LOUISIANA LOU

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 [Illustration: He saw the trail across the cañon alive with moving men and beasts. (_Frontispiece--Page 261_)]

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 Louisiana Lou

 _A Western Story_

 BY

 WILLIAM WEST WINTER

 AUTHOR OF

 "The Count of Ten"

 [Illustration: Chelsea House logo]

 CHELSEA HOUSE

 79 Seventh Avenue New York City

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 Copyright, 1922 By CHELSEA HOUSE

 Louisiana Lou

 (Printed in the United States of America)

 All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian. 

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CONTENTS

 CHAPTER PAGE PROLOGUE 11 I. A GENERAL DEMOTED 32 II. MORGAN LA FEE 42 III. A SPORTING PROPOSITION 54 IV. HEADS! I WIN! 66 V. A MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE 78 VI. WHERE THE DESERT HAD BEEN 94 VII. MAID MARIAN GROWN UP 103 VIII. GETTING DOWN TO BUSINESS 112 IX. BEHIND PRISON BARS 123 X. THE GET-AWAY 140 XI. JIM BANKER HITS THE TRAIL 153 XII. A REMINDER OF OLD TIMES 162 XIII. AT WALLACE'S RANCH 174 XIV. READY FOR ACTION 182 XV. THE SHERIFF FINDS A CLEW 189 XVI. IN THE SOLITUDES OF THE CANYON 203 XVII. THE SECRET OF THE LOST MINE 217 XVIII. TELLTALE BULLETS 236 XIX. THE FINDING OF SUCATASH 247 XX. LOUISIANA! 259 XXI. GOLD SEEKERS 271 XXII. VENGEANCE! 283 XXIII. TO THE VALE OF AVALON 298

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LOUISIANA LOU

PROLOGUE

The sun was westering over Ike Brandon's ranch at Twin Forks. It wasthe first year of a new century when the old order was giving place tothe new. Yet there was little to show the change that had alreadybegun to take place in the old West. The desert still stretched awaydrearily to the south where it ended against the faint, dim line ofthe Esmeralda Mountains. To the north it stretched again, unpopulatedand unmarked until it merged into prairie grass and again intomountains. To west and east it stretched, brown and dusty. To thesouth was the State of Nevada and to the north the State of Idaho. Butit was all alike; bare, brown rolling plain, with naught of greennessexcept at the ranch where the creek watered the fields and, stretchingback to the north, the thread of bushy willows and cottonwoods thatlined it from its source in the mountains. 

Ike Brandon was, himself, a sign of change and of new conditions, though he did not know it. A sheepman, grazing large herds of woollypests in a country which, until recently, had been the habitat ofcattlemen exclusively, he was a symbol of conquest. He remembered thepetty warfare that had marked the coming of his kind, a warfare thathe had survived and which had ended in a sort of sullen tolerance ofhis presence. A few years ago he had gone armed with rifle and pistol, and his herders had been weaponed against attack. Now he strode hisacres unafraid and unthreatened, and his employees carried rifle orsix-shooter only for protection against prowling coyotes or "loafer"wolves. Although the cow hands of his erstwhile enemies still beltedthemselves with death, they no longer made war. The sheep had come tostay. 

The worst that he and his had to expect was a certain coldness towardhimself on the part of the cattle aristocracy, and a measure ofcontempt and dislike toward his "Basco" herders on the part of therough-riding and gentle-speaking cow hands. 

These things troubled him little. He had no near neighbors. To thenorth, across the Idaho border, there was none nearer than SulphurFalls, where the Serpentine, rushing tumultuously from the mountains, twisted in its cañon bed and squirmed away to westward and northwardafter making a gigantic loop that took it almost to the Line. To thesouth, a ranch at Willow Spring, where a stubborn cattleman hung on inspite of growing barrenness due to the hated sheep, was forty milesaway. To east and west was no one within calling distance. 

At Sulphur Falls were two or three "nesters, " irrigating land from theriver, a store or two and a road house run by an unsavory holdover ofthe old days named "Snake" Murphy. For a hundred and twenty-five milesto southward was unbroken land. The cattle were mostly gone--though indays to come they were to return again in some measure. Even theEsmeralda Mountains were no longer roamed by populous herds. They werebare and forbidding, except where the timber was heavy, for the sheepof Brandon and others, rushing in behind the melting snow in thespring, had cropped the tender young grass before it had a chance togrow strong. 

Brandon's ranch was an idyllic spot, however. His dead wife and, afterher, her daughter, also dead, had given it the touch of femininehands. Vines and creepers half hid the dingy house behind a festoon ofgreen and blossoms. Around it the lush fields of clover were brilliantand cool in the expanse of brown sultriness. And here, Ike, nowgrowing old, lived in content with his idolized granddaughter, Marian, who was about six years old. 

Brandon, at peace with the world, awaited the return from the summerrange of "French Pete, " his herder, who was to bring in one of thelargest flocks for an experiment in winter feeding at and in thevicinity of the ranch. The other flocks and herders would, as usual, feed down from the mountains out into the desert, where they wouldwinter. 

Little Marian hung on the swinging gate which opened onto the apologyfor a wagon road. She liked quaint French Pete and looked forward tohis return with eagerness. Like her grandfather, he always spoiledher, slavishly submitting to her every whim because she reminded himof his own _p'tit bébé_, in his far-away, Pyrenean home. Marian wasused to being spoiled. She was as beautiful as a flower and, already, a veritable tyrant over men. 

But now she saw no sign of French Pete and, being too young forconcentration, she let her glance rove to other points of the compass. So she was first to become aware that a rider came from the north, thedirection of Sulphur Falls, and she called her grandfather to come andsee. 

The horseman loped easily into sight through the brown dust that roseabout him. His horse was slim and clean limbed and ran steadily, butBrandon noted that it was showing signs of a long journey made toofast. It was a good horse, but it would not go much farther at thepace it was keeping. 

