a bit later. If it's a white man he doeslikewise. There ain't no time to investigate floaters over-particular inthe wilderness. Besides, you git so beat up in the rocks you don't looklike much of anything. I know, because I worked on the scows three months, an' helped bury four of 'em. An' there wasn't anything, not even a scrap ofpaper, in the pockets of two of 'em! Is that suspicious, or ain't it? Itdon't pay to talk too much along the Frazer. Men keep their mouths shut. But I'll tell you this: Culver Rann an' Bill Quade know a lot. "

"And you think I'll go in the Frazer?"

"Egzactly. Quade would rather have you in there than in the Athabasca. Andthen----"

"Well?"

Stevens spat into the bush, and shrugged his shoulders. "This beautifullady you've taken an interest in will turn up missing, Aldous. She'lldisappear off the face of the map--just like Stimson's wife did. Youremember Stimson?"

"He was found in the Frazer, " said Aldous, gripping the other's arm in thedarkness. 

"Egzactly. An' that pretty wife of his disappeared a little later. Up thereeverybody's too busy to ask where other people go. Culver Rann an' BillQuade know what happened to Stimson, an' they know what happened toStimson's wife. You don't want to go to Tête Jaune. You don't want to let_her_ go. I know what I'm talking about. Because----"

There fell a moment's silence. Aldous waited. Stevens spat again, andfinished in a whisper:

"Quade went to Tête Jaune to-night. He went on a hand-car. He's gotsomething he wants to tell Culver Rann that he don't dare telephone ortelegraph. An' he wants to get that something to him ahead of to-morrow'strain. Understand?"

CHAPTER VIII

John Aldous confessed to himself that he did not quite understand, in spiteof the effort Stevens had made to impress upon him, the importance of notgoing to Tête Jaune. He was bewildered over a number of things, and feltthat he needed to be alone for a time to clear his mind. He left Stevens, promising to return later to share a couple of blankets and a part of histepee, for he was determined to keep his promise to Joanne, and not returnto his own cabin, even though Quade had left Miette. He followed a moonlittrail along the river to an abandoned surveyors' camp, knowing that hewould meet no one, and that in this direction he would have plenty ofunbroken quiet in which to get some sort of order out of the chaotic tangleof events through which he had passed that day. 

Aldous had employed a certain amount of caution, but until he had talkedwith Stevens he had not believed that Quade, in his twofold desire toavenge himself and possess Joanne, would go to the extraordinary endspredicted by the packer. His point of view was now entirely changed. Hebelieved Stevens. He knew the man was not excitable. He was one of thecoolest heads in the mountains. And he had abundant nerve. Thought ofStimson and Stimson's wife had sent the hot blood through Aldous like fire. Was Stevens right in that detail? And was Quade actually planning the sameend for him and Joanne? Why had Quade stolen on ahead to Tête Jaune? Whyhad he not waited for to-morrow's train?

He found himself walking swiftly along the road, where he had intended towalk slowly--a hundred questions pounding through his brain. Suddenly athought came to him that stopped him in the trail, his unseeing eyesstaring down into the dark chasm of the river. After all, was it so strangethat Quade would do these things? Into his own life Joanne had come like awonderful dream-creature transformed into flesh and blood. He no longertried to evade the fact that he could not think without thinking of Joanne. She had become a part of him. She had made him forget everything but her, and in a few hours had sent into the dust of ruin his cynicism andaloneness of a lifetime. If Joanne had come to him like this, making himforget his work, filling him more and more with the thrilling desire tofight for her, was it so very strange that a beast like Quade wouldfight--in another way?

He went on down the trail, his hands clenched tightly. After all, it wasnot fear of Quade or of what he might attempt that filled him withuneasiness. It was Joanne herself, her strange quest, its final outcome. With the thought that she was seeking for the man who was her husband, aleaden hand seemed gripping at his heart. He tried to shake it off, but itwas like a sickness. To believe that she had been the wife of another manor that she could ever belong to any other man than himself seemed likeshutting his eyes forever to the sun. And yet she had told him. She hadbelonged to another man; she might belong to him even now. She had come tofind if he was alive--or dead. 

And if alive? Aldous stopped again, and looked down into the dark pitthrough which the river was rushing a hundred feet below him. It tore infrothing maelstroms through a thousand rocks, filling the night with a lowthunder. To John Aldous the sound of it might have been a thousand milesaway. He did not hear. His eye saw nothing in the blackness. For a fewmoments the question he had asked himself obliterated everything. If theyfound Joanne's husband alive at Tête Jaune--what then? He turned back, retracing his steps over the trail, a feeling of resentment--of hatred forthe man he had never seen--slowly taking the place of the oppressive thingthat had turned his heart sick within him. Then, in a flash, came thememory of Joanne's words--words in which, white-faced and trembling, shehad confessed that her anxiety was not that she would find him dead, butthat _she would find him alive_. A joyous thrill shot through him as heremembered that. Whoever this man was, whatever he might have been to heronce, or was to her now, Joanne did not want to find him alive! He laughedsoftly to himself as he quickened his pace. The tense grip of his fingersloosened. The grim, almost ghastly part of it did not occur to him--thefact that deep in his soul he was wishing a man dead and in his grave. 

He did not return at once to the scenes about Quade's place, but went tothe station, three quarters of a mile farther up the track. Here, in acasual way, he learned from the little pink-faced Cockney Englishman whowatched the office at night that Stevens had been correct in hisinformation. Quade had gone to Tête Jaune. Although it was eleven o'clock, Aldous proceeded in the direction of the engineers' camp, still anotherquarter of a mile deeper in the bush. He was restless. He did not feel thathe could sleep that night. The engineers' camp he expected to find indarkness, and he was surprised when he saw a light burning brightly inKeller's cabin. 

Keller was the assistant divisional engineer, and they had become goodfriends. It was Keller who had set the first surveyor's line at Tête Jaune, and it was he who had reported it as the strategic point from which to pushforward the fight against mountain and wilderness, both by river and rail. He was, in a way, accountable for the existence of Tête Jaune just where itdid exist, and he knew more about it than any other man in the employ ofthe Grand Trunk Pacific. For this reason Aldous was glad that Keller hadnot gone to bed. He knocked at the door and entered without waiting for aninvitation. 

The engineer stood in the middle of the floor, his coat off, his fat, stubby hands thrust into the pockets of his baggy trousers, his red faceand bald cranium shining in the lamplight. A strange fury blazed in hiseyes as he greeted his visitor. He began pacing back and forth across theroom, puffing volumes of smoke from a huge bowled German pipe as hemotioned Aldous to a chair. 

"What's the matter, Peter?"

"Enough--an' be damned!" growled Peter. "If it wasn't enough do you thinkI'd be out of bed at this hour of the night?"

"I'm sure it's enough, " agreed Aldous. "If it wasn't you'd be in yourlittle trundle over there, sleeping like a baby. I don't know of any onewho can sleep quite as sweetly as you, Peter. But what the devil _is_ thetrouble?"

"Something that you can't make me feel funny over. You haven't heard--aboutthe bear?"

"Not a word, Peter. "

Keller took his hands from his pockets and the big, bowled pipe from hismouth. 

"You know what I did with that bear, " he said. "More than a year ago I madefriends with her up there on the hill instead of killing her. Last summer Igot her so she'd eat out of my hands. I fed her a barrel of sugar betweenJuly and November. We used to chum it an hour at a time, and I'd pet herlike a dog. Why, damn it, man, I thought more of that bear than I did ofany human in these regions! And she got so fond of me she didn't leave toden up until January. This spring she came out with two cubs, an' as soonas they could waddle she brought 'em out there on the hillside an' waitedfor me. We were better chums than ever. I've got another half barrel ofsugar--lump sugar--on the way from Edmonton. An' now what do you think thatdamned C. N. R. Gang has done?"

"They haven't shot her?"

"No, they haven't shot her. I wish to God they had! They've _blown herup!_"

The little engineer subsided into a chair. 

"Do you hear?" he demanded. "They've blown her up! Put a stick of dynamiteunder some sugar, attached a battery wire to it, an' when she was lickingup the sugar touched it off. An' I can't do anything, damn 'em! Bears ain'tprotected. The government of this province calls 'em 'pests. ' Murder 'emon sight, it says. An' those fiends over there think it's a good joke onme--an' the bear!"

Keller was sweating. His fat hands were clenched, and his round, plump bodyfairly shook with excitement and anger. 

"When I went over to-night they laughed at me--the whole bunch, " he went onthickly. "I offered to lick every man in the outfit from A to Z, an' Iain't had a fight in twenty years. Instead of fighting like men, a dozen ofthem grabbed hold of me, chucked me into a blanket, an' bounced me forfifteen minutes straight! What do you think of _that_, Aldous?Me--assistant divisional engineer of the G. T. P. --_bounced in a blanket_!"

Peter Keller hopped from his chair and began pacing back and forth acrossthe room again, sucking truculently on his pipe. 

"If they were on our road I'd--I'd chase every man of them out of thecountry. But they're not. They belong to the C. N. R. They're out of myreach. " He stopped, suddenly, in front of Aldous. "What can I do?" hedemanded. 

"Nothing, " said Aldous. "You've had something like this coming to you, Peter. I've been expecting it. All the camps for twenty miles up and downthe line know what you thought of that bear. You fired Tibbits because, asyou said, he was too thick with Quade. You told him that right beforeQuade's face. Tibbits is now foreman of that grading gang over there. Twoand two make four, you know. Tibbits--Quade--the blown-up bear. Quadedoesn't miss an opportunity, no matter how small it is. Tibbits and Quadedid this to get even with you. You might report the blanket affair to thecontractors of the other road. I don't believe they would stand for it. "

Aldous had guessed correctly what the effect of associating Quade's namewith the affair would be. Keller was one of Quade's deadliest enemies. Hesat down close to Aldous again. His eyes burned deep back. It was notKeller's physique, but his brain, and the fearlessness of his spirit, thatmade him dangerous. 

"I guess you're right, Aldous, " he said. "Some day--I'll even up on Quade. "

"And so shall I, Peter. "

The engineer stared into the other's eyes. 

"You----"

Aldous nodded. 

"Quade left for Tête Jaune to-night, on a hand-car. I follow him to-morrow, on the train. I can't tell you what's up, Peter, but I don't think it willstop this side of death for Quade and Culver Rann--or me. I mean that quiteliterally. I don't see how more than one side can come out alive. I want toask you a few questions before I go on to Tête Jaune. You know everymountain and trail about the place, don't you?"

"I've tramped them all, afoot and horseback. "

"Then perhaps you can direct me to what I must find--a man's grave. "

Peter Keller paused in the act of relighting his pipe. For a moment hestared in amazement. 

"There are a great many graves up at Tête Jaune, " he said, at last. "Agreat many graves--and many of them unmarked. If it's a _Quade_ graveyou're looking for, Aldous, it will be unmarked. "

"I am quite sure that it is marked--or _was_ at one time, " said Aldous. "It's the grave of a man who had quite an unusual name, Peter, and youmight remember it--Mortimer FitzHugh. "

"FitzHugh--FitzHugh, " repeated Keller, puffing out fresh volumes of smoke. "Mortimer FitzHugh----"

"He died, I believe, before there was a Tête Jaune, or at least before thesteel reached there, " added Aldous. "He was on a hunting trip, and I havereason to think that his death was a violent one. "

Keller rose and fell into his old habit of pacing back and forth across theroom, a habit that had worn a path in the bare pine boards of the floor. 

"There's graves an' graves up there, but not so many that were there beforeTête Jaune came, " he began, between puffs. "Up on the side of White KnobMountain there's the grave of a man who was torn to bits by a grizzly. Buthis name was Humphrey. Old Yellowhead John--Tête Jaune, they calledhim--died years before that, and no one knows where his grave is. We hadfive men die before the steel came, but there wasn't a FitzHugh among 'em. Crabby--old Crabby Tompkins, a trapper, is buried in the sand on theFrazer. The last flood swept his slab away. There's two unmarked graves inGlacier Canyon, but I guess they're ten years old if a day. Burns was shot. I knew him. Plenty died after the steel came, but before that----"

Suddenly he stopped. He faced Aldous. His breath came in quick jerks. 

"By Heaven, I do remember!" he cried. "There's a mountain in the Saw ToothRange, twelve miles from Tête Jaune--a mountain with the prettiest basinyou ever saw at the foot of it, with a lake no bigger than this camp, andan old cabin which Yellowhead himself must have built fifty years ago. There's a blind canyon runs out of it, short an' dark, on the right. Wefound a grave there. I don't remember the first name on the slab. Mebby itwas washed out. But, so 'elp me God, _the last name was FitzHugh_!"

With a sudden cry, Aldous jumped to his feet and caught Keller's arm. 

"You're sure of it, Peter?"

"Positive!"

It was impossible for Aldous to repress his excitement. The engineer staredat him even harder than before. 

"What can that grave have to do with Quade?" he asked. "The man died beforeQuade was known in these regions. "

"I can't tell you now, Peter, " replied Aldous, pulling the engineer to thetable. "But I think you'll know quite soon. For the present, I want you tosketch out a map that will take me to the grave. Will you?"

On the table were pencil and paper. Keller seated himself and drew themtoward him. 

"I'm damned if I can see what that grave can have to do with Quade, " hesaid; "but I'll tell you how to find it!"

For several minutes they bent low over the table, Peter Keller describingthe trail to the Saw Tooth Mountain as he sketched it, step by step, on asheet of office paper. When it was done, Aldous folded it carefully andplaced it in his wallet. 

"I can't go wrong, and--thank you, Keller!"

After Aldous had gone, Peter Keller sat for some time in deep thought. 

"Now I wonder what the devil there can be about a grave to make him sohappy, " he grumbled, listening to the whistle that was growing fainter downthe trail. 

And Aldous, alone, with the moon straight above him as he went back to theMiette Plain, felt, in truth, this night had become brighter for him thanany day he had ever known. For he knew that Peter Keller was not a man tomake a statement of which he was not sure. Mortimer FitzHugh was dead. Hisbones lay under the slab up in that little blind canyon in the shadow ofthe Saw Tooth Mountain. To-morrow he would tell Joanne. And, blindly, hetold himself that she would be glad. 

Still whistling, he passed the Chinese laundry shack on the creek, crossedthe railroad tracks, and buried himself in the bush beyond. A quarter of anhour later he stole quietly into Stevens' camp and went to bed. 

CHAPTER IX

Stevens, dreaming of twenty horses plunging to death among the rocks in theriver, slept uneasily. He awoke before it was dawn, but when he draggedhimself from his tepee, moving quietly not to awaken his boy, he found JohnAldous on his knees before a small fire, slicing thin rashers of bacon intoa frying-pan. The weight of his loss was in the tired packer's eyes andface and the listless droop of his shoulders. John Aldous, with three hoursbetween the blankets to his credit, was as cheery as the crackling fireitself. He had wanted to whistle for the last half-hour. Seeing Stevens, hebegan now. 

"I wasn't going to rouse you until breakfast was ready, " he interruptedhimself to say. "I heard you groaning, Stevens. I know you had a bad night. And the kid, too. He couldn't sleep. But I made up my mind you'd have toget up early. I've got a lot of business on to-day, and we'll have to rouseCurly Roper out of bed to buy his pack outfit. Find the coffee, will you? Icouldn't. "

For a moment Stevens stood over him. 

"See here, Aldous, you didn't mean what you said last night, did you? Youdidn't mean--that?"

"Confound it, yes! Can't you understand plain English, Stevens? Don't youbelieve a man when he's a gentleman? Buy that outfit! Why, I'd buy twentyoutfits to-day, I'm--I'm feeling so fine, Stevens!"

For the first time in forty-eight hours Stevens smiled. 

"I was wondering if I hadn't been dreaming, " he said. "Once, a long timeago, I guess I felt just like you do now. "

With which cryptic remark he went for the coffee. 

Aldous looked up in time to see the boy stagger sleepily out of the tepee. There was something pathetic about the motherlessness of the picture, andhe understood a little of what Stevens had meant. 

An hour later, with breakfast over, they started for Curly's. Curly waspulling on his boots when they arrived, while his wife was frying theinevitable bacon in the kitchen. 

"I hear you have some horses for sale, Curly, " said Aldous. 

"Hi 'ave. "

"How many?"

"Twenty-nine, 'r twenty-eight--mebby twenty-seven. "

"How much?"

Curly looked up from the task of pulling on his second boot. 

"H'are you buying 'orses or looking for hinformation?" he asked. 

"I'm buying, and I'm in a hurry. How much do you want a head?"

"Sixty, 'r six----"

"I'll give you sixty dollars apiece for twenty-eight head, and that's justten dollars apiece more than they're worth, " broke in Aldous, pulling acheck-book and a fountain pen from his pocket. "Is it a go?"

A little stupefied by the suddenness of it all, Curly opened his mouth andstared. 

"Is it a go?" repeated Aldous. "Including blankets, saddles, pack-saddles, ropes, and canvases?"

Curly nodded, looking from Aldous to Stevens to see if he could detectanything that looked like a joke. 

"Hit's a go, " he said. 

Aldous handed him a check for sixteen hundred and eighty dollars. 

"Make out the bill of sale to Stevens, " he said. "I'm paying for them, butthey're Stevens' horses. And, look here, Curly, I'm buying them only withyour agreement that you'll say nothing about who paid for them. Will youagree to that?"

Curly was joyously looking at the check. 

"Gyve me a Bible, " he demanded. "Hi'll swear Stevens p'id for them! I giveyou the word of a Hinglish gentleman!"

Without another word Aldous opened the cabin door and was gone, leavingStevens quite as much amazed as the little Englishman whom everybody calledCurly, because he had no hair. 

Aldous went at once to the station, and for the first time inquired intothe condition that was holding back the Tête Jaune train. He found that aslide had given way, burying a section of track under gravel and rock. Ahundred men were at work clearing it away, and it was probable they wouldfinish by noon. A gang boss, who had come back with telegraphic reports, said that half a dozen men had carried Quade's hand-car over theobstruction about midnight. 

It was seven o'clock when Aldous left for the Miette bottom. He believedthat Joanne would be up. At this season of the year the first glow of dayusually found the Ottos at breakfast, and for half an hour the sun had beenshining on the top of Pyramid Mountain. He was eager to tell her what hadpassed between him and Keller. He laughed softly when he confessed tohimself how madly he wanted to see her. 

He always liked to come up to the Otto home very early of a morning, or inthe dusk of evening. Very frequently he was filled with a desire to standoutside the red-and-white striped walls of the tent-house and listenunseen. Inside there was always cheer: at night the crackle of fire and theglow of light, the happy laughter of the gentle-hearted Scotchwoman, andthe affectionate banter of her "big mountain man, " who looked more like abrigand than the luckiest and most contented husband in the mountains--theluckiest, quite surely, with the one exception of his brother Clossen, whohad, by some occult strategy or other, induced a sweet-faced andaristocratic little woman to look upon his own honest physiognomy as thehandsomest and finest in the world. This morning Aldous followed a narrowpath that brought him behind the tent-house. He heard no voices. A fewsteps more and he emerged upon a scene that stopped him and set his heartthumping. 

Less than a dozen paces away stood Mrs. Otto and Joanne, their backs towardhim. They were gazing silently and anxiously in the direction of the thick, low bush across the clearing, through which led the trail to his cabin. Hedid not look toward the bush. His eyes were upon Joanne. Her slender figurewas full in the golden radiance of the morning sun, and Aldous felt himselfunder the spell of a joyous wonder as he looked at her. For the first timehe saw her hair as he had pictured it--as he had given it to that other_Joanne_ in the book he had called "Fair Play. " She had been brushing it inthe sun when he came, but now she stood poised in that tense and waitingattitude--silent--gazing in the direction of the bush, with that marvellousmantle sweeping about her in a shimmering silken flood. He would not havemoved, nor would he have spoken, until Joanne herself broke the spell. Sheturned, and saw him. With a little cry of surprise she flung back her hair. He could not fail to see the swift look of relief and gladness that hadcome into her eyes. In another instant her face was flushing crimson. 

"I beg your pardon for coming up like an eavesdropper, " he apologized. "Ithought you would just about be at breakfast, Mrs. Otto. "

The Scotchwoman heaved a tremendous sigh of relief. 

"Goodness gracious, but I'm glad to see you!" she exclaimed thankfully. "Jack and Bruce have just gone out to see if they could find your deadbody!"

"We thought perhaps something might have happened, " said Joanne, who hadmoved nearer the door. "You will excuse me, won't you, while I finish myhair?"

Without waiting for him to answer, she ran into the tent. No sooner had shedisappeared than the good-natured smile left Mrs. Otto's face. There was anote of alarm in her low voice as she whispered:

"Jack and Bruce went to the barn last night, and she slept with me. Shetried to be quiet, but I know she didn't sleep much. And she cried. Icouldn't hear her, but the pillow was wet. Once my hand touched her cheek, and it was wet. I didn't ask any questions. This morning, at breakfast, shetold us everything that happened, all about Quade--and your trouble. Shetold us about Quade looking in at the window, and she was so nervousthinking something might have happened to you last night that the poor dearcouldn't even drink her coffee until Jack and Bruce went out to hunt foryou. But I don't think that was why she cried!"

"I wish it had been, " said Aldous. "It makes me happy to think she wasworried about--me. "

"Good Lord!" gasped Mrs. Otto. 

He looked for a moment into the slow-growing amazement and understanding inher kind eyes. 

"You will keep my little secret, won't you, Mrs. Otto?" he asked. "Probablyyou'll think it's queer. I've only known her a day. But I feel--like that. Somehow I feel that in telling this to you I am confiding in a mother, or asister. I want you to understand why I'm going on to Tête Jaune with her. That is why she was crying--because of the dread of something up there. I'mgoing with her. She shouldn't go alone. "

Voices interrupted them, and they turned to find that Jack and Bruce Ottohad come out of the bush and were quite near. Aldous was sorry that Joannehad spoken of his trouble with Quade. He did not want to discuss thesituation, or waste time in listening to further advice. He was anxious tobe alone again with Joanne, and tell her what he had learned from PeterKeller. For half an hour he repressed his uneasiness. The brothers thenwent on to their corral. A few minutes later Joanne was once more at hisside, and they were walking slowly over the trail that led to the cabin onthe river. 

He could see that the night had made a change in her. There were circlesunder her eyes which were not there yesterday. When she looked at him theirvelvety blue depths betrayed something which he knew she was strugglingdesperately to keep from him. It was not altogether fear. It was more abetrayal of pain--a torment of the soul and not of the body. He noticedthat in spite of the vivid colouring of her lips her face was strangelypale. The beautiful flush that had come into it when she first saw him wasgone. 

Then he began to tell her of his visit to Peter Keller. His own heart wasbeating violently when he came to speak of the grave and the slab over itthat bore the name of FitzHugh. He had expected that what he had discoveredfrom Keller would create some sort of a sensation. He had even come up tothe final fact gradually, so that it would not appear bald and shocking. Joanne's attitude stunned him. She looked straight ahead. When she turnedto him he did not see in her eyes what he had expected to see. They werequiet, emotionless, except for that shadow of inward torture which did notleave them. 

"Then to-morrow we can go to the grave?" she asked simply. 

Her voice, too, was quiet and without emotion. 

He nodded. "We can leave at sunrise, " he said. "I have my own horses atTête Jaune and there need be no delay. We were to start into the North fromthere. "

"You mean on the adventure you were telling me about?"

She had looked at him quickly. 

"Yes. Old Donald, my partner, has been waiting for me a week. That's why Iwas so deuced anxious to rush the book to an end. I'm behind Donald'sschedule, and he's growing nervous. It's rather an unusual enterprisethat's taking us north this time, and Donald can't understand why I shouldhang back to write the tail end of a book. He has lived sixty years in themountains. His full name is Donald MacDonald. Sometimes, back in my ownmind, I've called him History. He seems like that--as though he'd lived forages in these mountains instead of sixty years. If I could only write whathe has lived--even what one might imagine that he has lived! But I cannot. I have tried three times, and have failed. I think of him as The LastSpirit--a strange wandering ghost of the mighty ranges. His kind passedaway a hundred years ago. You will understand--when you see him. "

She put her hand on his arm and let it rest there lightly as they walked. Into her eyes had returned some of the old warm glow of yesterday. 

"I want you to tell me about this adventure, " she entreated softly. "Iunderstand--about the other. You have been good--oh! so good to me! And Ishould tell you things; you are expecting me to explain. It is only fairand honest that I should. I know what is in your mind, and I only want youto wait--until to-morrow. Will you? And I will tell you then, when we havefound the grave. "

Involuntarily his hand sought Joanne's. For a single moment he felt thewarm, sweet thrill of it in his own as he pressed it more closely to hisarm. Then he freed it, looking straight ahead. A soft flush grew inJoanne's cheeks. 

"Do you care a great deal for riches?" he asked. "Does the golden pot atthe end of the rainbow hold out a lure for you?" He did not realize thestrangeness of his question until their eyes met. "Because if you don't, "he added, smiling, "this adventure of ours isn't going to look veryexciting to you. "

She laughed softly. 

"No, I don't care for riches, " she replied. "I am quite sure that just asgreat education proves to one how little one knows, so great wealth bringsone face to face with the truth of how little one can enjoy. My father usedto say that the golden treasure at the end of the rainbow in every humanlife was happiness, and that is something which you cannot buy. So whycrave riches, then? But please don't let my foolish ideas disappoint you. I'll promise to be properly excited. "

She saw his face suddenly aflame with enthusiasm. 

"By George, but you're a--a brick, Joanne!" he exclaimed. "You are! AndI--I----" He was fumbling in his breast pocket. He brought out his walletand extracted from it the bit of paper Stevens had given him. "You droppedthat, and Stevens found it, " he explained, giving it to her. "I thoughtthose figures might represent your fortune--or your income. Don't mindtelling you I went over 'em carefully. There's a mistake in the thirdcolumn. Five and four don't make seven. They make nine. In the final, whenyou come to the multiplication part of it, that correction will make youjust thirty-two thousand five hundred dollars richer. "

"Thanks, " said Joanne, lowering her eyes, and beginning to tear the paperinto small pieces. "And will it disappoint you, Mr. John Aldous, if I tellyou that all these figures stand for riches which some one else possesses?And won't you let me remind you that we're getting a long way from what Iwant to know--about your trip into the North?"

"That's just it: we're hot on the trail, " chuckled Aldous, deliberatelyplacing her hand on his arm again. "You don't care for riches. Neither doI. I'm delighted to know we're going tandem in that respect. I've never hadany fun with money. It's the money that's had fun with me. I've no use foryachts and diamonds and I'd rather travel afoot with a gun over my shoulderthan in a private car. Half the time I'm doing my own cooking, and Ihaven't worn a white shirt in a year. My publishers persist in shoving moremoney my way than I know what to do with. 

"You see, I pay only ten cents a plug for my smoking tobacco, and otherthings accordingly. Somebody has said something about the good Lord sittingup in Heaven and laughing at the jokes He plays on men. Well, I'm sittingback and laughing now and then at the tussle between men and money over allcreation. There's a whole lot of humour in the way men and women fight anddie for money, if you only take time to stand out on the side and look on. There's nothing big or dramatic about it. I may be a heathen, but to mymind the funniest of all things is to see the world wringing its neck for adollar. And Donald--old History--needs even less money than I. So that putsthe big element of humour in this expedition of ours. We don't want money, particularly. Donald wouldn't wear more than four pairs of boots a year ifhe was a billionaire. And yet----"

He turned to Joanne. The pressure of her hand was warmer on his arm. Herbeautiful eyes were glowing, and her red lips parted as she waitedbreathlessly for him to go on. 

"And yet, we're going to a place where you can scoop gold up with ashovel, " he finished. "That's the funny part of it. "

"It isn't funny--it's tremendous!" gasped Joanne. "Think of what a man likeyou could do with unlimited wealth, the good you might achieve, thesplendid endowments you might make----"

"I have already made several endowments, " interrupted Aldous. "I believethat I have made a great many people happy, Ladygray--a great many. I amgifted to make endowments, I think, above most people. Not one of theendowments I have made has failed of complete success. "

"And may I ask what some of them were?"

"I can't remember them all. There have been a great, great many. Mostconspicuous among them were three endowments which I made to some veryworthy people at various times for seven salted mines. I suppose you knowwhat a salted mine is, Ladygray? At other times I have endowed railroadstocks which were very much in need of my helping mite, two coppercompanies, a concern that was supposed to hoist up pure asbestos from thestomach of Popocatapetl, and a steamship company that never steamed. As Isaid before, they were all very successful endowments. "

"And how many of the other kind have you made?" she asked gently, lookingdown the trail. "Like--Stevens', for instance?"

He turned to her sharply. 

"What the deuce----"

"Did you succeed in getting the new outfit from Mr. Curly?" she asked. 

"Yes. How did you know?"

She smiled at the amazement which had gathered in his face. A glad, softlight shone in her eyes. 

"I guess Mrs. Otto has been like a mother to that poor little boy, " sheexplained. "When you and Mr. Stevens went up to buy the outfit this morningJimmy ran over to tell her the news. We were all there--at breakfast. Hewas so excited he could scarcely breathe. But it all came out, and he ranback to camp before you came because he thought you wouldn't want me toknow. Wasn't that funny? He told me so when I walked a little way up thepath with him. "

"The little reprobate!" chuckled Aldous. "He's the best publicity man Iever had, Ladygray. I did want you to know about this, and I wanted it tocome to you in just this way, so that I wouldn't be compelled to tell youmyself of the big and noble act I have done. It was my hope and desire thatyou, through some one else, would learn of it, and come to understand morefully what a generous and splendid biped I am. I even plotted to give thischild of Stevens' a silver dollar if he would get the news to you in someone of his innocent ways. He's done it. And he couldn't have done itbetter--even for a dollar. Ah, here we are at the cabin. Will you excuseme while I pick up a few things that I want to take on to Tête Jaune withme?"

Between two trees close to the cabin he had built a seat, and here he leftJoanne. He was gone scarcely five minutes when he reappeared with a smallpack-sack over his shoulders, locked the door, and rejoined her. 

"You see it isn't much of a task for me to move, " he said, as they turnedback in the direction of the Ottos'. "I'll wash the dishes when I come backnext October. "

"Five months!" gasped Joanne, counting on her fingers. "John Aldous, do youmean----"

"I do, " he nodded emphatically. "I frequently leave dishes unwashed forquite a spell at a time. That's the one unpleasant thing about this sort oflife--washing dishes. It's not so bad in the rainy season, but it's fierceduring a dry spell. When it rains I put the dishes out on a flat rock, dirty side up, and the good Lord does the scrubbing. "

He looked at Joanne, face and eyes aglow with the happiness that wassweeping in a mighty tumult within him. Half an hour had worked atransformation in Joanne. There was no longer a trace of anguish or of fearin her eyes. Their purity and limpid beauty made him think of the rockviolets that grew high up on the mountains. Her lips and cheeks wereflushed, and the soft pressure of her hand again resting on his arm filledhim with the exquisite thrill of possession and joy. He did not speak ofTête Jaune again until they reached the Otto tent-house, and then only toassure her that he would call for her half an hour before the train wasready to leave. 

As soon as possible after that he went to the telegraph office and sent along message to MacDonald. Among other things he told him to prepare theircabin for a lady guest. He knew this would shock the old mountain wanderer, but he also knew that Donald would follow his instructions in spite ofwhatever alarm he might have. There were other women at Tête Jaune, thewives of men he knew, to whom he might have taken Joanne. Under theconditions, however, he believed his own cabin would be her best refuge, atleast for a day or so. In that time he could take some one into hisconfidence, probably Blackton and his wife. In fact, as he thought thecircumstances over, he saw the necessity of confiding in the Blacktons thatvery night. 

He left the station, growing a bit nervous. Was it right for him to takeJoanne to his cabin at all? He had a tremendous desire to do so, chiefly onaccount of Quade. The cabin was a quarter of a mile in the bush, and he waspositive if Joanne was there that Quade, and perhaps Culver Rann, wouldcome nosing about. This would give him the opportunity of putting intoexecution a plan which he had already arranged for himself and oldMacDonald. On the other hand, was this arrangement fair to Joanne, eventhough it gave him the chance to square up accounts with Quade?

He stopped abruptly, and faced the station. All at once there swept uponhim a realization of how blind he had been, and what a fool he had almostmade of himself. Blackton was one of the contractors who were workingmiracles in the mountains. He was a friend who would fight for him ifnecessary. Mrs. Blackton, who preferred to be on the firing line with herhusband than in her luxurious city home, was the leader of all that wasdecent and womanly in Tête Jaune. Why not have these friends meet them atthe train and take Joanne direct to their house? Such recognition andfriendship would mean everything to Joanne. To take her to his cabin wouldmean----

Inwardly he swore at himself as he hurried back to the station, and hisface burned hotly as he thought of the chance such a blunder on his partwould have given Quade and Culver Rann to circulate the stories with whichthey largely played their scoundrelly game. He sent another and longertelegram. This time it was to Blackton. 

He ate dinner with Stevens, who had his new outfit ready for the mountains. It was two o'clock before he brought Joanne up to the station. She wasdressed now as he had first seen her when she entered Quade's place. A veilcovered her face. Through the gray film of it he caught the soft warm glowof her eyes and the shimmer of gold-brown tendrils of her hair. And he knewwhy she wore that veil. It set his heart beating swiftly--the fact that shewas trying to hide from all eyes but his own a beauty so pure and wonderfulthat it made her uncomfortable when under the staring gaze of the Horde. 

The hand that rested on his arm he pressed closer to his side as theywalked up the station platform, and under his breath he laughed softly andjoyously as he felt the thrill of it. He spoke no word. Not until they werein their seat in the coach did Joanne look at him after that pressure ofher hand, and then she did not speak. But in the veiled glow of her eyesthere was something that told him she understood--a light that waswonderfully gentle and sweet. And yet, without words, she asked him tokeep within his soul the things that were pounding madly there for speech. 

As the train rolled on and the babble of voices about them joined thecrunching rumble of the wheels, he wanted to lean close to her and tell herhow a few hours had changed the world for him. And then, for a moment, hereyes turned to him again, and he knew that it would be a sacrilege to givevoice to the things he wanted to say. For many minutes he was silent, gazing with her upon the wild panorama of mountain beauty as it driftedpast the car window. A loud voice two seats ahead of them proclaimed thatthey were about to make Templeton's Curve. The man was talking to hiscompanion. 

"They shot up a hundred thousand pounds of black powder an' dynamite tomake way for two hundred feet of steel on that curve, " he explained in avoice heard all over the car. "They say you could hear the explosion fiftymiles away. Jack Templeton was near-sighted, an' he didn't see a rockcoming down on him that was half as big as a house. I helped scrape up whatwas left of 'im an' we planted him at this end of the curve. It's beenTempleton's Curve ever since. You'll see his grave--with a slab over it!"

It was there almost as he spoke, marked by a white-painted cross in acircle of whitewashed stones. John Aldous felt a sudden shiver pass throughhis companion. She turned from the window. Through her veil he saw her lipstighten. Until he left the car half an hour later the man in the secondseat ahead talked of Templeton's grave and a dozen other graves along theright of way. He was a rock-hog, and a specialist on the subject ofgraves. Inwardly Aldous cursed him roundly. He cursed him all the way toTête Jaune, for to him he attributed the change which had again come overJoanne. 

This change she could only partly conceal from him under her veil. Sheasked him many questions about Tête Jaune and the Blacktons, and tried totake an interest in the scenery they were passing. In spite of this hecould see that she was becoming more and more nervous as they progressedtoward the end of their journey. He felt the slow dampening of his own joy, the deadening clutch of yesterday at his heart. Twice she lifted her veilfor a moment and he saw she was pale and the tense lines had gathered abouther mouth again. There was something almost haggard in her look the secondtime. 

In the early dusk of evening they arrived at Tête Jaune. Aldous waiteduntil the car had emptied itself before he rose from his seat. Joanne'shand clutched at his arm as they walked down the aisle. He felt the fiercepressure of her fingers in his flesh. On the car platform they paused for amoment, and he felt her throbbing beside him. She had taken her hand fromhis arm, and he turned suddenly. She had raised her veil. Her face was deadwhite. And she was staring out over the sea of faces under them in astrange questing way, and her breath came from between her slightly partedlips as if she had been running. Amazed for the moment, John Aldous did notmove. Somewhere in that crowd _Joanne expected to find a face she knew!_The truth struck him dumb--made him inert and lifeless. He, too, stared asif in a trance. And then, suddenly, every drop of blood in his body blazedinto fierce life. 

In the glow of one of the station lamps stood a group of men. The faces ofall were turned toward them. One he recognized--a bloated, leering facegrinning devilishly at them. It was Quade!

A low, frightened cry broke from Joanne's lips, and he knew that she, too, had seen him. But it was not Quade that she had looked for. It was not hisface that she had expected to see nor because of him that she had liftedher veil for the mob!

He stepped down from the car and gave her his hand. Her fingers clutchedhis convulsively. And they were cold as the fingers of the dead. 

CHAPTER X

A moment later some one came surging through the crowd, and called Aldousby name. It was Blackton. His thin, genial face with its little spikedmoustache rose above the sea of heads about him, and as he came he grinneda welcome. 

"A beastly mob!" he exclaimed, as he gripped his friend's hand. "I'm sorryI couldn't bring my wife nearer than the back platform. "

Aldous turned to Joanne. He was still half in a daze. His heart was chokinghim with its swift and excited beating. Even as he introduced her toBlackton the voice kept crying in his brain that she had expected to findsome one in this crowd whom she knew. For a space it was as if the Joannewhom he had known had slipped away from him. She had told him about thegrave, but this other she had kept from him. Something that was almostanger surged up in him. His face bore marks of the strain as he watched hergreet Blackton. In an instant, it seemed to him, she had regained a part ofher composure. Blackton saw nothing but the haggard lines about her eyesand the deep pallor in her face, which he ascribed to fatigue. 

"You're tired, Miss Gray, " he said. "It's a killing ride up from Miettethese days. If we can get through this mob we'll have supper within fifteenminutes!"

With a word to Aldous he began worming his long, lean body ahead of them. An instant Joanne's face was very close to Aldous', so close that he felther breath, and a tendril of her hair touched his lips. In that instant hereyes looked into his steadily, and he felt rush over him a sudden shame. Ifshe was seeking and expecting, it was to him more than ever that she wasnow looking for protection. The haunting trouble in her eyes, theirentreaty, their shining faith in him told him that, and he was glad thatshe had not seen his sudden fear and suspicion. She clung more closely tohim as they followed Blackton. Her little fingers held his arm as if shewere afraid some force might tear him from her. He saw that she was lookingquickly at the faces about them with that same questing mystery in hersearch. 

At the thin outer edge of the crowd Blackton dropped back beside them. Afew steps more and they came to the end of the platform, where a buckboardwas waiting in the dim light of one of the station lamps. Blacktonintroduced Joanne, and assisted her into the seat beside his wife. 

"We'll leave you ladies to become acquainted while we rustle the baggage, "he said. "Got the checks, Aldous?"

Joanne had given Aldous two checks on the train, and he handed them toBlackton. Together they made their way to the baggage-room. 

"Thought Miss Gray would have some luggage, so I had one of my men comewith another team, " he explained. "We won't have to wait. I'll give him thechecks. "

Before they returned to the buckboard, Aldous halted his friend. 

"I couldn't say much in that telegram, " he said. "If Miss Gray wasn't abit tired and unstrung I'd let her explain. I want you to tell Mrs. Blackton that she has come to Tête Jaune on a rather unpleasant mission, old man. Nothing less than to attend to the grave of a--a near relative. "

"I regret that--I regret it very much, " replied Blackton, flinging away thematch he had lighted without touching it to his cigar. "I guessed somethingwas wrong. She's welcome at our place, Aldous--for as long as she remainsin Tête Jaune. Perhaps I knew this relative. If I can assist you--orher----"

"He died before the steel came, " said Aldous. "FitzHugh was his name. OldDonald and I are going to take her to the grave. Miss Gray is an old friendof mine, " he lied boldly. "We want to start at dawn. Will that be too muchtrouble for you and your wife?"

"No trouble at all, " declared Blackton. "We've got a Chinese cook who'smore like an owl than a human. How will a four o'clock breakfast suit you?"

"Splendidly!"

As they went on, the contractor said:

"I carried your word to MacDonald. Hunted him down out in the bush. He isvery anxious to see you. He said he would not be at the depot, but that youmust not fail him. He's kept strangely under cover of late. Curious oldghost, isn't he?"