And then he frowned as he recognized the rider. It was a young man, orrather, boy, about nineteen or twenty years old, rather dandifiedafter the cow-puncher fashion, sporting goatskin chaps andsilver-mounted bridle and spurs, silk neckerchief, and flat-brimmedhat of the style now made common by the Boy Scouts. His shirt wasflannel, and his heavy roping saddle studded with silver conchas. Hewas belted with heavy cartridges, and a holster strapped down to hisleg showed the butt of a six-shooter polished by constant handling. 

"It's that damned Louisiana!" said Brandon, with disgust. 

The rider trotted through the gate which he swung open and dropped tothe ground before the little veranda. Marian had run back behind thevines whence she peered at him half curiously and half afraid. Theyoung fellow, teetering on his high heels, reached for her and, smiling from pleasant eyes, swung her into the air and lifted herhigh, bringing her down to his face and kissing her. 

"Howdy, little Lily Bud!" he said, in a voice which was a soft blendof accents, the slurred Southern, the drawled Southwestern, andsomething subtly foreign. 

He was a handsome, slender, dashing figure, and Marian's gleeful echoto his laughter claimed him as her own. Even Ike Brandon relaxed andgrinned. If the little lady of his heart adopted the stranger, Ikewould put aside his prejudice. True, the man was that vanishingrarity, a reputed gunman, uncannily skilled with six-shooter andfrowned on by a Western sentiment, new grown, for law and order, whichhad determined to have peace if it had to wage war to accomplish it. 

After all, reflected Ike, the boy, though noted for skill and acertain arrogance which accompanied it, was not yet a killer. Theyounger element among the cowmen, reckless enough though it was, boasted no such skill as had been common with its fathers. Theycarried weapons, but they recognized their limitations and there werefew of them who would care to test the skill that this young man wassupposed to possess. He might, and probably would, go through lifepeaceably enough, though he was, potentially, as dangerous as arattlesnake. 

"I reckon you could eat, " he remarked, and Louisiana agreed. 

"I reckon I can, " he said. "And my old hoss can wrastle a bag of oats, too. He's got a ride in front of him and he'd appreciate a chance torest and limber up. "

"You'll stay the night?"

"No, thanks, seh! An hour or two's all I can spare. Got businesssomewhere else. "

Brandon did not urge nor show curiosity. That was not etiquette. Butlittle Marian, taken with the new acquaintance, broke into a wail. 

"I want you should stay while I show you my dolly that Pete made me!"she cried, imperiously. Louisiana laughed and ruffled her curls. 

"You show me while I eat, " he said. Then he followed Ike into thecabin, debonair and apparently unconcerned. The little girl came too, and, as the Mexican servant set the table, the stranger talked andlaughed with her, telling her stories which he made up as he wentalong, tying his neckerchief into strange shapes of dolls and animalsfor her, fascinating her with a ready charm that won, not only her, but Ike himself. 

He had seen that his horse was fed, and, after he had eaten, he satunconcerned on the veranda and played with the little girl who, bynow, was fairly doting on him. But at last he rose to go and shevoiced her sorrow by wails and commands to stay, which he sorrowfullydefied. 

"I've got to ramble, little Lily Bud, " he told her as he led hisresaddled and refreshed horse from the stable. "But don't you fret. I'll come roamin' back hereaways some o' these days when you've donemarried you a prince. "

"Don't want to marry a prince!" screamed Marian. "Don't want to marryno one but you-ou! You got to stay!"

"When I come back I sure will stay a whole lot, sweetheart. See here, now, you-all don't cry no more and when I come back I'll sure comea-ridin' like this Lochinvar sport and marry you-all a whole lot. That's whatever! How'd you like that!"

"When will you come?" demanded Marian. 

"Oh, right soon, honey! And you'll sure have a tame and dotin'husband, I can tell you. But now, good-by!"

"You'll come back?"

"You're shoutin', I will! With a preacher and a license and all thetrimmin's. We'll certainly have one all-whoopin' weddin' when I comerackin' in, Petty! Kiss me good-by, like a nice sweetheart and justdream once in a while of Louisiana, won't you?"

"I'll say your name in my prayers, " she assured him, watching himdoubtfully and hopefully as he wheeled his horse, striving to keepback the tears. 

And then he was gone, riding at a mile-eating pace toward the southand the Esmeralda Mountains. 

Two hours later a tired group of men and horses loped in and wanted toknow where he had gone. They were on his trail for, it seemed, he hadshot "Snake" Murphy in his own road house in a quarrel over some drabof the place who was known as Lizzie Lewis. 

Ike was cautious. It was not a regularly deputized posse and themembers were rather tough friends of Murphy. Between the two, hepreferred Louisiana. He remembered how unconcernedly that young manhad waited until he and his horse were fed and rested, though he musthave known that Death was on his trail. And how he had laughed andpetted Marian. There was good in the boy, he decided, though, now hehad started on his career as a killer, his end would probably betragic. Ike had no desire at any rate to hasten it. 

Nor, as a matter of fact, had the posse. Their courage had cooledduring the long ride from Sulphur Falls as the whisky had evaporatedfrom their systems. They were by no means exceedingly anxious tocatch up with and encounter what was reputed to be the fastest gun insouthern Idaho. 

"Whatever starts this hostile play?" asked Ike of the leader of theposse. 

"This here Louisiana, I gather, gets in a mix-up with Snake, " theofficer explained rather languidly. "I ain't there and I don't knowthe rights of it myself. As near as I can figure it Lizzie takes ashine to him which he don't reciprocate none. There is some wordsbetween them and Liz sets up a holler to Snake about this hombreinsultin' of her. "

"Insultin' Lizzie Lewis?" said Ike, mildly surprised. "I'd sure admireto hear how he done it. "

"Well, Liz is a female, nohow, and in any case Snake allows it's hisplay to horn in. Which he does with a derringer. He's just givin' it apreliminary wave or two and preparin' his war song according to Hoylewhen Louisiana smokes him up a plenty. "

"I reckon Snake starts it, then, " remarked Ike. 

"You might say so. But rightfully speakin' he don't never actually_get_ started, Snake don't. He is just informin' the assembly what hiswar plans are when Louisiana cracks down on him and busts his shootin'arm. But this Louisiana has done frightened a lady a whole lot andthat's as good an excuse to get him as any. "

"Well, " said Ike, dryly, "the gent went by here maybe two hours goneheadin' south. He was goin' steady but he don't seem worried none asI noticed. If you want him right bad I reckon you can run him down. Asfor me I'm plumb neutral in this combat. I ain't lost no Louisiana. "

Members of the posse looked at each other, glanced to the south wherethe gray expanse of sage presented an uninviting vista, fidgeted alittle and, one by one, swung down from their saddles. The officerobserved his deputies and finally followed them in dismounting. 

"I reckon you're about right, " he said. "This here buckaroo has got agood start and we ain't none too fresh. You got a bunk house herewhere we can hole up for the night?"

Ike nodded his assent, noting that the posse seemed relieved at theprospect of abandoning the chase. In the morning they headed back theway they had come. 

French Pete had not appeared on the following day, although he wasdue, and Brandon decided that he would ride south and meet him. Leaving Marian in charge of the Mexican woman, he took a pack horseand rode away, making the Wallace Ranch at Willow Spring that evening. Although Wallace was a cattleman with an enmity toward Brandon'sfraternity, it did not extend to Ike himself, and he was made welcomeby the rancher and his wife. Wallace's freckle-faced son, a lad offive years, who was known among his vaqueros as "Sucatash, " was theother member of the family. Ike, who was fond of children, entertainedthis youngster and made a rather strong impression on him. 

On the following morning the sheepman saddled up and packed and gotaway at a fairly early hour. He headed toward the Esmeraldas, pointingat the break in the mountain wall where Shoestring Cañon flared out onthe plains, affording an entry to the range. This was the logical paththat the sheep-herders followed in crossing the range and, indeed, theonly feasible one for many miles in either direction, though there wasa fair wagon road that ran eastward and flanked that end of the range, leading to Maryville on the other side of the mountains, where thecounty seat was located. 

But Ike rode until noon without seeing a sign of his missing herderand his sheep. French Pete should have entered the plains long beforethis, but, as yet, Ike was not alarmed. Many things might occur todelay the flock, and it was impossible to herd sheep on hard and fastschedules. 

As he rode Ike looked at the trail for signs of passing horsemen, buthe noted no tracks that resembled those of Louisiana, which he hadobserved for some distance after he had left the ranch at Twin Forks. Just where they had left the trail and disappeared he had not noted, having but an idle interest in them after all. He had not seen themfor many miles before reaching Willow Spring, he remembered. Thisfact gave no clew to the direction the man had taken, of course, since, being pursued, he would naturally leave the trail at some pointand endeavor to cover his sign. He might have continued south as hehad started or he might have doubled back. 

At about one o'clock in the afternoon, as he was approaching the gapthat opened into Shoestring, Ike saw, far ahead, a group on the trail. There seemed to be a wagon around which several men were standing. Thewagon resembled one of his own camp equipages, and he spurred up hishorse and hastened forward with some idea that the cow-punchers mightbe attacking it. 

As he came nearer, however, one of the men swung into his saddle andheaded back toward him at a gallop. Ike drew the rifle from itsscabbard under his knee and went more cautiously. The man came on at ahard run, but made no hostile move, and when he was near enough Ikesaw that he was not armed. He shoved the rifle back beneath his knee, as the rider set his horse on its haunches beside him. 

"Ike Brandon?" the man asked, excitedly, as he reined in. "Say, Ike, that Basco ewe-whacker o' yours is back there a ways and plumbperforated. Some one shore up and busted him a plenty with a soft-nosethirty. We're ridin' for Wallace, and we found him driftin' along inthe wagon a while back. I'm ridin' for a medicine man, but I reckonwe don't get one in time. "

"Who done it?" asked Ike, grimly. The cow-puncher shook his head. 

"None of us, " he said, soberly. "We ain't any too lovin' withsheep-herders, but we ain't aimin' to butcher 'em with soft-nose slugsfrom behind a rock, neither. We picks him up a mile or two out ofShoestring and his hoss is just driftin' along no'th with him whilehe's slumped up on the seat. There ain't no sheep with him. "

Ike nodded thoughtfully. "None o' you-all seen anythin' of Louisianadriftin' up this a way?" he asked. 

"Gosh, no!" said the rider. "You pickin' Louisiana? He's a bad hombre, but this here don't look like his work. "

"Pete's rifle with him?" asked Ike. 

The man nodded. "It ain't been fouled. Looks like he was bushwackedand didn't have no chance to shoot. "

Ike picked up his reins, and the man spurred his horse off on hiserrand. The sheepman rode on and soon met the wagon being escorted bytwo more cowboys while a third rode at the side of the horses, leadingthem. They stopped as Ike rode up, eying him uncomfortably. But hemerely nodded, with grim, set face, swung out of his saddle as theypulled up, and strode to the covered vehicle, drawing the canvas dooropen at the back. 

On the side bunk of the wagon where the cowboys had stretched him, wrapped in one of his blankets, lay the wounded man, his face, underthe black beard, pale and writhen, the eyes staring glassily and thelips moving in the mutterings of what seemed to be delirium. Ikeclimbed into the wagon and bent over his employee, whose mutterings, as his glazing eyes fell on his master's face, became more rapid. Buthe talked in a language that neither Ike nor any of the men couldunderstand. 