"The strangest man in the mountains, " said Aldous "And, when you come toknow him, the most lovable. We're going North together. "

This time it was Blackton who stopped, with a hand on his companion's arm. A short distance from them they could see the buckboard in the light ofthe station lamp. 

"Has old Donald written you lately?" he asked. 

"No. He says he hasn't written a letter in twenty years. "

Blackton hesitated. 

"Then you haven't heard of his--accident?"

The strange look in the contractor's face as he lighted a cigar made JohnAldous catch him sharply by the arm. 

"What do you mean?"

"He was shot. I happened to be in Dr. Brady's office when he draggedhimself in, late at night. Doc got the bullet out of his shoulder. Itwasn't a bad wound. The old man swore it was an accident, and asked us tosay nothing about it. We haven't. But I've been wondering. Old Donald saidhe was careless with his own pistol. But the fact is, Aldous--_he was shotfrom behind!_"

"The deuce you say!"

"There was no perforation except from _behind_. In some way the bullet hadspent itself before it reached him. Otherwise it would have killed him. "

For a moment Aldous stared in speechless amazement into Blackton's face. 

"When did this happen?" he asked then. 

"Three days ago. Since then I have not seen old Donald until to-night. Almost by accident I met him out there in the timber. I delivered thetelegram you sent him. After he had read it I showed him mine. He scribbledsomething on a bit of paper, folded it, and pinned it with a porcupinequill. I've been mighty curious, but I haven't pulled out that quill. Hereit is. "

From his pocket he produced the note and gave it to Aldous. 

"I'll read it a little later, " said Aldous. "The ladies may possibly becomeanxious about us. "

He dropped it in his pocket as he thanked Blackton for the trouble he hadtaken in finding MacDonald. As he climbed into the front seat of thebuckboard his eyes met Joanne's. He was glad that in a large measure shehad recovered her self-possession. She smiled at him as they drove off, andthere was something in the sweet tremble of her lips that made him almostfancy she was asking his forgiveness for having forgotten herself. Hervoice sounded more natural to him as she spoke to Mrs. Blackton. Thelatter, a plump little blue-eyed woman with dimples and golden hair, wasalready making her feel at home. She leaned over and placed a hand on herhusband's shoulder. 

"Let's drive home by way of town, Paul, " she suggested. "It's only a littlefarther, and I'm quite sure Miss Gray will be interested in our Great WhiteWay of the mountains. And I'm crazy to see that bear you were telling meabout, " she added. 

Nothing could have suited Aldous more than this suggestion. He was surethat Quade, following his own and Culver Rann's old methods, had alreadyprepared stories about Joanne, and he not only wanted Quade's friends--butall of Tête Jaune as well--to see Joanne in the company of Mrs. PaulBlackton and her husband. And this was a splendid opportunity, for thenight carnival was already beginning. 

"The bear is worth seeing, " said Blackton, turning his team in thedirection of the blazing light of the half-mile street that was theBroadway of Tête Jaune. "And the woman who rides him is worth seeing, too, "he chuckled. "He's a big fellow--and she plays the Godiva act. Rides him upand down the street with her hair down, collecting dimes and quarters andhalf dollars as she goes. "

A minute later the length of the street swept out ahead of them. It isprobable that the world had never before seen a street just like thisBroadway in Tête Jaune--the pleasure Mecca of five thousand workers alongthe line of steel. There had been great "camps" in the building of otherrailroads, but never a city in the wilderness like this--a place that hadsprung up like magic and which, a few months later, was doomed to disappearas quickly. For half a mile it blazed out ahead of them, two garishlylighted rows of shacks, big tents, log buildings, and rough boardstructures, with a rough, wide street between. 

To-night Tête Jaune was like a blazing fire against the darkness of theforest and mountain beyond. A hundred sputtering "jacks" sent up columns ofyellow flame in front of places already filled with the riot and tumult ofthe night. A thousand lamps and coloured lanterns flashed like firefliesalong the way, and under them the crowd had gathered, and was flowing backand forth. It was a weird and fantastic sight--this one strange and almostuncanny street that was there largely for the play and the excitement ofmen. 

Aldous turned to Joanne. He knew what this town meant. It was the first andthe last of its kind, and its history would never be written. The worldoutside the mountains knew nothing of it. Like the men who made up itstransient life it would soon be a forgotten thing of the past. Even themountains would forget it. But more than once, as he had stood a part ofit, his blood had warmed at the thought of the things it held secret, thethings that would die with it, the big human drama it stood for, its hiddentragedies, its savage romance, its passing comedy. He found something ofhis own thought in Joanne's eyes. 

"There isn't much to it, " he said, "but to-night, if you made the hunt, youcould find men of eighteen or twenty nationalities in that street. "

"And a little more besides, " laughed Blackton. "If you could write thecomplete story of how Tête Jaune has broken the law, Aldous, it would filla volume as big as Peggy's family Bible!"

"And after all, it's funny, " said Peggy Blackton. "There!" she criedsuddenly. "Isn't _that_ funny?"

The glare and noisy life were on both sides of them now. Half a dozenphonographs were going. From up the street came the softer strains of apiano, and from in between the shrieking notes of bagpipe. Peggy Blacktonwas pointing to a brilliantly lighted, black-tarpaulined shop. Huge whiteletters on its front announced that Lady Barbers were within. They couldsee two of them at work through the big window. And they were pretty. Theplace was crowded with men. Men were waiting outside. 

"Paul says they charge a dollar for a haircut and fifty cents for a shave, "explained Peggy Blackton. "And the man over there across the street isgoing broke because he can't get business at fifteen cents a shave. _Isn't_it funny?"

As they went on Aldous searched the street for Quade. Several times heturned to the back seat, and always he found Joanne's eyes questing in thatstrange way for the some one whom she expected to see. Mrs. Blackton waspointing out lighted places, and explaining things as they passed, but heknew that in spite of her apparent attention Joanne heard only a part ofwhat she was saying. In that crowd she hoped--or feared--to find a certainface. And again Aldous told himself that it was not Quade's face. 

Near the end of the street a crowd was gathering, and here, for a moment, Blackton stopped his team within fifty feet of the objects of attraction. Aslim, exquisitely formed woman in shimmering silk was standing beside ahuge brown bear. Her sleek black hair, shining as if it had been oiled, fell in curls about her shoulders. Her rouged lips were smiling. Even atthat distance her black eyes sparkled like diamonds. She had evidently justfinished taking up a collection, for she was fastening the cord of a silkenpurse about her neck. In another moment she bestrode the bear, the crowdfell apart, and as the onlookers broke into a roar of applause the bigbeast lumbered slowly up the street with its rider. 

"One of Culver Rann's friends, " said Blackton _sotto voce_, as he drove on. "She takes in a hundred a night if she makes a cent!"

[Illustration: A slim, exquisitely formed woman in shimmering silk wasstanding beside a huge brown bear. In another moment she bestrode the bear, and the big beast lumbered up the street with its rider. ]

Blackton's big log bungalow was close to the engineers' camp half a miledistant from the one lighted street and the hundreds of tents and shacksthat made up the residential part of the town. Not until they were inside, and Peggy Blackton had disappeared with Joanne for a few moments, didAldous take old Donald MacDonald's note from his pocket. He pulled out thequill, unfolded the bit of paper, and read the few crudely written wordsthe mountain man had sent him. Blackton turned in time to catch the suddenamazement in his face. Crushing the note in his hand, Aldous looked at theother, his mouth tightening. 

"You must help me make excuses, old man, " he said quietly. "It will seemstrange to them if I do not stay for supper. But--it is impossible. I mustsee old Donald as quickly as I can get to him. "

His manner more than his words kept Blackton from urging him to remain. Thecontractor stared at him for a moment, his own eyes growing harder and moredirect. 

"It's about the shooting, " he said. "If you want me to go with you, Aldous----"

"Thanks. That will be unnecessary. "

Peggy Blackton and Joanne were returning. Aldous turned toward them as theyentered the room. With the note still in his hand he repeated to them whathe had told Blackton--that he had received word which made it immediatelyurgent for him to go to MacDonald. He shook hands with the Blacktons, promising to be on hand for the four o'clock breakfast. 

Joanne followed him to the door and out upon the veranda. For a moment theywere alone, and now her eyes were wide and filled with fear as he claspedher hands closely in his own. 

"I saw him, " she whispered, her fingers tightening convulsively. "I sawthat man--Quade--at the station. He followed us up the street. Twice Ilooked behind--and saw him. I am afraid--afraid to let you go back there. Ibelieve he is somewhere out there now--waiting for you!"

She was frightened, trembling; and her fear for him, the fear in hershining eyes, in her throbbing breath, in the clasp of her fingers, sentthrough John Aldous a joy that almost made him free her hands and crush herin his arms in the ecstasy of that wonderful moment. Then Peggy Blacktonand her husband appeared in the door. He released her hands, and steppedout into the gloom. The cheery good-nights of the Blacktons followed him. And Joanne's good-night was in her eyes--following him until he was gone, filled with their entreaty and their fear. 

A hundred yards distant, where the trail split to lead to the camp of theengineers, there was a lantern on a pole. Here Aldous paused, out of sightof the Blackton bungalow, and in the dim light read again MacDonald's note. 

In a cramped and almost illegible hand the old wanderer of the mountainshad written:

 Don't go to cabin. Culver Rann waiting to kill you. Don't show yorself in town. Cum to me as soon as you can on trail striking north to Loon Lake. Watch yorself. Be ready with yor gun. 

 DONALD MacDONALD. 

Aldous shoved the note in his pocket and slipped back out of thelantern-glow into deep shadow. For several minutes he stood silent andlistening. 

CHAPTER XI

As John Aldous stood hidden in the darkness, listening for the sound of afootstep, Joanne's words still rang in his ears. "I believe he is outthere--waiting for you, " she had said; and, chuckling softly in the gloom, he told himself that nothing would give him more satisfaction than animmediate and material proof of her fear. In the present moment he felt akeen desire to confront Quade face to face out there in the lantern-glow, and settle with the mottled beast once for all. The fact that Quade hadseen Joanne as the guest of the Blacktons hardened him in hisdetermination. Quade could no longer be in possible error regarding her. Heknew that she had friends, and that she was not of the kind who could bemade or induced to play his game and Culver Rann's. If he followed herafter this----

Aldous gritted his teeth and stared up and down the black trail. Fiveminutes passed and he heard nothing that sounded like a footstep, and hesaw no moving shadow in the gloom. Slowly he continued along the road untilhe came to where a narrow pack-trail swung north and east through the thickspruce and balsam in the direction of Loon Lake. Remembering MacDonald'swarning, he kept his pistol in his hand. The moon was just beginning torise over the shoulder of a mountain, and after a little it lighted up themore open spaces ahead of him. Now and then he paused, and turned tolisten. As he progressed with slowness and caution, his mind workedswiftly. He knew that Donald MacDonald was the last man in the world towrite such a message as he had sent him through Blackton unless there hadbeen a tremendous reason for it. But why, he asked himself again and again, should Culver Rann want to kill him? Rann knew nothing of Joanne. He hadnot seen her. And surely Quade had not had time to formulate a plot withhis partner before MacDonald wrote his warning. Besides, an attempt hadbeen made to assassinate the old mountaineer! MacDonald had not warned himagainst Quade. He had told him to guard himself against Rann. And whatreason could this Culver Rann have for doing him injury? The more hethought of it the more puzzled he became. And then, in a flash, thepossible solution of it all came to him. 

Had Culver Rann discovered the secret mission on which he and the oldmountaineer were going into the North? Had he learned of the gold--where itwas to be found? And was their assassination the first step in a plot tosecure possession of the treasure?

The blood in Aldous' veins ran faster. He gripped his pistol harder. Moreclosely he looked into the moonlit gloom of the trail ahead of him. Hebelieved that he had guessed the meaning of MacDonald's warning. It was thegold! More than once thought of the yellow treasure far up in the North hadthrilled him, but never as it thrilled him now. Was the old tragedy of itto be lived over again? Was it again to play its part in a terrible dramaof men's lives, as it had played it more than forty years ago? The gold!The gold that for nearly half a century had lain with the bones of itsdead, alone with its terrible secret, alone until Donald MacDonald hadfound it again! He had not told Joanne the story of it, the appalling andalmost unbelievable tragedy of it. He had meant to do so. But they hadtalked of other things. He had meant to tell her that it was not the golditself that was luring him far to the north--that it was not the gold alonethat was taking Donald MacDonald back to it. 

And now, as he stood for a moment listening to the low sweep of the wind inthe spruce-tops, it seemed to him that the night was filled with whisperingvoices of that long-ago--and he shivered, and held his breath. A cloud haddrifted under the moon. For a few moments it was pitch dark. The fingers ofhis hand dug into the rough bark of a spruce. He did not move. It was thenthat he heard something above the caressing rustle of the wind in thespruce-tops. 

It came to him faintly, from full half a mile deeper in the black forestthat reached down to the bank of the Frazer. It was the night call of anowl--one of the big gray owls that turned white as the snow in winter. Mentally he counted the notes in the call. One, two, three, _four_--and aflood of relief swept over him. It was MacDonald. They had used that signalin their hunting, when they had wished to locate each other withoutfrightening game. Always there were three notes in the big gray owl'squavering cry. The fourth was human. He put his hands to his mouth and sentback an answer, emphasizing the fourth note. The light breeze had died downfor a moment, and Aldous heard the old mountaineer's reply as it floatedfaintly back to him through the forest. Continuing to hold his pistol, hewent on, this time more swiftly. 

MacDonald did not signal again. The moon was climbing rapidly into the sky, and with each passing minute the night was becoming lighter. He had gonehalf a mile when he stopped again and signalled softly. MacDonald's voiceanswered, so near that for an instant the automatic flashed in themoonlight. Aldous stepped out where the trail had widened into a small openspot. Half a dozen paces from him, in the bright flood of the moon, stoodDonald MacDonald. 

The night, the moon-glow, the tense attitude of his waiting added to theweirdness of the picture which the old wanderer of the mountains made asAldous faced him. MacDonald was tall; some trick of the night made himappear almost unhumanly tall as he stood in the centre of that tiny moonlitamphitheatre. His head was bowed a little, and his shoulders drooped alittle, for he was old. A thick, shaggy beard fell in a silvery sheen overhis breast. His hair, gray as the underwing of the owl whose note heforged, straggled in uncut disarray from under the drooping rim of abattered and weatherworn hat. His coat was of buckskin, and it was short atthe sleeves--four inches too short; and the legs of his trousers were cutoff between the knees and the ankles, giving him a still greater appearanceof height. 

In the crook of his arm MacDonald held a rifle, a strange-looking, long-barrelled rifle of a type a quarter of a century old. And DonaldMacDonald, in the picture he made, was like his gun, old and gray andghostly, as if he had risen out of some graveyard of the past to warmhimself in the yellow splendour of the moon. But in the grayness andgauntness of him there was something that was mightier than the strength ofyouth. He was alert. In the crook of his arm there was caution. His eyeswere as keen as the eyes of an animal. His shoulders spoke of a strengthbut little impaired by the years. Ghostly gray beard, ghostly gray hair, haunting eyes that gleamed, all added to the strange and weirdimpressiveness of the man as he stood before Aldous. And when he spoke, hisvoice had in it the deep, low, cavernous note of a partridge's drumming. 

"I'm glad you've come, Aldous, " he said. "I've been waiting ever since thetrain come in. I was afraid you'd go to the cabin!"

Aldous stepped forth and gripped the old mountaineer's outstretched hand. There was intense relief in Donald's eyes. 

"I got a little camp back here in the bush, " he went on, nodding riverward. "It's safer 'n the shack these days. Yo're sure--there ain't no onefollowing?"

"Quite certain, " assured Aldous. "Look here, MacDonald--what in thunder hashappened? Don't continue my suspense! Who shot you? Why did you warn me?"

Deep in his beard the old hunter laughed. 

"Same fellow as would have shot you, I guess, " he answered. "They made abad job of it, Johnny, an awful bad job, an' mebby there'd been a betterman layin' for you!"

He was pulling Aldous in the bush as he spoke. For ten minutes he dived onahead through a jungle in which there was no trail. Suddenly he turned, led the way around the edge of a huge mass of rock, and paused a momentlater before a small smouldering fire. Against the face of a giganticboulder was a balsam shelter. A few cooking utensils were scattered about. It was evident that MacDonald had been living here for several days. 

"Looks as though I'd run away, don't it, Johnny?" he asked, laughing in hiscurious, chuckling way again. "An' so I did, boy. From the mountain upthere I've been watching things through my telescope--been keepin' quietsince Doc pulled the bullet out. I've been layin' for the Breed. I wantedhim to think I'd vamoosed. I'm goin' to kill him!"

He had squatted down before the fire, his long rifle across his knees, andspoke as quietly as though he was talking of a partridge or a squirrelinstead of a human being. He wormed a hand into one of his pockets andproduced a small dark object which he handed to Aldous The other felt anuncanny chill as it touched his fingers. It was a mis-shapened bullet. 

"Doc gave me the lead, " continued MacDonald coolly, beginning to slice apipeful of tobacco from a tar-black plug. "It come from Joe's gun. I'vehunted with him enough to know his bullet. He fired through the window ofthe cabin. If it hadn't been for the broom handle--just the end of itstickin' up"--he shrugged his gaunt shoulders as he stuffed the tobaccointo the bowl of his pipe--"I'd been dead!" he finished tersely. 

"You mean that Joe----"

"Has sold himself to Culver Rann!" exclaimed MacDonald. He sprang to hisfeet. For the first time he showed excitement. His eyes blazed withrepressed rage. A hand gripped the barrel of his rifle as if to crush it. "He's sold himself to Culver Rann!" he repeated. "He's sold him our secret. He's told him where the gold is, Johnny! He's bargained to guide Rann an'his crowd to it! An' first--they're goin' to kill _us!_"

With a low whistle Aldous took off his hat. He ran a hand through hisblond-gray hair. Then he replaced his hat and drew two cigars from hispocket. MacDonald accepted one. Aldous' eyes were glittering; his lips weresmiling. 

"They are, are they, Donald? They're going to kill us?"

"They're goin' to try, " amended the old hunter, with another curiouschuckle in his ghostly beard. "They're goin' to try, Johnny. That's why Itold you not to go to the cabin. I wasn't expecting you for a week. To-morrow I was goin' to start on a hike for Miette. I been watchingthrough my telescope from the mountain up there. I see Quade come in thismorning on a hand-car. Twice I see him and Rann together. Then I sawBlackton hike out into the bush. I was worrying about you an' wondered ifhe had any word. So I laid for him on the trail--an' I guess it was lucky. I ain't been able to set my eyes on Joe. I looked for hours through thetelescope--an' I couldn't find him. He's gone, or Culver Rann is keepinghim out of sight. "

For several moments Aldous looked at his companion in silence. Then hesaid:

"You're sure of all this, are you, Donald? You have good proof--that Joehas turned traitor?"

"I've been suspicious of him ever since we come down from the North, "spoke MacDonald slowly. "I watched him--night an' day. I was afraid he'dget a grubstake an' start back alone. Then I saw him with Culver Rann. Itwas late. I heard 'im leave the shack, an' I followed. He went to Rann'shouse--an' Rann was expecting him. Three times I followed him to CulverRann's house. I knew what was happening then, an' I planned to get him backin the mountains on a hunt, an' kill him. But I was too late. The shot camethrough the window. Then he disappeared. An'--Culver Rann is getting anoutfit together! Twenty head of horses, with grub for three months!"

"The deuce! And our outfit? Is it ready?"

"To the last can o' beans!"

"And your plan, Donald?"

All at once the old mountaineer's eyes were aflame with eagerness as hecame nearer to Aldous. 

"Get out of Tête Jaune to-night!" he cried in a low, hissing voice thatquivered with excitement. "Hit the trail before dawn! Strike into themountains with our outfit--far enough back--and then wait!"

"Wait?"

"Yes--wait. If they follow us--_fight!_"

Slowly Aldous held out a hand. The old mountaineer's met it. Steadily theylooked into each other's eyes. 

Then John Aldous spoke:

"If this had been two days ago I would have said yes. But to-night--it isimpossible. "

The fingers that had tightened about his own relaxed. Slowly a droop cameinto MacDonald's shoulders. Disappointment, a look that was almost despairsettled in his eyes. Seeing the change, Aldous held the old hunter's handmore firmly. 

"That doesn't mean we're not going to fight, " he said quickly. "Only we'vegot to plan differently. Sit down, Donald. Something has been happening tome. And I'm going to tell you about it. "

A little back from the fire they seated themselves, and Aldous told DonaldMacDonald about Joanne. 

He began at the beginning, from the moment his eyes first saw her as sheentered Quade's place. He left nothing out. He told how she had come intohis life, and how he intended to fight to keep her from going out of it. Hetold of his fears, his hopes, the mystery of their coming to Tête Jaune, and how Quade had preceded them to plot the destruction of the woman heloved. He described her as she had stood that morning, like a radiantgoddess in the sun; and when he came to that he leaned nearer, and saidsoftly:

"And when I saw her there, Donald, with her hair streaming about her likethat, I thought of the time you told me of that other woman--the woman ofyears and years ago--and how you, Donald, used to look upon her in the sun, and rejoice in your possession. Her spirit has been with you always. Youhave told me how for nearly fifty years you have followed it over thesemountains. And this woman means as much to me. If she should die to-nighther spirit would live with me in that same way. You understand, Donald. Ican't go into the mountains to-night. God knows when I can go--now. Butyou----"

MacDonald had risen. He turned his face to the black wall of the forest. Aldous thought he saw a sudden quiver pass through the great, bentshoulders. 

"And I, " said MacDonald slowly, "will have the horses ready for you atdawn. We will fight this other fight--later. "

CHAPTER XII

For an hour after Donald MacDonald had pledged himself to accompany Joanneand Aldous on their pilgrimage to the grave in the Saw Tooth Range the twomen continued to discuss the unusual complications in which they hadsuddenly become involved, and at the same time prepared themselves a supperof bacon and coffee over the fire. They agreed upon a plan of action withone exception. Aldous was determined to return to the town, arguing therewas a good strategic reason for showing himself openly and without fear. MacDonald opposed this apprehensively. 

"Better lay quiet until morning, " he expostulated. "You'd better listen tome, an' do that, Johnny. I've got something in my shoulder that tells meyou'd better!"

In the face of the old hunter's misgiving, Aldous prepared to leave. It wasnearly ten o'clock when he set back in the direction of Tête Jaune, Donaldaccompanying him as far as the moonlit amphitheatre in the forest. Therethey separated, and Aldous went on alone. 

He believed that Joanne and the Blacktons would half expect him to returnto the bungalow after he had seen MacDonald. He was sure that Blackton, atleast, would look for him until quite late. The temptation to takeadvantage of their hospitality was great, especially as it would bring himin the company of Joanne again. On the other hand, he was certain that thisfirst night in Tête Jaune held very large possibilities for him. Thedetective instinct in him was roused, and his adventurous spirit was alivefor action. First of all, he wanted proof of what MacDonald had told him. That an attempt had been made to assassinate the old mountaineer he did notfor an instant doubt. But had Joe DeBar, the half-breed, actually betrayedthem? Had he sold himself to Culver Rann, and did Rann hold the key to thesecret expedition they had planned into the North? He did not, at first, care to see Rann. He made up his mind that if he did meet him he would stopand chat casually with him, as though he had heard and seen nothing torouse his suspicions. He particularly wanted to find DeBar; and, next toDeBar, Quade himself. 

The night carnival was at its height when Aldous re-entered the long, lighted street. From ten until eleven was the liveliest hour of the night. Even the restaurants and soup-kitchens were crowded then. He strolledslowly down the street until he came to a little crowd gathered about thebear equestrienne. The big canvas dance-hall a few doors away had luredfrom her most of her admirers by this time, and Aldous found no difficultyin reaching the inner circle. He looked first for the half-breed. Failingto find him, he looked at the woman, who stood only a few feet from him. Her glossy black curls were a bit dishevelled, and the excitement of thenight had added to the vivid colouring of her rouged lips and cheeks. Herbody was sleek and sinuous in its silken vesture; arms and shoulders werestartlingly white; and when she turned, facing Aldous, her black eyesflashed fires of deviltry and allurement. 

For a moment he stared into her face. If he had not been looking closely hewould not have caught the swift change that shot into the siren-like playof her orbs. It was almost instantaneous. Her slow-travelling glancestopped as she saw him. He saw the quick intake of her breath, a suddencompression of her lips, the startled, searching scrutiny of a pair of eyesfrom which, for a moment, all the languor and coquetry of her trade weregone. Then she passed him, smiling again, nodding, sweeping a hand and armeffectively through her handsome curls as she flung a shapely limb over thebroad back of the bear. In a garish sort of way the woman was beautiful, and this night, as on all others, her beauty had nearly filled the silkencoin-bag suspended from her neck. As she rode down the street Aldousrecalled Blackton's words: She was a friend of Culver Rann's. He wonderedif this fact accounted for the strangeness of the look she had given him. 

He passed on to the dance-hall. It was crowded, mostly with men. But hereand there, like so many faces peering forth from living graves, he saw theLittle Sisters of Tête Jaune Cache. Outnumbered ten to one, their voicesrang out in shrill banter and delirious laughter above the rumble of men. At the far end, a fiddle, a piano, and a clarinet were squealing forthmusic. The place smelled strongly of whisky. It always smelled of that, formost of the men who sought amusement here got their whisky in spite of thelaw. There were rock-hogs from up the line, and rock-hogs from down theline, men of all nationalities and of almost all ages; teamsters, trail-cutters, packers, and rough-shod navvies; men whose daily task was toplay with dynamite and giant powder; steel-men, tie-men, and men whodrilled into the hearts of mountains. More than once John Aldous had lookedupon this same scene, and had listened to the trample and roar and wildrevelry of it, marvelling that to-morrow the men of this saturnalia wouldagain be the builders of an empire. The thin, hollow-cheeked faces thatpassed and repassed him, rouged and smiling, could not destroy in his mindthe strength of the picture. They were but moths, fluttering about in theirown doom, contending with each other to see which should quickest achievedestruction. 

For several minutes Aldous scanned the faces in the big tent-hall, andnowhere did he see DeBar. He dropped out, and continued leisurely along thelighted way until he came to Lovak's huge black-and-white stripedsoup-tent. At ten o'clock, and until twelve, this was as crowded as thedance-hall. Aldous knew Lovak, the Hungarian. 

Through Lovak he had found the key that had unlocked for him many curiousand interesting things associated with that powerful Left Arm of the EmpireBuilders--the Slav. Except for a sprinkling of Germans, a few Italians, andnow and then a Greek or Swiss, only the Slavs filled Lovak's place!--Slavsfrom all the Russias and the nations south: the quick and chattering Polak;the thick-set, heavy-jowled Croatian; the silent and dangerous-eyedLithuanian. All came in for Lovak's wonderful soup, which he sold in bigyellow bowls at ten cents a bowl--soup of barley, rice, and cabbage, ofbeef and mutton, of everything procurable out of which soup could be made, and, whether of meat or vegetable, smelling to heaven of garlic. 

Fifty men were eating when Aldous went in, devouring their soup with theutter abandon and joy of the Galician, so that the noise they made was likethe noise of fifty pigs at fifty troughs. Now and then DeBar, thehalf-breed, came here for soup, and Aldous searched quickly for him. He wasturning to go when his friend, Lovak, came to him. No, Lovak had not seenDeBar. But he had news. That day the authorities--the police--hadconfiscated twenty dressed hogs, and in each porcine carcass they had foundfour-quart bottles of whisky, artistically imbedded in the leaf-lard fat. The day before those same authorities had confiscated a barrel of"kerosene. " They were becoming altogether too officious, Lovak thought. 

Aldous went on. He looked in at a dozen restaurants, and twice as manysoft-drink emporiums, where phonographs were worked until they were crackedand dizzy. He stopped at a small tobacco shop, and entered to buy himselfsome cigars. There was one other customer ahead of him. He was lighting acigar, and the light of a big hanging lamp flashed on a diamond ring. Overhis sputtering match his eyes met those of John Aldous. They were darkeyes, neither brown nor black, but dark, with the keenness and strangeglitter of a serpent's. He wore a small, clipped moustache; his hands werewhite; he was a man whom one might expect to possess the _sang froid_ of adevil in any emergency. For barely an instant he hesitated in the operationof lighting his cigar as he saw Aldous. Then he nodded. 

"Hello, John Aldous, " he said. 

"Good evening, Culver Rann, " replied Aldous. 

For a moment his nerves had tingled--the next they were like steel. CulverRann's teeth gleamed. Aldous smiled back. They were cold, hard, rapierlikeglances. Each understood now that the other was a deadly enemy, for Quade'senemies were also Culver Rann's. Aldous moved carelessly to the glass casein which were the cigars. With the barest touch of one of his slim whitehands Culver Rann stopped him. 

"Have one of mine, Aldous, " he invited, opening a silver case filled withcigars. "We've never had the pleasure of smoking together, you know. "

"Never, " said Aldous, accepting one of the cigars. "Thanks. "

As he lighted it, their eyes met again. Aldous turned to the case. 

"Half a dozen 'Noblemen, '" he said to the man behind the counter; then, toRann: "Will you have one on me?"

"With pleasure, " said Rann. He added, smiling straight into the other'seyes, "What are you doing up here, Aldous? After local colour?"

"Perhaps. The place interests me. "

"It's a lively town. "

"Decidedly. And I understand that you've played an important part in themaking of it, " replied Aldous carelessly. 

For a flash Rann's eyes darkened, and his mouth hardened, then his whiteteeth gleamed again. He had caught the insinuation, and he had scarcelybeen able to ward off the shot. 

"I've tried to do my small share, " he admitted. "If you're after localcolour for your books, Aldous, I possibly may be able to assist you--ifyou're in town long. "

"Undoubtedly you could, " said Aldous. "I think you could tell me a greatdeal that I would like to know, Rann. But--will you?"

There was a direct challenge in his coldly smiling eyes. 

"Yes, I think I shall be quite pleased to do so, " said Rann. "Especially--if you are long in town. " There was an odd emphasis on thoselast words. 

He moved toward the door. 

"And if you are here very long, " he added, his eyes gleaming significantly, "it is possible you may have experiences of your own which would make veryinteresting reading if they ever got into print. Good-night, Aldous!"

For two or three minutes after Rann had gone Aldous loitered in the tobaccoshop. Then he went out. All at once it struck him that he should have kepthis eyes on Quade's partner. He should have followed him. With the hope ofseeing him again he walked up and down the street. It was eleven o'clockwhen he went into Big Ben's pool-room. Five minutes later he came out justas a woman hurried past him, carrying with her a strong scent of perfume. It was the Lady of the Bear. She was in a street dress now, her glossycurls still falling loose about her--probably homeward bound after hernight's harvest. It struck Aldous that the hour was early for herretirement, and that she seemed somewhat in a hurry. 

The woman was going in the direction of Rann's big log bungalow, which wasbuilt well out of town toward the river. She had not seen him as he stoodin the pool-room doorway, and before she had passed out of sight he wasfollowing her. There were a dozen branch trails and "streets" on the way toRann's, and into the gloom of some one of these the woman disappeared, sothat Aldous lost her entirely. He was not disappointed when he found shehad left the main trail. 

Five minutes later he stood close to Rann's house. From the side on whichhe had approached it was dark. No gleam of light showed through thewindows. Slowly he walked around the building, and stopped suddenly on theopposite side. Here a closely drawn curtain was illuminated by a glow fromwithin. Cautiously Aldous made his way along the log wall of the houseuntil he came to the window. At one side the curtain had caught againstsome object, leaving perhaps a quarter of an inch of space through whichthe light shone. Aldous brought his eyes on a level with this space. 

A half of the room came within his vision. Directly in front of him, lighted by a curiously shaped iron lamp suspended from the ceiling, was adull red mahogany desk-table. At one side of this, partly facing him, wasCulver Rann. Opposite him sat Quade. 

Rann was speaking, while Quade, with his bullish shoulders hunched forwardand his fleshy red neck, rolling over the collar of his coat, leaned acrossthe table in a tense and listening attitude. With his eyes glued to theaperture, Aldous strained his ears to catch what Rann was saying. He heardonly the low and unintelligible monotone of his voice. A mocking smile wasaccompanying Rann's words. To-night, as at all times, this hawk who preyedupon human lives was immaculate. In all ways but one he was the antithesisof the beefy scoundrel who sat opposite him. On the hand that toyedcarelessly with the fob of his watch flashed a diamond; another sparkled inhis cravat. His dark hair was sleek and well brushed; his bristly littlemoustache was clipped in the latest fashion. He was not large. His hands, as he made a gesture toward Quade, were of womanish whiteness. Casually, onthe street or in a Pullman, Aldous would have taken him for a gentleman. Now, as he stared through the narrow slit between the bottom of the curtainand the sill, he knew that he was looking upon one of the most dangerousmen in all the West. Quade was a villain. Culver Rann, quiet and cool andsuave, was a devil. Behind his depravity worked the brain which Quadelacked, and a nerve which, in spite of that almost effeminateimmaculateness, had been described to Aldous as colossal. 

Suddenly Quade turned, and Aldous saw that he was flushed and excited. Hestruck the desk a blow with his fist. Culver Rann leaned back and smiled. And John Aldous slipped away from the window. 

His nerves were quivering; in the darkness he unbuttoned the pocket thatheld his automatic. Through the window he had seen an open door behindRann, and his blood thrilled with the idea that had come to him. He wassure the two partners in crime were discussing himself and MacDonald--andJoanne. To hear what they were saying, to discover their plot, would bethree quarters of the fight won, if it came to a fight. The open door wasan inspiration. 

Swiftly and silently he went to the rear of the house. He tried the doorand found it unlocked. Softly he opened it, swinging it inward an inch ata time, and scarcely breathing as he entered. It was dark, and there was asecond closed door ahead of him. From beyond that he heard voices. Heclosed the outer door so that he would not be betrayed by a current of airor a sound from out of the night. Then, even more cautiously and slowly, hebegan to open the second door. 

An inch at first, then two inches, three inches--a foot--he worked the doorinward. There was no light in this second room, and he lay close to thefloor, head and shoulders thrust well in. Through the third and open doorhe saw Quade and Culver Rann. Rann was laughing softly as he lighted afresh cigar. His voice was quiet and good humoured, but filled with abanter which it was evident Quade was not appreciating. 

"You amaze me, " Rann was saying. "You amaze me utterly. You've gonemad--mad as a rock-rabbit, Quade! Do you mean to tell me you're on thesquare when you offer to turn over a half of your share in the gold if Ihelp you to get this woman?"

"I do, " replied Quade thickly. "I mean just that! And we'll put it down inblack an' white--here, now. You fix the papers, same as any other deal, andI'll sign!"

For a moment Culver Rann did not reply. He leaned back in his chair, thrustthe thumbs of his white hands in his vest, and sent a cloud of smoke abovehis head. Then he looked at Quade, a gleam of humour in his eyes. 

"Nothing like a woman for turning a man's head soft, " he chuckled. "Nothingin the world like it, 'pon my word, Quade. First it was DeBar. I don'tbelieve we'd got him if he hadn't seen Marie riding her bear. Marie andher curls and her silk tights, Quade--s'elp me, it wouldn't have surprisedme so much if you'd fallen in love with _her!_ And over this other womanyou're as mad as Joe is over Marie. At first sight he was ready to sell hissoul for her. So--I gave Marie to him. And now, for some other woman, you're just as anxious to surrender a half of your share of what we'vebought through Marie. Good heaven, man, if you were in love with Marie----"

"Damn Marie!" growled Quade. "I know the time when you were bugs over heryourself, Rann. It wasn't so long ago. If I'd looked at her then----"

"Of course, not then, " interrupted Rann smilingly. "That would have beenimpolite, Quade, and not at all in agreement with the spirit of ourbrotherly partnership. And, you must admit, Marie is a devilishgood-looking girl. I've surrendered her only for a brief spell to DeBar. After he has taken us to the gold--why, the poor idiot will probably havebeen sufficiently happy to----"

He paused, with a suggestive shrug of his shoulders. 

"--go into cold storage, " finished Quade. 

"Exactly. "

Again Quade leaned over the table, and for a moment there was silence, asilence in which Aldous thought the pounding of his heart must betray him. He lay motionless on the floor. The nails of his fingers dug into the barewood. Under the palm of his right hand lay his automatic. 

Then Quade spoke. There must have been more in his face than was spoken inhis words, for Culver Rann took the cigar from between his lips, and alight that was deadly serious slowly filled his eyes. 

"Rann, we'll talk business!" Quade's voice was harsh, deep, and quivering. "I want this woman. I may be a fool, but I'm going to have her. I might gether alone, but we've always done things together--an' so I made you thatproposition. It ain't a hard job. It's one of the easiest jobs we ever had. Only that fool of a writer is in the way--an' he's got to go anyway. We'vegot to get rid of him on account of the gold, him an' MacDonald. We've gotthat planned. An' I've showed you how we can get the woman, an' no one everknow. Are you in on this with me?"

Culver Rann's reply was as quick and sharp as a pistol shot. 

"I am. "

For another moment there was silence. Then Quade asked:

"Any need of writin', Culver?"

"No. There can't be a written agreement in this deal because--it'sdangerous. There won't be much said about old MacDonald. But questions, agood many of them, will be asked about this man Aldous. As for thewoman----" Rann shrugged his shoulders with a sinister smile. "She willdisappear like the others, " he finished. "No one will ever get on to that. If she doesn't make a pal like Marie--after a time, why----"

Again Aldous saw that peculiar shrug of his shoulders. 

Quade's head nodded on his thick neck. 

"Of course, I agree to that, " he said. "After a time. But most of 'em havecome over, ain't they, Culver? Eh? Most of 'em have, " he chuckled coarsely. "When you see her you won't call me a fool for going dippy over her, Culver. And she'll come round all right after she's gone through what we'vegot planned for her. I'll make a pal of her!"

In that moment, as he listened to the gloating passion and triumph inQuade's brutal voice, something broke in the brain of John Aldous. Itfilled him with a fire that in an instant had devoured every thought orplan he had made, and in this madness he was consumed by a singledesire--the desire to kill. And yet, as this conflagration surged throughhim, it did not blind or excite him. It did not make him leap forth inanimal rage. It was something more terrible. He rose so quietly that theothers did not see or hear him in the dark outer room. They did not hearthe slight metallic click of the safety on his pistol. 

For the space of a breath he stood and looked at them. He no longer sensedthe words Quade was uttering. He was going in coolly and calmly to killthem. There was something disagreeable in the flashing thought that hemight kill them from where he stood. He would not fire from the dark. Hewanted to experience the exquisite sensation of that one first moment whenthey would writhe back from him, and see in him the presence of death. Hewould give them that one moment of life--just that one. Then he would kill. 

With his pistol ready in his hand he stepped out into the lighted room. 

"Good evening, gentlemen!" he said. 

CHAPTER XIII

For a space of perhaps twenty seconds after John Aldous announced himselfthere was no visible sign of life on the part of either Quade or CulverRann. The latter sat stunned. Not the movement of a finger broke thestonelike immobility of his attitude. His eyes were like two dark coalsgazing steadily as a serpent's over Quade's hunched shoulders and bowedhead. Quade seemed as if frozen on the point of speaking to Rann. One handwas still poised a foot above the table. It was he who broke the tense andlifeless tableau. 

Slowly, almost as slowly as Aldous had opened the door, Quade turned hishead, and stared into the coldly smiling face of the man whom he hadplotted to kill, and saw the gleaming pistol in his hand. A curious lookovercame his pouchy face, a look not altogether of terror--but of shock. Heknew Aldous had heard. He accepted in an instant, and perceptibly, thesignificance of the pistol in his hand. But Culver Rann sat like a rock. His face expressed nothing. Not for the smallest part of a second had hebetrayed any emotion that might be throbbing within him. In spite ofhimself Aldous admired the man's unflinching nerve. 

"Good evening, gentlemen!" he repeated. 

Then Rann leaned slowly forward over the table. One hand rose to hismoustache. It was his right hand. The other was invisible. Quade pulledhimself together and stepped to the end of the table, his two empty handsin front of him. Aldous, still smiling, faced Rann's glittering eyes andcovered him with his automatic. Culver Rann twisted the end of hismoustache, and smiled back. 

"Well?" he said. "Is it checkmate?"