With a soothing word or two, Ike drew the blanket down from Pete'schest and looked at the great stain about the rude bandage which hadbeen applied by the men who had found him. One glance was enough toshow that Pete was in a bad way. 

"Lie still!" said Ike, kindly. "Keep your shirt on, Pete, and we'llgit you outa this pretty soon. "

But Pete was excited about something and insisted on trying to talk, though the froth of blood on his lips indicated the folly of it. Invain Ike soothed him and implored him to rest. His black eyes snappedand his right hand made feeble motions toward the floor of the wagonwhere, on a pile of supplies and camp equipment, lay a burlap sackcontaining something lumpy and rough. 

"Zose sheep--and zose r-rock!" he whispered, shifting to English mixedwith accented French. "_Pour vous--et le bébé! Le p'tit bébé_ an'she's _mère_--France--_or_----"

"Never mind the sheep, " said Ike. "You rough-lock your jaw, Pete, an'we'll take care o' the sheep. Lie still, now!"

But Pete moaned and turned his head from side to side with his laststrength. 

"_Mais--mais oui!_ ze sheep!" He again stuttered words meaningless tohis hearers who, of course, had no Basque at command. But here andthere were words of English and French, and even some Spanish, whichmost of them understood a little. 

"Ze r-rock--_pierre--or!_ Eet eez to you _et le bébé_ one half. Zeres' you send--you send heem--France--_pour ma femme--mi esposa_ an'ze leet-leetla one? _Mi padron_--you do heem?"

"What's he drivin' at?" muttered one of the cowboys. But Ike motionedthem to proceed and drive as fast as possible toward Willow Spring. Hebent toward the agitated herder again. 

"I'll take care of it, Pete, " he assured him. "Don't worry none. "

But Pete had more on his mind. He groped feebly about and whined arequest which Ike finally understood to be for paper and a pencil. Helooked about but found nothing except a paper bag in which were somecandles. These he dumped out and, to pacify the man, handed the paperto him with his own pencil. It was evident that Pete would not restuntil he had had his way, and if he was crossed further hisexcitement was bound to kill him almost at once. In obedience toPete's wishes Ike lifted him slightly and held him up while he wrote afew scrawling, ragged characters on the sack. Almost illegible, theywere written in some language which Ike knew nothing about but, at thebottom of the bag Pete laboriously wrote a name and address which Ikeguessed was that of his wife, in the far-off Basse Pyrenean provinceof France. 

"I'll see it gits to her, " said Ike, reassuringly. But Pete was notsatisfied. 

"Zose or, " he repeated, chokingly. "I find heem--on ze Lunch R-rock, where I step. Eet ees half to you an' lettl' Marian--half to _mafemme_ an' ze _bébé_. You weel find heem?"

"Ore?" repeated Ike, doubtingly. "You talking French or English?"

"_Or! Oui!_ Een Englees eet ees gol', you say! I find heem--back zereby ze Lunch R-rock. Zen some one shoot--I no see heem! I not know w'y. One 'bang!' I hear an' zat ees all. Ze wagon run away, ze sheep arelos', an' I lose ze head!"

"Ore!" repeated Ike, blankly. "You found gold, is that what you'retelling me? Where?"

"Back--back zere--by ze Lunch Rock where I eat! Much _or_--gold! Ifind heem an' half is yours!"

"That's all right, " soothed Ike, thinking the man was crazy. "Youfound a lot of gold and half is mine and Marian's, while the rest goesto your folks? That's it, ain't it?"

Pete nodded as well as he could and even tried to grin hissatisfaction at being understood, waving a feeble hand again in thedirection of the burlap sack. But his strength was gone and he couldnot articulate any more. Pretty soon, as the wagon jolted onward, herelapsed into a coma, broken only by mutterings in his native andincomprehensible tongue. By his side Ike sat, vainly wondering who hadshot the man and why. But Pete, if he knew, was past telling. To thestory of gold, Ike paid hardly any heed, not even taking the troubleto look into the sack. 

After a while the mutterings ceased, while his breathing grew morelabored and uneven. Then, while Willow Spring was still miles away, hesuddenly gasped, choked, and writhed beneath the blanket. The bloodwelled up to his lips, and he fell back and lay still. 

Ike, with face twisted into lines of sorrow, drew the blanket over theman's head and sat beside his body with bowed face. 

As they rode he pondered, endeavoring to search out a clew to theperpetrator of the murder, certainly a cold-blooded one, without anyprovocation. Pete's rifle, the cowboys had said, was clean andtherefore had not been fired. Furthermore, the wound was in the back. It had been made by a mushrooming bullet, and the wonder was that theman had lived at all after receiving it. 

He questioned the cowboys. They knew nothing except that Pete had beenfound about two miles down on the plain from Shoestring and that hissheep were, presumably, somewhere up the cañon. When Ike sought toknow who was in the Esmeraldas, they told him that they had beenriding the range for a week and had encountered no one but Petehimself, who, about five days back, had driven into the cañon on hisway through the mountains. They had seen nothing of Louisiana, nor hadthey cut his trail at any time. 

The wound showed that it had been recently made; within twelve hours, certainly. But the horses had traveled far in the time given them. Oneof Wallace's riders had ridden back up the cañon to search forpossible clews and would, perhaps, have something to say when hereturned. 

They finally arrived at Wallace's ranch, and found there a doctor whohad come from a little hamlet situated to the east. His services wereno longer of avail, but Ike asked him to extract the bullet, which hedid, finding it to be an ordinary mushroomed ball, to all appearancesuch as was shot from half the rifles used in that country. There wasno clew there, and yet Ike kept it, with a grim idea in the back ofhis mind suggested by tales which Pete had often told of smugglingand vendettas among the Basques of the border between Spain andFrance. 