"It is, " replied Aldous. "I've promised you scoundrels one minute of life. I guess that minute is about up. "

The last word was scarcely out of his mouth when the room was indarkness--a darkness so complete and sudden that for an instant his handfaltered, and in that instant he heard the overturning of a chair and thefalling of a body. Twice his automatic sent a lightning-flash of fire whereCulver Rann had sat; twice it spat threadlike ribbons of flame through theblackness where Quade had stood. He knew what had happened, and also whatto expect if he lost out now. The curiously shaped iron lamp had concealedan electric bulb, and Rann had turned off the switch-key under the table. He had no further time to think. An object came hurtling through the thickgloom and fell with terrific force on his outstretched pistol arm. Hisautomatic flew from his hand and struck against the wall. Unarmed, hesprang back toward the open door--full into the arms of Quade!

Aldous knew that it was Quade and not Culver Rann, and he struck out withall the force he could gather in a short-arm blow. His fist landed againstQuade's thick neck. Again and again he struck, and Quade's grip loosened. In another moment he would have reached the door if Rann had not caught himfrom behind. Never had Aldous felt the clutch of hands like those of thewomanish hands of Culver Rann. It was as if sinuous fingers of steel wereburying themselves in his flesh. Before they found his throat he flunghimself backward with all his weight, and with a tremendous effort freedhimself. 

Both Quade and Culver Rann now stood between him and the door. He couldhear Quade's deep, panting breath. Rann, as before, was silent as death. Then he heard the door close. A key clicked in the lock. He was trapped. 

"Turn on the light, Billy, " he heard Rann say in a quiet, unexcited voice. "We've got this house-breaker cornered, and he's lost his gun. Turn on thelight--and I'll make one shot do the business!"

Aldous heard Quade moving, but he was not coming toward the table. Somewhere in the room was another switch connected with the iron lamp, andAldous felt a curious chill shoot up his spine. Without seeing through thatpitch darkness of the room he sensed the fact that Culver Rann was standingwith his back against the locked door, a revolver in his hand. And he knewthat Quade, feeling his way along the wall, held a revolver in his hand. Men like these two did not go unarmed. The instant the light was turned onthey would do their work. As he stood, silent as Culver Rann, he realizedthe tables were turned. In that moment's madness roused by Quade's gloatingassurance of possessing Joanne he had revealed himself like a fool, and nowhe was about to reap the whirlwind of his folly. Deliberately he had givenhimself up to his enemies. They, too, would be fools if they allowed him toescape alive. 

He heard Quade stop. His thick hand was fumbling along the wall. Aldousguessed that he was feeling for the switch. He almost fancied he could seeRann's revolver levelled at him through the darkness. In that thrillingmoment his mind worked with the swiftness of a powder flash. One of hishands touched the edge of the desk-table, and he knew that he was standingdirectly opposite the curtained window, perhaps six feet from it. If heflung himself through the window the curtain would save him from being cutto pieces. 

No sooner had the idea of escape come to him than he had acted. A flood oflight filled the room as his body crashed through the glass. He heard acry--a single shot--as he struck the ground. He gathered himself up and ranswiftly. Fifty yards away he stopped, and looked back. Quade and Rann werein the window. Then they disappeared, and a moment later the room was againin gloom. 

For a second time Aldous hurried in the direction of MacDonald's camp. Heknew that, in spite of the protecting curtain, the glass had cut him. Hefelt the warm blood dripping over his face; both hands were wet with it, The arm on which he had received the blow from the unseen object in theroom gave him considerable pain, and he had slightly sprained an ankle inhis leap through the window, so that he limped a little. But his mind wasclear--so clear that in the face of his physical discomfort he caughthimself laughing once or twice as he made his way along the trail. 

Aldous was not of an ordinary type. To a curious and superlative degree hecould appreciate a defeat as well as a triumph. His adventures had been apart of a life in which he had not always expected to win, and into-night's game he admitted that he had been hopelessly and ridiculouslybeaten. Tragedy, to him, was a first cousin of comedy; to-night he had setout to kill, and, instead of killing, he had run like a jack-rabbit forcover. Also, in that same half-hour Rann and Quade had been sure of him, and he had given them the surprise of their lives by his catapulticdisappearance through the window. There was something ludicrous about itall--something that, to him, at least, had turned a possible tragedy into avery good comedy-drama. 

Nor was Aldous blind to the fact that he had made an utter fool of himself, and that the consequences of his indiscretion might prove extremelyserious. Had he listened to the conspirators without betraying himself hewould have possessed an important advantage over them. The knowledge he hadgained from overhearing their conversation would have made it comparativelyeasy for MacDonald and him to strike them a perhaps fatal blow through thehalf-breed DeBar. As the situation stood now, he figured that Quade andCulver Rann held the advantage. Whatever they had planned to do they wouldput into quick execution. They would not lose a minute. 

It was not for himself that Aldous feared. Neither did he fear for Joanne. Every drop of red fighting blood in him was ready for further action, andhe was determined that Quade should find no opportunity of accomplishingany scheme he might have against Joanne's person. On the other hand, unlessthey could head off DeBar, he believed that Culver Rann's chances ofreaching the gold ahead of them would grow better with the passing of eachhour. To protect Joanne from Quade he must lose no time. MacDonald wouldbe in the same predicament, while Rann, assisted by as many rascals of hisown colour as he chose to take with him, would be free to carry out theother part of the conspirators' plans. 

The longer he thought of the mess he had stirred up the more roundly Aldouscursed his imprudence. And this mess, as he viewed it in these coolermoments, was even less disturbing than the thought of what might havehappened had he succeeded in his intention of killing both Quade and Rann. Twenty times as he made his way through the darkness toward MacDonald'scamp he told himself that he must have been mad. To have killed Rann orQuade in self-defence, or in open fight, would have been playing the gamewith a shadow of mountain law behind it. But he had invaded Rann's home. Had he killed them he would have had but little more excuse than ahouse-breaker or a suspicious husband might have had. Tête Jaune would notcountenance cold-blooded shooting, even of criminals. He should have takenold Donald's advice and waited until they were in the mountains. Anunpleasant chill ran through him as he thought of the narrowness of hisdouble escape. 

To his surprise, John Aldous found MacDonald awake when he arrived at thecamp in the thickly timbered coulee. He was preparing a midnight cup ofcoffee over a fire that was burning cheerfully between two big rocks. Purposely Aldous stepped out into the full illumination of it. The oldhunter looked up. For a moment he stared into the blood-smeared face of hisfriend; then he sprang to his feet, and caught him by the arm. 

"Yes, I got it, " nodded Aldous cheerfully. "I went out for it, Mac, and Igot it! Get out your emergency kit, will you? I rather fancy I need alittle patching up. "

MacDonald uttered not a word. From the balsam lean-to he brought out asmall rubber bag and a towel. Into a canvas wash-basin he then turned ahalf pail of cold water, and Aldous got on his knees beside this. Not oncedid the old mountaineer speak while he was washing the blood from Aldous'face and hands. There was a shallow two-inch cut in his forehead, twodeeper ones in his right cheek, and a gouge in his chin. There were a dozencuts on his hands, none of them serious. Before he had finished MacDonaldhad used two thirds of a roll of court-plaster. 

Then he spoke. 

"You can soak them off in the morning, " he said. "If you don't, the lady'llthink yo're a red Indian on the warpath. Now, yo' fool, what have yo' gonean' done?"

Aldous told him what had happened, and before MacDonald could utter anexpression of his feelings he admitted that he was an inexcusable idiot andthat nothing MacDonald might say could drive that fact deeper home. 

"If I'd come out after hearing what they had to say, we could have gotDeBar at the end of a gun and settled the whole business, " he finished. "Asit is, we're in a mess. "

MacDonald stretched his gaunt gray frame before the fire. He picked up hislong rifle, and fingered the lock. 

"You figger they'll get away with DeBar?"

"Yes, to-night. "

MacDonald threw open the breech of his single-loader and drew out acartridge as long as his finger. Replacing it, he snapped the breech shut. 

"Don't know as I'm pertic'lar sad over what's happened, " he said, with acurious look at Aldous. "We might have got out of this without what youcall strenu'us trouble. Now--it's _fight!_ It's goin' to be a matter ofguns an' bullets, Johnny--back in the mountains. You figger Rann an' thesnake of a half-breed'll get the start of us. Let 'em have a start! They'vegot two hundred miles to go, an' two hundred miles to come back. Only--theywon't come back!"

Under his shaggy brows the old hunter's eyes gleamed as he looked atAldous. 

"To-morrow we'll go to the grave, " he added. "Yo're cur'ous to know what'sgoin' to happen when we find that grave, Johnny. So am I. I hope----"

"What do you hope?"

MacDonald shook his great gray head in the dying firelight. 

"Let's go to bed, Johnny, " he rumbled softly in his beard. "It's gettin'late. "

CHAPTER XIV

To sleep after the excitement through which he had passed, and withto-morrow's uncertainties ahead of him, seemed to Aldous a physicalimpossibility. Yet he slept, and soundly. It was MacDonald who roused himthree hours later. They prepared a quick breakfast over a small fire, andAldous heated water in which he soaked his face until the strips ofcourt-plaster peeled off. The scratches were lividly evident, but, inasmuchas he had a choice of but two evils, he preferred that Joanne should seethese instead of the abominable disfigurement of court-plaster strips. 

Old Donald took one look at him through half-closed eyes. 

"You look as though you'd come out of a tussle with a grizzly, " he grinned. "Want some fresh court-plaster?"

"And look as though I'd come out of a circus--no!" retorted Aldous. "I'minvited to breakfast at the Blacktons', Mac. How the devil am I going toget out of it?"

"Tell 'em you're sick, " chuckled the old hunter, who saw something funny inthe appearance of Aldous' face. "Good Lord, how I'd liked to have seen youcome through that window--in daylight!"

Aldous led off in the direction of the trail. MacDonald followed closebehind him. It was dark--that almost ebon-black hour that precedes summerdawn in the northern mountains. The moon had long ago disappeared in thewest. When a few minutes later they paused in the little opening on thetrail Aldous could just make out the shadowy form of the old mountaineer. 

"I lost my gun when I jumped through the window, Mac, " he explained. "There's another thirty-eight automatic in my kit at the corral. Bringthat, and the . 303 with the gold-bead sight--and plenty of ammunition. You'd better take that forty-four hip-cannon of yours along, as well asyour rifle. Wish I could civilize you, Mac, so you'd carry one of theSavage automatics instead of that old brain-storm of fifty years ago!"

MacDonald gave a grunt of disgust that was like the whoof of a bear. 

"It's done business all that time, " he growled good humouredly. "An' itain't ever made me jump through any window as I remember of, Johnny!"

"Enough, " said Aldous, and in the gloom he gripped the other's hand. "You'll be there, Mac--in front of the Blacktons'--just as it's growinglight?"

"That means in three quarters of an hour, Johnny. I'll be there. Threesaddle-horses and a pack. "

Where the trail divided they separated. Aldous went directly to theBlacktons'. As he had expected, the bungalow was alight. In the kitchen hesaw Tom, the Oriental cook, busy preparing breakfast. Blackton himself, comfortably dressed in duck trousers and a smoking-jacket, and puffing on apipe, opened the front door for him. The pipe almost fell from his mouthwhen he saw his friend's excoriated face. 

"What in the name of Heaven!" he gasped. 

"An accident, " explained Aldous, with a suggestive shrug of his shoulders. "Blackton, I want you to do me another good turn. Tell the ladies anythingyou can think of--something reasonable. The truth is, I went through awindow--a window with plenty of glass in it. Now how the deuce can Iexplain going through a window like a gentleman?"

With folded arms, Blackton inspected him thoughtfully for a moment. 

"You can't, " he said. "But I don't think you went through a window. Ibelieve you fell over a cliff and were caught in an armful of wait-a-bitbushes. They're devilish those wait-a-bits!"

They shook hands. 

"I'm ready to blow up with curiosity again, " said Blackton. "But I'll playyour game, Aldous. "

A few minutes later Joanne and Peggy Blackton joined them. He saw again thequick flush of pleasure in Joanne's lovely face when she entered the room. It changed instantly when she saw the livid cuts in his skin. She came tohim quickly, and gave him her hand. Her lips trembled, but she did notspeak. Blackton accepted this as the psychological moment. 

"What do you think of a man who'll wander off a trail, tumble over a ledge, and get mixed up in a bunch of wait-a-bit like _that?_" he demanded, laughing as though he thought it a mighty good joke on Aldous. "Wait-a-bitthorns are worse than razors, Miss Gray, " he elucidated further. "They're--they're perfectly devilish, you know!"

"Indeed they _are_, " emphasized Peggy Blackton, whom her husband had givena quick look and a quicker nudge, "They're dreadful!"

Looking straight into Joanne's eyes, Aldous guessed that she did notbelieve, and scarcely heard, the Blacktons. 

"I had a presentiment something was going to happen, " she said, smiling athim. "I'm glad it was no worse than that. "

She withdrew her hand, and turned to Peggy Blackton. To John's delight shehad arranged her wonderful shining hair in a braid that rippled in a thick, sinuous rope of brown and gold below her hips. Peggy Blackton had in someway found a riding outfit for her slender figure, a typical mountainoutfit, with short divided skirt, loose blouse, and leggings. She had neverlooked more beautiful to him. Her night's rest had restored the colour toher soft cheeks and curved lips; and in her eyes, when she looked at himagain, there was a strange, glowing light that thrilled him. During thenext half-hour he almost forgot his telltale disfigurements. At breakfastPaul and Peggy Blackton were beautifully oblivious of them. Once or twicehe saw in Joanne's clear eyes a look which made him suspect that she hadguessed very near to the truth. 

MacDonald was prompt to the minute. Gray day, with its bars of golden tint, was just creeping over the shoulders of the eastern mountains when he rodeup to the Blacktons'. The old hunter was standing close to the horse whichJoanne was to ride when Aldous brought her out. Joanne gave him her hand, and for a moment MacDonald bowed his shaggy head over it. Five minuteslater they were trailing up the rough wagon-road, MacDonald in the lead, and Joanne and Aldous behind, with the single pack horse between. 

For several miles this wagon-trail reached back through the thick timberthat filled the bottom between the two ranges of mountains. They hadtravelled but a short distance when Joanne drew her horse close in besideAldous. 

"I want to know what happened last night, " she said. "Will you tell me?"

Aldous met her eyes frankly. He had made up his mind that she would believeonly the truth, and he had decided to tell her at least a part of that. Hewould lay his whole misadventure to the gold. Leaning over the pommel ofhis saddle he recounted the occurrences of the night before, beginning withhis search for Quade and the half-breed, and his experience with the womanwho rode the bear. He left out nothing--except all mention of herself. Hedescribed the events lightly, not omitting those parts which appealed tohim as being very near to comedy. 

In spite of his effort to rob the affair of its serious aspect his recitalhad a decided effect upon Joanne. For some time after he had finished oneof her small gloved hands clutched tightly at the pommel of her saddle; herbreath came more quickly; the colour had ebbed from her cheeks, and shelooked straight ahead, keeping her eyes from meeting his. He began tobelieve that in some way she was convinced he had not told her the wholetruth, and was possibly displeased, when she again turned her face to him. It was tense and white. In it was the fear which, for a few minutes, shehad tried to keep from him. 

"They would have killed you?" she breathed. 

"Perhaps they would only have given me a good scare, " said Aldous. "But Ididn't have time to wait and find out. I was very anxious to see MacDonaldagain. So I went through the window!"

"No, they would have killed you, " said Joanne. "Perhaps I did wrong, Mr. Aldous, but I confided--a little--in Peggy Blackton last night. She seemedlike a sister. I love her. And I wanted to confide in some one--a woman, like her. It wasn't much, but I told her what happened at Miette: aboutyou, and Quade, and how I saw him at the station, and again--later, following us. And then--she told me! Perhaps she didn't know how it wasfrightening me, but she told me all about these men--Quade and Culver Rann. And now I'm more afraid of Culver Rann than Quade, and I've never seen him. They can't hurt me. But I'm afraid for you!"

At her words a joy that was like the heat of a fire leaped into his brain. 

"For me?" he said. "Afraid--for me?"

"Yes. Why shouldn't I be, if I know that you are in danger?" she askedquietly. "And now, since last night, and the discovery of your secret bythese men, I am terrified. Quade has followed you here. Mrs. Blackton toldme that Culver Rann was many times more dangerous than Quade. Only a littlewhile ago you told me you did not care for riches. Then why do you go forthis gold? Why do you run the risk? Why----"

He waited. The colour was flooding back into her face in an excited, feverish flush. Her blue eyes were dark as thunder-clouds in theirearnestness. 

"Don't you understand?" she went on. "It was because of me that youincurred this deadly enmity of Quade's. If anything happens to you, I shallhold myself responsible!"

"No, you will not be responsible, " replied Aldous, steadying the tremble inhis voice. "Besides, nothing is going to happen. But you don't know howhappy you have made me by taking this sort of an interest in me. It--itfeels good, " he laughed. 

For a few paces he dropped behind her, where the overhead spruce boughsleft but the space for a single rider between. Then, again, he drew upclose beside her. 

"I was going to tell you about this gold, " he said. "It isn't the goldwe're going after. "

He leaned over until his hand rested on her saddle-bow. 

"Look ahead, " he went on, a curious softness in his voice. "Look atMacDonald!"

The first shattered rays of the sun were breaking over the mountains andreflecting their glow in the valley. Donald MacDonald had lifted his faceto the sunrise; out from under his battered hat the morning breeze sweepingthrough the valley of the Frazer tossed his shaggy hair; his great owl-graybeard swept his breast; his broad, gaunt shoulders were hunched a littleforward as he looked into the east. Again Aldous looked into Joanne's eyes. 

"It's not the gold, but MacDonald, that's taking me north, Ladygray. Andit's not the gold that is taking MacDonald. It is strange, almostunbelievedly strange--what I am going to tell you. To-day we are seeking agrave--for you. And up there, two hundred miles in the north, another graveis calling MacDonald. I am going with him. It just happens that the gold isthere. You wouldn't guess that for more than forty years that blessed oldwanderer ahead of us has loved a dead woman, would you? You wouldn't thinkthat for nearly half a century, year in and year out, winter and summeralike, he has tramped the northern mountains--a lost spirit with but onedesire in life--to find at last her resting-place? And yet it is so, Ladygray. I guess I am the only living creature to whom he has opened hisheart in many a long year. A hundred times beside our campfire I havelistened to him, until at last his story seems almost to be a part of myown. He may be a little mad, but it is a beautiful madness. "

He paused. 

"Yes, " whispered Joanne. "Go on--John Aldous. "

"It's--hard to tell, " he continued. "I can't put the feeling of it inwords, the spirit of it, the wonder of it. I've tried to write it, and Icouldn't. Her name was Jane. He has never spoken of her by any other namethan that, and I've never asked for the rest of it. They were kids whentheir two families started West over the big prairies in Conestoga wagons. They grew up sweethearts. Both of her parents, and his mother, died beforethey were married. Then, a little later, his father died, and they werealone. I can imagine what their love must have been. I have seen it stillliving in his eyes, and I have seen it in his strange hour-long dreamsafter he has talked of her. They were always together. He has told me howthey roamed the mountains hand in hand in their hunts; how she was comradeand chum when he went prospecting. He has opened his lonely old heart tome--a great deal. He's told me how they used to be alone for months at atime in the mountains, the things they used to do, and how she would singfor him beside their campfire at night. 'She had a voice sweet as anangel, ' I remember he told me once. Then, more than forty years ago, camethe gold-rush away up in the Stikine River country. They went. They joineda little party of twelve--ten men and two women. This party wandered farout of the beaten paths of the other gold-seekers. And at last they foundgold. "

Ahead of them Donald MacDonald had turned in his saddle and was lookingback. For a moment Aldous ceased speaking. 

"Please--go on!" said Joanne. 

"They found gold, " repeated Aldous. "They found so much of it, Ladygray, that some of them went mad--mad as beasts. It was placer gold--loose gold, and MacDonald says that one day he and Jane filled their pockets withnuggets. Then something happened. A great storm came; a storm that filledthe mountains with snow through which no living creature as heavy as a manor a horse could make its way. It came a month earlier than they hadexpected, and from the beginning they were doomed. Their supplies werealmost gone. 

"I can't tell you the horrors of the weeks and months that followed, as oldDonald has told them to me, Joanne. You must imagine. Only, when you aredeep in the mountains, and the snow comes, you are like a rat in a trap. Sothey were caught--eleven men and three women. They who could make theirbeds in sheets of yellow gold, but who had no food. The horses were lost inthe storm. Two of their frozen carcasses were found and used for food. Twoof the men set out on snowshoes, leaving their gold behind, and probablydied. 

"Then the first terrible thing happened. Two men quarrelled over a can ofbeans, and one was killed. He was the husband of one of the women. The nextterrible thing happened to her--and there was a fight. On one side therewere young Donald and the husband of the other woman; on the otherside--the beasts. The husband was killed, and Donald and Jane sought refugein the log cabin they had built. That night they fled, taking what littlefood they possessed, and what blankets they could carry. They knew theywere facing death. But they went together, hand in hand. 

"At last Donald found a great cave in the side of a mountain. I have apicture of that cave in my brain--a deep, warm cave, with a floor of softwhite sand, a cave into which the two exhausted fugitives stumbled, stillhand in hand, and which was home. But they found it a little too late. Three days later Jane died. And there is another picture in my brain--apicture of young Donald sitting there in the cave, clasping in his arms thecold form of the one creature in the world that he loved; moaning andsobbing over her, calling upon her to come back to life, to open her eyes, to speak to him--until at last his brain cracked and he went mad. That iswhat happened. He went mad. "

Joanne's breath was coming brokenly through her lips. Unconsciously she hadclasped her fingers about the hand Aldous rested on her pommel. 

"How long he remained in the cave with his dead, MacDonald has never beenable to say, " he resumed. 

"He doesn't know whether he buried his wife or left her lying on the sandfloor of the cave. He doesn't know how he got out of the mountains. But hedid, and his mind came back. And since then, Joanne--for a matter of fortyyears--his life has been spent in trying to find that cave. All those yearshis search was unavailing. He could find no trace of the little hiddenvalley in which the treasure-seekers found their bonanza of gold. No wordof it ever came out of the mountains; no other prospector ever stumbledupon it. Year after year Donald went into the North; year after year hecame out as the winter set in, but he never gave up hope. 

"Then he began spending winter as well as summer in that forgottenworld--forgotten because the early gold-rush was over, and the oldTelegraph trail was travelled more by wolves than men. And always, Donaldhas told me, his beloved Jane's spirit was with him in his wanderings overthe mountains, her hand leading him, her voice whispering to him in theloneliness of the long nights. Think of it, Joanne! Forty years of that!Forty years of a strange, beautiful madness, forty years of undying love, of faith, of seeking and never finding! And this spring old Donald camealmost to the end of his quest. He knows, now; he knows where that littletreasure valley is hidden in the mountains, he knows where to find thecave!"

"He found her--he found her?" she cried. "After all those years--he foundher?"

"Almost, " said Aldous softly. "But the great finale in the tragedy ofDonald MacDonald's life is yet to come, Ladygray. It will come when oncemore he stands in the soft white sand of that cavern floor, and sometimesI tremble when I think that when that moment comes I will be at his side. To me it will be terrible. To him it will be--what? That hour has not quitearrived. It happened this way: Old Donald was coming down from the North onthe early slush snows this spring when he came to a shack in which a manwas almost dead of the smallpox. It was DeBar, the half-breed. 

"Fearlessly MacDonald nursed him. He says it was God who sent him to thatshack. For DeBar, in his feverish ravings, revealed the fact that he hadstumbled upon that little Valley of Gold for which MacDonald had searchedthrough forty years. Old Donald knew it was the same valley, for thehalf-breed raved of dead men, of rotting buckskin sacks of yellow nuggets, of crumbling log shacks, and of other things the memories of which stabbedlike knives into Donald's heart. How he fought to save that man! And, atlast, he succeeded. 

"They continued south, planning to outfit and go back for the gold. Theywould have gone back at once, but they had no food and no horses. Foot byfoot, in the weeks that followed, DeBar described the way to the hiddenvalley, until at last MacDonald knew that he could go to it as straight asan eagle to its nest. When they reached Tête Jaune he came to me. And Ipromised to go with him, Ladygray--back to the Valley of Gold. He calls itthat; but I--I think of it as The Valley of Silent Men. It is not the gold, but the cavern with the soft white floor that is calling us. "

In her saddle Joanne had straightened. Her head was thrown back, her lipswere parted, and her eyes shone as the eyes of a Joan of Arc must haveshone when she stood that day before the Hosts. 

"And this man, the half-breed, has sold himself--for a woman?" she said, looking straight ahead at the bent shoulders of old MacDonald. 

"Yes, for a woman. Do you ask me why I go now? Why I shall fight, iffighting there must be?"

She turned to him. Her face was a blaze of glory. 

"No, no, no!" she cried. "Oh, John Aldous! if I were only a man, that Imight go with you and stand with you two in that Holy Sepulchre--theCavern----If I were a man, I'd go--and, yes, I would fight!"

And Donald MacDonald, looking back, saw the two clasping hands across thetrail. A moment later he turned his horse from the broad road into a narrowtrail that led over the range. 

CHAPTER XV

From the hour in which she had listened to the story of old MacDonald achange seemed to have come over Joanne. It was as if she had risen out ofherself, out of whatever fear or grief she might have possessed in her ownheart. John Aldous knew that there was some deep significance in her visitto the grave under the Saw Tooth Mountain, and that from the beginning shehad been fighting under a tremendous mental and physical strain. He hadexpected this day would be a terrible day for her; he had seen her effortsto strengthen herself for the approaching crisis that morning. He believedthat as they drew nearer to their journey's end her suspense anduneasiness, the fear which she was trying to keep from him, would, in spiteof her, become more and more evident. For these reasons the change which hesaw in her was not only delightfully unexpected but deeply puzzling. Sheseemed to be under the influence of some new and absorbing excitement. Hercheeks were flushed. There was a different poise to her head; in her voice, too, there was a note which he had not noticed before. 

It struck him, all at once, that this was a new Joanne--a Joanne who, atleast for a brief spell, had broken the bondage of oppression and fear thathad fettered her. In the narrow trail up the mountain he rode behind her, and in this he found a pleasure even greater than when he rode at herside. Only when her face was turned from him did he dare surrender himselfat all to the emotions which had transformed his soul. From behind he couldlook at her, and worship without fear of discovery. Every movement of herslender, graceful body gave him a new and exquisite thrill; every dancinglight and every darkening shadow in her shimmering hair added to the joythat no fear or apprehension could overwhelm within him now. Only in thosewonderful moments, when her presence was so near, and yet her eyes did notsee him, could he submerge himself completely in the thought of what shehad become to him and of what she meant to him. 

During the first hour of their climb over the break that led into thevalley beyond they had but little opportunity for conversation. The trailwas an abandoned Indian path, narrow, and in places extremely steep. TwiceAldous helped Joanne from her horse that she might travel afoot over placeswhich he considered dangerous. When he assisted her in the saddle again, after a stiff ascent of a hundred yards, she was panting from her exertion, and he felt the sweet thrill of her breath in his face. For a space hishappiness obliterated all thoughts of other things. It was MacDonald whobrought them back. 

They had reached the summit of the break, and through his long brasstelescope the old mountaineer was scanning the valley out of which they hadcome. Under them lay Tête Jaune, gleaming in the morning sun, and it dawnedsuddenly upon Aldous that this was the spot from which MacDonald had spiedupon his enemies. He looked at Joanne. She was breathing quickly as shelooked upon the wonder of the scene below them. Suddenly she turned, andencountered his eyes. 

"They might--follow?" she asked. 

He shook his head. 

"No danger of that, " he assured her. 

MacDonald had dismounted, and now he lay crouched behind a rock, with histelescope resting over the top of it. He had leaned his long rifle againstthe boulder; his huge forty-four, a relic of the old Indian days, hung athis hip. Joanne saw these omens of preparedness, and her eyes shifted againto Aldous. His . 303 swung from his saddle. At his waist was the heavyautomatic. She smiled. In her eyes was understanding, and something like achallenge. She did not question him again, but under her gaze Aldousflushed. 

A moment later MacDonald closed his telescope and without a word mountedhis horse. Where the descent into the second valley began he paused again. To the north through the haze of the morning sun gleamed the snow-cappedpeaks of the Saw Tooth Range. Apparently not more than an hour's ridedistant rose a huge red sandstone giant which seemed to shut in the end ofthe valley MacDonald stretched forth a long arm in its direction. 

"What we're seekin' is behind that mountain, " he said. "It's ten miles fromhere. " He turned to the girl. "Are you gettin' lame, Mis' Joanne?"

Aldous saw her lips tighten. 

"No. Let us go on, please. "

She was staring fixedly at the sombre red mass of the mountain. Her eyesdid not take in the magnificent sweep of the valley below. They sawnothing of the snow-capped peaks beyond. There was something wild andunnatural in their steady gaze. Aldous dropped behind her as they began thegradual descent from the crest of the break and his own heart began to beatmore apprehensively; the old question flashed back upon him, and he feltagain the oppression that once before had held him in its grip. His eyesdid not leave Joanne. And always she was staring at the mountain behindwhich lay the thing they were seeking! It was not Joanne herself that sethis blood throbbing. Her face had not paled. Its colour was like the hecticflush of a fever. Her eyes alone betrayed her; their strange intensity--thealmost painful steadiness with which they hung to the distant mountain, anda dread of what was to come seized upon him. Again he found himself askinghimself questions which he could not answer. Why had Joanne not confidedmore fully in him? What was the deeper significance of this visit to thegrave, and of her mission in the mountains?

Down the narrow Indian trail they passed into the thick spruce timber. Halfan hour later they came out into the grassy creek bottom of the valley. During that time Joanne did not look behind her, and John Aldous did notspeak. MacDonald turned north, and the sandstone mountain was straightahead of them. It was not like the other mountains. There was somethingsinister and sullen about it. It was ugly and broken. No vegetation grewupon it, and through the haze of sunlight its barren sides and battlementedcrags gleamed a dark and humid red after the morning mists, as if freshlystained with blood. Aldous guessed its effect upon Joanne, and hedetermined to put an end to it. Again he rode up close beside her. 

"I want you to get better acquainted with old Donald, " he said. "We're sortof leaving him out in the cold, Ladygray. Do you mind if I tell him to comeback and ride with you for a while?"

"I've been wanting to talk with him, " she replied. "If you don't mind----"

"I don't, " he broke in quickly. "You'll love old Donald, Ladygray. And, ifyou can, I'd like to have you tell him all that you know about--Jane. Lethim know that I told you. "

She nodded. Her lips trembled in a smile. 

"I will, " she said. 

A moment later Aldous was telling MacDonald that Joanne wanted him. The oldmountaineer stared. He drew his pipe from his mouth, beat out itshalf-burned contents, and thrust it into its accustomed pocket. 

"She wants to see me?" he asked. "God bless her soul--what for?"

"Because she thinks you're lonesome up here alone, Mac. And lookhere"--Aldous leaned over to MacDonald--"her nerves are ready to snap. Iknow it. There's a mighty good reason why I can't relieve the strain she isunder. But you can. She's thinking every minute of that mountain up thereand the grave behind it. You go back, and talk. Tell her about the firsttime you ever came up through these valleys--you and Jane. Will you, Mac?Will you tell her that?"

MacDonald did not reply, but he dropped behind. Aldous took up the lead. Afew minutes later he looked back, and laughed softly under his breath. Joanne and the old hunter were riding side by side in the creek bottom, andJoanne was talking. He looked at his watch. He did not look at it againuntil the first gaunt, red shoulder of the sandstone mountain began to loomover them. An hour had passed since he left Joanne. Ahead of him, perhaps amile distant, was the cragged spur beyond which--according to the sketchKeller had drawn for him at the engineers' camp--was the rough canyonleading back to the basin on the far side of the mountain. He had almostreached this when MacDonald rode up. 

"You go back, Johnny, " he said, a singular softness in his hollow voice. "We're a'most there. "

He cast his eyes over the western peaks, where dark clouds were shoulderingtheir way up in the face of the sun, and added:

"There's rain in that. I'll trot on ahead with Pinto and have a tent readywhen you come. I reckon it can't be more'n a mile up the canyon. "

"And the grave, Mac?"

"Is right close to where I'll pitch the tent, " said MacDonald, swingingsuddenly behind the pack-horse Pinto, and urging him into a trot. "Don'twaste any time, Johnny. "

Aldous rode back to Joanne. 

"It looks like rain, " he explained. "These Pacific showers come up quicklythis side of the Divide, and they drench you in a jiffy. Donald is going onahead to put up a tent. "

By the time they reached the mouth of the canyon MacDonald was out ofsight. A little creek that was a swollen torrent in spring time trickledout of the gorge. Its channel was choked with a chaotic confusion ofsandstone rock and broken slate, and up through this Aldous carefullypicked his way, followed closely by Joanne. The sky continued to darkenabove them, until at last the sun died out, and a thick and almost palpablegloom began to envelop them. Low thunder rolled through the mountains insullen, rumbling echoes. He looked back at Joanne, and was amazed to seeher eyes shining, and a smile on her lips as she nodded at him. 

"It makes me think of Henrik Hudson and his ten-pin players, " she calledsoftly. "And ahead of us--is Rip Van Winkle!"

The first big drops were beginning to fall when they came to an open place. The gorge swung to the right; on their left the rocks gave place to arolling meadow of buffalo grass, and Aldous knew they had reached thebasin. A hundred yards up the slope was a fringe of timber, and as helooked he saw smoke rising out of this. The sound of MacDonald's axe cameto them. He turned to Joanne, and he saw that she understood. They were attheir journey's end. Perhaps her fingers gripped her rein a little moretightly. Perhaps it was imagination that made him think there was a slighttremble in her voice when she said:

"This--is the place?"

"Yes. It should be just above the timber. I believe I can see the upperbreak of the little box canyon Keller told me about. "

She rode without speaking until they entered the timber. They were just intime. As he lifted her down from her horse the clouds opened, and the rainfell in a deluge. Her hair was wet when he got her in the tent. MacDonaldhad spread out a number of blankets, but he had disappeared. Joanne sankdown upon them with a little shiver. She looked up at Aldous. It was almostdark in the tent, and her eyes were glowing strangely. Over them thethunder crashed deafeningly. For a few minutes it was a continual roar, shaking the mountains with mighty reverberations that were like theexplosions of giant guns. Aldous stood holding the untied flap against thebeat of the rain. Twice he saw Joanne's lips form words. At last he heardher say:

"Where is Donald?"

He tied the flap, and dropped down on the edge of the blankets before heanswered her. 

"Probably out in the open watching the lightning, and letting the raindrench him, " he said. "I've never known old Donald to come in out of arain, unless it was cold. He was tying up the horses when I ran in herewith you. "

He believed she was shivering, yet he knew she was not cold. In the halfgloom of the tent he wanted to reach over and take her hand. 

For a few minutes longer there was no break in the steady downpour and thecrashing of the thunder. Then, as suddenly as the storm had broken, itbegan to subside. Aldous rose and flung back the tent-flap. 

"It is almost over, " he said. "You had better remain in the tent a littlelonger, Ladygray. I will go out and see if MacDonald has succeeded indrowning himself. "

Joanne did not answer, and Aldous stepped outside. He knew where to findthe old hunter. He had gone up to the end of the timber, and probably thisminute was in the little box canyon searching for the grave. It was amatter of less than a hundred yards to the upper fringe of timber, and whenAldous came out of this he stood on the summit of the grassy divide thatseparated the tiny lake Keller had described from the canyon. It was lessthan a rifle shot distant, and on the farther side of it MacDonald wasalready returning. Aldous hurried down to meet him. He did not speak whenthey met, but his companion answered the question in his eyes, while thewater dripped in streams from his drenched hair and beard. 

"It's there, " he said, pointing back. "Just behind that big black rock. There's a slab over it, an' you've got the name right. It's MortimerFitzHugh. "

Above them the clouds were splitting asunder. A shaft of sunlight brokethrough, and as they stood looking over the little lake the shaftbroadened, and the sun swept in golden triumph over the mountains. MacDonald beat his limp hat against his knee, and with his other handdrained the water from his beard. 

"What you goin' to do?" he asked. 

Aldous turned toward the timber. Joanne herself answered the question. Shewas coming up the slope. In a few moments she stood beside them. First shelooked down upon the lake. Then her eyes turned to Aldous. There was noneed for speech. He held out his hand, and without hesitation she gave himher own. MacDonald understood. He walked down ahead of them toward theblack rock. When he came to the rock he paused. Aldous and Joanne passedhim. Then they, too, stopped, and Aldous freed the girl's hand. 

With an unexpectedness that was startling they had come upon the grave. Yetnot a sound escaped Joanne's lips. Aldous could not see that she wasbreathing. Less than ten paces from them was the mound, protected by itscairn of stones; and over the stones rose a weather-stained slab in theform of a cross. One glance at the grave and Aldous riveted his eyes uponJoanne. For a full minute she stood as motionless as though the last breathhad left her body. Then, slowly, she advanced. He could not see her face. He followed, quietly, step by step as she moved. For another minute sheleaned over the slab, making out the fine-seared letters of the name. Herbody was bent forward; her two hands were clenched tightly at her side. Even more slowly than she had advanced she turned toward Aldous andMacDonald. Her face was dead white. She lifted her hands to her breast, andclenched them there. 

"It is his name, " she said, and there was something repressed and terriblein her low voice. "It is his name!"

She was looking straight into the eyes of John Aldous, and he saw that shewas fighting to say something which she had not spoken. Suddenly she cameto him, and her two hands caught his arm. 

"It is terrible--what I am going to ask of you, " she struggled. "You willthink I am a ghoul. But I must have proof! I must--I must!"

She was staring wildly at him, and all at once there leapt fiercely throughhim a dawning of the truth. The name was there, seared by hot iron in thatslab of wood. The name! But under the cairn of stones----

Behind them MacDonald had heard. He towered beside them now. His greatmountain-twisted hands drew Joanne a step back, and strange gentleness wasin his voice as he said:

"You an' Johnny go back an' build a fire, Mis' Joanne. I'll find theproof!"

"Come, " said Aldous, and he held out his hand again. 

MacDonald hurried on ahead of them. When they reached the camp he was gone, so that Joanne did not see the pick and shovel which he carried back. Shewent into the tent and Aldous began building a fire where MacDonald's hadbeen drowned out. There was little reason for a fire; but he built it, andfor fifteen minutes added pitch-heavy fagots of storm-killed jack-pine andspruce to it, until the flames leapt a dozen feet into the air. Half adozen times he was impelled to return to the grave and assist MacDonald inhis gruesome task. But he knew that MacDonald had meant that he should staywith Joanne. If he returned, she might follow. 

He was surprised at the quickness with which MacDonald performed his work. Not more than half an hour had passed when a low whistle drew his eyes to aclump of dwarf spruce back in the timber. The mountaineer was standingthere, holding something in his hand. With a backward glance to see thatJoanne had not come from the tent, Aldous hastened to him. What he couldsee of MacDonald's face was the lifeless colour of gray ash. His eyesstared as if he had suffered a strange and unexpected shock. He went tospeak, but no words came through his beard. In his hand he held his fadedred neck-handkerchief. He gave it to Aldous. 

"It wasn't deep, " he said. "It was shallow, turribly shallow, Johnny--justunder the stone!"

His voice was husky and unnatural. 

There was something heavy in the handkerchief, and a shudder passed throughAldous as he placed it on the palm of his hand and unveiled its contents. He could not repress an exclamation when he saw what MacDonald had brought. In his hand, with a single thickness of the wet handkerchief between theobjects and his flesh, lay a watch and a ring. The watch was of gold. Itwas tarnished, but he could see there were initials, which he could notmake out, engraved on the back of the case. The ring, too, was of gold. Itwas one of the most gruesome ornaments Aldous had ever seen. It was in theform of a coiled and writhing serpent, wide enough to cover half of one'smiddle finger between the joints. Again the eyes of the two men met, andagain Aldous observed that strange, stunned look in the old hunter's face. He turned and walked back toward the tent, MacDonald following him slowly, still staring, his long gaunt arms and hands hanging limply at his side. 

Joanne heard them, and came out of the tent. A choking cry fell from herlips when she saw MacDonald. For a moment one of her hands clutched at thewet canvas of the tent, and then she swayed forward, knowing what JohnAldous had in his hand. He stood voiceless while she looked. In that tensehalf-minute when she stared at the objects he held it seemed to him thather heart-strings must snap under the strain. Then she drew back fromthem, her eyes filled with horror, her hands raised as if to shut out thesight of them, and a panting, sobbing cry broke from between her pallidlips. 

"Oh, my God!" she breathed. "Take them away--take them away!"

She staggered back to the tent, and stood there with her hands covering herface. Aldous turned to the old hunter and gave him the things he held. 

A moment later he stood alone where the three had been, staring now asJoanne had stared, his heart beating wildly. 

For Joanne, in entering the tent, had uncovered her face; it was not griefthat he saw there, but the soul of a woman new-born. And as his own soulresponded in a wild rejoicing, MacDonald, going over the summit and downinto the hollow, mumbled in his beard:

"God ha' mercy on me! I'm doin' it for her an' Johnny, an' because she'slike my Jane!"

CHAPTER XVI

Plunged from one extreme of mental strain to another excitement that was asacute in its opposite effect, John Aldous stood and stared at the tent-flapthat had dropped behind Joanne. Only a flash he had caught of her face; butin that flash he had seen the living, quivering joyousness of freedomblazing where a moment before there had been only horror and fear. As ifashamed of her own betrayal, Joanne had darted into the tent. She hadanswered his question a thousand times more effectively than if she hadremained to tell him with her lips that MacDonald's proofs weresufficient--that the grave in the little box canyon had not disappointedher. She had recognized the ring and the watch; from them she had shrank inhorror, as if fearing that the golden serpent might suddenly leap into lifeand strike. 

In spite of the mightiest efforts she might have made for self-controlAldous had seen in her tense and tortured face a look that was more thaneither dread or shock--it was abhorrence, hatred. And his last glimpse ofher face had revealed those things gone, and in their place the strange joyshe had run into the tent to hide. That she should rejoice over the dead, or that the grim relics from the grave should bring that new dawn into herface and eyes, did not strike him as shocking. In Joanne his sun hadalready begun to rise and set. He had come to understand that for her thegrave must hold its dead; that the fact of death, death under the slab thatbore Mortimer FitzHugh's name, meant life for her, just as it meant lifeand all things for him. He had prayed for it, even while he dreaded that itmight not be. In him all things were now submerged in the wild thought thatJoanne was free, and the grave had been the key to her freedom. 

A calmness began to possess him that was in singular contrast to theperturbed condition of his mind a few minutes before. From this hour Joannewas his to fight for, to win if he could; and, knowing this, his soul rosein triumph above his first physical exultation, and he fought back thealmost irresistible impulse to follow her into the tent and tell her whatthis day had meant for him. Following this came swiftly a realization ofwhat it had meant for her--the suspense, the terrific strain, the finalshock and gruesome horror of it. He was sure, without seeing, that she washuddled down on the blankets in the tent. She had passed through an ordealunder which a strong man might have broken, and the picture he had of herstruggle in there alone turned him from the tent filled with adetermination to make her believe that the events of the morning, both withhim and MacDonald, were easily forgotten. 

He began to whistle as he threw back the wet canvas from over the campoutfit that had been taken from Pinto's back. In one of the two cow-hidepanniers he saw that thoughtful old Donald had packed materials for theirdinner, as well as utensils necessary for its preparation. That dinner theywould have in the valley, well beyond the red mountain. He began to repack, whistling cheerily. He was still whistling when MacDonald returned. Hebroke off sharply when he saw the other's face. 

"What's the matter, Mac?" he asked. "You sick?"

"It weren't pleasant, Johnny. "

Aldous nodded toward the tent. 

"It was--beastly, " he whispered. "But we can't let her feel that way aboutit, Mac. Cheer up--and let's get out of this place. We'll have dinnersomewhere over in the valley. "

They continued packing until only the tent remained to be placed on Pinto'sback. Aldous resumed his loud whistling as he tightened up thesaddle-girths, and killed time in half a dozen other ways. A quarter of anhour passed. Still Joanne did not appear. Aldous scratched his headdubiously, and looked at the tent. 

"I don't want to disturb her, Mac, " he said in a low voice. "Let's keep upthe bluff of being busy. We can put out the fire. "

Ten minutes later, sweating and considerably smokegrimed, Aldous againlooked toward the tent. 

"We might cut down a few trees, " suggested MacDonald. 

"Or play leap-frog, " added Aldous. 

"The trees'd sound more natcherel, " said MacDonald. "We could tell her----"

A stick snapped behind them. Both turned at the same instant. Joanne stoodfacing them not ten feet away. 

"Great Scott!" gasped Aldous. "Joanne, I thought you were in the tent!"

The beautiful calmness in Joanne's face amazed him. He stared at her as hespoke, forgetting altogether the manner in which he had intended to greether when she came from the tent. 

"I went out the back way--lifted the canvas and crawled under just like aboy, " she explained. "And I've walked until my feet are wet. "

"And the fire is out!"

"I don't mind wet feet, " she hurried to assure him. 

Old Donald was already at work pulling the tent-pegs. Joanne came close toAldous, and he saw again that deep and wonderful light in her eyes. Thistime he knew that she meant he should see it, and words which he haddetermined not to speak fell softly from his lips. 

"You are no longer afraid, Ladygray? That which you dreaded----"

"Is dead, " she said. "And you, John Aldous? Without knowing, seeing me onlyas you have seen me, do you think that I am terrible?"

"No, could not think that. "

Her hand touched his arm. 

"Will you go out there with me, in the sunlight, where we can look downupon the little lake?" she asked. "Until to-day I had made up my mind thatno one but myself would ever know the truth. But you have been good to me, and I must tell you--about myself--about him. "

He found no answer. He left no word with MacDonald. Until they stood on thegrassy knoll, with the lakelet shimmering in the sunlight below them, Joanne herself did not speak again. Then, with a little gesture, she said:

"Perhaps you think what is down there is dreadful to me. It isn't. I shallalways remember that little lake, almost as Donald remembers thecavern--not because it watches over something I love, but because it guardsa thing that in life would have destroyed me! I know how you must feel, John Aldous--that deep down in your heart you must wonder at a woman whocan rejoice in the death of another human creature. Yet death, and deathalone, has been the key from bondage of millions of souls that have livedbefore mine; and there are men--men, too--whose lives have been warped anddestroyed because death did not come to save them. One was my father. Ifdeath had come for him, if it had taken my mother, that down there wouldnever have happened--for me!"

She spoke the terrible words so quietly, so calmly, that it was impossiblefor him entirely to conceal their effect upon him. There was a bit ofpathos in her smile. 

"My mother drove my father mad, " she went on, with a simple directness thatwas the most wonderful thing he had ever heard come from human lips. "Theworld did not know that he was mad. It called him eccentric. But he wasmad--in just one way. I was nine years old when it happened, and I canremember our home most vividly. It was a beautiful home. And my father!Need I tell you that I worshipped him--that to me he was king of all men?And as deeply as I loved him, so, in another way, he worshipped my mother. She was beautiful. In a curious sort of way I used to wonder, as a child, how it was possible for a woman to be so beautiful. It was a dark beauty--arecurrence of French strain in her English blood. 

"One day I overheard my father tell her that, if she died, he would killhimself. He was not of the passionate, over-sentimental kind; he was aphilosopher, a scientist, calm and self-contained--and I remembered thosewords later, when I had outgrown childhood, as one of a hundred proofs ofhow devoutly he had loved her. It was more than love, I believe. It wasadoration. I was nine, I say, when things happened. Another man, a divorce, and on the day of the divorce this woman, my mother, married her lover. Somewhere in my father's brain a single thread snapped, and from that dayhe was mad--mad on but one subject; and so deep and intense was his madnessthat it became a part of me as the years passed, and to-day I, too, ampossessed of that madness. And it is the one greatest thing in the worldthat I am proud of, John Aldous!"

Not once had her voice betrayed excitement or emotion. Not once had itrisen above its normal tone; and in her eyes, as they turned from the laketo him, there was the tranquillity of a child. 

"And that madness, " she resumed, "was the madness of a man whose brain andsoul were overwrought in one colossal hatred--a hatred of divorce and thelaws that made it possible. It was born in him in a day, and it lived untilhis death. It turned him from the paths of men, and we became wanderersupon the face of the earth. Two years after the ruin of our home my motherand the man she had married died in a ship that was lost at sea. This hadno effect upon my father. Possibly you will not understand what grew upbetween us in the years and years that followed. To the end he was ascientist, a man seeking after the unknown, and my education came to be acomposite of teachings gathered in all parts of the world. We were neverapart. We were more than father and daughter; we were friends, comrades--he was my world, and I was his. 

"I recall, as I became older, how his hatred of that thing that had brokenour home developed more and more strongly in me. His mind was titanic. Athousand times I pleaded with him to employ it in the great fight I wantedhim to make--a fight against the crime divorce. I know, now, why he didnot. He was thinking of me. Only one thing he asked of me. It was more thana request. It was a command. And this command, and my promise, was that solong as I lived--no matter what might happen in my life--I would sacrificemyself body and soul sooner than allow that black monster of divorce tofasten its clutches on me. It is futile for me to tell you these things, John Aldous. It is impossible--you cannot understand!"

"I can, " he replied, scarcely above a whisper. "Joanne, I begin--tounderstand!"

And still without emotion, her voice as calm as the unruffled lake at theirfeet, she continued:

"It grew in me. It is a part of me now. I hate divorce as I hate the worstsin that bars one from Heaven. It is the one thing I hate. And it isbecause of this hatred that I suffered myself to remain the wife of the manwhose name is over that grave down there--Mortimer FitzHugh. It came aboutstrangely--what I am going to tell you now. You will wonder. You will thinkI was insane. But remember, John Aldous--the world had come to hold but onefriend and comrade for me, and he was my father. It was after Mindano. Hecaught the fever, and he was dying. "

For the first time her breath choked her. It was only for an instant. Sherecovered herself, and went on:

"Out of the world my father had left he had kept one friend--RichardFitzHugh; and this man, with his son, was with us during those terribledays of fever. I met Mortimer as I had met a thousand other men. Hisfather, I thought, was the soul of honour, and I accepted the son as such. We were much together during those two weeks of my despair, and he seemedto be attentive and kind. Then came the end. My father was dying. And I--Iwas ready to die. In his last moments his one thought was of me. He knew Iwas alone, and the fear of it terrified him. I believe he did not realizethen what he was asking of me. He pleaded with me to marry the son of hisold friend before he died. And I--John Aldous, I could not fight his lastwish as he lay dying before my eyes. We were married there at his bedside. He joined our hands. And the words he whispered to me last of all were:'Remember--Joanne--thy promise and thine honour!'"

For a moment Joanne stood facing the little lake, and when she spoke againthere was a note of thankfulness, of subdued joy and triumph, in her voice. 

"Before that day had ended I had displeased Mortimer FitzHugh, " she said, and Aldous saw the fingers of her hands close tightly. "I told him thatuntil a month had passed I would not live with him as a wife lives with herhusband. And he was displeased. And my father was not yet buried! I wasshocked. My soul revolted. 

"We went to London and I was made welcome in the older FitzHugh's wifelesshome, and the papers told of our wedding. And two days later there camefrom Devonshire a woman--a sweet-faced little woman with sick, hauntedeyes; in her arms she brought a baby; and that baby _was MortimerFitzHugh's!_

"We confronted him--the mother, the baby, and I; and then I knew that hewas a fiend. And the father was a fiend. They offered to buy the woman off, to support her and the child. They told me that many English gentlemen hadmade mistakes like this, and that it was nothing--that it was quite common. Mortimer FitzHugh had never touched me with his lips, and now, when he cameto touch me with his hands, I struck him. It was a serpent's house, and Ileft it. 

"My father had left me a comfortable fortune, and I went into a house of myown. Day after day they came to me, and I knew that they feared I was goingto secure a divorce. During the six months that followed I learned otherthings about the man who was legally my husband. He was everything that wasvile. Brazenly he went into public places with women of dishonour, and Ihid my face in shame. 

"His father died, and for a time Mortimer FitzHugh became one of thetalked-about spendthrifts of London. Swiftly he gambled and dissipatedhimself into comparative poverty. And now, learning that I would not get adivorce, he began to regard me as a slave in chains. I remember, one time, that he succeeded in laying his hands on me, and they were like the touchof things that were slimy and poisonous. He laughed at my revulsion. Hedemanded money of me, and to keep him away from me I gave it to him. Againand again he came for money; I suffered as I cannot tell you, but neveronce in my misery did I weaken in my promise to my father and to myself. But--at last--I ran away. 

"I went to Egypt, and then to India. A year later I learned that MortimerFitzHugh had gone to America, and I returned to London. For two years Iheard nothing of him; but day and night I lived in fear and dread. And thencame the news that he had died, as you read in the newspaper clipping. Iwas free! For a year I believed that; and then, like a shock that had cometo destroy me, I was told that he _was not dead_ but that he was alive, andin a place called Tête Jaune Cache, in British Columbia. I could not livein the terrible suspense that followed. I determined to find out for myselfif he was alive or dead. And so I came, John Aldous. And he is dead. He isdown there--dead. And I am glad that he is dead!"

"And if he was not dead, " said Aldous quietly, "I would kill him!"

He could find nothing more to say than that. He dared trust himself nofurther, and in silence he held out his hands, and for a moment Joanne gavehim her own. Then she withdrew them, and with a little gesture, and thesmile which he loved to see trembling about her mouth, she said:

"Donald will think this is scandalous. We must go back and apologize!"

She led him down the slope, and her face was filled with the pink flush ofa wild rose when she ran up to Donald, and asked him to help her into hersaddle. John Aldous rode like one in a dream as they went back into thevalley, for with each minute that passed Joanne seemed more and more tohim like a beautiful bird that had escaped from its prison-cage, and in himmind and soul were absorbed in the wonder of it and in his own rejoicing. She was free, and in her freedom she was happy!

Free! It was that thought that pounded steadily in his brain. He forgotQuade, and Culver Rann, and the gold; he forgot his own danger, his ownwork, almost his own existence. Of a sudden the world had becomeinfinitesimally small for him, and all he could see was the soft shimmer ofJoanne's hair in the sun, the wonder of her face, the marvellous blue ofher eyes--and all he could hear was the sweet thrill of her voice when shespoke to him or old Donald, and when, now and then, soft laughter trembledon her lips in the sheer joy of the life that had dawned anew for her thisday. 

They stopped for dinner, and then went on over the range and down into thevalley where lay Tête Jaune. And all this time he fought to keep fromflaming in his own face the desire that was like a hot fire within him--thedesire to go to Joanne and tell her that he loved her as he had neverdreamed it possible for love to exist in the whole wide world. He knew thatto surrender to that desire in this hour would be something like sacrilege. He did not guess that Joanne saw his struggle, that even old MacDonaldmumbled low words in his beard. When they came at last to Blackton'sbungalow he thought that he had kept this thing from her, and he did notsee--and would not have understood if he had seen--the wonderful andmysterious glow in Joanne's eyes when she kissed Peggy Blackton. 

Blackton had come in from the work-end, dust-covered and jubilant. 

"I'm glad you folks have returned, " he cried, beaming with enthusiasm as hegripped Aldous by the hand. "The last rock is packed, and to-night we'regoing to shake the earth. We're going to blow up Coyote NumberTwenty-seven, and you won't forget the sight as long as you live!"

Not until Joanne had disappeared into the house with Peggy Blackton didAldous feel that he had descended firmly upon his feet once more into amatter-of-fact world. MacDonald was waiting with the horses, and Blacktonwas pointing over toward the steel workers, and was saying something aboutten thousand pounds of black powder and dynamite and a mountain that hadstood a million years and was going to be blown up that night. 

"It's the best bit of work I've ever done, Aldous--that and Coyote NumberTwenty-eight. Peggy was going to touch the electric button to Twenty-sevento-night, but we've decided to let Miss Gray do that, and Peggy'll fireTwenty-eight to-morrow night. Twenty-eight is almost ready. If you say so, the bunch of us will go over and see it in the morning. Mebby Miss Graywould like to see for herself that a coyote isn't only an animal with abushy tail, but a cavern dug into rock an' filled with enough explosives toplay high jinks with all the navies in the world if they happened to be onhand at the time. What do you say?"

"Fine!" said Aldous. 

"And Peggy wants me to say that it's a matter of only common, every-daydecency on your part to make yourself our guest while here, " added thecontractor, stuffing his pipe. "We've got plenty of room, enough to eat, and a comfortable bed for you. You're going to be polite enough to accept, aren't you?"

"With all my heart, " exclaimed Aldous, his blood tingling at the thought ofbeing near Joanne. "I've got some business with MacDonald and as soon asthat's over I'll domicile myself here. It's bully of you, Blackton! Youknow----"

"Why, dammit, of course I know!" chuckled Blackton, lighting his pipe. "Can't I see, Aldous? D'ye think I'm blind? I was just as gone over Peggybefore I married her. Fact is, I haven't got over it yet--and never will. Icome up from the work four times a day regular to see her, and if I don'tcome I have to send up word I'm safe. Peggy saw it first. She said it was ashame to put you off in that cabin with Miss Gray away up here. I don'twant to stick my nose in your business, old man, but--by George!--Icongratulate you! I've only seen one lovelier woman in my life, and that'sPeggy. "

He thrust out a hand and pumped his friend's limp arm, and Aldous felthimself growing suddenly warm under the other's chuckling gaze. 

"For goodness sake don't say anything, or act anything, old man, " hepleaded. "I'm--just--hoping. "

Blackton nodded with prodigious understanding in his eyes. 

"Come along when you get through with MacDonald, " he said. "I'm going inand clean up for to-night's fireworks. "

A question was in Aldous' mind, but he did not put it in words. He wantedto know about Quade and Culver Rann. 

"Blackton is such a ridiculously forgetful fellow at times that I don'twant to rouse his alarm, " he said to MacDonald as they were riding towardthe corral a few minutes later. "He might let something out to Joanne andhis wife, and I've got reasons--mighty good reasons, Mac--for keeping thisaffair as quiet as possible. We'll have to discover what Rann and Quade aredoing ourselves. "

MacDonald edged his horse in nearer to Aldous. 

"See here, Johnny, boy--tell me what's in your mind?"

Aldous looked into the grizzled face, and there was something in the glowof the old mountaineer's eyes that made him think of a father. 

"You know, Mac. "

Old Donald nodded. 

"Yes, I guess I do, Johnny, " he said in a low voice. "You think of Mis'Joanne as I used to--to--think of _her_. I guess I know. But--what yougoin' to do?"

Aldous shook his head, and for the first time that afternoon a look ofuneasiness and gloom overspread his face. 

"I don't know, Mac. I'm not ashamed to tell you. I love her. If she were topass out of my life to-morrow I would ask for something that belonged toher, and the spirit of her would live in it for me until I died. That's howI care, Mac. But I've known her such a short time. I can't tell her yet. Itwouldn't be the square thing. And yet she won't remain in Tête Jaune verylong. Her mission is accomplished. And if--if she goes I can't very wellfollow her, can I, Mac?"

For a space old Donald was silent. Then he said, "You're thinkin' of me, Johnny, an' what we was planning on?"

"Partly. "

"Then don't any more. I'll stick to you, an' we'll stick to her. Only----"

"What?"

"If you could get Peggy Blackton to help you----"

"You mean----" began Aldous eagerly. 

"That if Peggy Blackton got her to stay for a week--mebby tendays--visitin' her, you know, it wouldn't be so bad if you told her then, would it, Johnny?"

"By George, it wouldn't!"

"And I think----"

"Yes----"

"Bein' an old man, an' seein' mebby what you don't see----"

"Yes----"

"That she'd take you, Johnny. "

In his breast John's heart seemed suddenly to give a jump that choked him. And while he stared ahead old Donald went on. 

"I've seen it afore, in a pair of eyes just like her eyes, Johnny--so softan' deeplike, like the sky up there when the sun's in it. I seen it when wewas ridin' behind an' she looked ahead at you, Johnny. I did. An' I've seenit afore. An' I think----"

Aldous waited, his heart-strings ready to snap. 

"An' I think--she likes you a great deal, Johnny. "

Aldous reached over and gripped MacDonald's hand. 

"The good Lord bless you, Donald! We'll stick! As for Quade and CulverRann----"

"I've been thinkin' of them, " interrupted MacDonald. "You haven't got timeto waste on them, Johnny. Leave 'em to me. If it's only a week you've gotto be close an' near by Mis' Joanne. I'll find out what Quade an' Rann aredoing, and what they're goin' to do. I've got a scheme. Will you leave 'emto me?"

Aldous nodded, and in the same breath informed MacDonald of PeggyBlackton's invitation. The old hunter chuckled exultantly. He stopped hishorse, and Aldous halted. 

"It's workin' out fine, Johnny!" he exclaimed. "There ain't no need of yougoin' any further. We understand each other, and there ain't nothin' foryou to do at the corral. Jump off your horse and go back. If I want youI'll come to the Blacktons' 'r send word, and if you want me I'll be at thecorral or the camp in the coulee. Jump off, Johnny!"

Without further urging Aldous dismounted. They shook hands again, andMacDonald drove on ahead of him the saddled horses and the pack. And asAldous turned back toward the bungalow old Donald was mumbling low in hisbeard again, "God ha' mercy on me, but I'm doin' it for her an' Johnny--forher an' Johnny!"

CHAPTER XVII

Half an hour later Blackton had shown Aldous to his room and bath. It wasfour o'clock when he rejoined the contractor in the lower room, freshlybathed and shaven and in a change of clothes. He had not seen Joanne, buthalf a dozen times he had heard her and Peggy Blackton laughing and talkingin Mrs. Blackton's big room at the head of the stairs, and he heard themnow as they sat down to smoke their cigars. Blackton was filled withenthusiasm over the accomplishment of his latest work, and Aldous triedhard not to betray the fact that the minutes were passing with gruellingslowness while he waited for Joanne. He wanted to see her. His heart wasbeating like an excited boy's. He could hear her footsteps over his head, and he distinguished her soft laughter, and her sweet voice when she spoke. There was something tantalizing in her nearness and the fact that she didnot once show herself at the top of the stair. Blackton was still talkingabout "coyotes" and dynamite when, an hour later, Aldous looked up, and hisheart gave a big, glad jump. 

Peggy Blackton, a plump little golden-haired vision of happiness, wasalready half a dozen steps down the stairs. At the top Joanne, for aninstant, had paused. Through that space, before the contractor had turned, her eyes met those of John Aldous. She was smiling. Her eyes were shiningat him. Never had he seen her look at him in that way, he thought, andnever had she seemed such a perfect vision of loveliness. She was dressedin a soft, clinging something with a flutter of white lace at her throat, and as she came down he saw that she had arranged her hair in a marvellousway. Soft little curls half hid themselves in the shimmer of rich coils shehad wreathed upon her head, and adorable little tendrils caressed thelovely flush in her cheeks, and clung to the snow-whiteness of her neck. 

For a moment, as Peggy Blackton went to her husband, he stood very close toJoanne, and into his eyes she was smiling, half laughing, her beautifulmouth aquiver, her eyes glowing, the last trace of their old suspense andfear vanished in a new and wondrous beauty. He would not have said she wastwenty-eight now. He would have sworn she was twenty. 

"Joanne, " he whispered, "you are wonderful. Your hair is glorious!"

"Always--my hair, " she replied, so low that he alone heard. "Can you neversee beyond my hair, John Aldous?"

"I stop there, " he said. "And I marvel. It is glorious!"

"Again!" And up from her white throat there rose a richer, sweeter colour. "If you say that again now, John Aldous, I shall never make curls for youagain as long as I live!"

"For me----"

His heart seemed near bursting with joy. But she had left him, and waslaughing with Peggy Blackton, who was showing her husband where he hadmissed a stubbly patch of beard on his cheek. He caught her eyes, turnedswiftly to him, and they were laughing at him, and there came a suddenpretty upturn to her chin as he continued to stare, and he saw again thecolour deepening in her face. When Peggy Blackton led her husband to thestair, and drove him up to shave off the stubbly patch, Joanne found theopportunity to whisper to him:

"You are rude, John Aldous! You must not stare at me like that!"

And as she spoke the rebellious colour was still in her face, in spite ofthe tantalizing curve of her red lips and the sparkle in her eyes. 

"I can't help it, " he pleaded. "You are--glorious!"

During the next hour, and while they were at supper, he could see that shewas purposely avoiding his eyes, and that she spoke oftener to PaulBlackton than she did to him, apparently taking the keenest interest in hisfriend's enthusiastic descriptions of the mighty work along the line ofsteel. And as pretty Peggy Blackton never seemed quite so happy as whenlistening to her husband, he was forced to content himself by looking atJoanne most of the time, without once receiving her smile. 

The sun was just falling behind the western mountains when Peggy andJoanne, hurried most incontinently by Blackton, who had looked at hiswatch, left the table to prepare themselves for the big event of theevening. 

"I want to get you there before dusk, " he explained. "So please hurry!"

They were back in five minutes. Joanne had slipped on a long gray coat, andwith a veil that trailed a yard down her back she had covered her head. Not a curl or a tress of her hair had she left out of its filmy prison, andthere was a mischievous gleam of triumph in her eyes when she looked atAldous. 

A moment later, when they went ahead of Blackton and his wife to where thebuckboard was waiting for them, he said:

"You put on that veil to punish me, Ladygray?"

"It is a pretty veil, " said she. 

"But your hair is prettier, " said he. 

"And you embarrassed me very much by staring as you did, John Aldous!"

"Forgive me. It is--I mean you are--so beautiful. "

"And you are sometimes--most displeasing, " said she. "Your ingenuousness, John Aldous, is shocking!"

"Forgive me, " he said again. 

"And you have known me but two days, " she added. 

"Two days--is a long time, " he argued. "One can be born, and live, and diein two days. Besides, our trails have crossed for years. "

"But--it displeases me. "

"What I have said?"

"Yes. "

"And the way I have looked at you?"

"Yes. "

Her voice was low and quiet now, her eyes were serious, and she was notsmiling. 

"I know--I know, " he groaned, and there was a deep thrill in his voice. "It's been only two days after all, Ladygray. It seems like--like alifetime. I don't want you to think badly of me. God knows I don't!"

"No, no. I don't, " she said quickly and gently. "You are the finestgentleman I ever knew, John Aldous. Only--it embarrasses me. "

"I will cut out my tongue and put out my eyes----"

"Nothing so terrible, " she laughed softly. "Will you help me into thewagon? They are coming. "

She gave him her hand, warm and soft; and Blackton forced him into the seatbetween her and Peggy, and Joanne's hand rested in his arm all the way tothe mountain that was to be blown up, and he told himself that he was afool if he were not supremely happy. The wagon stopped, and he helped herout again, her warm little hand again close in his own, and when she lookedat him he was the cool, smiling John Aldous of old, so cool, and strong, and unemotional that he saw surprise in her eyes first, and then thatgentle, gathering glow that came when she was proud of him, and pleasedwith him. And as Blackton pointed out the mountain she unknotted the veilunder her chin and let it drop back over her shoulders, so that the lastlight of the day fell richly in the trembling curls and thick coils of herhair. 

"And that is my reward, " said John Aldous, but he whispered it to himself. 

They had stopped close to a huge flat rock, and on this rock men were atwork fitting wires to a little boxlike thing that had a white button-lever. Paul Blackton pointed to this, and his face was flushed with excitement. 

"That's the little thing that's going to blow it up, Miss Gray--the touchof your finger on that little white button. Do you see that black base ofthe mountain yonder?--right there where you can see men moving about? It'shalf a mile from here, and the 'coyote' is there, dug into the wall ofit. "

The tremble of enthusiasm was in his voice as he went on, pointing with hislong arm: "Think of it! We're spending a hundred thousand dollars goingthrough that rock that people who travel on the Grand Trunk Pacific in thefuture will be saved seven minutes in their journey from coast to coast!We're spending a hundred thousand there, and millions along the line, thatwe may have the smoothest roadbed in the world when we're done, and thequickest route from sea to sea. It looks like waste, but it isn't. It'sscience! It's the fight of competition! It's the determination behind theforces--the determination to make this road the greatest road in the world!Listen!"

The gloom was thickening swiftly. The black mountain was fading slowlyaway, and up out of that gloom came now ghostly and far-reaching voices ofmen booming faintly through giant megaphones. 

"_Clear away! Clear away! Clear away!_" they said, and the valley and themountain-sides caught up the echoes, until it seemed that a hundred voiceswere crying out the warning. Then fell a strange and weird silence, and theechoes faded away like the voices of dying men, and all was still save thefar-away barking of a coyote that answered the mysterious challenges of thenight. Joanne was close to the rock. Quietly the men who had been workingon the battery drew back. 

"It is ready!" said one. 

"Wait!" said Blackton, as his wife went to speak, "Listen!"

For five minutes there was silence. Then out of the night a singlemegaphone cried the word:

"_Fire!_"

"All is clear, " said the engineer, with a deep breath. "All you have to do, Miss Gray, is to move that little lever from the side on which it now reststo the opposite side. Are you ready?"

In the darkness Joanne's left hand had sought John's. It clung to histightly. He could feel a little shiver run through her. 

"Yes, " she whispered. 

"Then--if you please--press the button!"

Slowly Joanne's right hand crept out, while the fingers of her left clungtighter to Aldous. She touched the button--thrust it over. A little crythat fell from between her tense lips told them she had done the work, anda silence like that of death fell on those who waited. 

A half a minute--perhaps three quarters--and a shiver ran under their feet, but there was no sound; and then a black pall, darker than the night, seemed to rise up out of the mountain, and with that, a second later, camethe explosion. There was a rumbling and a jarring, as if the earth wereconvulsed under foot; volumes of dense black smoke shot upward, and inanother instant these rolling, twisting volumes of black became lurid, andan explosion like that of a thousand great guns rent the air. As fast asthe eye could follow sheets of flame shot up out of the sea of smoke, climbing higher and higher, in lightning flashes, until the lurid tongueslicked the air a quarter of a mile above the startled wilderness. Explosionfollowed explosion, some of them coming in hollow, reverberating booms, others sounding as if in midair. Unseen by the watchers, the heavens werefilled with hurtling rocks; solid masses of granite ten feet square werethrown a hundred feet away; rocks weighing a ton were hurled still farther, as if they were no more than stones flung by the hands of a giant; chunksthat would have crashed from the roof to the basement of a skyscraperdropped a third of a mile away. For three minutes the frightful convulsionscontinued, and the tongues of flame leaped into the night. Then the luridlights died out, shorter and shorter grew the sullen flashes, and thenagain fell--silence!

During those appalling moments, unconscious of the act, Joanne had shrankclose to Aldous, so that he felt the soft crush of her hair and the swiftmovement of her bosom. Blackton's voice brought them back to life. 

He laughed, and it was the laugh of a man who had looked upon work welldone. 

"It has done the trick, " he said. "To-morrow we will come and see. And Ihave changed my plans about Coyote Number Twenty-eight. Hutchins, thesuperintendent, is passing through in the afternoon, and I want him to seeit. " He spoke now to a man who had come up out of the darkness. "Gregg, have Twenty-eight ready at four o'clock to-morrow afternoon--fouro'clock--sharp!"

Then he said:

"Dust and a bad smell will soon be settling about us. Come, let's go home!"

And as they went back to the buckboard wagon through the gloom John Aldousstill held Joanne's hand in his own, and she made no effort to take it fromhim. 

CHAPTER XVIII

The next morning, when Aldous joined the engineer in the dining-room below, he was disappointed to find the breakfast table prepared for two instead offour. It was evident that Peggy Blackton and Joanne were not going tointerrupt their beauty nap on their account. 

Blackton saw his friend's inquiring look, and chuckled. 

"Guess we'll have to get along without 'em this morning, old man. Lordbless me, did you hear them last night--after you went to bed?"

"No. "

"You were too far away, " chuckled Blackton again, "I was in the room acrossthe hall from them. You see, old man, Peggy sometimes gets fairly starvedfor the right sort of company up here, and last night they didn't go to beduntil after twelve o'clock. I looked at my watch. Mebby they were in bed, but I could hear 'em buzzing like two bees, and every little while they'dgiggle, and then go on buzzing again. By George, there wasn't a break init! When one let up the other'd begin, and sometimes I guess they were bothgoing at once. Consequently, they're sleeping now. "

When breakfast was finished Blackton looked at his watch. 

"Seven o'clock, " he said. "We'll leave word for the girls to be ready atnine. What are you going to do meantime, Aldous?"

"Hunt up MacDonald, probably. "

"And I'll run down and take a look at the work. "

As they left the house the engineer nodded down the road. MacDonald wascoming. 

"He has saved you the trouble, " he said. "Remember, Aldous--nine o'clocksharp!"

A moment later Aldous was advancing to meet the old mountaineer. 

"They've gone, Johnny, " was Donald's first greeting. 

"Gone?"

"Yes. The whole bunch--Quade, Culver Rann, DeBar, and the woman who rodethe bear. They've gone, hide and hair, and nobody seems to know where. "

Aldous was staring. 

"Also, " resumed old Donald slowly, "Culver Rann's outfit is gone--twentyhorses, including six saddles. An' likewise others have gone, but I can'tfind out who. "

"Gone!" repeated Aldous again. 

MacDonald nodded. 

"And that means----"

"That Culver Rann ain't lost any time in gettin' under way for the gold, "said Donald. "DeBar is with him, an' probably the woman. Likewise threecut-throats to fill the other saddles. They've gone prepared to fight. "

"And Quade?"

Old Donald hunched his shoulders, and suddenly John's face grew dark andhard. 

"I understand, " he spoke, half under his breath. "Quade hasdisappeared--but he isn't with Culver Rann. He wants us to believe he hasgone. He wants to throw us off our guard. But he's watching, andwaiting--somewhere--like a hawk, to swoop down on Joanne! He----"

"That's it!" broke in MacDonald hoarsely. "That's it, Johnny! It's his oldtrick--his old trick with women. There's a hunderd men who've got to do hisbidding--do it 'r get out of the mountains--an' we've got to watch Joanne. We have, Johnny! If she should disappear----"

Aldous waited. 

"You'd never find her again, so 'elp me God, you wouldn't, Johnny!" hefinished. 

"We'll watch her, " said Aldous quietly. "I'll be with her to-day, Mac, andto-night I'll come down to the camp in the coulee to compare notes withyou. They can't very well steal her out of Blackton's house while I'mgone. "

For an hour after MacDonald left him he walked about in the neighbourhoodof the Blackton bungalow smoking his pipe. Not until he saw the contractordrive up in the buckboard did he return. Joanne and Peggy were more thanprompt. They were waiting. If such a thing were possible Joanne was moreradiantly lovely than the night before. To Aldous she became more beautifulevery time he looked at her. But this morning he did not speak what was inhis heart when, for a moment, he held her hand, and looked into her eyes. Instead, he said:

"Good morning, Ladygray. Have you used----"

"I have, " she smiled. "Only it's Potterdam's Tar Soap, and not the other. And you--have not shaved, John Aldous!"

"Great Scott, so I haven't!" he exclaimed, rubbing his chin. "But I didyesterday afternoon, Ladygray!"

"And you will again this afternoon, if you please, " she commanded. "I don'tlike bristles. "

"But in the wilderness----"

"One can shave as well as another can make curls, " she reminded him, andthere came an adorable little dimple at the corner of her mouth as shelooked toward Paul Blackton. 

Aldous was glad that Paul and Peggy Blackton did most of the talking thatmorning. They spent half an hour where the explosion of the night beforehad blown out the side of the mountain, and then drove on to Coyote NumberTwenty-eight. It was in the face of a sandstone cliff, and all they couldsee of it when they got out of the wagon was a dark hole in the wall ofrock. Not a soul was about, and Blackton rubbed his hands withsatisfaction. 

"Everything is completed, " he said. "Gregg put in the last packing thismorning, and all we are waiting for now is four o'clock this afternoon. "

The hole in the mountain was perhaps four feet square. Ten feet in front ofit the engineer paused, and pointed to the ground. Up out of the earth cametwo wires, which led away from the mouth of the cavern. 

"Those wires go down to the explosives, " he explained. "They're batterywires half a mile long. But we don't attach the battery until the finalmoment, as you saw last night. There might be an accident. "

He bent his tall body and entered the mouth of the cavern, leading his wifeby the hand. Observing that Joanne had seen this attention on thecontractor's part, Aldous held out his own hand, and Joanne accepted it. For perhaps twenty feet they followed the Blacktons with lowered heads. They seemed to have entered a black, cold pit, sloping slightly downward, and only faintly could they see Blackton when he straightened. 

His voice came strange and sepulchral:

"You can stand up now. We're in the chamber. Don't move or you mightstumble over something. There ought to be a lantern here. "

He struck a match, and as he moved slowly toward a wall of blackness, searching for the lantern, he called back encouragingly through the gloom:

"You folks are now standing right over ten tons of dynamite, and there'sanother five tons of black powder----"

A little shriek from Peggy Blackton stopped him, and his match went out. 

"What in heaven's name is the matter?" he asked anxiously. "Peggy----"

"Why in heaven's name do you light a match then, with us standing over allthose tons of dynamite?" demanded Peggy. "Paul Blackton, you're----"

The engineer's laughter was like a giant's roar in the cavern, and Joannegave a gasp, while Peggy shiveringly caught Aldous by the arm. 

"There--I've got the lantern!" exclaimed Blackton. "There isn't any danger, not a bit. Wait a minute and I'll tell you all about it. " He lighted thelantern, and in the glow of it Joanne's and Peggy's faces were white andstartled. "Why, bless my soul, I didn't mean to frighten you!" he cried. "Iwas just telling you facts. See, we're standing on a solid floor--four feetof packed rock and cement. The dynamite and black powder are under that. We're in a chamber--a cave--an artificial cavern. It's forty feet deep, twenty wide, and about seven high. "

He held the lantern even with his shoulders and walked deeper into thecavern as he spoke. The others followed. They passed a keg on which was ahalf-burned candle. Close to the keg was an empty box. Beyond these thingsthe cavern was empty. 

"I thought it was full of powder and dynamite, " apologized Peggy. 

"You see, it's like this, " Blackton began. "We put the powder and dynamitedown there, and pack it over solid with rock and cement. If we didn't leavethis big air-chamber above it there would be only one explosion, andprobably two thirds of the explosive would not fire, and would be lost. This chamber corrects that. You heard a dozen explosions last night, andyou'll hear a dozen this afternoon, and the biggest explosion of all isusually the fourth or fifth. A 'coyote' isn't like an ordinary blast orshot. It's a mighty expensive thing, and you see it means a lot of work. Now, if some one were to touch off those explosives at this minute----What's the matter, Peggy? Are you cold? You're shivering!"

"Ye-e-e-e-s!" chattered Peggy. 

Aldous felt Joanne tugging at his hand. 

"Let's take Mrs. Blackton out, " she whispered. "I'm--I'm--afraid she'lltake cold!"

In spite of himself Aldous could not restrain his laughter until they hadgot through the tunnel. Out in the sunlight he looked at Joanne, stillholding her hand. She withdrew it, looking at him accusingly. 

"Lord bless me!" exclaimed Blackton, who seemed to understand at last. "There's no danger--not a bit!"

"But I'd rather look at it from outside, Paul, dear, " said Mrs. Blackton. 

"But--Peggy--if it went off now you'd be in just as bad shape out here!"

"I don't think we'd be quite so messy, really I don't, dear, " shepersisted. 

"Lord bless me!" he gasped. 

"And they'd probably be able to find something of us, " she added. 

"Not a button, Peggy!"

"Then I'm going to move, if you please!" And suiting her action to the wordPeggy led the way to the buckboard. There she paused and took one of herhusband's big hands fondly in both her own. "It's perfectly wonderful, Paul--and I'm proud of you!" she said. "But, honestly, dear, I can enjoy itso much better at four o'clock this afternoon. "

Smiling, Blackton lifted her into the buckboard. 

"That's why I wish Paul had been a preacher or something like that, " sheconfided to Joanne as they drove homeward. "I'm growing old just thinkingof him working over that horrid dynamite and powder all the time. Everylittle while some one is blown into nothing. "

"I believe, " said Joanne, "that I'd like to do something like that if Iwere a man. I'd want to be a man, not that preachers aren't men, Peggy, dear--but I'd want to do things, like blowing up mountains for instance, orfinding buried cities, or"--she whispered, very, very softly under herbreath--"writing books, John Aldous!"