It was when the sack was opened, however, that the real sensationappeared to dwarf the excitement over the murder of the sheep-herder. It was found to contain a number of samples of rock in which appearedspeckles and nuggets of free gold, or what certainly looked like it. On that point the doubt was settled by sending the samples to anassayer, and his report left nothing to be desired. He estimated thegold content of the ore to be worth from fifty to eighty thousanddollars a ton. 

The coroner's inquest, at Maryville, was attended by swarms, who hopedto get from the testimony some clew to the whereabouts of the mine. But many did not wait for that. Before the assayer's report had beenreceived there were prospectors hurrying into the Esmeraldas andraking Shoestring Cañon and the environs. It was generally thoughtthat the Bonanza lay on the southern side of the range, however, andon that side there were many places to search. Pete might have takenalmost any route to the top of the divide, and there were very fewclews as to just where he had entered the mountains and how he hadreached the cañon. 

Nor did the inquest develop anything further except the fact thatWallace's cow-puncher, who had ridden back up the cañon after findingPete, had found the spot where he had been shot, about five milesfrom the exit on the plain, but had failed to discover anythingindicating who had done it. Other searchers also reported failure. There had been burro tracks of some prospector seen at a point aboutsix miles from the cañon, but nothing to show that the owner of themhad been in that direction. 

The verdict was characteristic. Louisiana's exploit had been noisedabout; it was known that he was heading for the Esmeraldas when lastseen, and the fact that he was a gunman, or reputed to be one, furnished the last bit of evidence to the jurors. No one else had doneit, and therefore Louisiana, who had quit the country, must have beenthe culprit. In any event, he was a bad man and, even if innocent ofthis, was probably guilty of things just as bad. Therefore a verdictwas returned against Louisiana, as the only available suspect. 

Ike Brandon, after all, was the only person who cared much about thefate of a sheep-herder, who was also a foreigner. Every one else waschiefly interested in the gold mine. Ike offered a reward of fivehundred dollars, and the obliging sheriff of the county had handbillsprinted in which, with characteristic directness, Louisiana was namedas the suspect. 

The mountains swarmed for a time with searchers who sought the goldPete had found. It remained hidden, however, and, as time passed, interest died out and the "Lunch Rock" was added to the long list of"lost mines, " taking its place by the side of the Peg Leg and others. 

Ike wrote to Pete's wife in France and sent her his last message. Withit went a sample of the ore and the bullet that had killed Pete. Ikereasoned that some of his relatives might wish to take up the hunt andwould be fortified by the smashed and distorted bullet. 

CHAPTER I

A GENERAL DEMOTED

The general of division, De Launay, late of the French army operatingin the Balkans and, before that, of considerable distinction on thewestern front, leaned forward in his chair as he sat in theFranco-American banking house of Doolittle, Rambaud & Cie. In Paris. His booted and spurred heels were hooked over the rung of the chair, and his elbows, propped on his knees, supported his drooping back. Hisclean-cut, youthful features were morose and heavy with depression andlistlessness, and his eyes were somewhat red and glassy. Under hisruddy tan his skin was no longer fresh, but dull and sallow. 

Opposite him, the precise and dapper Mr. Doolittle, expatriatedAmerican, waved a carefully manicured hand in acquired Gallic gesturesas he expatiated on the circumstances which had summoned the soldierto his office. As he discoursed of these extraordinary matters hissharp eyes took in his client and noted the signs upon him, while hespeculated on their occasion. 

The steel-blue uniform, which should have been immaculate and dashing, as became a famous cavalry leader, showed signs of wear without theameliorating attention of a valet. The leather accouterments werescratched and dull. The boots had not been polished for more than aday or two and Paris mud had left stains upon them. The gold-bandedképi was tarnished, and it sat on the warrior's hair at an angle morebecoming to a recruit of the class of '19 than to the man who hadburst his way through the Bulgarian army in that wild ride to Nishwhich marked the beginning of the end of Armageddon. 

The banker, though he knew something of the man's history, foundhimself wondering at his youthfulness. Most generals, even afternearly five years of warfare, were elderly men, but this fellow lookedas much like a petulant boy as anything. It was only when one notedthat the hair just above the ears was graying and that there werelines about the eyes that one recalled that he must be close to fortyyears of age. His features failed to betray it and his small mustachewas brown and soft. 

Yet the man had served nearly twenty years and had risen from thatunbelievable depth, a private in the Foreign Legion, to the rank ofgeneral of division. That meant that he had served five years in hell, and, in spite of that, had survived to be _sous-lieutenant_, _lieutenant_, _capitaine_, and _commandant_ during the gruelingexperience of nine more years of study and fighting in Africa, Madagascar, and Cochin China. 

A man who has won his commission from the ranks of the Foreign Legionis a rarity almost unheard of, yet this one had done it. And he hadbeen no garrison soldier in the years that had followed. To keep thespurs he had won, to force recognition of his right to command, evenin the democratic army of France, the erstwhile outcast had had toshow extraordinary metal and to waste no time in idleness. He was, ina peculiar sense, the professional soldier par excellence, the man wholived in and for warfare. 

He had had his fill of that in the last four years, yet he did notseem satisfied. Of course, Mr. Doolittle had heard rumors, as had manyothers, but they seemed hardly enough to account for De Launay'sdepression and general seediness. The man had been reduced in rank, following the armistice, but so had many others; and he reverted nolower than lieutenant colonel, whereas he might well have gone backanother stage to his rank when the war broke out. To be sure, hisrecord for courage and ability was almost as extraordinary as hiscareer, culminating in the wild and decisive cavalry dash that haddestroyed the Bulgarian army and, in any war less anonymous than this, would have caused his name to ring in every ear on the boulevards. Still, there were too many generals in the army to find place in apeace establishment, and many a distinguished soldier had been demotedwhen the emergency was over. 