Only Aldous heard those last words, and Joanne gave a sharp little cry; andwhen Peggy asked her what the matter was Joanne did not tell her that JohnAldous had almost broken her hand on the opposite side--for Joanne wasriding between the two. 

"It's lame for life, " she said to him half an hour later, when he wasbidding her good-bye, preparatory to accompanying Blackton down to theworking steel. "And I deserve it for trying to be kind to you. I think somewriters of books are--are perfectly intolerable!"

"Won't you take a little walk with me right after dinner?" he was askingfor the twentieth time. 

"I doubt it very, very much. "

"Please, Ladygray!"

"I may possibly think about it. "

With that she left him, and she did not look back as she and Peggy Blacktonwent into the house. But as they drove away they saw two faces at thewindow that overlooked the townward road, and two hands were wavinggood-bye. Both could not be Peggy Blackton's hands. 

"Joanne and I are going for a walk this afternoon, Blackton, " said Aldous, "and I just want to tell you not to worry if we're not back by fouro'clock. Don't wait for us. We may be watching the blow-up from the top ofsome mountain. "

Blackton chuckled. 

"Don't blame you, " he said. "From an observer's point of view, John, itlooks to me as though you were going to have something more than hope tolive on pretty soon!"

"I--I hope so. "

"And when I was going with Peggy I wouldn't have traded a quiet little walkwith her--like this you're suggesting--for a front seat look at a blow-upof the whole Rocky Mountain system!"

"And you won't forget to tell Mrs. Blackton that we may not return by fouro'clock?"

"I will not. And"--Blackton puffed hard at his pipe--"and, John--the TêteJaune preacher is our nearest neighbour, " he finished. 

From then until dinner time John Aldous lived in an atmosphere that was notquite real, but a little like a dream. His hopes and his happiness were attheir highest. He knew that Joanne would go walking with him thatafternoon, and in spite of his most serious efforts to argue to thecontrary he could not keep down the feeling that the event would mean agreat deal for him. Almost feverishly he interested himself in PaulBlackton's work. When they returned to the bungalow, a little before noon, he went to his room, shaved himself, and in other ways prepared for dinner. 

Joanne and the Blacktons were waiting when he came down. 

His first look at Joanne assured him. She was dressed in a soft graywalking-suit. Never had the preparation of a dinner seemed so slow to him, and a dozen times he found himself inwardly swearing at Tom, the Chinesecook. It was one o'clock before they sat down at the table and it was twoo'clock when they arose. It was a quarter after two when Joanne and he leftthe bungalow. 

"Shall we wander up on the mountain?" he asked. "It would be fine to lookdown upon the explosion. "

"I have noticed that in some things you are very observant, " said Joanne, ignoring his question. "In the matter of curls, for instance, you areunapproachable; in others you are--quite blind, John Aldous!"

"What do you mean?" he asked, bewildered. 

"I lost my scarf this morning, and you did not notice it. It is quite anunusual scarf. I bought it in Cairo, and I don't want to have it blown up. "

"You mean----"

"Yes. I must have dropped it in the cavern. I had it when we entered. "

"Then we'll return for it, " he volunteered. "We'll still have plenty oftime to climb up the mountain before the explosion. "

Twenty minutes later they came to the dark mouth of the tunnel. There wasno one in sight, and for a moment Aldous searched for matches in hispocket. 

"Wait here, " he said. "I won't be gone two minutes. "

He entered, and when he came to the chamber he struck a match. The lanternwas on the empty box. He lighted it, and began looking for the scarf. Suddenly he heard a sound. He turned, and saw Joanne standing in the glowof the lantern. 

"Can you find it?" she asked. 

"I haven't--yet. "

They bent over the rock floor, and in a moment Joanne gave a littleexclamation of pleasure as she caught up the scarf. In that same moment, asthey straightened and faced each other, John Aldous felt his heart ceasebeating, and Joanne's face had gone as white as death. The rock-walledchamber was atremble; they heard a sullen, distant roaring, and as Aldouscaught Joanne's hand and sprang toward the tunnel the roar grew into adeafening crash, and a gale of wind rushed into their faces, blowing outthe lantern, and leaving them in darkness. The mountain seemed crumblingabout them, and above the sound of it rang out a wild, despairing cry fromJoanne's lips. For there was no longer the brightness of sunshine at theend of the tunnel, but darkness--utter darkness; and through that tunnelthere came a deluge of dust and rock that flung them back into theblackness of the pit, and separated them. 

"John--John Aldous!"

"I am here, Joanne! I will light the lantern!"

His groping hands found the lantern. He relighted it, and Joanne crept tohis side, her face as white as the face of the dead. He held the lanternabove him, and together they stared at where the tunnel had been. A mass ofrock met their eyes. The tunnel was choked. And then, slowly, each turnedto the other; and each knew that the other understood--for it was Deaththat whispered about them now in the restless air of the rock-walled tomb, a terrible death, and their lips spoke no words as their eyes met in thatfearful and silent understanding. 

CHAPTER XIX

Joanne's white lips spoke first. 

"The tunnel is closed!" she whispered. 

Her voice was strange. It was not Joanne's voice. It was unreal, terrible, and her eyes were terrible as they looked steadily into his. Aldous couldnot answer; something had thickened in his throat, and his blood ran coldas he stared into Joanne's dead-white face and saw the understanding in hereyes. For a space he could not move, and then, as suddenly as it had fallenupon him, the effect of the shock passed away. 

[Illustration: "The tunnel is closed, " she whispered.... "That means wehave just forty-five minutes to live.... Let us not lie to one another. "]

He smiled, and put out a hand to her. 

"A slide of rock has fallen over the mouth of the tunnel, " he said, forcinghimself to speak as if it meant little or nothing. "Hold the lantern, Joanne, while I get busy. "

"A slide of rock, " she repeated after him dumbly. 

She took the lantern, her eyes still looking at him in that stricken way, and with his naked hands John Aldous set to work. Five minutes and he knewthat it was madness to continue. Hands alone could not clear the tunnel. And yet he worked, tearing into the rock and shale like an animal; rollingback small boulders, straining at larger ones until the tendons of his armsseemed ready to snap and his veins to burst. For a few minutes after thathe went mad. His muscles cracked, he panted as he fought with the rockuntil his hands were torn and bleeding, and over and over again there ranthrough his head Blackton's last words--_Four o'clock this afternoon!--Fouro'clock this afternoon!_

Then he came to what he knew he would reach very soon, a solid wall! Rockand shale and earth were packed as if by battering rams. For a few momentshe fought to control himself before facing Joanne. Over him swept the grimrealization that his last fight must be for her. He steadied himself, andwiped the dust and grime from his face with his handkerchief. For the lasttime he swallowed hard. His soul rose within him almost joyously now in theface of this last great fight, and he turned--John Aldous, the super-man. There was no trace of fear in his face as he went to her. He was evensmiling in that ghostly glow of the lantern. 

"It is hard work, Joanne. "

She did not seem to hear what he had said. She was looking at his hands. She held the lantern nearer. 

"Your hands are bleeding, John!"

It was the first time she had spoken his name like that, and he wasthrilled by the calmness of her voice, the untrembling gentleness of herhand as it touched his hand. From his bruised and bleeding flesh she raisedher eyes to him, and they were no longer the dumb, horrified eyes he hadgazed into fifteen minutes before. In the wonder of it he stood silent, andthe moment was weighted with an appalling silence. 

It came to them both in that instant--the _tick-tick-tick_ of the watch inhis pocket!

Without taking her eyes from his face she asked:

"What time is it. John?"

"Joanne----"

"I am not afraid, " she whispered. "I was afraid this afternoon, but I amnot afraid now. What time is it, John?"

"My God--they'll dig us out!" he cried wildly. "Joanne, you don't thinkthey won't dig us out, do you? Why, that's impossible! The slide hascovered the wires. They've got to dig us out! There is no danger--none atall. Only it's chilly, and uncomfortable, and I'm afraid you'll take cold!"

"What time is it?" she repeated softly. 

For a moment he looked steadily at her, and his heart leaped when he sawthat she must believe him, for though her face was as white as an ivorycross she was smiling at him--yes! she was smiling at him in that gray andghastly death-gloom of the cavern!

He brought out his watch, and in the lantern-glow they looked at it. 

"A quarter after three, " he said. "By four o'clock they will be atwork--Blackton and twenty men. They will have us out in time for supper. "

"A quarter after three, " repeated Joanne, and the words came steadily fromher lips. "That means----"

He waited. 

"_We have forty-five minutes in which to live!_" she said. 

Before he could speak she had thrust the lantern into his hand, and hadseized his other hand in both her own. 

"If there are only forty-five minutes let us not lie to one another, " shesaid, and her voice was very close. "I know why you are doing it, JohnAldous. It is for me. You have done a great deal for me in these two daysin which one 'can be born, and live, and die. ' But in these last minutesI do not want you to act what I know cannot be the truth. You know--and Iknow. The wires are laid to the battery rock. There is no hope. At fouro'clock--we both know what will happen. And I--am not afraid. "

She heard him choking for speech. In a moment he said:

"There are other lanterns--Joanne. I saw them when I was looking for thescarf. I will light them. "

He found two lanterns hanging against the rock wall. He lighted them, andthe half-burned candle. 

"It is pleasanter, " she said. 

She stood in the glow of them when he turned to her, tall, and straight, and as beautiful as an angel. Her lips were pale; the last drop of bloodhad ebbed from her face; but there was something glorious in the poise ofher head, and in the wistful gentleness of her mouth and the light in hereyes. And then, slowly, as he stood looking with a face torn in its agonyfor her, she held out her arms. 

"John--John Aldous----"

"Joanne! Oh, my God!--Joanne!"

She swayed as he sprang to her, but she was smiling--smiling in that newand wonderful way as her arms reached out to him, and the words he heardher say came low and sobbing:

"John--John, if you want to, now--you can tell me that my hair isbeautiful!"

And then she was in his arms, her warm, sweet body crushed close to him, her face lifted to him, her soft hands stroking his face, and over and overagain she was speaking his name while from out of his soul there rushedforth the mighty flood of his great love; and he held her there, forgetfulof time now, forgetful of death itself; and he kissed her tender lips, herhair, her eyes--conscious only that in the hour of death he had found life, that her hands were stroking his face, and caressing his hair, and thatover and over again she was whispering sobbingly his name, and that sheloved him. The pressure of her hands against his breast at last made himfree her. And now, truly, she was glorious. For the triumph of love hadoverridden the despair of death, and her face was flooded with its colourand in her eyes was its glory. 

And then, as they stood there, a step between them, there came--almost likethe benediction of a cathedral bell--the soft, low tinkling chime of thehalf-hour bell in Aldous' watch!

It struck him like a blow. Every muscle in him became like rigid iron, andhis torn hands clenched tightly at his sides. 

"Joanne--Joanne, it is impossible!" he cried huskily, and he had her closein his arms again, even as her face was whitening in the lantern-glow. "Ihave lived for you, I have waited for you--all these years you have beencoming, coming, coming to me--and now that you are mine--_mine_--it isimpossible! It cannot happen----"

He freed her again, and caught up a lantern. Foot by foot he examined thepacked tunnel. It was solid--not a crevice or a break through which mighthave travelled the sound of his voice or the explosion of a gun. He did notshout. He knew that it would be hopeless, and that his voice would beterrifying in that sepulchral tomb. Was it possible that there might besome other opening--a possible exit--in that mountain wall? With thelantern in his hand he searched. There was no break. He came back toJoanne. She was standing where he had left her. And suddenly, as he lookedat her, all fear went out of him, and he put down the lantern and went toher. 

"Joanne, " he whispered, holding her two hands against his breast, "you arenot afraid?"

"No, I am not afraid. "

"And you know----"

"Yes, I know, " and she leaned forward so that her head lay partly againsttheir clasped hands and partly upon his breast. 

"And you love me, Joanne?"

"As I never dreamed that I should love a man, John Aldous, " she whispered. 

"And yet it has been but two days----"

"And I have lived an eternity, " he heard her lips speak softly. 

"You would be my wife?"

"Yes. "

"To-morrow?"

"If you wanted me then, John. "

"I thank God, " he breathed in her hair. "And you would come to me withoutreservation, Joanne, trusting me, believing in me--you would come to mebody, and heart, and soul?"

"In all those ways--yes. "

"I thank God, " he breathed again. 

He raised her face. He looked deep into her eyes, and the glory of her lovegrew in them, and her lips trembled as she lifted them ever so little forhim to kiss. 

"Oh, I was happy--so happy, " she whispered, putting her hands to his face. "John, I knew that you loved me, and oh! I was fighting so hard to keepmyself from letting you know how happy it made me. And here, I was afraidyou wouldn't tell me--before it happened. And John--John----"

She leaned back from him, and her white hands moved like swift shadows inher hair, and then, suddenly, it billowed about her--her glorioushair--covering her from crown to hip; and with her hands she swept andpiled the lustrous masses of it over him until his face, and head, andshoulders were buried in the flaming sheen and sweet perfume of it. 

He strained her closer. Through the warm richness of her tresses his lipspressed her lips, and they ceased to breathe. And up to their ears, pounding through that enveloping shroud of her hair came the_tick-tick-tick_ of the watch in his pocket. 

"Joanne, " he whispered. 

"Yes, John. "

"You are not afraid of--death?"

"No, not when you are holding me like this, John. "

He still clasped her hands, and a sweet smile crept over her lips. 

"Even now you are splendid, " she said. "Oh, I would have you that way, myJohn!"

Again they stood up in the unsteady glow of the lanterns. 

"What time is it?" she asked. 

He drew out his watch, and as they both looked his blood ran cold. 

"Twelve minutes, " she murmured, and there was not a quiver in her voice. "Let us sit down, John--you on this box, and I on the floor, at yourfeet--like this. "

He seated himself on the box, and Joanne nestled herself at his knees, herhands clasped in his. 

"I think, John, " she said softly, "that very, very often we would havevisited like this--you and I--in the evening. "

A lump choked him, and he could not answer. 

"I would very often have come and perched myself at your feet like this. "

"Yes, yes, my beloved. "

"And you would always have told me how beautiful my hair was--always. Youwould not have forgotten that, John--or have grown tired?"

"No, no--never!"

His arms were about her. He was drawing her closer. 

"And we would have had beautiful times together, John--writing, and goingadventuring, and--and----"

He felt her trembling, throbbing, and her arms tightened about him. 

And now, again up through the smother of her hair, came the_tick-tick-tick_ of his watch. 

He felt her fumbling at his watch pocket, and in a moment she was holdingthe timepiece between them, so that the light of the lantern fell on theface of it. 

"It is three minutes of four, John. "

The watch slipped from her fingers, and now she drew herself up so that herarms were about his neck, and their faces touched. 

"Dear John, you love me?"

"So much that even now, in the face of death, I am happy, " he whispered. "Joanne, sweetheart, we are not going to be separated. We aregoing--together. Through all eternity it must be like this--you and I, together. Little girl, wind your hair about me--tight!"

"There--and there--and there, John! I have tied you to me, and you areburied in it! Kiss me, John----"

And then the wild and terrible fear of a great loneliness swept throughhim. For Joanne's voice had died away in a whispering breath, and the lipshe kissed did not kiss him back, and her body lay heavy, heavy, heavy inhis arms. Yet in his loneliness he thanked God for bringing her oblivion inthese last moments, and with his face crushed to hers he waited. For heknew that it was no longer a matter of minutes, but of seconds, and inthose seconds he prayed, until up through the warm smother of herhair--with the clearness of a tolling bell--came the sound of the littlegong in his watch striking the Hour of Four!

In space other worlds might have crumbled into ruin; on earth the storiesof empires might have been written and the lives of men grown old in thosefirst century-long seconds in which John Aldous held his breath and waitedafter the chiming of the hour-bell in the watch on the cavern floor. Howlong he waited he did not know; how closely he was crushing Joanne to hisbreast he did not realize. Seconds, minutes, and other minutes--and hisbrain ran red in dumb, silent madness. And the watch! It _ticked, ticked, ticked!_ It was like a hammer. 

He had heard the sound of it first coming up through her hair. But it wasnot in her hair now. It was over him, about him--it was no longer aticking, but a throb, a steady, jarring, beating throb. It grew louder, and the air stirred with it. He lifted his head. With the eyes of a madmanhe stared--and listened. His arms relaxed from about Joanne, and sheslipped crumpled and lifeless to the floor. He stared--and that steady_beat-beat-beat_--a hundred times louder than the ticking of awatch--pounded in his brain. Was he mad? He staggered to the choked mouthof the tunnel, and then there fell shout upon shout, and shriek upon shriekfrom his lips, and twice, like a madman now, he ran back to Joanne andcaught her up in his arms, calling and sobbing her name, and thenshouting--and calling her name again. She moved; her eyes opened, and likeone gazing upon the spirit of the dead she looked into the face of JohnAldous, a madman's face in the lantern-glow. 

"John--John----"

She put up her hands, and with a cry he ran with her in his arms to thechoked tunnel. 

"Listen! Listen!" he cried wildly. "Dear God in Heaven, Joanne--can you nothear them? It's Blackton--Blackton and his men! Hear--hear the rock-hammerssmashing! Joanne--Joanne--we are saved!"

She did not sense him. She swayed, half on her feet, half in his arms, asconsciousness and reason returned to her. Dazedly her hands went to hisface in their old, sweet way. Aldous saw her struggling to understand--tocomprehend; and he kissed her soft upturned lips, fighting back theexcitement that made him want to raise his voice again in wild and joyousshouting. 

"It is Blackton!" he said over and over again. "It is Blackton and his men!Listen!--you can hear their picks and the pounding of their rock-hammers!"

CHAPTER XX

At last Joanne realized that the explosion was not to come, that Blacktonand his men were working to save them. And now, as she listened with him, her breath began to come in sobbing excitement between her lips--for therewas no mistaking that sound, that steady _beat-beat-beat_ that came frombeyond the cavern wall and seemed to set strange tremors stirring in theair about their ears. For a few moments they stood stunned and silent, asif not yet quite fully comprehending that they had come from out of the pitof death, and that men were fighting for their rescue. They askedthemselves no questions--why the "coyote" had not been fired? how thoseoutside knew they were in the cavern. And, as they listened, there came tothem a voice. It was faint, so faint that it seemed to whisper to themthrough miles and miles of space--yet they knew that it was a voice!

"Some one is shouting, " spoke Aldous tensely. "Joanne, my darling, standaround the face of the wall so flying rock will not strike you and I willanswer with my pistol!"

When he had placed her in safety from split lead and rock chips, he drewhis automatic and fired it close up against the choked tunnel. He firedfive times, steadily, counting three between each shot, and then he placedhis ear to the mass of stone and earth and listened. Joanne slipped to himlike a shadow. Her hand sought his, and they held their breaths. They nolonger heard sounds--nothing but the crumbling and falling of dust andpebbles where the bullets had struck, and their own heart-beats. The picksand rock-hammers had ceased. 

Tighter and tighter grew the clasp of Joanne's fingers, and a terriblethought flashed into John's brain. Perhaps a, rock from the slide had cut awire, and they had found the wire--had repaired it! Was that thought inJoanne's mind, too? Her finger-nails pricked his flesh. He looked at her. Her eyes were closed, and her lips were tense and gray. And then her eyesshot open--wide and staring. They heard, faintly though it came tothem--once, twice, three times, four, five--the firing of a gun!

John Aldous straightened, and a great breath fell from his lips. 

"Five times!" he said. "It is an answer. There is no longer doubt. "

He was holding out his arms to her, and she came into them with a chokingcry; and now she sobbed like a little child with her head against hisbreast, and for many minutes he held her close, kissing her wet face, andher damp hair, and her quivering lips, while the beat of the picks and thecrash of the rock-hammers came steadily nearer. 

Where those picks and rock-hammers fell a score of men were working likefiends: Blackton, his arms stripped to the shoulders; Gregg, sweating andurging the men; and among them--lifting and tearing at the rock like amadman--old Donald MacDonald, his shirt open, his great hands bleeding, hishair and beard tossing about him in the wind. Behind them, her handsclasped to her breast--crying out to them to hurry, _hurry_--stood PeggyBlackton. The strength of five men was in every pair of arms. Huge boulderswere rolled back. Men pawed earth and shale with their naked hands. Rock-hammers fell with blows that would have cracked the heart of a graniteobelisk. Half an hour--three quarters--and Blackton came back to wherePeggy was standing, his face black and grimed, his arms red-seared wherethe edges of the rocks had caught them, his eyes shining. 

"We're almost there, Peggy, " he panted. "Another five minutes and----"

A shout interrupted him. A cloud of dust rolled out of the mouth of thetunnel, and into that dust rushed half a dozen men led by old Donald. Before the dust had settled they began to reappear, and with a shrillscream Peggy Blackton darted forward and flung her arms about thegold-shrouded figure of Joanne, swaying and laughing and sobbing in thesunshine. And old Donald, clasping his great arms about Aldous, criedbrokenly:

"Oh, Johnny, Johnny--something told me to foller ye--an' I was just intime--just in time to see you go into the coyote!"

"God bless you, Mac!" said Aldous, and then Paul Blackton was wringing hishands; and one after another the others shook his hand, but Peggy Blacktonwas crying like a baby as she hugged Joanne in her arms. 

"MacDonald came just in time, " explained Blackton a moment later; and hetried to speak steadily, and tried to smile. "Ten minutes more, and----"

He was white. 

"Now that it has turned out like this I thank God that it happened, Paul, "said Aldous, for the engineer's ears alone. "We thought we were facingdeath, and so--I told her. And in there, on our knees, we pledged ourselvesman and wife. I want the minister--as quick as you can get him, Blackton. Don't say anything to Joanne, but bring him to the house right away, willyou?"

"Within half an hour, " replied Blackton. "There comes Tony with thebuckboard. We'll hustle up to the house and I'll have the preacher there ina jiffy. "

As they went to the wagon, Aldous looked about for MacDonald. He haddisappeared. Requesting Gregg to hunt him up and send him to the bungalow, he climbed into the back seat, with Joanne between him and Peggy. Herlittle hand lay in his. Her fingers clung to him. But her hair hid herface, and on the other side of her Peggy Blackton was laughing and talkingand crying by turns. 

As they entered the bungalow, Aldous whispered to Joanne:

"Will you please go right to your room, dear? I want to say something toyou--alone. "

When she went up the stair, Peggy caught a signal from her husband. Aldousremained with them. In two minutes he told the bewildered and finallydelighted Peggy what was going to happen, and as Blackton hustled out forthe minister's house he followed Joanne. She had fastened her door behindher. He knocked. Slowly she opened it. 

"John----"

"I have told them, dear, " he whispered happily. "They understand. And, Joanne, Paul Blackton will be back in ten minutes--with the minister. Areyou glad?"

She had opened the door wide, and he was heading out his arms to her again. For a moment she did not move, but stood there trembling a little, anddeeper and sweeter grew the colour in her face, and tenderer the look inher eyes. 

"I must brush my hair, " she answered, as though she could think of no otherwords. "I--I must dress. "

Laughing joyously, he went to her and gathered the soft masses of her hairin his hands, and piled it up in a glorious disarray about her face andhead, holding it there, and still laughing into her eyes. 

"Joanne, you are mine!"

"Unless I have been dreaming--I am, John Aldous!"

"Forever and forever. "

"Yes, forever--and ever. "

"And because I want the whole world to know, we are going to be married bya minister. "

She was silent. 

"And as my wife to be, " he went on, his voice trembling with his happiness, "you must obey me!"

"I think that I shall, John. "

"Then you will not brush your hair, and you will not change your dress, andyou will not wash the dust from your face and that sweet little beauty-spotfrom the tip of your nose, " he commanded, and now he drew her head close tohim, so that he whispered, half in her hair: "Joanne, my darling, I wantyou _wholly_ as you came to me there, when we thought we were going to die. It was there you promised to become my wife, and I want you as you werethen--when the minister comes. "

"John, I think I hear some one coming up the front steps!"

They listened. The door opened. They heard voices--Blackton's voice, Peggy's voice, and another voice--a man's voice. 

Blackton's voice came up to them very distinctly. 

"Mighty lucky, Peggy, " he said. "Caught Mr. Wollaver just as he was passingthe house. Where's----"

"Sh-h-hh!" came Peggy Blackton's sibilant whisper. 

Joanne's hands had crept to John's face. 

"I think, " she said, "that it is the minister, John. "

Her warm lips were near, and he kissed them. 

"Come, Joanne. We will go down. "

Hand in hand they went down the stair; and when the minister saw Joanne, covered in the tangle and glory of her hair; and when he saw John Aldous, with half-naked arms and blackened face; and when, with these things, hesaw the wonderful joy shining in their eyes, he stood like one struck dumbat sight of a miracle descending out of the skies. For never had Joannelooked more beautiful than in this hour, and never had man looked more likeentering into paradise than John Aldous. 

Short and to the point was the little mountain minister's service, and whenhe had done he shook hands with them, and again he stared at them as theywent back up the stair, still hand in hand. At her door they stopped. Therewere no words to speak now, as her heart lay against his heart, and herlips against his lips. And then, after those moments, she drew a littleback, and there came suddenly that sweet, quivering, joyous play of herlips as she said:

"And now, my husband, may I dress my hair?"

"My hair, " he corrected, and let her go from his arms. 

Her door closed behind her. A little dizzily he turned to his room. Hishand was on the knob when he heard her speak his name. She had reopened herdoor, and stood with something in her hand, which she was holding towardhim. He went back, and she gave him a photograph. 

"John, you will destroy this, " she whispered. "It is hisphotograph--Mortimer FitzHugh's. I brought it to show to people, that itmight help me in my search. Please--destroy it!"

He returned to his room and placed the photograph on his table. It waswrapped in thin paper, and suddenly there came upon him a most compellingdesire to see what Mortimer FitzHugh had looked like in life. Joanne wouldnot care. Perhaps it would be best for him to know. 

He tore off the paper. And as he looked at the picture the hot blood in hisveins ran cold. He stared--stared as if some wild and maddening joke wasbeing played upon his faculties. A cry rose to his lips and broke in agasping breath, and about him the floor, the world itself, seemed slippingaway from under his feet. 

For the picture he held in his hand was the picture of Culver Rann!

CHAPTER XXI

For a minute, perhaps longer, John Aldous stood staring at the photographwhich he held in his hand. It was the picture of Culver Rann--not once didhe question that fact, and not once did the thought flash upon him thatthis might be only an unusual and startling resemblance. It was assuredlyCulver Rann! The picture dropped from his hand to the table, and he wenttoward the door. His first impulse was to go to Joanne. But when he reachedthe door he locked it, and dropped into a chair, facing the mirror in hisdresser. 

The reflection of his own face was a shock to him. If he was pale, the dustand grime of his fight in the cavern concealed his pallor. But the facethat stared at him from out of the glass was haggard, wildly and almostgrotesquely haggard, and he turned from it with a grim laugh, and set hisjaws hard. He returned to the table, and bit by bit tore the photographinto thin shreds, and then piled the shreds on his ash-tray and burnedthem. He opened a window to let out the smoke and smell of charring paper, and the fresh, cool air of early evening struck his face. He could look offthrough the fading sunshine of the valley and see the mountain where CoyoteNumber Twenty-eight was to have done its work, and as he looked he grippedthe window-sill so fiercely that the nails of his fingers were bent andbroken against the wood. And in his brain the same words kept repeatingthemselves over and over again. Mortimer FitzHugh was not dead. He wasalive. He was Culver Rann. And Joanne--Joanne was not _his_ wife; she wasstill the wife of Mortimer FitzHugh--of Culver Rann!

He turned again to the mirror, and there was another look in his face. Itwas grim, terribly grim--and smiling. There was no excitement, nothing ofthe passion and half-madness with which he had faced Quade and Rann thenight before. He laughed softly, and his nails dug as harshly into thepalms of his hands as they had dug into the sills of the window. 

"You poor, drivelling, cowardly fool!" he said to his reflection. "And youdare to say--you dare to _think_ that she is not your wife?"

As if in reply to his words there came a knock at the door, and from thehall Blackton called:

"Here's MacDonald, Aldous. He wants to see you. "

Aldous opened the door and the old hunter entered. 

"If I ain't interruptin' you, Johnny----"

"You're the one man in the world I want to see, Mac. No, I'll take thatback; there's one other I want to see worse than you--Culver Rann. "

The strange look in his face made old Donald stare. 

"Sit down, " he said, drawing two chairs close to the table. "There'ssomething to talk about. It was a terribly close shave, wasn't it?"

"An awful close shave, Johnny. As close a shave as ever was. "

Still, as if not quite understanding what he saw, old Donald was staringinto John's face. 

"I'm glad it happened, " said Aldous, and his voice became softer. "Sheloves me, Mac. It all came out when we were in there, and thought we weregoing to die. Not ten minutes ago the minister was here, and he made us manand wife. "

Words of gladness that sprang to the old man's lips were stopped by thatstrange, cold, tense look in the face of John Aldous. 

"And in the last five minutes, " continued Aldous, as quietly as before, "Ihave learned that Mortimer FitzHugh, her husband, is not dead. Is it veryremarkable that you do not find me happy, Mac? If you had come a fewminutes ago----"

"Oh, my God! Johnny! Johnny!"

MacDonald had pitched forward over the table, and now he bowed his greatshaggy head in his hands, and his gaunt shoulders shook as his voice camebrokenly through his beard. 

"I did it, Johnny; I did it for you an' her! When I knew what it would meanfor her--I _couldn't_, Johnny, I couldn't tell her the truth, 'cause I knewshe loved you, an' you loved her, an' it would break her heart. I thoughtit would be best, an' you'd go away together, an' nobody would ever know, an' you'd be happy. I didn't lie. I didn't say anything. ButJohnny--Johnny, _there weren't no bones in the grave!_"

"My God!" breathed Aldous. 

"There were just some clothes, " went on MacDonald huskily, "an' the watchan' the ring were on top. Johnny, there weren't nobody ever buried there, an' I'm to blame--I'm to blame. "

"And you did that for us, " cried Aldous, and suddenly he reached over andgripped old Donald's hands. "It wasn't a mistake, Mac. I thank God you keptsilent. If you had told her that the grave was empty, that it was a fraud, I don't know what would have happened. And now--she is _mine!_ If she hadseen Culver Rann, if she had discovered that this scoundrel, thisblackmailer and murderer, was Mortimer FitzHugh, her husband----"

"Johnny! John Aldous!"

Donald MacDonald's voice came now like the deep growling roar of ashe-bear, and as he cried the other's name he sprang to his feet, and hiseyes gleamed in their deep sockets like raging fires. 

"Johnny!"

Aldous rose, and he was smiling. He nodded. 

"That's it, " he said. "Mortimer FitzHugh is Culver Rann!"

"An'--an' you know this?"

"Absolutely. Joanne gave me Mortimer FitzHugh's photograph to destroy. I amsorry that I burned it before you saw it. But there is no doubt. MortimerFitzHugh and Culver Rann are the same man. "

Slowly the old mountaineer turned to the door. Aldous was ahead of him, andstood with his hand on the knob. 

"I don't want you to go yet, Mac. "

"I--I'll see you a little later, " said Donald clumsily. 

"Donald!"

"Johnny!"

For a full half minute they looked steadily into each other's eyes. 

"Only a week, Johnny, " pleaded Donald. "I'll be back in a week. "

"You mean that you will kill him?"

"He'll never come back. I swear it, Johnny!"

As gently as he might have led Joanne, Aldous drew the mountaineer back tothe chair. 

"That would be cold-blooded murder, " he said, "and I would be the murderer. I can't send you out to do my killing, Mac, as I might send out a hiredassassin. Don't you see that I can't? Good heaven, some day--very soon--Iwill tell you how this hound, Mortimer FitzHugh, poisoned Joanne's life, and did his worst to destroy her. It's to me he's got to answer, Donald. And to me he shall answer. I am going to kill him. But it will not bemurder. Since you have come into this room I have made my final plan, and Ishall follow it to the end coolly and deliberately. It will be a greatgame, Mac--and it will be a fair game; and I shall play it happily, becauseJoanne will not know, and I will be strengthened by her love. 

"Quade wants my life, and tried to hire Stevens, up at Miette, to kill me. Culver Rann wants my life; a little later it will come to be the greatestdesire of his existence to have me dead and out of the way. I shall givehim the chance to do the killing, Mac. I shall give him a splendid chance, and he will not fail to accept his opportunity. Perhaps he will have anadvantage, but I am as absolutely certain of killing him as I am that thesun is going down behind the mountains out there. If others should stepin, if I should have more than Culver Rann on my hands--why, then you maydeal yourself a hand if you like, Donald. It may be a bigger game than Oneagainst One. "

"It will, " rumbled MacDonald. "I learned other things early this afternoon, Johnny. Quade did not stay behind. He went with Rann. DeBar and the womanare with them, and two other men. They went over the Lone Cache Pass, andthis minute are hurrying straight for the headwaters of the Parsnip. Thereare five of 'em--five men. "

"And we are two, " smiled Aldous. "So there _is_ an advantage on their side, isn't there, Mac? And it makes the game most eminently fair, doesn't it?"

"Johnny, we're good for the five!" cried old Donald in a low, eager voice. "If we start now----"

"Can you have everything ready by morning?"

"The outfit's waiting. It's ready now, Johnny. "

"Then we'll leave at dawn. I'll come to you to-night in the coulee, andwe'll make our final plans. My brain is a little muddled now, and I've gotto clear it, and make myself presentable before supper. We must not letJoanne know. She must suspect nothing--absolutely nothing. "

"Nothing, " repeated MacDonald as he went to the door. 

There he paused and, hesitating for a moment, leaned close to Aldous, andsaid in a low voice:

"Johnny, I've been wondering why the grave were empty. I've been wonderingwhy there weren't somebody's bones there just t' give it the look it should'a' had an' why the clothes were laid out so nicely with the watch an' thering on top!"

With that he was gone, and Aldous closed and relocked the door. 

He was amazed at his own composure as he washed himself and proceeded todress for supper. What had happened had stunned him at first, had eventerrified him for a few appalling moments. Now he was superblyself-possessed. He asked himself questions and answered them with apromptness which left no room for doubt in his mind as to what his actionsshould be. One fact he accepted as absolute: Joanne belonged to him. Shewas his wife. He regarded her as that, even though Mortimer FitzHugh wasalive. In the eyes of both God and man FitzHugh no longer had a claim uponher. This man, who was known as Culver Rann, was worse than Quade, ascoundrel of the first water, a procurer, a blackmailer, even amurderer--though he had thus far succeeded in evading the rather loose andpoorly working tentacles of mountain law. 

Not for an instant did he think of Joanne as Culver Rann's wife. She was_his_ wife. It was merely a technicality of the law--a technicality thatJoanne might break with her little finger--that had risen now between themand happiness. And it was this that he knew was the mountain in his path, for he was certain that Joanne would not break that last link of bondage. She would know, with Mortimer FitzHugh alive, that the pledge between themin the "coyote, " and the marriage ceremony in the room below, meantnothing. Legally, she was no more to him now than she was yesterday, or theday before. And she would leave him, even if it destroyed her, heart andsoul. He was sure of that. For years she had suffered her heart to beground out of her because of the "bit of madness" that was in her, becauseof that earlier tragedy in her life--and her promise, her pledge to herfather, her God, and herself. Without arguing a possible change in herbecause of her love for him, John Aldous accepted these things. He believedthat if he told Joanne the truth he would lose her. 

His determination not to tell her, to keep from her the secret of the graveand the fact that Mortimer FitzHugh was alive, grew stronger in him witheach breath that he drew. He believed that it was the right thing to do, that it was the honourable and the only thing to do. Now that the firstshock was over, he did not feel that he had lost Joanne, or that there wasa very great danger of losing her. For a moment it occurred to him that hemight turn the law upon Culver Rann, and in the same breath he laughed atthis absurdity. The law could not help him. He alone could work out his ownand Joanne's salvation. And what was to happen must happen very soon--up inthe mountains. When it was all over, and he returned, he would tell Joanne. 

His heart beat more quickly as he finished dressing. In a few minutes morehe would be with Joanne, and in spite of what had happened, and what mighthappen, he was happy. Yesterday he had dreamed. To-day was reality--and itwas a glorious reality. Joanne belonged to him. She loved him. She was hiswife, and when he went to her it was with the feeling that only a serpentlay in the path of their paradise--a serpent which he would crush with aslittle compunction as that serpent would have destroyed her. Utterly andremorselessly his mind was made up. 

The Blacktons' supper hour was five-thirty, and he was a quarter of an hourlate when he tapped at Joanne's door. He felt the warmth of a strange anddelightful embarrassment flushing his face as the door opened, and shestood before him. In her face, too, was a telltale riot of colour which thedeep tan partly concealed in his own. 

"I--I am a little late, am I not, Joanne?" he asked. 

"You are, sir. If you have taken all this time dressing you are worse thana woman. I have been waiting fifteen minutes!"

"Old Donald came to see me, " he apologized. "Joanne----"

"You mustn't, John!" she expostulated in a whisper. "My face is afire now!You mustn't kiss me again--until after supper----"

"Only once, " he pleaded. 

"If you will promise--just once----"

A moment later she gasped:

"Five times! John Aldous, I will never believe you again as long as Ilive!"

They went down to the Blacktons, and Peggy and Paul, who were busy oversome growing geraniums in the dining-room window, faced about with a forcedand incongruous appearance of total oblivion to everything that hadhappened. It lasted less than ten seconds. Joanne's lips quivered. Aldoussaw the two little dimples at the corners of her mouth fighting to keepthemselves out of sight--and then he looked at Peggy. Blackton could standit no longer, and grinned broadly. 

"For goodness sake go to it, Peggy!" he laughed. "If you don't you'llexplode!"

The next moment Peggy and Joanne were in each other's arms, and the two menwere shaking hands. 

"We know just how you feel, " Blackton tried to explain. "We felt just likeyou do, only we had to face twenty people instead of two. And you're nothungry. I'll wager that. I'll bet you don't feel like swallowing amouthful. It had that peculiar effect on us, didn't it, Peggy?"

"And I--I almost choked myself, " gurgled Peggy as they took their places atthe table. "There really did seem to be something thick in my throat, Joanne, dear. I coughed and coughed and coughed before all those peopleuntil I wanted to die right there! And I'm wondering----"

"If I'm going to choke, too?" smiled Joanne. "Indeed not, Peggy. I'm ashungry as a bear!"

And now she did look glorious and self-possessed to Aldous as she satopposite him at that small round table, which was just fitted for four. Hetold her so when the meal was finished, and they were following theBlacktons into the front room. Blackton had evidently been carefullydrilled along the line of a certain scheme which Peggy had formed, for inspite of a negative nod from her, which signified that he was to wait awhile, he pulled out his watch, and said:

"It isn't at all surprising if you people have forgotten that to-morrow isSunday. Peggy and I always do some Saturday-night shopping, and if youdon't mind, we'll leave you to care for the house while we go to town. Wewon't be gone more than an hour. "

A few minutes later, when the door had closed behind them, Aldous ledJoanne to a divan, and sat down beside her. 

"I couldn't have arranged it better myself, dear, " he exclaimed. "I havebeen wondering how I could have you alone for a few minutes, and tell youwhat is on my mind before I see MacDonald again to-night. I'm afraid youwill be displeased with me, Joanne. I hardly know how to begin. But--I'vegot to. "

A moment's uneasiness came into her eyes as she saw how seriously he wasspeaking. 

"You don't mean, John--there's more about Quade--and Culver Rann?"

"No, no--nothing like that, " he laughed, as though amused at the absurdityof her question. "Old Donald tells me they have skipped the country, Joanne. It's not that. It's you I'm thinking of, and what you may think ofme a minute from now. Joanne, I've given my word to old Donald. He haslived in my promise. I've got to keep that promise--I must go into theNorth with him. "

She had drawn one of his hands into her lap and was fondling it with herown soft palm and fingers. 

"Of course, you must, John. I love old Donald. "

"And I must go--soon, " he added. 

"It is only fair to him that you should, " she agreed. 

"He--he is determined we shall go in the morning, " he finished, keeping hiseyes from her. 

For a moment Joanne did not answer. Her fingers interweaved with his, herwarm little palm stroked the rough back of his hand. Then she said, verysoftly:

"And why do you think that will displease me, John, dear? I will be ready!"

"You!"

Her eyes were on him, full, and dark, and glowing, and in them were bothlove and laughter. 