Moreover, not one that Mr. Doolittle had ever heard of had beenpresented with such compensation as had this adventurer. High rank, inthe French army, means a struggle to keep up appearances, unless oneis wealthy, for the pay is low. A lower rank, when one has beenunexpectedly raised to unlimited riches, would be far frominsupportable, what with the social advantages attendant upon it. 

This was what Doolittle, with a kindly impulse of sympathy, wasendeavoring tactfully to convey to the military gentleman. But hefound him unresponsive. 

"There's one thing you overlook, Doolittle, " De Launay retorted to hiswell-meant suggestions. The banker, more used to French than English, felt vaguely startled to find him talking in accents as unmistakablyAmerican as had been his own many years ago, though there wassomething unfamiliar about it, too--a drawl that was Southern and yetdifferent. "Money's no use to me, none whatever! I might have enjoyedit--or enjoyed the getting of it--if I could have made itmyself--taken it away from some one else. But to have it left to melike this after getting along without it for twenty years and more; toget it through a streak of tinhorn luck; to turn over night from aland-poor Louisiana nester to a reeking oil millionaire--well, itleaves me plumb cold. Anyway, I don't need it. What'll I do with it? Ican't hope to spend it all on liquor--that's about all that's left forme to spend it on. "

"But, my dear general!" Doolittle found his native tongue rusty in hismouth, although the twenty-year expatriate, who had originally been ofFrench descent, had used it with the ease of one who had never droppedit. "My dear general! Even as a lieutenant colonel, the socialadvantages open to a man of such wealth are boundless--absolutelyboundless, sir! And if you are ambitious, think where a man as youngas you, endowed with these millions, can rise in the army! You haveability; you have shown that in abundance, and, with ability coupledto wealth, a marshal's baton is none too much to hope for. "

De Launay chuckled mirthlessly. "Tell it to the ministry of war!" hesneered. "I'll say that much for them: in France, to-day, moneydoesn't buy commands. Besides, I wouldn't give a lead two-bit piecefor all the rank I could come by that way. I fought for my goldbraid--and if they've taken it away from me, I'll not buy it back. "

"There will be other opportunities for distinction, " said Mr. Doolittle, rather feebly. 

"For diplomats and such cattle. Not for soldiers. There was a timewhen I had ambition--there are those who say I had too much--but I'veseen the light. War, to-day, isn't what it used to be. It's too bigfor any Napoleon. It's too big for any individual. It's too big forany ambition. It's too damn big to be worth while--for a man likeme. "

Mr. Doolittle was puzzled and said so. 

"Well, I'll try to make it clear to you. When I started soldiering, itwas with the idea that I'd make it a life work. I had my dreams, evenwhen I was a degraded outcast in the Legion. I pursued 'em. They werehigh dreams, too. They are right in suspecting me of that. 

"For a good many years it looked as though they might be dreams that Icould realize. I'm a good soldier, if I do say it myself. I was comingalong nicely, in spite of the handicap of having come from the dregsof Sidi-bel-Abbes up among the gold stripes. And I came along fasterwhen the war gave me an opportunity to show what I could do. But, unfortunately for me, it also presented to me certain things neither Inor any other man could do. 

"You can't wield armies like a personal weapon when the armies arenations and counted in millions. You can't build empires out of thelevy en masse. You can't, above all, seize the imagination of armiesand nations by victories, sway the opinions of a race, rise toNapoleonic heights, unless you can get advertising--and nowadays a kidaviator who downs his fifth enemy plane gets columns of it whilenobody knows who commands an army corps outside the generalstaff--and nobody cares!

"Where do you get off under those circumstances? I'll tell you. Youget a decoration or two, temporary rank, mention in the _Gazette_--andregretful demotion to your previous rank when the war is over. 

"War, Mr. Doolittle, isn't half the hell that peace is--to a fellowlike me. Peace means the chance to eat my heart out in idleness; togrow fat and gray and stupid; to--oh! what's the use! It means I'm_through_--through at forty, when I ought to be rounding into the dashfor the final heights of success. 

"That's what's the trouble with me. I'm through, Mr. Doolittle; and Iknow it. That's why I look like this. That's why money means nothingto me. I don't need it. Once I was a cow-puncher, and then I became asoldier and finally a general. Those are the things I know, and thethings I am fit for, and money is not necessary to any of them. 

"So I'm through as a soldier, and I have nothing to turn backto--except punching cows. It's a comedown, Mr. Doolittle, thatyou'd find it hard to realize. But _I_ realize it, you bet--and that'swhy I prefer to feel sort of low-down, and reckless anddon't-give-a-damnish--like any other cow hand that's approachingmiddle age with no future in front of him. That's why I'm taking todrink after twenty years of French temperance. The Yankees say a manmay be down but he's never out. They're wrong. I'm down--and I'm out!Out of humor, out of employment, out of ambition, out of everything. "

"That, if you will pardon me, general, is ridiculous in your case, "remonstrated the banker. "What if you have decided to leave thearmy--which is your intention, I take it? There is much that a man ofwealth may accomplish; much that you may interest yourself in. "

De Launay shook a weary head. 

"You don't get me, " he asserted. "I'm burned out. I've given the bestof me to this business--and I've realized that I gave it for nothing. I've spent myself--put my very soul into it--lived for it--and now Ifind that I couldn't ever have accomplished my ambition, even if I'dbeen generalissimo itself, because such ambitions aren't realizedto-day. I was born fifty years too late. "

Mr. Doolittle clung to his theme. "Still, you owe something tosociety, " he said. "You might marry. "

De Launay laughed loudly. "Owe!" he cried. "Such men as I am don't oweanything to any one. We're buccaneers; plunderers. We _levy_ onsociety; we don't _owe_ it anything. 

"As for marrying!" he laughed again. "I'd look pretty tying myself toa petticoat! Any woman would have a fit if she could look into mynature. And I hate women, anyway. I've not looked sideways at one fortwenty years. Too much water has run under the bridge for that, old-timer. If I was a youngster, back again under the Esmeraldas----"

He smiled reminiscently, and his rather hard features softened. 

"There was one then that I threatened to marry, " he chuckled. "If theymade 'em like her----"

"Why don't you go back and find her?"

De Launay stared at him. "After twenty years? Lord, man! D'you thinkshe'd wait and remember me that long? Especially as she was about sixyears old when I left there! She's grown up and married now, I reckon, and she'd sick the dogs on me if I came back with any suchintentions. "

He chuckled again, but his mirth was curiously soft and gentle. Doolittle had little trouble in guessing that this memory was a tenderone. 

But De Launay rose, picked up a bundle of notes that lay on the tablein front of him, stuffed them carelessly into the side pocket of histunic and pushed the képi still more recklessly back and sideways. 

"No, old son!" he grinned. "I'm not the housebroke kind. The onlyreason I'd ever marry would be to win a bet or something like that. Make it a sporting proposition and I might consider it. Meantime, I'llstick to drink and gambling for the remaining days of my existence. "

Doolittle shook his head as he rose. "At any rate, " he said, regretfully, "you may draw to whatever extent you wish and wheneveryou wish. And, if America should call you again, our house in NewYork, Doolittle, Morton & Co. , will be happy to afford you everybanking facility, general. "

De Launay waved his hand. "I'll make a will and leave it in trust forcharity, " he said, "with your firm as trustee. And forget the titles. I'm nobody, now, but ex-cow hand, ex-gunman, once known as Louisiana, and soon to be known no more except as a drunken souse. So long!"

He strode out of the door, swaggering a little. His képi was cockeddefiantly. His legs, in the cavalry boots, showed a faint bend. Heunconsciously fell into a sort of indefinable, flat, stumping gait, barely noticeable to one who had never seen it before, butrecognizable, instantly, to any one who had ridden the Western rangein high-heeled boots. 

In some indefinable manner, with the putting off of his soldierlycharacter, the man had instantly reverted twenty years to his youth ina roping saddle. 

CHAPTER II

MORGAN LA FEE

In the hands of Doolittle, Rambaud & Cie. , was a rather small deposit, as deposits went with that distinguished international banking house. It had originally amounted to about twenty thousand francs when placedwith them about the beginning of the war and was in the name ofMademoiselle Solange d'Albret, whose place of nativity, as her_dossier_ showed, was at a small hamlet not far from Biarritz, in theBasse Pyrenees, and her age some twenty-two years at the present time. Her occupation was given as gentlewoman and nurse, and her presentresidence an obscure street near one of the big war hospitals. Thepersonality of Mademoiselle d'Albret was quite unknown to her bankers, as she had appeared to them very seldom and then only to add smallsums to her deposit, which now amounted to about twenty-five thousandfrancs in all. She never drew against it. 

Such a sum, in the hands of an ordinary Frenchwoman would never haveremained on deposit for that length of time untouched, but, if notneeded, would have been promptly invested in _rentes_. The unusualnessof this fact, however, had not disturbed the bankers and had, in fact, been of so little importance that they had failed to notice it atall. When, therefore, a young woman dressed in a nurse's uniformappeared at the bank and rather timidly asked to see Mr. Doolittle, giving the name of Mademoiselle d'Albret, there was some hesitancy ingranting her request until a hasty glance at the state of her accountconfirmed the statement that she was a considerable depositor. 

Mr. Doolittle, informed of her request, sighed a little, under theimpression that he was about to be called upon for detailed advice andfatherly counsel in the investment of twenty-five thousand francs. Hepictured to himself some thrifty, suspicious Frenchwoman with a smallfortune who would give him far more trouble than any millionaire whoused his bank, and whose business could and would actually be handledby one of his clerks, whom she might as well see in the first placewithout bothering him. As well, however, he knew that she would neverconsent to see anybody but himself. Somewhat wearily, but with allcourtliness of manner, he had her shown into his consultation room. 

Mademoiselle d'Albret entered, her nurse's cloak draped gracefullyfrom her shoulders, the little, nunlike cap and wimple hiding herhair, while a veil concealed her face to some extent. Through itsmeshes one could make out a face that seemed young and pretty, and apair of great, dark eyes. Her figure also left nothing to be desired, and she carried herself with grace and easy dignity. Mr. Doolittle, who had an eye for female pulchritude, ceased to regret the necessityof catering to a customer's whim and settled himself to a pleasantinterview after rising to bow and offer her a chair. 

"Mademoiselle has called, I presume, about an investment, " he began, ingratiatingly. "Anything that the bank can do in the way ofadvice----"

"Of advice, yes, monsieur, " broke in mademoiselle, speaking in aclear, bell-like voice. "But it is not of an investment that I haveneed. On the contrary, the money which you have so faithfully guardedfor me during the years of the war is reserved for a purpose which Ifear you would fail to approve. I have come to arrange with you totransfer the account to America and to seek your assistance in gettingthere myself. "

The account had been profitable to the bank in the years it had lainidle there, the lady was good to look upon and, even if the accountwas to be lost, he felt benevolent toward her. Besides, her voice andmanner were those of a lady, and natural courtesy bade him extend toher all the aid he could. Therefore he smiled acquiescence. 

"The transfer of the money is a simple matter, " he stated. "A draft onour house in New York, or a letter of credit--it is all one. They willgladly serve you there as we have served you here. But if you wish tofollow your money--that, I fear, is a different matter. "

"It is because it is different--and difficult--that I have ventured tointrude upon you, monsieur, and not for an idle formality. It isnecessary that I get to America, to a place called Eo-dah-o--is itnot? I do not know how to say it?"

"Spell it, " suggested the tactful Doolittle. 