"You dear silly John!" she laughed. "Why don't you come right out and tellme to stay at home, instead of--of--'beating 'round the bush'--as PeggyBlackton says? Only you don't know what a terrible little person you'vegot, John. You really don't. So you needn't say any more. We'll start inthe morning--and I am going with you!"

In a flash John Aldous saw his whole scheme shaking on its foundation. 

"It's impossible--utterly impossible!" he gasped. 

"And why utterly?" she asked, bending her head so that her soft hairtouched his face and lips. "John, have you already forgotten what we saidin that terrible cavern--what we told ourselves we would have done if wehad lived? We were going adventuring, weren't we? And we are not dead--butalive. And this will be a glorious trip! Why, John, don't you see, don'tyou understand? It will be our honeymoon trip!"

"It will be a long, rough journey, " he argued. "It will be hard--hard for awoman. "

With a little laugh, Joanne sprang up and stood before him in a glow oflight, tall, and slim, and splendid, and there was a sparkle of beautifuldefiance and a little of triumph in her eyes as she looked down on him. 

"And it will be dangerous, too? You are going to tell me that?"

"Yes, it will be dangerous. "

She came to him and rumpled up his hair, and turned his face up so that shecould look into his eyes. 

"Is it worse than fever, and famine, and deep swamps, and crawlingjungles?" she asked. "Are we going to encounter worse things than beasts, and poisonous serpents, and murderous savages--even hunger and thirst, John? For many years we dared those together--my father and I. Are thesegreat, big, beautiful mountains more treacherous than those Ceylon junglesfrom which you ran away--even you, John? Are they more terrible to live inthan the Great African Desert? Are your bears worse than tigers, yourwolves more terrible than lions? And if, through years and years, I facedthose things with my father, do you suppose that I want to be left behindnow, and by my husband?"

So sweet and wonderful was the sound of that name as it came softly fromher lips, that in his joy he forgot the part he was playing, and drew herclose down in his arms, and in that moment all that remained of the schemehe had built for keeping her behind crumbled in ruin about him. 

Yet in a last effort he persisted. 

"Old Donald wants to travel fast--very fast, Joanne. I owe a great deal tohim. Even you I owe to him--for he saved us from the 'coyote. '"

"I am going, John. "

"If we went alone we would be able to return very soon. "

"I am going. "

"And some of the mountains--it is impossible for a woman to climb them!"

"Then I will let you carry me up them, John. You are so strong----"

He groaned hopelessly. 

"Joanne, won't you stay with the Blacktons, to please me?"

"No. I don't care to please you. "

Her fingers were stroking his cheek. 

"John?"

"Yes. "

"Father taught me to shoot, and as we get better acquainted on ourhoneymoon trip I'll tell you about some of my hunting adventures. I don'tlike to shoot wild things, because I love them too well. But I can shoot. And I want a gun!"

"Great Scott!"

"Not a toy--but a real gun, " she continued. "A gun like yours. And then, ifby any chance we should have trouble--with Culver Rann----"

She felt him start, and her hands pressed harder against his face. 

"Now I know, " she whispered. "I guessed it all along. You told me thatCulver Rann and the others were after the gold. They've gone--and theirgoing isn't quite 'skipping the country' as you meant me to understand it, John Aldous! So please let's not argue any more. If we do we may quarrel, and that would be terrible. I'm going. And I will be ready in the morning. And I want a gun. And I want you to be nice to me, and I want it to be ourhoneymoon--even if it is going to be exciting!"

And with that she put her lips to his, and his last argument was gone. 

Two hours later, when he went to the coulee, he was like one who had comeout of a strange and disturbing and altogether glorious dream. He had toldJoanne and the Blacktons that it was necessary for him to be with MacDonaldthat night. Joanne's good-night kiss was still warm on his lips, the lovingtouch of her hands still trembled on his face, and the sweet perfume of herhair was in his nostrils. He was drunk with the immeasurable happiness thathad come to him, every fibre in him was aquiver with it--and yet, possessedof his great joy, he was conscious of a fear; a fear that was new andgrowing, and which made him glad when he came at last to the little fire inthe coulee. 

He did not tell MacDonald the cause of this fear at first. He told thestory of Mortimer FitzHugh and Joanne, leaving no part of it unbared, untilhe could see Donald MacDonald's great gaunt hands clenching in thefirelight, and his cavernous eyes flaming darkly through the gloom. Then hetold what had happened when the Blacktons went to town, and when he hadfinished, and rose despairingly beside the fire, Donald rose, too, and hisvoice boomed in a sort of ecstasy. 

"My Jane would ha' done likewise, " he cried in triumph. "She would that, Johnny--she would!"

"But this is different!" groaned Aldous. "What am I going to do, Mac? Whatcan I do? Don't you see how impossible it is! Mac, Mac--she isn't mywife--not entirely, not absolutely, not in the last and vital sense ofbeing a wife by law! If she knew the truth, she wouldn't consider herselfmy wife; she would leave me. For that reason I can't take her. I can't. Think what it would mean!"

Old Donald had come close to his side, and at the look in the gray oldmountaineer's face John Aldous paused. Slowly Donald laid his hands on hisshoulders. 

"Johnny, " he said gently, "Johnny, be you sure of yourself? Be you a man, Johnny?"

"Good heaven, Donald. You mean----"

Their eyes met steadily. 

"If you are, Johnny, " went on MacDonald in a low voice, "I'd take her withme. An' if you ain't, I'd leave these mount'ins to-night an' never look inher sweet face again as long as I lived. "

"You'd take her along?" demanded Aldous eagerly. 

"I would. I've been thinkin' it over to-night. An' something seemed to tellme we mustn't dare leave her here alone. There's just two things to do, Johnny. You've got to stay with her an' let me go on alone or--you've gotto take her. "

Slowly Aldous shook his head. He looked at his watch. It was a little afterten. 

"If I could make myself believe that she would not be safe here--I wouldtake her, " he said. "But I can't quite make up my mind to that, Mac. Shewill be in good hands with the Blacktons. I will warn Paul. Joanne isdetermined to go, and I know she will think it pretty indecent to be toldemphatically that she can't go. But I've got to do it. I can't see----"

A break in the stillness of the night stopped him with the suddenness of abullet in his brain. It was a scream--a woman's scream, and there followedit shriek after shriek, until the black forest trembled with the fear andagony of the cries, and John Aldous stood as if suddenly stripped of thepower to move or act. Donald MacDonald roused him to life. With a roar inhis beard, he sprang forth into the darkness. And Aldous followed, a hotsweat of fear in his blood where a moment before had been only a chill ofwonder and horror. For in Donald's savage beastlike cry he had caughtJoanne's name, and an answering cry broke from his own lips as he followedthe great gaunt form that was tearing with the madness of a wounded bearahead of him through the night. 

CHAPTER XXII

Not until they had rushed up out of the coulee and had reached the pathliketrail did the screaming cease. For barely an instant MacDonald paused, andthen ran on with a speed that taxed Aldous to keep up. When they came tothe little open amphitheatre in the forest MacDonald halted again. Theirhearts were thumping like hammers, and the old mountaineer's voice camehusky and choking when he spoke. 

"It wasn't far--from here!" he panted. 

Scarcely had he uttered the words when he sped on again. Three minuteslater they came to where the trail crossed the edge of a smallrock-cluttered meadow, and with a sudden spurt Aldous darted ahead ofMacDonald into this opening, where he saw two figures in the moonlight. Half a dozen feet from them he stopped with a cry of horror. They were Pauland Peggy Blackton! Peggy was dishevelled and sobbing, and was franticallyclutching at her husband. It was Paul Blackton who dragged the cry from hislips. The contractor was swaying. He was hatless; his face was covered withblood, and his eyes were only half open, as if he were fighting to pullhimself back into consciousness after a terrible blow. Peggy's hair wasdown, her dress was torn at the throat, and she was panting so that for amoment she could not speak. 

"They've got--Joanne!" she cried then. "They went--there!"

She pointed, and Aldous ran where she pointed--into the timber on the farside of the little meadow. MacDonald caught his arm as they ran. 

"You go straight in, " he commanded. "I'll swing--to right--towardriver----"

For two minutes after that Aldous tore straight ahead. Then for barely amoment he stopped. He had not paused to question Peggy Blackton. His ownfears told him who Joanne's abductors were. They were men working underinstructions from Quade. And they could not be far away, for scarcely tenminutes had passed since the first scream. He listened, and held his breathso that the terrific beating of his heart would not drown the sound ofcrackling brush. All at once the blood in him was frozen by a fierce yell. It was MacDonald, a couple of hundred yards to his right, and after thatyell came the bellowing shout of his name. 

"Johnny! Johnny! Oh, Johnny!"

He dashed in MacDonald's direction, and a few moments later heard thecrashing of bodies in the undergrowth. Fifty seconds more and he was in thearena. MacDonald was fighting three men in a space over which thespruce-tops grew thinly. The moon shone upon them as they swayed in astruggling mass, and as Aldous sprang to the combat one of the three reeledbackward and fell as if struck by a battering-ram. In that same momentMacDonald went down, and Aldous struck a terrific blow with the butt of hisheavy Savage. He missed, and the momentum of his blow carried him overMacDonald. He tripped and fell. By the time he had regained his, feet thetwo men had disappeared into the thick shadows of the spruce forest. Aldouswhirled toward the third man, whom he had seen fall. He, too, haddisappeared. A little lamely old Donald brought himself to his feet. He wassmiling. 

"Now, what do 'ee think, Johnny?"

"Where is she? Where is Joanne?" demanded Aldous. 

"Twenty feet behind you, Johnny, gagged an' trussed up nice as a whistle!If they hadn't stopped to do that work you wouldn't ha' seen her ag'in, Johnny--s'elp me, God, you wouldn't! They was hikin' for the river. Oncethey had reached the Frazer, and a boat----"

He broke off to lead Aldous to a clump of dwarf spruce. Behind this, whiteand still in the moonlight, but with eyes wide open and filled with horror, lay Joanne. Hands and feet were bound, and a big handkerchief was tied overher mouth. Twenty seconds later Aldous held her shivering and sobbing andlaughing hysterically by turns in his arms, while MacDonald's voice broughtPaul and Peggy Blackton to them. Blackton had recovered from the blow thathad dazed him. Over Joanne's head he stared at Aldous. And MacDonald wasstaring at Blackton. His eyes were burning a little darkly. 

"It's all come out right, " he said, "but it ain't a special nice time o'night to be taking a' evening walk in this locality with a couple o'ladies!"

Blackton was still staring at Aldous, with Peggy clutching his arm as ifafraid of losing him. 

It was Peggy who answered MacDonald. 

"And it was a nice time of night for you to send a message asking us tobring Joanne down the trail!" she cried, her voice trembling. 

"We----" began Aldous, when he saw a sudden warning movement on MacDonald'spart, and stopped. "Let us take the ladies home, " he said. 

With Joanne clinging to him, he led the way. Behind them all MacDonaldgrowled loudly:

"There's got t' be something done with these damned beasts of furriners. It's gettin' so no woman ain't safe at night!"

Twenty minutes later they reached the bungalow. Leaving Joanne and Peggyinside, now as busily excited as two phoebe birds, and after Joanne hadinsisted upon Aldous sleeping at the Blacktons' that night, the two menaccompanied MacDonald a few steps on his way back to camp. 

As soon as they were out of earshot Blackton began cursing softly under hisbreath. 

"So you didn't send that damned note?" he asked. "You haven't said so, butI've guessed you didn't send it!"

"No, we didn't send a note. "

"And you had a reason--you and MacDonald--for not wanting the girls to knowthe truth?"

"A mighty good reason, " said Aldous. "I've got to thank MacDonald forclosing my mouth at the right moment. I was about to give it away. And now, Blackton, I've got to confide in you. But before I do that I want your wordthat you will repeat nothing of what I say to another person--even yourwife. "

Blackton nodded. 

"Go on, " he said. "I've suspected a thing or two, Aldous. I'll give you myword. Go on. "

As briefly as possible, and without going deeply into detail, Aldous toldof Quade and his plot to secure possession of Joanne. 

"And this is his work, " he finished. "I've told you this, Paul, so that youwon't worry about Peggy. You can see from to-night's events that they werenot after her, but wanted Joanne. Joanne must not learn the truth. And yourwife must not know. I am going to settle with Quade. Just how and where andwhen I'm going to settle with him I don't care to say now. But he's goingto answer to me. And he's going to answer soon. "

Blackton whistled softly. 

"A boy brought the note, " he said. "He stood in the dark when he handed itto me. And I didn't recognize any one of the three men who jumped out onus. I didn't have much of a chance to fight, but if there's any one on theface of the earth who has got it over Peggy when it comes to screaming, I'dlike to know her name! Joanne didn't have time to make a sound. But theydidn't touch Peggy until she began screaming, and then one of the men beganchoking her. They had about laid me out with a club, so I was helpless. Good God----"

He shuddered. 

"They were river men, " said MacDonald. "Probably some of Tomman's scow-men. They were making for the river. "

A few minutes later, when Aldous was saying good-night to MacDonald, theold hunter said again, in a whisper:

"Now what do 'ee think, Johnny?"

"That you're right, Mac, " replied Aldous in a low voice. "There is nolonger a choice. Joanne must go with us. You will come early?"

"At dawn, Johnny. "

He returned to the bungalow with Blackton, and until midnight the lightsthere burned brightly while the two men answered a thousand questions aboutthe night's adventure, and Aldous told of his and Joanne's plans for thehoneymoon trip into the North that was to begin the next day. 

It was half-past twelve when be locked the door of his and sat down tothink. 

CHAPTER XXIII

There was no doubt in the mind of John Aldous now. The attempt upon Joanneleft him but one course to pursue: he must take her with him, in spite ofthe monumental objections which he had seen a few hours before. He realizedwhat a fight this would mean for him, and with what cleverness and resourcehe must play his part. Joanne had not given herself to him as she had oncegiven herself to Mortimer FitzHugh. In the "coyote, " when they had faceddeath, she had told him that were there to be a to-morrow in life for themshe would have given herself to him utterly and without reservation. Andthat to-morrow had dawned. It was present. She was his wife. And she hadcome to him as she had promised. In her eyes he had seen love and trust andfaith--and a glorious happiness. She had made no effort to hide thathappiness from him. Consciousness of it filled him with his own greathappiness, and yet it made him realize even more deeply how hard his fightwas to be. She was his wife. In a hundred little ways she had shown himthat she was proud of her wifehood. And again he told himself that she hadcome to him as she had promised, that she had given into his keeping allthat she had to give. And yet--_she was not his wife!_

He groaned aloud, and his fingers dug into the flesh of his knees as hethought of that. Could he keep that terrible truth from her? If she wentwith him into the North, would she not guess? And, even though he kept thetruth from her until Mortimer FitzHugh was dead, would he be playing fairwith her? Again he went over all that he had gone over before. He knew thatJoanne would leave him to-morrow, and probably forever, if he told her thatFitzHugh was alive. The law could not help him, for only death--and neverdivorce--would free her. Within himself he decided for the last time. Hewas about to do the one thing left for him to do. And it was the honourablething, for it meant freedom for her and happiness for them both. To him, Donald MacDonald had become a man who lived very close to the heart and theright of things, and Donald had said that he should take her. This was thegreatest proof that he was right. 

But could he keep Joanne from guessing? Could he keep her from discoveringthe truth until it was time for her to know that truth? In this necessityof keeping her from suspecting that something was wrong he saw his greatestfight. Compared with it, the final settlement with Quade and MortimerFitzHugh sank into a second importance. He knew what would happen then. ButJoanne--Joanne on the trail, as his wife----

He began pacing back and forth in his room, clouding himself in the smokeof his pipe. Frequently Joanne's mind had filled him with an exquisitedelight by its quickness and at times almost magic perceptiveness, and herealized that in these things, and the fineness of her woman's intuition, now lay his greatest menace. He was sure that she understood the meaning ofthe assault upon her that night, though she had apparently believed whathe and Blackton had told them--that it had been the attack ofirresponsible and drunken hoodlums. Yet he was certain that she had alreadyguessed that Quade had been responsible. 

He went to bed, dreading what questions and new developments the morningmight bring forth. And when the morning came, he was both amazed anddelighted. The near tragedy of the previous night might never have happenedin so far as he could judge from Joanne's appearance. When she came out ofher room to meet him, in the glow of a hall lamp, her eyes were like stars, and the colour in her cheeks was like that of a rose fresh from its slumberin dew. 

"I'm so happy, and what happened last night seems so like a bad dream, " shewhispered, as he held her close to him for a few moments before descendingthe stairs. "I shall worry about Peggy, John. I shall. I don't understandhow her husband dares to bring her among savages like these. You wouldn'tleave me among them, would you?" And as she asked the question, and hislips pressed hers, John Aldous still believed that in her heart she knewthe truth of that night attack. 

If she did know, she kept her secret from him all that day. They left TêteJaune before sunrise with an outfit which MacDonald had cut down to sixhorses. Its smallness roused Joanne's first question, for Aldous haddescribed to her an outfit of twenty horses. He explained that a largeoutfit made travel much more difficult and slow, but he did not tell herthat with six horses instead of twenty they could travel lessconspicuously, more easily conceal themselves from enemies, and, ifnecessary, make quick flight or swift pursuit. 

They stopped to camp for the night in a little basin that drew from Joannean exclamation of joy and wonder. They had reached the upper timber-line, and on three sides the basin was shut in by treeless and brush-naked wallsof the mountains. In the centre of the dip was a lake fed by a tiny streamthat fell in a series of ribbonlike cataracts a sheer thousand feet fromthe snow-peaks that towered above them. Small, parklike clumps of sprucedotted the miniature valley; over it hung a sky as blue as sapphire andunder their feet was a carpet of soft grass sprayed with little blueforget-me-nots and wild asters. 

"I have never seen anything a half so beautiful as this!" cried Joanne, asAldous helped her from her horse. 

As her feet touched the ground she gave a little cry and hung limply in hisarms. 

"I'm lame--lame for life!" she laughed in mock humour. "John, I can'tstand. I really can't!"

Old Donald was chuckling in his beard as he came up. 

"You ain't nearly so lame as you'll be to-morrow, " he comforted her. "An'you won't be nearly so lame to-morrow as you'll be next day. Then you'llbegin to get used to it, Mis' Joanne. "

"_Mrs. Aldous_, Donald, " she corrected sweetly. "Or--just Joanne. "

At that Aldous found himself holding her so closely that she gave a littlegasp. 

"Please don't, " she expostulated. "Your arms are terribly strong, John!"

MacDonald had turned away, still chuckling, and began to unpack. Joannelooked behind her, then quickly held up her softly pouted lips. Aldouskissed her, and would have kissed her again but she slipped suddenly fromhis arms and going to Pinto began to untie a dishpan that was fastened tothe top of his pack. 

"Get to work, John Aldous!" she commanded. 

MacDonald had camped before in the basin, and there were tepee poles readycut, as light and dry as matchwood. Joanne watched them as they put up thetent, and when it was done, and she looked inside, she cried delightedly:

"It's the snuggest little home I ever had, John!"

After that she busied herself in a way that was a constantly growingpleasure to him. She took possession at once of pots and pans and kettles. She lost no time in impressing upon both Aldous and MacDonald the fact thatwhile she was their docile follower on the trail she was to be at the headof affairs in camp. While they were straightening out the outfit, hobblingthe horses, and building a fire, she rummaged through the panniers and tookstock of their provisions. She bossed old Donald in a manner that made himfairly glow with pleasure. She bared her white arms to the elbows and madebiscuits for the "reflector" instead of bannock, while Aldous brought waterfrom the lake, and MacDonald cut wood. Her cheeks were aflame. Her eyeswere laughing, joyous, happy. MacDonald seemed years younger. He obeyed herlike a boy, and once Aldous caught him looking at her in a way that set himthinking again of those days of years and years ago, and of other camps, and of another woman--like Joanne. 

MacDonald had thought of this first camp--and there were porterhouse steaksfor supper, which he had brought packed in a kettle of ice. When they satdown to the meal, Joanne was facing a distant snow-capped ridge that cutthe skyline, and the last of the sun, reflected from the face of themountain on the east, had set brown-and-gold fires aglow in her hair. Theywere partly through when her eyes rested on the distant snow-ridge. Aldoussaw her looking steadily. Suddenly she pointed beyond him. 

"I see something moving over the snow on that mountain!" she cried a littleexcitedly. "It is hurrying toward the summit--just under the skyline! Whatis it?"

Aldous and MacDonald looked toward the ridge. Fully a mile away, almosteven with the skyline now, a small dark object was moving over the whitesurface of the snow. 

"It ain't a goat, " said MacDonald, "because a goat is white, and wecouldn't see it on the snow. It ain't a sheep, 'cause it's too dark, an'movin' too slow. It must be a bear, but why in the name o' sin a bear wouldbe that high, I don't know!"

He jumped up and ran for his telescope. 

"A grizzly, " whispered Joanne tensely. "Would it be a grizzly, John?"

"Possibly, " he answered. "Indeed, it's very likely. This is a grizzlycountry. If we hurry you can get a look at him through the telescope. "

MacDonald was already studying the object through his long glass when theyjoined him. 

"It's a bear, " he said. 

"Please--please let me look at him, " begged Joanne. 

The dark object was now almost on the skyline. Half A minute more and itwould pass over and out of sight. MacDonald still held his eye to thetelescope, as though he had not heard Joanne. Not until the moving objecthad crossed the skyline, and had disappeared, did he reply to her. 

"The light's bad, an' you couldn't have made him out very well, " he said. "We'll show you plenty o' grizzlies, an' so near you won't want atelescope. Eh, Johnny?"

As he looked at Aldous there was a strange look in his eyes, and during theremainder of the supper he was restless, and ate hurriedly. When he hadfinished he rose and picked up his long rifle. 

"There's sheep somewhere near this basin, Johnny, " he explained. "An' Ireckon Joanne'll scold us if we don't keep her in fresh meat. I'm goin' tobring in some mutton if there's any to be got, an' I probably won't be backuntil after dark. "

Aldous knew that he had more to say, and he went with him a few stepsbeyond the camp. 

And MacDonald continued in a low, troubled voice:

"Be careful, Johnny. Watch yo'rself. I'm going to take a look over into thenext valley, an' I won't be back until late. It wasn't a goat, an' itwasn't a sheep, an' it wasn't a bear. It was two-legged! It was a man, Johnny, an' he was there to watch this trail, or my name ain't DonaldMacDonald. Mebby he came ahead of us last night, an' mebby he was herebefore that happened. Anyway, be on your guard while I look over into thenext range. "

With that he struck off in the direction of the snow-ridge, and for a fewmoments Aldous stood looking after the tall, picturesque figure until itdisappeared behind a clump of spruce. Swiftly he was telling himself thatit was not the hunting season, and that it was not a prospector whom theyhad seen on the snow-ridge. As a matter of caution, there could be but oneconclusion to draw. The man had been stationed there either by Quade orFitzHugh, or both, and had unwittingly revealed himself. 

He turned toward Joanne, who had already begun to gather up the supperthings. He could hear her singing happily, and as he looked she pressed afinger to her lips and threw a kiss to him. His heart smote him even as hesmiled and waved a hand in response. Then he went to her. How slim andwonderful she looked in that glow of the setting sun, he thought. How whiteand soft were her hands, how tender and fragile her lovely neck! And howhelpless--how utterly helpless she would be if anything happened to him andMacDonald! With an effort he flung the thought from him. On his knees hewiped the dishes and pots and pans for Joanne. When this was done, heseized an axe and showed her how to gather a bed. This was a new anddelightful experience for Joanne. 

"You always want to cut balsam boughs when you can get them, " he explained, pausing before two small trees. "Now, this is a cedar, and this is abalsam. Notice how prickly and needlelike on all sides these cedar branchesare. And now look at the balsam. The needles lay flat and soft. Balsammakes the best bed you can get in the North, except moss, and you've got todry the moss. "

For fifteen minutes he clipped off the soft ends of the balsam limbs andJoanne gathered them in her arms and carried them into the tepee. Then hewent in with her, and showed her how to make the bed. He made it a narrowbed, and a deep bed, and he knew that Joanne was watching him, and he wasglad the tan hid the uncomfortable glow in his face when he had finishedtucking in the end of the last blanket. 

"You will be as cozy as can be in that, " he said. 

"And you, John?" she asked, her face flushing rosily. "I haven't seenanother tent for you and Donald. "

"We don't sleep in a tent during the summer, " he said. "Just ourblankets--out in the open. "

"But--if it should rain?"

"We get under a balsam or a spruce or a thick cedar. "

A little later they stood beside the fire. It was growing dusk. The distantsnow-ridge was swiftly fading into a pale and ghostly sheet in the graygloom of the night. Up that ridge Aldous knew that MacDonald was toiling. 

Joanne put her hands to his shoulders. 

"Are you sorry--so very, very sorry that you let me come, John?"

"I didn't let you come, " he laughed softly, drawing her to him. "You came!"

"And are you sorry?"

"No. "

It was deliciously sweet to have her tilt up her head and put her soft lipsto his, and it was still sweeter when her tender hands stroked his cheeks, and eyes and lips smiled their love and gladness. He stood stroking herhair, with her face laying warm and close against him, and over her head hestared into the thickening darkness of the spruce and cedar copses. Joanneherself had piled wood on the fire, and in its glow they were dangerouslyilluminated. With one of her hands she was still caressing his cheek. 

"When will Donald return?" she asked. 

"Probably not until late, " he replied, wondering what it was that had set astone rolling down the side of the mountain nearest to them. "He hunteduntil dark, and may wait for the moon to come up before he returns. "

"John----"

"Yes, dear?----" And mentally he measured the distance to the nearest clumpof timber between them and the mountain. 

"Let's build a big fire, and sit down on the pannier canvases. "

His eyes were still on the timber, and he was wondering what a man with arifle, or even a pistol, might do at that space. He made a good target, andMacDonald was probably several miles away. 

"I've been thinking about the fire, " he said. "We must put it out, Joanne. There are reasons why we should not let it burn. For one thing, the smokewill drive any game away that we may hope to see in the morning. "

Her hands lay still against his cheek. 

"I--understand, John, " she replied quickly, and there was the smallest bitof a shudder in her voice. "I had forgotten. We must put it out!"

Five minutes later only a few glowing embers remained where the fire hadbeen. He had spread out the pannier canvases, and now he seated himselfwith his back to a tree. Joanne snuggled close to him. 

"It is much nicer in the dark, " she whispered, and her arms reached upabout him, and her lips pressed warm and soft against his hand. "Are youjust a little ashamed of me, John?"

"Ashamed? Good heaven----"

"Because, " she interrupted him, "we have known each other such a very shorttime, and I have allowed myself to become so very, very well acquaintedwith you. It has all been so delightfully sudden, and strange, and Iam--just as happy as I can be. You don't think it is immodest for me to saythese things to my husband, John--even if I have only known him threedays?"

He answered by crushing her so closely in his arms that for a few momentsafterward she lay helplessly on his breast, gasping for breath. His brainwas afire with the joyous madness of possession. Never had woman come toman more sweetly than Joanne had come to him, and as he felt her throbbingand trembling against him he was ready to rise up and shout forth achallenge to a hundred Quades and Culver Ranns hiding in the darkness ofthe mountains. For a long time he held her nestled close in his arms, andat intervals there were silences between them, in which they listened tothe glad tumult of their own hearts, and the strange silence that came tothem from out of the still night. 

It was their first hour alone--of utter oblivion to all else butthemselves; to Joanne the first sacrament hour of her wifehood, to him thefirst hour of perfect possession and understanding. In that hour theirsouls became one, and when at last they rose to their feet, and the mooncame up over a crag of the mountain and flooded them in its golden light, there was in Joanne's face a tenderness and a gentle glory that made JohnAldous think of an angel. He led her to the tepee, and lighted a candlefor her, and at the last, with the sweet demand of a child in the manner ofher doing it, she pursed up her lips to be kissed good-night. 

And when he had tied the tent-flap behind her, he took his rifle and satdown with it across his knees in the deep black shadow of a spruce, andwaited and listened for the coming of Donald MacDonald. 

CHAPTER XXIV

For an hour after Joanne had gone into her tent Aldous sat silent andwatchful. From where he had concealed himself he could see over a part ofthe moonlit basin, and guard the open space between the camp and the clumpof timber that lay in the direction of the nearest mountain. After Joannehad blown out her candle the silence of the night seemed to grow deeperabout him. The hobbled horses had wandered several hundred yards away, andonly now and then could he hear the thud of a hoof, or the clank of a steelshoe on rock. He believed that it was impossible for any one to approachwithout ears and eyes giving him warning, and he felt a distinct shock whenDonald MacDonald suddenly appeared in the moonlight not twenty paces fromhim. With an ejaculation of amazement he jumped to his feet and went tohim. 

"How the deuce did you get here?" he demanded. 

"Were you asleep, Johnny?"

"I was awake--and watching!"

The old hunter chuckled. 

"It was so still when I come to those trees back there that I thought mebbysomething had 'appened, " he said. 

"So, I sneaked up, Johnny. "

"Did you see anything over the range?" asked Aldous anxiously. 

"I found footprints in the snow, an' when I got to the top I smelled smoke, but couldn't see a fire. It was dark then. " MacDonald nodded toward thetepee. "Is she asleep, Johnny?"

"I think so. She must be very tired. "

They drew back into the shadow of the spruce. It was a simultaneousmovement of caution, and both, without speaking their thoughts, realizedthe significance of it. Until now they had had no opportunity of beingalone since last night. 

MacDonald spoke in a low, muffled voice:

"Quade an' Culver Rann are goin' the limit, Johnny, " he said. "They leftmen on the job at Tête Jaune, and they've got others watching us. Consequently, I've hit on a scheme--a sort of simple and unreasonablescheme, mebby, but an awful good scheme at times. "

"What is it?"

"Whenever you see anything that ain't a bear, or a goat, or a sheep, don'twait to change the time o' day--but shoot!" said MacDonald. 

Aldous smiled grimly. 

"If I had any ideas of chivalry, or what I call fair play, they were takenout of me last night, Mac, " he said. "I'm ready to shoot on sight!"

MacDonald grunted his satisfaction. 

"They can't beat us if we do that, Johnny. They ain't even ordinarycut-throats--they're sneaks in the bargain; an' if they could walk in ourcamp, smilin' an' friendly, and brain us when our backs was turned, they'ddo it. We don't know who's with them, and if a stranger heaves in sightmeet him with a chunk o' lead. They're the only ones in these mountains, an' we won't make any mistake. See that bunch of spruce over there?"

The old hunter pointed to a clump fifty yards beyond the tepee toward thelittle lake. Aldous nodded. 

"I'll take my blankets over there, " continued MacDonald. "You roll yourselfup here, and the tepee'll be between us. You see the system, Johnny? Ifthey make us a visit during the night we've got 'em between us, andthere'll be some real burying to do in the morning!"

Back under the low-hanging boughs of the dwarf spruce Aldous spread out hisblanket a few minutes later. He had made up his mind not to sleep, and forhours he lay watchful and waiting, smoking occasionally, with his faceclose to the ground so that the odour of tobacco would cling to the earth. The moon rose until it was straight overhead, flooding the valley in agolden splendour that he wished Joanne might have seen. Then it begansinking into the west; slowly at first, and then more swiftly, its radiancediminished. He looked at his watch before the yellow orb effaced itselfbehind the towering peak of a distant mountain. It was a quarter of two. 

With deepening darkness, his eyes grew heavier. He closed them for a fewmoments at a time; and each time the interval was longer, and it tookgreater effort to force himself into wakefulness. Finally he slept. But hewas still subconsciously on guard, and an hour later that consciousness wasbeating and pounding within him, urging him to awake. He sat up with astart and gripped his rifle. An owl was hooting--softly, very softly. Therewere four notes. He answered, and a little later MacDonald came like ashadow out of the gloom. Aldous advanced to meet him, and he noticed thatover the eastern mountains there was a break of gray. 

"It's after three, Johnny, " MacDonald greeted him. "Build a fire and getbreakfast. Tell Joanne I'm out after another sheep. Until it's good an'light I'm going to watch from that clump of timber up there. In half anhour it'll be dawn. "

He moved toward the timber, and Aldous set about building a fire. He wascareful not to awaken Joanne. The fire was crackling cheerily when he wentto the lake for water. Returning he saw the faint glow of candlelight inJoanne's tepee. Five minutes later she appeared, and all thought of danger, and the discomfort of his sleepless night, passed from him at sight of her. Her eyes were still a little misty with sleep when he took her in his armsand kissed her, but she was deliciously alive, and glad, and happy. In onehand she had brought a brush and in the other a comb. 

"You slept like a log, " he cried happily. "It can't be that you had verybad dreams, little wife?"

"I had a beautiful dream, John, " she laughed softly, and the colour floodedup into her face. 

She unplaited the thick silken strands of her braid and began brushing herhair in the firelight, while Aldous sliced the bacon. Some of the sliceswere thick, and some were thin, for he could not keep his eyes from her asshe stood there like a goddess, buried almost to her knees in that wondrousmantle. He found himself whistling with a very light heart as she braidedher hair, and afterward plunged her face in a bath of cold water he hadbrought from the lake. From that bath she emerged like a glowing Naiad. Her eyes sparkled. Her cheeks were pink and her lips full and red. Damplittle tendrils of hair clung adorably about her face and neck. For anotherfull minute Aldous paused in his labours, and he wondered if MacDonald waswatching them from the clump of timber. The bacon was sputtering whenJoanne ran to it and rescued it from burning. 

Dawn followed quickly after that first break of day in the east, but notuntil one could see a full rifle-shot away did MacDonald return to thecamp. Breakfast was waiting, and as soon as he had finished the old hunterwent after the horses. It was five o'clock, and bars of the sun wereshooting over the tops of the mountains when once more they were in thesaddle and on their way. 

Most of this day Aldous headed the outfit up the valley. On the pretext ofsearching for game MacDonald rode so far in advance that only twice duringthe forenoon was he in sight. When they stopped to camp for the night hishorse was almost exhausted, and MacDonald himself showed signs oftremendous physical effort. Aldous could not question him before Joanne. Hewaited. And MacDonald was strangely silent. 

The proof of MacDonald's prediction concerning Joanne was in evidence thissecond night. Every bone in her body ached, and she was so tired that shemade no objection to going to her bed as soon as it was dark. 

"It always happens like this, " consoled old Donald, as she bade himgood-night. "To-morrow you'll begin gettin' broke in, an' the next day youwon't have any lameness at all. "

She limped to the tepee with John's arm snugly about her slim waist. MacDonald waited patiently until he returned. He motioned Aldous to seathimself close at his side. Both men lighted their pipes before themountaineer spoke. 

"We can't both sleep at once to-night, Johnny, " he said. "We've got to taketurns keeping watch. "

"You've discovered something to-day?"

"No. It's what I haven't discovered that counts. There weren't no tracks inthis valley, Johnny, from mount'in to mount'in. They haven't travelledthrough this range, an' that leaves just two things for us to figger on. They're behind us--or DeBar is hitting another trail into the north. Thereisn't no danger ahead right now, because we're gettin' into the biggestranges between here an' the Yukon. If Quade and Rann are in the next valleythey can't get over the mount'ins to get at us. Quade, with all his flesh, couldn't climb over that range to the west of us inside o' three days, ifhe could get over it at all. They're hikin' straight for the gold overanother trail, or they're behind us, an' mebby both. "

"How--both?" asked Aldous. 

"Two parties, " explained MacDonald, puffing hard at his pipe. "If there'san outfit behind us they were hid in the timber on the other side of thesnow-ridge, and they're pretty close this minute. Culver Rann--or FitzHugh, as you call him--is hustling straight on with DeBar. Mebby Quade is withhim, an' mebby he ain't. Anyway, there's a big chance of a bunch behind uswith special instructions from Quade to cut our throats and keep Joanne. "

That day Aldous had been turning a question over in his own mind. He askedit now. 

"Mac, are you sure you can go to the valley of gold without DeBar?"

For a long half minute MacDonald looked at him, and then his voice rumbledin a low, exultant laugh in his beard. 

"Johnny, " he said, with a strange quiver in his voice, "I can go to it nowstraighter an' quicker than DeBar! I know why I never found it. DeBarhelped me that much. The trail is mapped right out in my brain now, Johnny. Five years ago I was within ten miles of the cavern--an' didn't know it!"

"And we can get there ahead of them?"

"We could--if it wasn't for Joanne. We're makin' twenty miles a day. Wecould make thirty. "

"If we could beat them to it!" exclaimed Aldous, clenching his hands. "Ifwe only could, Donald--the rest would be easy!"

MacDonald laid a heavy hand on his knee. 

"You remember what you told me, Johnny, that you'd play the game fair, andgive 'em a first chance? You ain't figgerin' on that now, be you?"

"No, I'm with you now, Donald. It's----"

"Shoot on sight!"

"Yes. "

Aldous rose from his seat as he spoke. 

"You turn in, Mac, " he said. "You're about bushed after the work you'vedone to-day. I'll keep first watch. I'll conceal myself fifty or sixtyyards from camp, and if we have visitors before midnight the fun will allbe mine. "

He knew that MacDonald was asleep within fifteen minutes after he hadstationed himself at his post. In spite of the fact that he had had almostno sleep the preceding night, he was more than usually wakeful. He wasfilled with a curious feeling that events were impending. Yet the hourspassed, the moon flooded the valley again, the horses grazed without alarm, and nothing happened. He had planned not to awaken old Donald at midnight, but MacDonald roused himself, and came to take his place a little beforetwelve. From that hour until four Aldous slept like the dead. He wastremendously refreshed when he arose, to find that the candle was alight inJoanne's tepee, and that MacDonald had built a fire. He waited for Joanne, and went with her to the tiny creek near the camp, where both bathed theirfaces in the snow-cold water from the mountain tops. Joanne had sleptsoundly for eight hours, and she was as fresh and as happy as a bird. Herlameness was almost gone, and she was eager for the day's journey. 

As they filed again up the valley that morning, with the early suntransfiguring the great snow-topped ranges about them into a paradise ofcolour and warmth, Aldous found himself mentally wondering if it werereally possible that a serious danger menaced them. He did not tellMacDonald what was in his mind. He did not confess that he was about readyto believe that the man on the snow-ridge had been a hunter or a prospectorreturning to his camp in the other valley, and that the attack in TêteJaune was the one and only effort Quade would make to secure possession ofJoanne. While a few hours before he had almost expected an immediateattack, he was now becoming more and more convinced that Quade, to a largeextent, had dropped out of the situation. He might be with MortimerFitzHugh, and probably was--a dangerous and formidable enemy to beaccounted for when the final settlement came. 

But as an immediate menace to Joanne, Aldous was beginning to fear him lessas the hours passed. Joanne, and the day itself, were sufficient to disarmhim of his former apprehension. In places they could see for miles aheadand behind them. And Joanne, each time that he looked at her, was a greaterjoy to him. Constantly she was pointing out the wonders of the mountains tohim and MacDonald. Each new rise or fall in the valley held fresh anddelightful surprises for her; in the craggy peaks she pointed outcastlements, and towers, and battlemented strongholds of ancient princesand kings. Her mind was a wild and beautiful riot of imagination, ofwonder, and of happiness, and in spite of the grimness of the mission theywere on even MacDonald found himself rejoicing in her spirit, and helaughed and talked with them as they rode into the North. 

They were entering now into a hunter's paradise. For the first time Joannesaw white, moving dots far up on a mountain-side, which MacDonald told herwere goats. In the afternoon they saw mountain sheep feeding on a slidehalf a mile away, and for ten breathless minutes Joanne watched themthrough the telescope. Twice caribou sped over the opens ahead of them. Butit was not until the sun was settling toward the west again that Joanne sawwhat she had been vainly searching the sides of the mountains to find. MacDonald had stopped suddenly in the trail, motioning them to advance. When they rode up to him he pointed to a green slope two hundred yardsahead. 

"There's yo'r grizzly, Joanne, " he said. 

A huge, tawny beast was ambling slowly along the crest of the slope, and atsight of him Joanne gave a little cry of excitement. 

"He's hunting for gophers, " explained MacDonald. 

"That's why he don't seem in a hurry. He don't see us because a b'ar's eyesare near-sighted, but he could smell us half a mile away if the wind wasright. "

He was unslinging his long rifle as he spoke. Joanne was near enough tocatch his arm. 

"Don't shoot--please don't shoot!" she begged. "I've seen lions, and I'veseen tigers--and they're treacherous and I don't like them. But there'ssomething about bears that I love, like dogs. And the lion isn't a kingamong beasts compared with him. Please don't shoot!"

"I ain't a-goin' to, " chuckled old Donald. "I'm just getting ready to give'im the proper sort of a handshake if he should happen to come this way, Joanne. You know a grizzly ain't pertic'lar afraid of anything on earth asI know of, an' they're worse 'n a dynamite explosion when they comehead-on. There--he's goin' over the slope!"

"Got our wind, " said Aldous. 

They went on, a colour in Joanne's face like the vivid sunset. They campedtwo hours before dusk, and MacDonald figured they had made better thantwenty miles that day. The same precautions were observed in guarding thecamp as the night before, and the long hours of vigil were equallyuneventful. The next day added still more to Aldous' peace of mindregarding possible attack from Quade, and on the night of this day, theirfourth in the mountains, he spoke his mind to MacDonald. 

For a few moments afterward the old hunter smoked quietly at his pipe. Thenhe said:

"I don't know but you're right, Johnny. If they were behind us they'd mostlikely have tried something before this. But it ain't in the law of themount'ins to be careless. We've got to watch. "

"I agree with you there, Mac, " replied Aldous. "We cannot afford to loseour caution for a minute. But I'm feeling a deuced sight better over thesituation just the same. If we can only get there ahead of them!"

"If Quade is in the bunch we've got a chance of beating them, " saidMacDonald thoughtfully. "He's heavy, Johnny--that sort of heaviness thatdon't stand up well in the mount'ins; whisky-flesh, I call it. Culver Ranndon't weigh much more'n half as much, but he's like iron. Quade may be adrag. An' Joanne, Lord bless her!--she's facing the music like an' 'ero, Johnny!"

"And the journey is almost half over. "

"This is the fourth day. I figger we can make it in ten at most, mebbynine, " said old Donald. "You see we're in that part of the Rockies wherethere's real mount'ins, an' the ranges ain't broke up much. We've gotfairly good travel to the end. "

On this night Aldous slept from eight until twelve. The next, their fifth, his watch was from midnight until morning. As the sixth and the seventhdays and nights passed uneventfully the belief that there were no enemiesbehind them became a certainty. Yet neither Aldous nor MacDonald relaxedtheir vigilance. 

The eighth day dawned, and now a new excitement took possession of DonaldMacDonald. Joanne and Aldous saw his efforts to suppress it, but it did notescape their eyes. They were nearing the tragic scenes of long ago, and oldDonald was about to reap the reward of a search that had gone faithfullyand untiringly through the winters and summers of forty years. He spokeseldom that day. There were strange lights in his eyes. And once his voicewas husky and strained when he said to Aldous:

"I guess we'll make it to-morrow, Johnny--jus' about as the sun's goingdown. "

They camped early, and Aldous rolled himself in his blanket when Joanneextinguished the candle in her tent. He found that he could not sleep, andhe relieved MacDonald at eleven o'clock. 

"Get all the rest you can, Mac, " he urged. "There may be doingsto-morrow--at about sundown. "

There was but little moonlight now, but the stars were clear. He lightedhis pipe, and with his rifle in the crook of his arm he walked slowly upand down over a hundred-yard stretch of the narrow plain in which they hadcamped. That night they had built their fire beside a fallen log, which wasnow a glowing mass without flame. Finally he sat down with his back to arock fifty paces from Joanne's tepee. It was a splendid night. The air wascool and sweet. He leaned back until his head rested against the rock, andthere fell upon him the fatal temptation to close his eyes and snatch a fewminutes of the slumber which had not come to him during the early hours ofthe night. He was in a doze, oblivious to movement and the softer sounds ofthe night, when a cry pierced the struggling consciousness of his brainlike the sting of a dart. In an instant he was on his feet. 

In the red glow of the log stood Joanne in her long white night robe. Sheseemed to be swaying when he first saw her. Her hands were clutched at herbosom, and she was staring--staring out into the night beyond the burninglog, and in her face was a look of terror. He sprang toward her, and out ofthe gloom beyond her rushed Donald MacDonald. With a cry she turned toAldous and flung herself shivering and half-sobbing into his arms. Gray-faced, his eyes burning like the smouldering coals in the fire, DonaldMacDonald stood a step behind them, his long rifle in his hands. 

"What is it?" cried Aldous. "What has frightened you, Joanne?"

She was shuddering against his breast. 

"It--it must have been a dream, " she said. "It--it frightened me. But itwas so terrible, and I'm--I'm sorry, John. I didn't know what I was doing. "

"What was it, dear?" insisted Aldous. 

MacDonald had drawn very close. 

Joanne raised her head. 

"Please let me go back to bed, John. It was only a dream, and I'll tell itto you in the morning, when there's sunshine--and day. "

Something in MacDonald's tense, listening attitude caught Aldous' eyes. 

"What was the dream?" he urged. 

She looked from him to old Donald, and shivered. 

"The flap of my tepee was open, " she said slowly. "I thought I was awake. Ithought I could see the glow of the fire. But it was a dream--a _dream_, only it was horrible! For as I looked I saw a face out there in the light, a white, searching face--and it was his face!"

"Whose face?"

"Mortimer FitzHugh's, " she shuddered. 

Tenderly Aldous led her back to the tent. 

"Yes, it was surely an unpleasant dream, dear, " he comforted her. "Try andsleep again. You must get all the rest you can. "

He closed the flap after her, and turned back toward MacDonald. The oldhunter had disappeared. It was ten minutes before he came in from out ofthe darkness. He went straight to Aldous. 

"Johnny, you was asleep!"

"I'm afraid I was, Mac--just for a minute. "

MacDonald's fingers gripped his arm. 

"Jus' for a minute, Johnny--an' in that minute you lost the chance of yourlife!"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean"--and old Donald's voice was filled with a low, choking tremblethat Aldous had never heard in it before--"I mean that it weren't no dream, Johnny! Mortimer FitzHugh was in this camp to-night!"

CHAPTER XXV

Donald MacDonald's startling assertion that Mortimer FitzHugh had been inthe camp, and that Joanne's dream was not a dream, but reality, brought agasp of astonishment and disbelief from Aldous. Before he had recoveredsufficiently from his amazement to speak, MacDonald was answering thequestion in his mind. 

"I woke quicker'n you, Johnny, " he said. "She was just coming out of thetepee, an' I heard something running off through the brush. I thought mebbyit was a wolverine, or a bear, an' I didn't move until she cried out yourname an' you jumped up. If she had seen a bear in the fire-glow shewouldn't have thought it was Mortimer FitzHugh, would she? It's possible, but it ain't likely, though I do say it's mighty queer why he should be inthis camp alone. It's up to us to watch pretty close until daylight. "

"He wouldn't be here alone, " asserted Aldous. "Let's get out of the light, Mac. If you're right, the whole gang isn't far away!"

"They ain't in rifle-shot, " said MacDonald. "I heard him running a hundredyards out there. That's the queer thing about it! Why didn't they jump onus when they had the chance?"

"We'll hope that it was a dream, " replied Aldous. "If Joanne was dreamingof FitzHugh, and while still half asleep saw something in camp, she mighteasily imagine the rest. But we'll keep watch. Shall I move out there?"

MacDonald nodded, and the two men separated. For two hours they patrolledthe darkness, waiting and listening. With dawn Aldous returned to camp toarouse Joanne and begin breakfast. He was anxious to see what effect theincident of the night had on her. Her appearance reassured him. When hereferred to the dream, and the manner in which she had come out into thenight, a lovely confusion sent the blushes into her face. He kissed heruntil they grew deeper, and she hid her face on his neck. 

And then she whispered something, with her face still against his shoulder, that drove the hot blood into his own cheeks. 

"You are my husband, John, and I don't suppose I should be ashamed to letyou see me in my bare feet. But, John--you have made me feel that way, andI am--your wife!"

He held her head close against him so that she could not see his face. 

"I wanted to show you--that I loved you--'that much, " he said, scarcelyknowing what words he was speaking. "Joanne, my darling----"

A soft hand closed his lips. 

"I know, John, " she interrupted him softly. "And I love you so for it, andI'm so proud of you--oh, so proud, John!"

He was glad that MacDonald came crashing through the bush then. Joanneslipped from his arms and ran into the tepee. 

In MacDonald's face was a grim and sullen look. 

"You missed your chance, all right, Johnny, " he growled. "I found where ahorse was tied out there. The tracks lead to a big slide of rock that opensa break in the west range. Whoever it was has beat it back into the othervalley. I can't understand, s'elp me God, I can't, Johnny! Why shouldFitzHugh come over into this valley alone? And he _rode_ over! I'd say thedevil couldn't do that!"

He said nothing more, but went out to lead in the hobbled horses, leavingAldous in half-stunned wonderment to finish the preparation of breakfast. Joanne reappeared a little later, and helped him. It was six o'clock beforebreakfast was over and they were ready to begin their day's journey. Asthey were throwing the hitch over the last pack, MacDonald said in a lowvoice to Aldous:

"Everything may happen to-day, Johnny. I figger we'll reach the end bysundown. An' what don't happen there may happen along the trail. Keep arifle-shot behind with Joanne. If there's unexpected shooting, we want whatyou might call a reserve force in the rear. I figger I can see danger, ifthere is any, an' I can do it best alone. "

Aldous knew that in these last hours Donald MacDonald's judgment must befinal, and he made no objection to an arrangement which seemed to place theold hunter under a more hazardous risk than his own. And he realized fullythat these were the last hours. For the first time he had seen MacDonaldfill his pockets with the finger-long cartridges for his rifle, and he hadnoted how carefully he had looked at the breech of that rifle. Withoutquestioning, he had followed the mountaineer's example. There were fiftyspare cartridges in his own pockets. His . 303 was freshly cleaned andoiled. He had tested the mechanism of his automatic. MacDonald had watchedhim, and both understood what such preparations meant as they set out onthis last day's journey into the North. They had not kept from Joanne thefact that they would reach the end before night, and as they rode theprescribed distance behind the old hunter Aldous wondered how much sheguessed, and what she knew. They had given her to understand that they werebeating out the rival party, but he believed that in spite of all theirefforts there was in Joanne's mind a comprehension which she did not revealin voice or look. To-day she was no different than yesterday, or the daybefore, except that her cheeks were not so deeply flushed, and there was anuneasy questing in her eyes. He believed that she sensed the nearness oftragedy, that she was conscious of what they were now trying to hide fromher, and that she did not speak because she knew that he and MacDonald didnot want her to know. His heart throbbed with pride. Her courage inspiredhim. And he noticed that she rode closer to him--always at his side throughthat day. 

Early in the afternoon MacDonald stopped on the crest of a swell in thevalley and waited for them. When they came up he was facing the north. Hedid not look at them. For a few moments he did not speak. His hat waspulled low, and his beard was twitching. 

They looked ahead. At their feet the valley broadened until it was a milein width. Half a mile away a band of caribou were running for the cover ofa parklike clump of timber. MacDonald did not seem to notice them. He wasstill looking steadily, and he was gazing at a mountain. It was atremendous mountain, a terrible-looking, ugly mountain, perhaps three milesaway. Aldous had never seen another like it. Its two huge shoulders were ofalmost ebon blackness, and glistened in the sunlight as if smeared withoil. Between those two shoulders rose a cathedral-like spire of rock andsnow that seemed to tip the white fleece of the clouds. 

MacDonald did not turn when he spoke. His voice was deep and vibrant withan intense emotion. Yet he was not excited. 

"I've been hunting for that mount'in for forty years, Johnny!"

"Mac!"

Aldous leaned over and laid a hand on the old mountaineer's shoulder. StillMacDonald did not look at him. 

"Forty years, " he repeated, as if speaking to himself. "I see how I missedit now, just as DeBar said. I hunted from the west, an' on that side themount'in ain't black. We must have crossed this valley an' come in from theeast forty years ago, Johnny----"

He turned now, and what Joanne and Aldous saw in his face was not grief; itwas not the sorrow of one drawing near to his beloved dead, but a joy thathad transfigured him. The fire and strength of the youth in which he hadfirst looked upon this valley with Jane at his side burned again in thesunken eyes of Donald MacDonald. After forty years he had come into hisown. Somewhere very near was the cavern with the soft white floor of sand, and for a moment Aldous fancied that he could hear the beating ofMacDonald's heart, while from Joanne's tender bosom there rose a deep, sobbing breath of understanding. 

And MacDonald, facing the mountain again, pointed with a long, gaunt arm, and said:

"We're almost there, Johnny. God ha' mercy on them if they've beat us out!"

CHAPTER XXVI

They rode on into the Valley of Gold. Again MacDonald took the lead, and herode straight into the face of the black mountain. Aldous no longer made aneffort to keep Joanne in ignorance of what might be ahead of them. He put asixth cartridge into the chamber of his rifle, and carried the weaponacross the pommel of his saddle. He explained to her now why they wereriding behind--that if their enemies were laying in wait for them, MacDonald, alone, could make a swift retreat. Joanne asked no questions. Her lips were set tight. She was pale. 

At the end of three quarters of an hour it seemed to them that MacDonaldwas riding directly into the face of a wall of rock. Then he swung sharplyto the left, and disappeared. When they came to the point where he hadturned they found that he had entered a concealed break in the mountain--achasm with walls that rose almost perpendicular for a thousand feet abovetheir heads. A dark and solemn gloom pervaded this chasm, and Aldous drewnearer to MacDonald, his rifle held in readiness, and his bridle-reinfastened to his saddle-horn. The chasm was short. Sunlight burst upon themsuddenly, and a few minutes later MacDonald waited for them again. 

Even Aldous could not restrain an exclamation of surprise when he rode upwith Joanne. Under them was another valley, a wide-sweeping valley betweentwo rugged ranges that ran to the southwest. Up out of it there came totheir ears a steady, rumbling roar; the air was filled with that roar; theearth seemed to tremble with it under their feet--and yet it was not loud. It came sullenly, as if from a great distance. 

And then they saw that MacDonald was not looking out over the sweep of thevalley, but down. Half a mile under them there was a dip--a valley within avalley--and through it ran the silver sheen of a stream. MacDonald spoke noword now. He dismounted and levelled his long telescope at the littlevalley. Aldous helped Joanne from her horse, and they waited. A greatbreath came at last from the old hunter. Slowly he turned. He did not givethe telescope to Aldous, but to Joanne. She looked. For a full minute sheseemed scarcely to breathe. Her hands trembled when she turned to give theglass to Aldous. 

"I see--log cabins!" she whispered. 

MacDonald placed a detaining hand on her arm. 

"Look ag'in--Joanne, " he said in a low voice that had in it a curiousquiver. 

Again she raised the telescope to her eyes. 

"You see the little cabin--nearest the river?" whispered Donald. 

"Yes, I see it. "

"That was our cabin--Jane's an' mine--forty years ago, " he said, and nowhis voice was husky. 

Joanne's breath broke sobbingly as she gave Aldous the glass. Somethingseemed to choke him as he looked down upon the scene of the grim tragedyin which Donald MacDonald and Jane had played their fatal part. He saw thecabins as they had stood for nearly half a century. There were four. Threeof them were small, and the fourth was large. They might have been builtyesterday, for all that he could see of ruin or decay. The doors andwindows of the larger cabin and two of the smaller ones were closed. Theroofs were unbroken. The walls appeared solid. Twice he looked at thefourth cabin, with its wide-open door and window, and twice he looked atthe cabin nearest the stream, where had lived Donald MacDonald and Jane. 

Donald had moved, and Joanne was watching him tensely, when he took theglass from his eyes. Mutely the old mountaineer held out a hand, and Aldousgave him the telescope. Crouching behind a rock he slowly swept the valley. For half an hour he looked through the glass, and in that time scarce aword was spoken. During the last five minutes of that half-hour both Joanneand Aldous knew that MacDonald was looking at the little cabin nearest thestream, and with hands clasped tightly they waited in silence. 

At last old Donald rose, and his face and voice were filled with awonderful calm. 

"There ain't been no change, " he said softly. "I can see the log in fronto' the door that I used to cut kindling on. It was too tough for them tosplit an' burn after we left. An' I can see the tub I made out o' sprucefor Jane. It's leaning next the door, where I put it the day before we wentaway. Forty years ain't very long, Johnny! It ain't very long!"

Joanne had turned from them, and Aldous knew that she was crying. 

"An' we've beat 'em to it, Johnny--we've beat 'em to it!" exultedMacDonald. "There ain't a sign of life in the valley, and we sure couldmake it out from here if there was!"

He climbed into his saddle, and started down the slope of the mountain. Aldous went to Joanne. She was sobbing. Her eyes were blinded by tears. 

"It's terrible, terrible, " she whispered brokenly. "And it--it's beautiful, John. I feel as though I'd like to give my life--to bring Jane back!"

"You must not betray tears or grief to Donald, " said Aldous, drawing herclose in his arms for a moment. "Joanne--sweetheart--it is a wonderfulthing that is happening with him! I dreaded this day--I have dreaded it fora long time. I thought that it would be terrible to witness the grief of aman with a heart like Donald's. But he is not filled with grief, Joanne. Itis joy, a great happiness that perhaps neither you nor I canunderstand--that has come to him now. Don't you understand? He has foundher. He has found their old home. To-day is the culmination of forty yearsof hope, and faith, and prayer. And it does not bring him sorrow, butgladness. We must rejoice with him. We must be happy with him. I love you, Joanne. I love you above all else on earth or in heaven. Without you Iwould not want to live. And yet, Joanne, I believe that I am no happierto-day than is Donald MacDonald!"

With a sudden cry Joanne flung her arms about his neck. 

"John, is it _that?_" she cried, and joy shone through her tears. "Yes, yes, I understand now! His heart is not breaking. It is life returning intoa heart that was empty. I understand--oh, I understand now! And we must behappy with him. We must be happy when we find the cavern--and Jane!"

"And when we go down there to the little cabin that was their home. "

"Yes--yes!"

They followed behind MacDonald. After a little a spur of the mountain-sideshut out the little valley from them, and when they rounded this they foundthemselves very near to the cabins. They rode down a beautiful slope intothe basin, and when he reached the log buildings old Donald stopped anddismounted. Again Aldous helped Joanne from her horse. Ahead of themMacDonald went to the cabin nearest the stream. At the door he paused andwaited for them. 

"Forty years!" he said, facing them. "An' there ain't been so very muchchange as I can see!"

Years had dropped from his shoulders in these last few minutes, and evenAldous could not keep quite out of his face his amazement and wonder. Verygently Donald put his hand to the latch, as though fearing to awaken someone within; and very gently he pressed down on it, and put a bit of hisstrength against the door. It moved inward, and when it had openedsufficiently he leaned forward so that his head and a half of his shoulderswere inside; and he looked--a long time he looked, without a movement ofhis body or a breath that they could see. 

And then he turned to them again, and his eyes were shining as they hadnever seen them shine before. 

"I'll open the window, " he said. "It's dark--dark inside. "

He went to the window, which was closed with a sapling barricade that hadswung on hinges; and when he swung it back the rusted hinges gave way, andthe thing crashed down at his feet. And now through the open window the sunpoured in a warm radiance, and Donald entered the cabin, with Joanne andAldous close behind him. 

There was not much in the cabin, but what it held was earth, and heaven, and all else to Donald MacDonald. A strange, glad cry surged from his chestas he looked about him, and now Joanne saw and understood what John Aldoushad told her--for Donald MacDonald, after forty years, had come back to hishome!

"Oh, my Gawd, Johnny, they didn't touch anything! They didn't touchanything!" he breathed in ecstasy. "I thought after we ran away they'd comein----"

He broke off, and his hat dropped from his hand, and he stood and stared;and what he was looking at, the sun fell upon in a great golden splash, andJoanne's hand gripped John's, and held to it tightly. Against the wall, hanging as they had hung for forty years, were a woman's garments: a hood, a shawl, a dress, and an apron that was half in tatters; and on the floorunder these things were _a pair of shoes_. And as Donald MacDonald went tothem, his arms reaching out, his lips moving, forgetful of all things butthat he had come home, and Jane was here, Joanne drew Aldous softly to thedoor, and they went out into the day. 

Joanne did not speak, and Aldous did not urge her. He saw her white throatthrobbing as if there were a little heart beating there, and her eyes werebig and dark and velvety, like the eyes of a fawn that had been frightened. There was a thickness in his own throat, and he found that it was difficultfor him to see far out over the plain. They waited near the horses. Fiftyyards from them ran the stream; a clear, beautiful stream which flowed inthe direction from which the mysterious ramble of thunder seemed to come. This, Aldous knew, was the stream of gold. In the sand he saw wreckagewhich he knew were the ancient rockers; a shovel, thrust shaft-deep, stillremained where it had last been planted. 

Perhaps for ten minutes Donald MacDonald remained in the cabin. Then hecame out. Very carefully he closed the door. His shoulders were thrownback. His head was held high. He looked like a monarch. 

And his voice was calm. 

"Everything is there, Johnny--everything but the gold, " he said. "They tookthat. "

Now he spoke to Joanne. 

"You better not go with us into the other cabins, " he said. 

"Why?" she asked softly. 

"Because--there's death in them all. "

"I am going, " she said. 

From the window of the largest cabin MacDonald pulled the sapling shutter, and, like the other, it fell at his feet. Then they opened the door, andentered; and here the sunlight revealed the cabin's ghastly tragedy. Thefirst thing that they saw, because it was most terrible, was a rough table, half over which lay the shrunken thing that had once been a man. A part ofits clothes still remained, but the head had broken from its column, andthe white and fleshless skull lay facing them. Out of tattered anddust-crumbling sleeves reached the naked bones of hands and arms. And onthe floor lay another of these things, in a crumpled and huddled heap, onlythe back of the skull showing, like the polished pate of a bald man. Thesethings they saw first, and then two others: on the table were a heap ofage-blackened and dusty sacks, and out of the back of the crumbling thingthat guarded them stuck the long buckhorn hilt of a knife. 

"They must ha' died fighting, " said MacDonald. "An' there, Johnny, is theirgold!"

White as death Joanne stood in the door and watched them. MacDonald andAldous went to the sacks. They were of buckskin. The years had not agedthem. When Aldous took one in his hands he found that it was heavier thanlead. With his knife MacDonald cut a slit in one of them, and the sun thatcame through the window flashed in a little golden stream that ran from thebag. 

"We'll take them out and put 'em in a pannier, " said MacDonald. "The otherswon't be far behind us, Johnny. "

Between them they carried out the seven sacks of gold. It was a load fortheir arms. They put it in one of the panniers, and then MacDonald noddedtoward the cabin next the one that had been his own. 

"I wouldn't go in there, Joanne, " he said. 

"I'm going, " she whispered again. 

"It was _their_ cabin--the man an' his wife, " persisted old Donald. "An'the men was beasts, Joanne! I don't know what happened in there--but Iguess. "

"I'm going, " she said again. 

MacDonald pulled down the barricade from the window--a window that alsofaced the south and west, and this time he had to thrust against the doorwith his shoulder. They entered, and now a cry came from Joanne's lips--acry that had in it horror, disbelief, a woman's wrath. Against the wall wasa pile of something, and on that pile was the searching first light of daythat had fallen upon it for nearly half a century. The pile was a mancrumpled down; across it, her skeleton arms thrown about it protectingly, was a woman. This time Aldous did not go forward. MacDonald was alone, andAldous took Joanne from the cabin, and held her while she swayed in hisarms. Donald came out a little later, and there was a curious look ofexultation and triumph in his face. 

"She killed herself, " he said. "That was her husband. I know him. I gavehim the rock-nails he put in the soles of his boots--and the nails arestill there. "

He went alone into the remaining two cabins, while Aldous stood withJoanne. He did not stay long. From the fourth cabin he brought an armful ofthe little brown sacks. He returned, and brought a second armful. 

"There's three more in that last cabin, " he explained. "Two men, an' awoman. She must ha' been the wife of the man they killed. They were thelast to live, an' they starved to death. An' now, Johnny----"

He paused, and he drew in a great breath. 

He was looking to the west, where the sun was beginning to sink behind themountains. 

"An' now, Johnny, if you're ready, an' if Joanne is ready, we'll go, " hesaid. 

CHAPTER XXVII

As they went up out of the basin into the broad meadows of the largervalley, MacDonald rode between Aldous and Joanne, and the pack-horses, ledby Pinto, trailed behind. 

Again old Donald said, as he searched the valley:

"We've beat 'em, Johnny. Quade an' Rann are coming up on the other side ofthe range, and I figger they're just about a day behind--mebby only hours, or an hour. You can't tell. There's more gold back there. We got about ahunderd pounds in them fifteen sacks, an' there was twice that much. It'shid somewhere. Calkins used to keep his'n under the floor. So did Watts. We'll find it later. An' the river, an' the dry gulches on both sides ofthe valley--they're full of it! It's all gold, Johnny--gold everywhere!"

He pointed ahead to where the valley rose in a green slope between twomountains half a mile away. 

"That's the break, " he said. "It don't seem very far now, do it, Joanne?"His silence seemed to have dropped from him like a mantle, and there wasjoy in what he was telling. "But it was a distance that night--a tumbledistance, " he continued, before she could answer. "That was forty-one yearsago, coming November. An' it was cold, an' the snow was deep. It was bittercold--so cold it caught my Jane's lungs, an' that was what made her go alittle later. The slope up there don't look steep now, but it was steepthen--with two feet of snow to drag ourselves through. I don't think thecavern is more'n five or six miles away, Johnny, mebby less, an' it took ustwenty hours to reach it. It snowed so heavy that night, an' the windblowed so, that our trail was filled up or they might ha' followed. "

Many times Aldous had been on the point of asking old Donald a question. For the first time he asked it now, even as his eyes swept slowly andsearchingly over the valley for signs of Mortimer FitzHugh and Quade. 

"I've often wondered why you ran away with Jane, " he said. "I know whatthreatened her--a thing worse than death. But why did you run? Why didn'tyou stay and fight?"

A low growl rumbled in MacDonald's beard. 

"Johnny, Johnny, if I only ha' could!" he groaned. "There was five of themleft when I ran into the cabin an' barricaded myself there with Jane. Istuck my gun out of the window an' they was afraid to rush the cabin. Theywas _afraid_, Johnny, all that afternoon--_an' I didn't have a cartridgeleft to fire!_ That's why we went just as soon as we could crawl out in thedark. I knew they'd come that night. I might ha' killed one or two hand tohand, for I was big an' strong in them days, Johnny, but I knew I couldn'tbeat 'em all. So we went. "

"After all, death isn't so very terrible, " said Joanne softly, and she wasriding so close that for a moment she laid one of her warm hands on DonaldMacDonald's. 

"No, it's sometimes--wunnerful--an' beautiful, " replied Donald, a littlebrokenly, and with that he rode ahead, and Joanne and Aldous waited untilthe pack-horses had passed them. 

"He's going to see that all is clear at the summit, " explained Aldous. 

They seemed to be riding now right into the face of that mysterious rumbleand roar of the mountains. It was an hour before they all stood together atthe top of the break, and here MacDonald swung sharply to the right, andcame soon to the rock-strewn bed of a dried-up stream that in ages past hadbeen a wide and rushing torrent. Steadily, as they progressed down this, the rumble and roar grew nearer. It seemed that it was almost under theirfeet, when again MacDonald turned, and a quarter of an hour later theyfound themselves at the edge of a small plain; and now all about them werecold and towering mountains that shut out the sun, and a hundred yards totheir right was a great dark cleft in the floor of the plain, and up out ofthis came the rumble and roar that was like the sullen anger of monsterbeasts imprisoned deep down in the bowels of the earth. 

MacDonald got off his horse, and Aldous and Joanne rode up to him. In theold man's face was a look of joy and triumph. 

"It weren't so far as I thought it was, Johnny!" he cried. "Oh, it must ha'been a turrible night--a turrible night when Jane an' I come this way! Ittook us twenty hours, Johnny!"

"We are near the cavern?" breathed Joanne. 

"It ain't more'n half a mile farther on, I guess. But we'll camp here. We're pretty well hid. They can't find us. An' from that summit up therewe can keep watch in both valleys. "

Knowing the thoughts that were in MacDonald's mind, and how full his heartwas with a great desire, Aldous went to him when they had dismounted. 

"You go on alone if there is time to-night, Mac, " he said, knowing that theother would understand him. "I will make camp. "

"There ain't no one in the valley, " mused the old man, a little doubtfullyat first. "It would be safe--quite safe, Johnny. "

"Yes, it will be safe. "

"And I will stand guard while John is working, " said Joanne, who had cometo them. "No one can approach us without being seen. "

For another moment MacDonald hesitated. Then he said:

"Do you see that break over there across the plain? It's the open to agorge. Johnny, it do seem unreasonable--it do seem as though I must ha'been dreamin'--when I think that it took us twenty hours! But the snow wasto my waist in this plain, an' it was slow work--turrible slow work! Ithink the cavern--ain't on'y a little way up that gorge. "

"You can make it before the sun is quite gone. "

"An' I could hear you shout, or your gun. I could ride back in fiveminutes--an' I wouldn't be gone an hour. "

"There is no danger, " urged Aldous. 

A deep breath came from old Donald's breast. 

"I guess--I'll go, Johnny, if you an' Joanne don't mind. "

He looked about him, and then he pointed toward the face of a great rock. 

"Put the tepee up near that, " he said. "Pile the saddles, an' the blankets, an' the panniers around it, so it'll look like a real camp, Johnny. But itwon't be a real camp. It'll be a dummy. See them thick spruce an' cedarover there? Build Joanne a shelter of boughs in there, an' take in somegrub, an' blankets, an' the gold. See the point, Johnny? If anything shouldhappen----"

"They'd tackle the bogus camp!" cried Aldous with elation. "It's a splendididea!"

He set at once about unpacking the horses, and Joanne followed close at hisside to help him. MacDonald mounted his horse and rode at a trot in thedirection of the break in the mountain. 

The sun had disappeared, but its reflection was still on the peaks; andafter he had stripped and hobbled the horses Aldous took advantage of thelast of day to scrutinize the plain and the mountain slopes through thetelescope. After that he found enough dry poles with which to set up thetepee, and about this he scattered the saddles and panniers, as MacDonaldhad suggested. Then he cleared a space in the thick spruce, and brought toit what was required for their hidden camp. 

It was almost dark when he completed the spruce and cedar lean-to forJoanne. He knew that to-night they must build no fire, not even for tea;and when they had laid out the materials for their cold supper, whichconsisted of beans, canned beef and tongue, peach marmalade, bread bannock, and pickles and cheese, he went with Joanne for water to a small creek theyhad crossed a hundred yards away. In both his hands, ready for instantaction, he carried his rifle. Joanne carried the pail. Her eyes were bigand bright and searching in that thick-growing dusk of night. She walkedvery close to Aldous, and she said:

"John, I know how careful you and Donald have been in this journey into theNorth. I know what you have feared. Culver Rann and Quade are after thegold, and they are near. But why does Donald talk as though we are _surely_going to be attacked by them, or are _surely_ going to attack them? I don'tunderstand it, John. If you don't care for the gold so much, as you told meonce, and if we find Jane to-morrow, or to-night, why do we remain to havetrouble with Quade and Culver Rann? Tell me, John. "

He could not see her face fully in the gloom, and he was glad that shecould not see his. 

"If we can get away without fighting, we will, Joanne, " he lied. And heknew that she would have known that he was lying if it had not been for thedarkness. 

"You won't fight--over the gold?" she asked, pressing his arm. "Will youpromise me that, John?"

"Yes, I promise that. I swear it!" he cried, and so forcefully that shegave a glad little laugh. 

"Then if they don't find us to-morrow, we'll go back home?" She trembled, and he knew that her heart was filled with a sudden lightness. "And I don'tbelieve they will find us. They won't come beyond that terrible place--andthe gold! Why should they, John? Why should they follow us--if we leavethem everything? Oh-h-h-h!" She shuddered, and whispered: "I wish we hadnot brought the gold, John. I wish we had left it behind!"

"What we have is worth thirty or forty thousand dollars, " he saidreassuringly, as he filled his pail with water and they began to return. "We can do a great deal of good with that. Endowments, for instance, " helaughed. 

As he spoke, they both stopped, and listened. Plainly they heard theapproaching thud of hoofs. MacDonald had been gone nearer two hours thanone, and believing that it was him, Aldous gave the owl signal. The signalfloated back to them softly. Five minutes later MacDonald rode up anddismounted. Until he had taken the saddle off, and had hobbled his horse, he did not speak. Neither Joanne nor Aldous asked the question that was intheir hearts. But even in the darkness they felt something. It was as ifnot only the torrent rushing through the chasm, but MacDonald's heart aswell, was charging the air with a strange and subdued excitement. And whenMacDonald spoke, that which they had felt was in his voice. 

"You ain't seen or heard anything, Johnny?"

"Nothing. And you--Donald?"

In the darkness, Joanne went to the old man, and her hand found one of his, and clasped it tightly; and she found that Donald MacDonald's big hand wastrembling in a strange and curious way, and she could feel him quivering. 

"You found Jane?" she whispered. 

"Yes, I found her, little Joanne. "

She did not let go of his hand until they entered the open space whichAldous had made in the spruce. Then she remembered what Aldous had said toher earlier in the day, and cheerfully she lighted the two candles theyhad set out, and forced Aldous down first upon the ground, and thenMacDonald, and began to help them to beans and meat and bannock, while allthe time her heart was crying out to know about the cavern--and Jane. Thecandleglow told her a great deal, for in it Donald MacDonald's face wasvery calm, and filled with a great peace, despite the trembling she hadfelt. Her woman's sympathy told her that his heart was too full on thisnight for speech, and when he ate but little she did not urge him to eatmore; and when he rose and went silently and alone out into the darknessshe held Aldous back; and when, still a little later, she went into hernest for the night, she whispered softly to him:

"I know that he found Jane as he wanted to find her, and he is happy. Ithink he has gone out there alone--to cry. " And for a time after that, ashe sat in the gloom, John Aldous knew that Joanne was sobbing like a littlechild in the spruce and cedar shelter he had built for her. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

If MacDonald slept at all that night Aldous did not know it. The oldmountaineer watched until a little after twelve in the deep shadow of arock between the two camps. 

"I can't sleep, " he protested, when Aldous urged him to take his rest. "Imight take a little stroll up the plain, Johnny--but I can't sleep. "

The plain lay in a brilliant starlight at this hour; they could see thegleam of the snow-peaks--the light was almost like the glow of the moon. 

"There'll be plenty of sleep after to-morrow, " added MacDonald, and therewas a finality in his voice and words which set the other's blood stirring. 

"You think they will show up to-morrow?"

"Yes. This is the same valley the cabins are in, Johnny. That big mountainruns out an' splits it, an' it curves like a horseshoe. From that mount'inwe can see them, no matter which way they come. They'll go straight to thecabins. There's a deep little run under the slope. You didn't see it whenwe came out, but it'll take us within a hunderd yards of 'em. An' at ahunderd yards----"

He shrugged his shoulders suggestively in the starlight, and there was asmile on his face. 

"It seems almost like murder, " shuddered Aldous. 

"But it ain't, '" replied MacDonald quickly. "It's self-defence! If wedon't do it, Johnny--if we don't draw on them first, what happened thereforty years ago is goin' to happen again--with Joanne!"

"A hundred yards, " breathed Aldous, his jaws setting hard. "And there arefive!"

"They'll go into the cabins, " said MacDonald. "At some time there will betwo or three outside, an' we'll take them first. At the sound of the shotsthe others will run out, and it will be easy. Yo' can't very well miss aman at a hunderd yards, Johnny?"

"No, I won't miss. "

MacDonald rose. 

"I'm goin' to take a little stroll, Johnny. "

For two hours after that Aldous was alone. He knew why old Donald could notsleep, and where he had gone, and he pictured him sitting before the littleold cabin in the starlit valley communing with the spirit of Jane. Andduring those two hours he steeled himself for the last time to the thingthat was going to happen when the day came. 

It was nearly three o'clock when MacDonald returned. It was four o'clockbefore he roused Joanne; and it was five o'clock when they had eaten theirbreakfast, and MacDonald prepared to leave for the mountain with histelescope. Aldous had observed Joanne talking to him for several minutesalone, and he had also observed that her eyes were very bright, and thatthere was an unusual eagerness in her manner of listening to what the oldman was saying. The significance of this did not occur to him when sheurged him to accompany MacDonald. 

"Two pairs of eyes are better than one, John, " she said, "and I cannotpossibly be in danger here. I can see you all the time, and you can seeme--if I don't run away, or hide. " And she laughed a little breathlessly. "There is no danger, is there, Donald?"

The old hunter shook his head. 

"There's no danger, but--you might be lonesome, " he said. 

Joanne put her pretty mouth close to Aldous' ear. 

"I want to be alone for a little while, dear, " she whispered, and there wasthat mystery in her voice which kept him from questioning her, and made himgo with MacDonald. 

In three quarters of an hour they had reached the spur of the mountain fromwhich MacDonald had said they could see up the valley, and also the breakthrough which they had come the preceding afternoon. The morning mistsstill hung low, but as these melted away under the sun mile after mile of amarvellous panorama spread out swiftly under them, and as the distance oftheir vision grew, the deeper became the disappointment in MacDonald'sface. For half an hour after the mists had gone he neither spoke norlowered the telescope from his eyes. A mile away Aldous saw three cariboucrossing the valley. A little later, on a green slope, he discerned amoving hulk that he knew was a bear. He did not speak until old Donaldlowered the glass. 

"I can see for eight miles up the valley, an' there ain't a soul in sight, "said MacDonald in answer to his question. "I figgered they'd be along aboutnow, Johnny. "

A dozen times Aldous had looked back at the camp. Twice he had seen Joanne. He looked now through the telescope. She was nowhere in sight. A bitnervously he returned the telescope to MacDonald. 

"And I can't see Joanne, " he said. 

MacDonald looked. For five minutes he levelled the glass steadily at thecamp. Then he shifted it slowly westward, and a low exclamation broke fromhis lips as he lowered the glass, and looked at Aldous. 

"Johnny, she's just goin' into the gorge! She was just disappearin' when Icaught her!"

"Going into--the gorge!" gasped Aldous, jumping to his feet. "Mac----"

MacDonald rose and stood at his side. There was something reassuring in therumbling laugh that came from deep in his chest. 

"She's beat us!" he chuckled. "Bless her, she's beat us! I didn't guess whyshe was askin' me all them questions. An' I told her, Johnny--told her justwhere the cavern was up there in the gorge, an' how you wouldn't hardlymiss it if you tried. An' she asked me how long it would take to _walk_there, an' I told her half an hour. An' she's going to the cavern, Johnny!"

He was telescoping his long glass as he spoke, and while Aldous was stillstaring toward the gorge in wonderment and a little fear, he added:

"We'd better follow. Quade an' Rann can't get here inside o' two or threehours, an' we'll be back before then. " Again he rumbled with that curiouschuckling laugh. "She beat us, Johnny, she beat us fair! An' she's gotspirrit, a wunnerful spirrit, to go up there alone!"

Aldous wanted to run, but he held himself down to MacDonald's stride. Hisheart trembled apprehensively as they hurriedly descended the mountain andcut across the plain. He could not quite bring himself to MacDonald's pointof assurance regarding Quade and Mortimer FitzHugh. The old mountaineer waspositive that the other party was behind them. Aldous asked himself if itwere not possible that Quade and FitzHugh were _ahead_ of them, and alreadywaiting and watching for their opportunity. He had suggested that theymight have swung farther to the west, with the plan of descending upon thevalley from the north, and MacDonald had pointed out how unlikely this was. In spite of this, Aldous was not in a comfortable frame of mind as theyhurried after Joanne. She had half an hour's start of them when theyreached the mouth of the gorge, and not until they had travelled anotherhalf-hour up the rough bed of the break between the two mountains, andMacDonald pointed ahead, and said: "There's the cavern!" did he breatheeasier. 

They could see the mouth of the cavern when they were yet a couple ofhundred yards from it. It was a wide, low cleft in the north face of thechasm wall, and in front of it, spreading out like the flow of a stream, was a great spatter of white sand, like a huge rug that had been spread outin a space cleared of its chaotic litter of rock and broken slate. At firstglance Aldous guessed that the cavern had once been the exit of asubterranean stream. The sand deadened the sound of their footsteps as theyapproached. At the mouth of the cave they paused. It was perhaps forty orfifty feet deep, and as high as a nine-foot room. Inside it was quitelight. Halfway to the back of it, upon her knees, and with her face turnedfrom them, was Joanne. 

They were very close to her before she heard them. With a startled cry shesprang to her feet, and Aldous and MacDonald saw what she had been doing. Over a long mound in the white sand still rose the sapling stake whichDonald had planted there forty years before; and about this, and scatteredover the grave, were dozens of wild asters and purple hyacinths whichJoanne had brought from the plain. Aldous did not speak, but he took herhand, and looked down with her on the grave. And then something caught hiseyes among the flowers, and Joanne drew him a step nearer, her eyes shininglike velvet stars, while his heart beat faster when he saw what the objectwas. It was a book, open in the middle, and it lay face downward on thegrave. It was old, and looked as though it might have fallen into dust atthe touch of his finger. Joanne's voice was low and filled with awhispering awe. 

"It was her Bible, John!"

He turned a little, and noticed that Donald had gone to the mouth of thecavern, and was looking toward the mountain. 

"It was her Bible, " he heard Joanne repeating; and then MacDonald turnedtoward them, and he saw in his face a look that seemed strange and out ofplace in this home of his dead. He went to him, and Joanne followed. 

MacDonald had turned again--was listening--and holding his breath. Then hesaid, still with his face toward the mountain and the valley:

"I may be mistaken, Johnny, but I think I heard--a rifle-shot!"

For a full minute they listened. 

"It seemed off there, " said MacDonald, pointing to the south. "I guesswe'd better get back to camp, Johnny. "

He started ahead of them, and Aldous followed as swiftly as he could withJoanne. She was panting with excitement, but she asked no questions. MacDonald began to spring more quickly from rock to rock; over the levelspaces he began to run. He reached the edge of the plain four or fivehundred yards in advance of them, and was scanning the valley through histelescope when they came up. 

"They're not on this side, " he said. "They're comin' up the other leg ofthe valley, Johnny. We've got to get to the mount'in before we can seethem. "

He closed the glass with a snap and swung it over his shoulder. Then hepointed toward the camp. 

"Take Joanne down there, " he commanded. "Watch the break we came through, an' wait for me. I'm goin' up on the mount'in an' take a look!"

The last words came back over his shoulder as he started on a trot down theslope. Only once before had Aldous seen MacDonald employ greater haste, andthat was on the night of the attack on Joanne. He was convinced there wasno doubt in Donald's mind about the rifle-shot, and that the shot couldmean but one thing--the nearness of Mortimer FitzHugh and Quade. Why theyshould reveal their presence in that way he did not ask himself as hehurried down into the plain with Joanne. By the time they reached the campold Donald had covered two thirds of the distance to the mountain. Aldouslooked at his watch and a curious thrill shot through him. Only a littlemore than an hour had passed since they had left the mountain to followJoanne, and in that time it would have been impossible for their enemies tohave covered more than a third of the eight-mile stretch of valley whichthey had found empty of human life under the searching scrutiny of thetelescope! He was right--and MacDonald was wrong! The sound of the shot, ifthere had been a shot, must have come from some other direction!

He wanted to shout his warning to MacDonald, but already too great adistance separated them. Besides, if he was right, MacDonald would run intono danger in that direction. Their menace was to the north--beyond thechasm out of which came the rumble and roar of the stream. When Donald haddisappeared up the slope he looked more closely at the rugged walls of rockthat shut them in on that side. He could see no break in them. His eyesfollowed the dark streak in the floor of the plain, which was the chasm. Itwas two hundred yards below where they were standing; and a hundred yardsbeyond the tepee he saw where it came out of a great rent in the mountain. He looked at Joanne. She had been watching him, and was breathing quickly. 

"While Donald is taking his look from the mountain, I'm going toinvestigate the chasm, " he said. 

She followed him, a few steps behind. The roar grew in their ears as theyadvanced. After a little solid rock replaced the earth under their feet, and twenty paces from the precipice Aldous took Joanne by the hand. Theywent to the edge and looked over. Fifty feet below them the stream wascaught in the narrow space between the two chasm walls, and above the rushand roar of it Aldous heard the startled cry that came from Joanne. Sheclutched his hand fiercely. Fascinated she gazed down. The water, speedinglike a millrace, was a lather of foam; and up through this foam there shotthe crests of great rocks, as though huge monsters of some kind were atplay, whipping the torrent into greater fury, and bellowing forththunderous voices. Downstream Aldous could see that the tumult grew less;from the rent in the mountain came the deeper, more distant-rolling thunderthat they had heard on the other side of the range. And then, as he looked, a sharper cry broke from Joanne, and she dragged him back from the ledge, and pointed toward the tepee. 

Out from among the rocks had appeared a human figure. It was a woman. Herhair was streaming wildly about her, and in the sun it was black as acrow's wing. She rushed to the tepee, opened the flap, and looked in. Thenshe turned, and a cry that was almost a scream rang from her lips. Inanother moment she had seen Aldous and Joanne, and was running toward them. They advanced to meet her. Suddenly Aldous stopped, and with a sharpwarning to Joanne he threw his rifle half to his shoulder, and faced therocks from which the speeding figure had come. In that same instant theyboth recognized her. It was Marie, the woman who had ridden the bear atTête Jaune, and with whom Mortimer FitzHugh had bought Joe DeBar!

She staggered up to them, panting, exhausted, her breath coming in gulpingsobs. For a moment she could not speak. Her dress was torn; her waist wasripped so that it exposed her throat and shoulder; and the front of thewaist and her face were stained with blood. Her black eyes shone like amadwoman's. Fiercely she fought to get her breath, and all the time sheclung to Joanne, and looked at Aldous. She pointed toward the rocks--thechaotic upheaval that lay between the tepee and the chasm--and words brokegaspingly from her lips. 

"They're coming!--coming!" she cried. "They killed Joe--murdered him--andthey're coming--to kill you!" She clutched a hand to her breast, and thenpointed with it to the mountain where MacDonald had gone. "They saw himgo--and they sent two men to kill him; and the rest are coming through therocks!" She turned sobbingly to Joanne. "They killed Joe, " she moaned. "They killed Joe, and they're coming--for _you!_"

The emphasis on that final word struck like a blow in the ears of JohnAldous. 

"Run for the spruce!" he commanded. "Joanne, run!"

Marie had crumpled down in a moaning heap at Joanne's feet, and sat swayingwith her face in her hands. 

"They killed him--they murdered my Joe!" she was sobbing. "And it was myfault--my fault! I trapped him! I sold him! And, oh, my God, I loved him--Iloved him!"

"Run, Joanne!" commanded Aldous a second time. "Run for the spruce!"

Instead of obeying him, Joanne knelt down beside Marie. 

He went to speak again, but there came an interruption--a thing that waslike the cold touch of lead in his own heart. From up on the mountain wherethe old mountaineer had walked into the face of death there came thesharp, splitting report of a rifle; and in that same instant it wasfollowed by another and still a third--quick, stinging, whiplikereports--and he knew that not one of them had come from the gun of DonaldMacDonald!

And then he saw that the rocks behind the tepee had become suddenly alivewith men!

CHAPTER XXIX

Sheer amazement made Aldous hold his fire in that first moment. Marie hadsaid that two men were after MacDonald. He had heard three shots nearly amile away, and she was still sobbing that DeBar was dead. That accountedfor _three_. He had expected to see only Quade, and FitzHugh, and one otherbehind the tepee. And there were six! He counted them as they came swiftlyout from the shelter of the rocks to the level of the plain. He was aboutto fire when he thought of Joanne and Marie. They were still behind him, crouching upon the ground. To fire from where he stood would draw afusillade of bullets in their direction, and with another warning cry toJoanne, he sped twenty paces to one side so that they would not be withinrange. Not until then did the attacking party see him. 

At a hundred and fifty yards he had no time to pick out Quade or MortimerFitzHugh. He fired first at a group of three, and one of the three crumpleddown as though his skull had been crushed from above. A rifle spat back athim and the bullet sang like a ripping cloth close over his head. Hedropped to his knees before he fired again, and a bullet clove the airwhere he had stood. The crack of rifles did not hurry him. He knew that hehad six cartridges, and only six, and he aimed deliberately. At his secondshot the man he had fired at ran forward three or four steps, and thenpitched flat on his face. For a flash Aldous thought that it was MortimerFitzHugh. Then, along his gun barrel, he saw FitzHugh--and pulled thetrigger. It was a miss. 

Two men had dropped upon their knees and were aiming more carefully. Heswung his sight to the foremost, and drove a bullet straight through hischest. The next moment something seemed to have fallen upon him withcrushing weight. A red sea rose before his eyes. In it he was submerged;the roar of it filled his ears; it blinded him; and in the suffocatingembrace of it he tried to cry out. He fought himself out of it, his eyescleared, and he could see again. His rifle was no longer in his hands, andhe was standing. Twenty feet away men were rushing upon him. His brainrecovered itself with the swiftness of lightning. A bullet had stunned him, but he was not badly hurt. He jerked out his automatic, but before he couldraise it, or even fire from his hip, the first of his assailants was uponhim with a force that drove it from his hand. They went down together, andas they struggled on the bare rock Aldous caught for a fraction of a seconda scene that burned itself like fire in his brain. He saw Mortimer FitzHughwith a revolver in his hand. He had stopped; he was staring like onelooking upon the ghost of the dead, and as he stared there rose above therumbling roar of the chasm a wild and terrible shriek from Joanne. 

Aldous saw no more then. He was not fighting for his life, but for her, andhe fought with the mad ferocity of a tiger. As he struck, and choked, andbeat the head of his assailant on the rock, he heard shriek after shriekcome from Joanne's lips; and then for a flash he saw them again, andJoanne was struggling in the arms of Quade!

He struggled to his knees, and the man he was fighting struggled to hisknees; and then they came to their feet, locked in a death-grip on the edgeof the chasm. From Quade's clutch he saw Joanne staring at MortimerFitzHugh; then her eyes shot to him, and with another shriek she fought tofree herself. 

For thirty seconds of that terrible drama Mortimer FitzHugh stood as ifhewn out of rock. Then he sprang toward the fighters. 

In the arms of John Aldous was the strength of ten men. He twisted the headof his antagonist under his arm; he braced his feet--in another moment hewould have flung him bodily into the roaring maelstrom below. Even as hismuscles gathered themselves for the final effort he knew that all was lost. Mortimer FitzHugh's face leered over his shoulder, his demoniac intentionwas in his eyes before he acted. With a cry of hatred and of triumph heshoved them both over the edge, and as Aldous plunged to the depths below, still holding to his enemy, he heard a last piercing scream from Joanne. 

As the rock slid away from under his feet his first thought was that theend had come, and that no living creature could live in the roaringmaelstrom of rock and, flood into which he was plunging. But quicker thanhe dashed through space his mind worked. Instinctively, without time forreasoning, he gripped at the fact that his one chance lay in the closeembrace of his enemy. He hung to him. It seemed to him that they turnedover and over a hundred times in that distance of fifty feet. Then a massof twisting foam broke under him, and up out of it shot the head of one ofthe roaring monsters of rock that he and Joanne had looked upon. Theystruck it fairly, and Aldous was uppermost. He felt the terrific impact ofthe other's body. The foam boiled upward again, and they slipped off intothe flood. 

Still Aldous held to his enemy. He could feel that he was limp now; he nolonger felt the touch of the hands that had choked him, or the embrace ofthe arms that had struggled with him. He believed that his antagonist wasdead. The fifty-foot fall, with the rock splitting his back, had killedhim. For a moment Aldous still clung to him as they sank together under thesurface, torn and twisted by the whirling eddies and whirlpools. It seemedto him that they would never cease going down, that they were sinking avast distance. 

Dully he felt the beat of rocks. Then it flashed upon him that the dead manwas sinking like a weighted thing. He freed himself. Fiercely he struggledto bring himself to the surface. It seemed an eternity before he rose tothe top. He opened his mouth and drew a great gulp of air into his lungs. The next instant a great rock reared like a living thing in his face; heplunged against it, was beaten over it, and again he was goingdown--down--in that deadly clutch of maelstrom and undertow. Again hefought, and again he came to the surface. He saw a black, slippery wallgliding past him with the speed of an express train. And now it seemed asthough a thousand clubs were beating him. Ahead of him were rocks--nothingbut rocks. 

He shot through them like a piece of driftwood. The roaring in his earsgrew less, and he felt the touch of something under his feet. Sunlightburst upon him. He caught at a rock, and hung to it. His eyes cleared alittle. He was within ten feet of a shore covered with sand and gravel. Thewater was smooth and running with a musical ripple. Waist-deep he wadedthrough it to the shore, and fell down upon his knees, with his face buriedin his arms. He had been ten minutes in the death-grip of the chasm. It wasanother ten minutes before he staggered to his feet and looked about him. 

His face was beaten until he was almost blind. His shirt had been torn fromhis shoulders and his flesh was bleeding. He advanced a few steps. Heraised one arm and then the other. He limped. One arm hurt him when hemoved it, but the bone was sound. He was terribly mauled, but he knew thatno bones were broken, and a gasp of thankfulness fell from his lips. Allthis time his mind had been suffering even more than his body. Not for aninstant, even as he fought for life between the chasm walls, and as he layhalf unconscious on the rock, had he forgotten Joanne. His one thought wasof her now. He had no weapon, but as he stumbled in the direction of thecamp in the little plain he picked up a club that lay in his path. 

That MacDonald was dead, Aldous was certain. There would be four againsthim--Quade and Mortimer FitzHugh and the two men who had gone to themountain. His brain cleared swiftly as a part of his strength returned, andit occurred to him that if he lost no time he might come upon Joanne andher captors before the two men came from killing old Donald. He tried torun. Not until then did he fully realize the condition he was in. Twice inthe first hundred yards his legs doubled under him and he fell down amongthe rocks. He grew steadily stronger, though each time he tried to run orspring a distance of a few feet his legs doubled under him like that. Ittook him twenty minutes to get back to the edge of the plain, and when hegot there it was empty. There was no sign of Quade or FitzHugh, or ofJoanne and Marie; and there was no one coming from the direction of themountain. 

He tried to run again, and he found that over the level floor of the valleyhe could make faster time than among the rocks. He went to where he haddropped his rifle. It was gone. He searched for his automatic. That, too, was gone. There was one weapon left--a long skinning-knife in one of thepanniers near the tepee. As he went for this, he passed two of the men whomhe had shot. Quade and FitzHugh had taken their weapons, and had turnedthem over to see if they were alive or dead. They were dead. He secured theknife, and behind the tepee he passed the third body, its face as still andwhite as the others. He shuddered as he recognized it. It was Slim Barker. His rifle was gone. 

More swiftly now he made his way into the break out of which his assailantshad come a short time before. The thought came to him again that he hadbeen right, and that Donald MacDonald, in spite of all his years in themountains, had been fatally wrong. Their enemies had come down from thenorth, and this break led to their hiding-place. Through it Joanne musthave been taken by her captors. As he made his way over the rocks, gaininga little more of his strength with each step, his mind tried to picture thesituation that had now arisen between Quade and Mortimer FitzHugh. Howwould Quade, who was mad for possession of Joanne, accept FitzHugh's claimof ownership? Would he believe his partner? Would he even believe Joanneif, to save herself from him, she told him FitzHugh was her husband? Evenif he believed them, _would he give her up?_ Would Quade allow MortimerFitzHugh to stand between him and the object for which he was willing tosacrifice everything?

As Aldous asked himself these questions his blood ran hot and cold byturns. And the answer to them drew a deep breath of fear and of anguishfrom him as he tried again to run among the rocks. There could be but oneanswer: Quade would fight. He would fight like a madman, and if this fighthad happened and FitzHugh had been killed Joanne had already gone utterlyand helplessly into his power. He believed that FitzHugh had not revealedto Quade his relationship to Joanne while they were on the plain, and thethought still more terrible came to him that he might not reveal it at all, that he might repudiate Joanne even as she begged upon her knees for him tosave her. What a revenge it would be to see her helpless and broken in thearms of Quade! And then, both being beasts----

He could think no farther. The sweat broke out on his face as he hobbledfaster over a level space. The sound of the water between the chasm wallswas now a thunder in his ears. He could not have heard a rifle-shot or ascream a hundred yards away. The trail he was following had continuallygrown narrower. It seemed to end a little ahead of him, and the fear thathe had come the wrong way after all filled him with dread. He came to theface of the mountain wall, and then, to his left, he saw a crack that wasno wider than a man's body. In it there was sand, and the, sand was beatenby footprints! He wormed his way through, and a moment later stood at theedge of the chasm. Fifty feet above him a natural bridge of rock spannedthe huge cleft through which the stream was rushing. He crossed this, exposing himself openly to a shot if it was guarded. But it was notguarded. This fact convinced him that MacDonald had been killed, and thathis enemies believed he was dead. If MacDonald had escaped, and they hadfeared a possible pursuit, some one would have watched the bridge. 

The trail was easy to follow now. Sand and grassy earth had replaced rockand shale; he could make out the imprints of feet--many of them--and theyled in the direction of a piece of timber that apparently edged a valleyrunning to the east and west. The rumble of the torrent in the chasm grewfainter as he advanced. A couple of hundred yards farther on the trailswung to the left again; it took him around the end of a huge rock, and ashe appeared from behind this, his knife clutched in his hand, he droppedsuddenly flat on his face, and his heart rose like a lump in his throat. Scarcely fifty yards above him was the camp of his enemies! There were twotepees and piles of saddles and panniers and blankets about them, but not asoul that he could see. And then, suddenly, there rose a voice bellowingwith rage, and he recognized it as Quade's. It came from beyond the tepee, and he rose quickly from where he had thrown himself and ran forward, withthe tepee between him and those on the other side. Close to the canvas hedropped on his knees and crawled out behind a pile of saddles and panniers. From here he could see. 

So near that he could almost have touched them were Joanne and Marie, seated on the ground, with their backs toward him. Their hands were tiedbehind them. Their feet were bound with pannier ropes. A dozen paces beyondthem were Quade and Mortimer FitzHugh. 

The two men were facing each other, a yard apart. Mortimer FitzHugh's facewas white, a deadly white, and he was smiling. His right hand restedcarelessly in his hunting-coat pocket. There was a sneering challenge onhis lips; in his eyes was a look that Aldous knew meant death if Quademoved. And Quade was like a great red beast ready to spring. His eyesseemed bulging out on his cheeks; his great hands were knotted; hisshoulders were hunched forward, and his mottled face was ablaze withpassion. In that moment's dramatic tableau Aldous glanced about swiftly. The men from the mountain had not returned. He was alone with Quade andMortimer FitzHugh. 

Then FitzHugh spoke, very quietly, a little laughingly; but his voicetrembled, and Aldous knew what the hand was doing in the hunting-coatpocket. 

"You're excited, Billy, " he said. "I'm not a liar, as you've veryimpolitely told me. And I'm not playing you dirt, and I haven't fallen inlove with the lady myself, as you seem to think. But she belongs to me, body and soul. If you don't believe me--why, ask the lady herself, Billy!"

As he spoke, he turned his sneering eyes for the fraction of a secondtoward Joanne. The movement was fatal. Quade was upon him. The hand in thecoat pocket flung itself upward, there followed a muffled report, but thebullet flew wide. In all his life Aldous had never heard a sound like theroar that came from Quade's throat then. He saw Mortimer FitzHugh's handappear with a pistol in it, and then the pistol was gone. He did not seewhere it went to. He gripped his knife and waited, his heart beating withwhat seemed like smothered explosions as he watched for the opportunitywhich he knew would soon come. He expected to see FitzHugh go down underQuade's huge bulk. Instead of that, a small, iron fist shot upward andQuade's head went back as if broken from his neck. 

FitzHugh sprang a step backward, and in the movement his heel caught theedge of a pack-saddle. He stumbled, almost fell, and before he couldrecover himself Quade was at him again. This time there was something inthe red brute's hand. It rose and fell once--and Mortimer FitzHugh reeledbackward with a moaning cry, swayed for a second or two on his feet, andfell to the ground. Quade turned. In his hand was a bloody knife. Madnessand passion and the triumphant joy of a demon were in his face as he glaredat his helpless prey. As Aldous crouched lower his shoulder touched one ofthe saddles. It slipped from the pile, one of the panniers followed it, andQuade saw him. There was no longer reason for concealment, and as Quadestood paralyzed for a moment Aldous sprang forth into the space between himand Joanne. He heard the cry that broke strangely from her lips but he didnot turn his head. He advanced upon Quade, his head lowered, the longskinning-knife gleaming in his hand. 

John Aldous knew that words would avail nothing in these last few minutesbetween him and Quade. The latter had already hunched himself forward, thered knife in his hand poised at his waistline. He was terrible. His hugebulk, his red face and bull neck, his eyes popping from behind their fleshylids, and the dripping blade in the shapeless hulk of his hand gave him theappearance as he stood there of some monstrous gargoyle instead of a thingof flesh and blood. And Aldous was terrible to look at, but in a way thatwrung a moaning cry from Joanne. His face was livid from the beat of therocks; it was crusted with blood; his eyes were partly closed, and whatremained of his shirt was drenched with blood that still ran from the deepcuts in his arms and shoulders. But it was he who advanced, and Quade whostood and waited. 

Aldous knew little or nothing of knife-fighting; and he realized, also, that there was a strange weakness in his arms and body caused by his battlewith the maelstroms in the chasm. But he had wrestled a great deal with theIndians of the north, who fought as their half-wolf sledgedogs fought, andhe employed their methods now. Slowly and deliberately he began to circlearound Quade, so that Quade became the pivot of that circle, and as hecircled he drew nearer and nearer to his enemy, but never in a frontaladvance. He edged inward, with his knife-arm on the outside. His deadlydeliberateness and the steady glare of his eyes discomfited Quade, whosuddenly took a step backward. 

It was always when the Indian made this step that his opponent darted in;and Aldous, with this in mind, sprang to the attack. Their knives clashedin midair. As they met, hilt to hilt, Aldous threw his whole weight againstQuade, darted sidewise, and with a terrific lunge brought the blade of hisknife down between Quade's shoulders. A straight blade would have gone fromback to chest through muscle and sinew, but the knife which Aldous heldscarcely pierced the other's clothes. 

Not until then did he fully realize the tremendous odds against him. Thecurved blade of his skinning-knife would not penetrate! His one hope was tocut with it. He flung out his arm before Quade had fully recovered, andblind luck carried the keen edge of the knife across his enemy's pouchycheek. The blood came in a spurt, and with a terrible cry Quade leaped backtoward the pile of saddles and panniers. Before Aldous could follow hisadvantage the other had dropped his knife and had snatched up a four-footlength of a tepee pole. For a moment he hesitated while the blood ran in ahot flood down his thick neck. Then with a bellow of rage he rushed uponAldous. 

It was no time for knife-work now. As the avalanche of brute strengthdescended upon him Aldous gathered himself for the shock. He had alreadymeasured his own weakness. Those ten minutes among the rocks of the chasmhad broken and beaten him until his strength was gone. He was panting fromhis first onset with Quade, but his brain was working. And he knew thatQuade was no longer a reasoning thing. He had ceased to think. He was blindwith the passion of the brute, and his one thought was to crush his enemydown under the weight of the club in his huge hands. Aldous waited. Heheard Joanne's terrified scream when Quade was almost upon him--when lessthan five feet separated them. The club was descending when he flunghimself forward, straight for the other's feet. The club crashed over him, and with what strength he had he gripped Quade at the knees. With atremendous thud Quade came to earth. The club broke from the grip of hishands. For a moment he was stunned, and in that moment Aldous was at histhroat. 

He would have sold the best of his life for the skinning-knife. But he hadlost it in gripping Quade. And now he choked--with every ounce of strengthin him he choked at the thick red neck of his enemy. Quade's hands reachedfor his own throat. They found it. And both choked, lying there gasping andcovered with blood! while Joanne struggled vainly to free herself, andscream after scream rang from her lips. And John Aldous knew that at lastthe end had come. For there was no longer strength in his arms, and therewas something that was like a strange cramp in his fingers, while theclutch at his own throat was turning the world black. His grip relaxed. Hishands fell limp. The last that he realized was that Quade was over him, andthat he must be dying. 

Then it was, as he lay within a final second or two of death, no longerconscious of physical attack or of Joanne's terrible cries, that a strangeand unforeseen thing occurred. Beyond the tepee a man had risen from theearth. He staggered toward them, and it was from Marie that the wildest andstrangest cry of all came now. For the man was Joe DeBar! In his hand heheld a knife. Swaying and stumbling he came to the fighters--from behind. Quade did not see him, and over Quade's huge back he poised himself. Theknife rose; for the fraction of a second it trembled in midair. Then itdescended, and eight inches of steel went to the heart of Quade. 

And as DeBar turned and staggered toward Joanne and Marie, John Aldous wassinking deeper and deeper into a black and abysmal night. 

CHAPTER XXX

In that chaotic night in which he was drifting, light as a feather floatingon the wind, John Aldous experienced neither pain nor very much of thesense of life. And yet, without seeing or feeling, he seemed to be living, All was dead in him but that last consciousness, which is almost thespirit; he might have been dreaming, and minutes, hours, or even yearsmight have passed in that dream. For a long time he seemed to be sinkingthrough the blackness; and then something stopped him, without jar orshock, and he was rising. He could hear nothing. There was a vast silenceabout him, a silence as deep and as unbroken as the abysmal pit in which heseemed to be softly floating. 

After a time Aldous felt himself swaying and rocking, as though tossedgently on the billows of a sea. This was the first thought that took shapein his struggling brain--he was at sea; he was on a ship in the heart of ablack night, and he was alone. He tried to call out, but his tongue seemedgone. It seemed a very long time before day broke, and then it was astrange day. Little needles of light pricked his eyes; silver strings shotlike flashes of weblike lightning through the darkness, and after that hesaw for an instant a strange glare. It was gone in one big, powderlikeflash, and he was in night again. These days and nights seemed to followone another swiftly now, and the nights grew less dark, and the daysbrighter. He was conscious of sounds and buffetings, and it was very hot. 

Out of this heat there came a cool, soft breeze that was continuallycaressing his face, and eyes, and head. It was like the touch of a spirithand. It became more and more real to him. It caressed him into a dark andcomfortable oblivion. Out of this oblivion a still brighter day roused him. His brain seemed clear. He opened his eyes. A white cloud was hovering overthem; it fell softly; it was cool and gentle. Then it rose again, and itwas not a cloud, but a hand! The hand moved away, and he was looking into apair of wide-open, staring, prayerful eyes, and a little cry came to him, and a voice. 

"John--John----"

He was drifting again, but now he knew that he was alive. He heardmovement. He heard voices. They were growing nearer and more distinct. Hetried to cry out Joanne's name, and it came in a whispering breath betweenhis lips. But Joanne heard; and he heard her calling to him; he felt herhands; she was imploring him to open his eyes, to speak to her. It seemedmany minutes before he could do this, but at last he succeeded. And thistime his vision was not so blurred. He could see plainly. Joanne was there, hovering over him, and just beyond her was the great bearded face of DonaldMacDonald. And then, before words had formed on his lips, he did awonderful thing. He smiled. 

"O my God, I thank Thee!" he heard Joanne cry out, and then she was on herknees, and her face was against his, and she was sobbing. 

He knew that it was MacDonald who drew her away. 

The great head bent over him. 

"Take this, will 'ee, Johnny boy?"

Aldous stared. 

"Mac, you're--alive, " he breathed. 

"Alive as ever was, Johnny. Take this. "

He swallowed. And then Joanne hovered over him again, and he put up hishands to her face, and her glorious eyes were swimming seas as she kissedhim and choked back the sobs in her throat. He buried his fingers in herhair. He held her head close to him, and for many minutes no one spoke, while MacDonald stood and looked down on them. In those minutes everythingreturned to him. The fight was over. MacDonald had come in time to save himfrom Quade. But--and now his eyes stared upward through the sheen ofJoanne's hair--he was in a cabin! He recognized it. It was DonaldMacDonald's old home. When Joanne raised her head he looked about himwithout speaking. He was in the wide bunk built against the wall. Sunlightwas filtering through a white curtain at the window, and in the open doorhe saw the anxious face of Marie. 

He tried to lift himself, and was amazed to find that he could not. Verygently Joanne urged him back on his pillow. Her face was a glory of lifeand of joy. He obeyed her as he would have obeyed the hand of the Madonna. She saw all his questioning. 

"You must be quiet, John, " she said, and never had he heard in her voicethe sweetness of love that was in it now. "We will tell youeverything--Donald and I. But you must be quiet. You were terribly beatenamong the rocks. We brought you here at noon, and the sun is setting--anduntil now you have not opened your eyes. Everything is well. But you mustbe quiet. You were terribly bruised by the rocks, dear. "

It was sweet to lie under the caresses of her hand. He drew her face downto him. 

"Joanne, my darling, you understand now--why I wanted to come alone intothe North?"

Her lips pressed warm and soft against his. 

"I know, " she whispered, and he could feel her arras trembling, and herbreath coming quickly. Gently she drew away from him. "I am going to makeyou some broth, " she said then. 

He watched her as she went out of the cabin, one white hand lifted to herthroat. 

Old Donald MacDonald seated himself on the edge of the bunk. He looked downat Aldous, chuckling in his beard; and Aldous, with his bruised and swollenface and half-open eyes, grinned like a happy fiend. 

"It was a wunerful, wunerful fight, Johnny!" said old Donald. 

"It was, Mac. And you came in fine on the home stretch!"

"What d'ye mean--home stretch?" queried Donald leaning over. 

"You saved me from Quade. "

Donald fairly groaned. 

"I didn't, Johnny--I didn't! DeBar killed 'im. It was all over when I come. On'y--Johnny--I had a most cur'ous word with Culver Rann afore he died!"

In his eagerness Aldous was again trying to sit up when Joanne appeared inthe doorway. With a little cry she darted to him, forced him gently back, and brushed old Donald off the edge of the bunk. 

"Go out and watch the broth, Donald, " she commanded firmly. Then she saidto Aldous, stroking back his hair, "I forbade you to talk. John, dear, aren't you going to mind me?"

"Did Quade get me with the knife?" he asked. 

"No, no. "

"Am I shot?"

"No, dear. "

"Any bones broken?"

"Donald says not. "

"Then please give me my pipe, Joanne--and let me get up. Why do you want meto lie here when I'm strong like an ox, as Donald says?"

Joanne laughed happily. 

"You _are_ getting better every minute, " she cried joyously. "But you wereterribly beaten by the rocks, John. If you will wait until you have thebroth I will let you sit up. "

A few minutes later, when he had swallowed his broth, Joanne kept herpromise. Only then did he realize that there was not a bone or a muscle inhis body that did not have its own particular ache. He grimaced when Joanneand Donald bolstered him up with blankets at his back. But he was happy. Twilight was coming swiftly, and as Joanne gave the final pats and turns tothe blankets and pillows, MacDonald was lighting half a dozen candlesplaced around the room. 

"Any watch to-night, Donald?" asked Aldous. 

"No, Johnny, there ain't no watch to-night, " replied the old mountaineer. 

He came and seated himself on a bench with Joanne. For half an hour afterthat Aldous listened to a recital of the strange things that hadhappened--how poor marksmanship had saved MacDonald on the mountain-side, and how at last the duel had ended with the old hunter killing those whohad come to slay him. When they came to speak of DeBar, Joanne leanednearer to Aldous. 

"It is wonderful what love will sometimes do, " she spoke softly. "In thelast few hours Marie has bared her soul to me, John. What she has been shehas not tried to hide from me, nor even from the man she loves. She was oneof Mortimer FitzHugh's tools. DeBar saw her and loved her, and she soldherself to him in exchange for the secret of the gold. When they came intothe North the wonderful thing happened. She loved DeBar--not in the way ofher kind, but as a woman in whom had been born a new heart and a new souland a new joy. She defied FitzHugh; she told DeBar how she had tricked him. 

"This morning FitzHugh attempted his old familiarity with her, and DeBarstruck him down. The act gave them excuse for what they had planned to do. Before her eyes Marie thought they had killed the man she loved. She flungherself on his breast, and she said she could not feel his heart beat, andhis blood flowed warm against her hands and face. Both she and DeBar haddetermined to warn us if they could. Only a few minutes before DeBar wasstabbed he had let off his rifle--an accident, he said. But it was not anaccident. It was the shot Donald heard in the cavern. It saved us, John!And Marie, waiting her opportunity, fled to us in the plain. DeBar was notkilled. He says my screams brought him back to life. He came out--andkilled Quade with a knife. Then he fell at our feet. A few minutes laterDonald came. DeBar is in another cabin. He is not fatally hurt, and Marieis happy. "

She was stroking his hand when she finished. The curious rumbling camesoftly in MacDonald's beard and his eyes were bright with a whimsicalhumour. 

"I pretty near bored a hole through poor Joe when I come up, " he chuckled. "But you bet I hugged him when I found what he'd done, Johnny! Joe saystheir camp was just over the range from us that night FitzHugh looked usup, an' Joanne thought she'd been dreamin'. He didn't have any help, buthis intention was to finish us alone--murder us asleep--when Joanne criedout. Joe says it was just a devil's freak that took 'im to the top of themountain alone that night. He saw our fire an' came down to investigate. "

A low voice was calling outside the door. It was Marie. As Joanne went toher a quick gleam came into old Donald's eyes. He looked behind himcautiously to see that she had disappeared, then he bent over Aldous, andwhispered hoarsely:

"Johnny, I had a most cur'ous word with Rann--or FitzHugh--afore he died!He wasn't dead when I went to him. But he knew he was dyin'; an' Johnny, hewas smilin' an' cool to the end. I wanted to ask 'im a question, Johnny. Iwas dead cur'ous to know _why the grave were empty!_ But he asked forJoanne, an' I couldn't break in on his last breath. I brought her. Thefirst thing he asked her was how people had took it when they found outhe'd poisoned his father! When Joanne told him no one had ever thought he'dkilled his father, FitzHugh sat leanin' against the saddles for a minit sowhite an' still I thought he 'ad died with his eyes open. Then it came out, Johnny. He was smilin' as he told it. He killed his father with poison toget his money. Later he came to America. He didn't have time to tell us howhe come to think they'd discovered his crime. He was dyin' as he talked. Itcame out sort o' slobberingly, Johnny. He thought they'd found 'im out. Hechanged his name, an' sent out the report that Mortimer FitzHugh had diedin the mount'ins. But Johnny, he died afore I could ask him about thegrave!"

There was a final note of disappointment in old Donald's voice that wasalmost pathetic. 

"It was such a cur'ous grave, " he said. "An' the clothes were laid out soprim an' nice. "

Aldous laid his hand on MacDonald's. 

"It's easy, Mac, " he said, and he wanted to laugh at the disappointmentthat was still in the other's face. "Don't you see? He never expected anyone to dig _into_ the grave. And he put the clothes and the watch and thering in there to get rid of them. They might have revealed his identity. Why, Donald----"

Joanne was coming to them again. She laid a cool hand on his forehead andheld up a warning finger to MacDonald. 

"Hush!" she said gently, "Your head is very hot, dear, and there must beno more talking. You must lie down and sleep. Tell John good-night, Donald!"

Like a boy MacDonald did as she told him, and disappeared through the cabindoor. Joanne levelled the pillows and lowered John's head. 

"I can't sleep, Joanne, " he protested. 

"I will sit here close at your side and stroke your face and hair, " shesaid gently. 

"And you will talk to me?"

"No, I must not talk. But, John----"

"Yes, dear. "

"If you will promise to be very, very quiet, and let me be very quiet----"

"Yes. "

"I will make you a pillow of my hair. "

"I--will be quiet, " he whispered. 

She unbound her hair, and leaned over so that it fell in a flood on hispillow. With a sigh of contentment he buried his face in the rich, sweetmasses of it. Gently, like the cooling breeze that had come to him in hishours of darkness, her hand caressed him. He closed his eyes; he drank inthe intoxicating perfume of her tresses; and after a little he slept. 

For many hours Joanne sat at his bedside, sleepless, and rejoicing. 

When Aldous awoke it was dawn in the cabin. Joanne was gone. For a fewminutes he continued to lie with his face toward the window. He knew thathe had slept a long time, and that the day was breaking. Slowly he raisedhimself. The terrible ache in his body was gone; he was still lame, but nolonger helpless. He drew himself cautiously to the edge of the bunk andsat there for a time, testing himself before he got up. He was delighted atthe result of the experiments. He rose to his feet. His clothes werehanging against the wall, and he dressed himself. Then he opened the doorand walked out into the morning, limping a little as he went. MacDonald wasup. Joanne's tepee was close to the cabin. The two men greeted each otherquietly, and they talked in low voices, but Joanne heard them, and a fewmoments later she ran out with her hair streaming about her and wentstraight into the arms of John Aldous. 

This was the beginning of the three wonderful days that yet remained forJoanne and John Aldous in Donald MacDonald's little valley of gold andsunshine and blue skies. They were strange and beautiful days, filled witha great peace and a great happiness, and in them wonderful changes were atwork. On the second day Joanne and Marie rode alone to the cavern whereJane lay, and when they returned in the golden sun of the afternoon theywere leading their horses, and walking hand in hand. And when they camedown to where DeBar and Aldous and Donald MacDonald were testing therichness of the black sand along the stream there was a light in Marie'seyes and a radiance in Joanne's face which told again that world-old storyof a Mary Magdalene and the dawn of another Day. And now, Aldous thought, Marie had become beautiful; and Joanne laughed softly and happily thatnight, and confided many things into the ears of Aldous, while Marie andDeBar talked for a long time alone out under the stars, and came back atlast hand in hand, like two children. Before they went to bed Mariewhispered something to Joanne, and a little later Joanne whispered it toAldous. 

"They want to know if they can be married with us, John, " she said. "Thatis, if you haven't grown tired of trying to marry me, dear, " she added witha happy laugh. "Have you?"

His answer satisfied her. And when she told a small part of it to Marie, the other woman's dark eyes grew as soft as the night, and she whisperedthe words to Joe. 

The third and last day was the most beautiful of all. Joe's knife wound wasnot bad. He had suffered most from a blow on the head. Both he and Aldouswere in condition to travel, and plans were made to begin the homewardjourney on the fourth morning. MacDonald had unearthed another dozen sacksof the hidden gold, and he explained to Aldous what must be done to securelegal possession of the little valley. His manner of doing this wasunnatural and strained. His words came haltingly. There was unhappiness inhis eyes. It was in his voice. It was in the odd droop of his shoulders. And finally, when they were alone, he said to Aldous, with almost a sob inhis voice:

"Johnny--Johnny, if on'y the gold were not here!"

He turned his eyes to the mountain, and Aldous took one of his big gnarledhands in both his own. 

"Say it, Mac, " he said gently. "I guess I know what it is. "

"It ain't fair to you, Johnny, " said old Donald, still with his eyes on themountains. "It ain't fair to you. But when you take out the claims downthere it'll start a rush. You know what it means, Johnny. There'll be athousand men up here; an' mebby you can't understand--but there's thecavern an' Jane an' the little cabin here; an' it seems like desecratin'_her_. "

His voice choked, and as Aldous gripped the big hand harder in his own helaughed. 

"It would, Mac, " he said. "I've been watching you while we made the plans. These cabins and the gold have been here for more than forty years withoutdiscovery, Donald--and they won't be discovered again so long as Joe DeBarand John Aldous and Donald MacDonald have a word to say about it. We'lltake out no claims, Mac. The valley isn't ours. It's Jane's valley andyours!"

Joanne, coming up just then, wondered what the two men had been saying thatthey stood as they did, with hands clasped. Aldous told her. And then oldDonald confessed to them what was in his mind, and what he had kept fromthem. At last he had found his home, and he was not going to leave itagain. He was going to stay with Jane. He was going to bring her from thecavern and bury her near the cabin, and he pointed out the spot, coveredwith wild hyacinths and asters, where she used to sit on the edge of thestream and watch him while he worked for gold. And they could return eachyear and dig for gold, and he would dig for gold while they were away, andthey could have it all. All that he wanted was enough to eat, and Jane, andthe little valley. And Joanne turned from him as he talked, her facestreaming with tears, and in John's throat was a great lump, and he lookedaway from MacDonald to the mountains. 

So it came to pass that on the fourth morning, when they went into thesouth, they stopped on the last knoll that shut out the little valley fromthe larger valley, and looked back. And Donald MacDonald stood alone infront of the cabin waving them good-bye. 

THE END