Mademoiselle spelled it, and Doolittle gave her the correctpronunciation with a charming smile which she answered. 

"Ah, yes! Idaho! It is, I believe, at some distance from New York, perhaps a night and a day even on the railroad. "

"Or even more, " said Doolittle. "Mademoiselle speaks of America, andthat is a large country. From New York to Idaho is as far as fromParis to Constantinople--or even farther. But I interrupt. Mademoiselle would go to Idaho, and for what purpose?"

"It is there, I fear, that the difficulty lies, " said mademoisellewith frankness. "It is necessary, I presume, that one have a purposeand make it known?"

"It is not, so far as permission to go is concerned, although thematter of a passport may be difficult to arrange. But there is thefurther question of passage. "

"And it is precisely there that I seek monsieur's advice. How am I tosecure passage to America?"

Doolittle was on the point of insinuating that a proper use of hercharms might accomplish much in certain quarters, but there wassomething so calmly virginal and pure about the girl as she sat therein her half-sacred costume that instinct conquered cynicism and herefrained. Unattached and unchaperoned as she was, or appeared to be, the girl commanded respect even in Paris. Instead of answering at oncehe reflected. 

"Do you know any one in America?" he asked. 

"No one, " she replied. "I am going to find some one, but I do not evenknow who it is that I seek. Furthermore, I am going to bring that someone to his death if I can do so. "

She was quite calm and matter-of-fact about this statement, andtherefore Mr. Doolittle was not quite so astounded as he mightotherwise have been. He essayed a laugh that betrayed little realmirth. 

"Mademoiselle jests, of course?"

"Mademoiselle is quite serious, I assure you, and not at all mad. Iwill be brief. Twenty years ago, nearly, my father was murdered inAmerica after discovering something that would have made him wealthy. His murderer was never brought to justice, and the thing he found waslost again. We are Basques, we d'Albrets, and Basques do not forget aninjury, as you may know. I am the last of his family, and it is myduty, therefore, to take measures to avenge him. After twenty years itmay be difficult, and yet I shall try. I should have gone before, butthe war interrupted me. "

"And your fortune, which is on deposit here?" asked the curious Mr. Doolittle. 

"Has been saved and devoted to that purpose. My mother left it to meafter providing for my education--which included the learning ofEnglish that I might be prepared for the adventure. The war isover--and I am ready to go. "

"Hum!" said Doolittle, a little dazed. "It is an extraordinary affair, indeed. After twenty years--to find a murderer and to kill him. It isnot done in America. "

"Then I will be the first to do it, " said the young woman, coolly. 

"But there is no possibility--there is no possible way in which youcould secure passage with such a story, mademoiselle. Accommodationsare scarce, and one must have the most urgent reasons before one cansecure them. Every liner is a troopship, filled with returningsoldiers, and the staterooms are crowded with officers and diplomats. Private errands must yield to public necessities and, above all, suchexceedingly private and personal errands as you have described. Instead of allowing you to sail, if you told this story, they wouldput you under surveillance. "

"Exactly, " said mademoiselle. "Therefore I shall not tell it. Itremains, therefore, that I shall get advice from you to solve mydilemma. "

"From me!" gasped the helpless Doolittle; "how can I help solve it?"

Yet, even as he said this, he recalled his client of the previous dayand _his_ strange story and personality. Here, indeed, were a pair oflunatics, male and female, who would undoubtedly be well mated. Andwhy not? The soldier needed something to jolt him out of hisdespondency, to occupy his energy--and he was American. A recklessadventurer, no matter how distinguished, was just the sort of mate forthis wild woman who was bent on crossing half the earth to conduct aprivate assassination. Mr. Doolittle, in a long residence in France, had acquired a Gallic sense of humor, a deep appreciation of theextravagant. It pleased him to speculate on the probable consequencesof such a partnership, the ex-légionnaire shepherding the Pyreneanwild cat who was yet an aristocrat, as his eyes plainly told him. Hehad an idea that the American West was as wild and lawless as it hadever been, and it pleased him to speculate on what might happen tothese two in such a region. And, come to think about it, De Launay hadreferred to himself as having been a cowboy at one time, beforebecoming a soldier. That made it even more deliciously suitable. Healso recalled having made a suggestion to the general which had beenmet with scorn. And yet, the man had said that he would gamble onanything. If it were made what he called a "sporting proposition" hemight consider it. 

"How can I help solve it?" And even as he said it again, he knew thathere was a possible solution. 

"I see no way except that you should marry a returning Americansoldier, " he said, at last, while she stared at him through her veil, her deep eyes making him vaguely uncomfortable. 

"Marry a soldier--an American! Me, Morgan _la fée_, espouse one ofthese roistering, cursing foreigners? Monsieur, you speak withfoolishness!"

"Morgan _la fée_!" Doolittle gasped. "Mademoiselle is----"

"Morgan _la fée_ in the hospitals, " answered Solange d'Albret icily. "Monsieur has heard the name?"

"I have heard it, " said Doolittle feebly. He had, in common with agreat many other people. He had heard that the poilus had given herthe name in some fanatic belief that she was a sort of fairyministering to them and bringing them good luck. They gave her adevout worship and affection that had guarded her like a halo throughall the years of the war. But she had not needed their protection. Itwas said that a convalescent soldier had once offered her an insult, aman she herself had nursed. She had knifed him as neatly as an apachecould have done and other soldiers had finished the job before theycould be interfered with. French law had, for once, overlooked thematter, rather than have a mutiny in the army. Doolittle began todoubt the complete humor in his idea, but its dramatic possibilitieswere enhanced by this revelation. Of course this spitfire would nevermarry a common soldier, either American or of any other race. He didnot doubt that she claimed descent from the Navarrese royal family andthe Bourbons, to judge from her name. But then De Launay was certainlynot an ordinary soldier. His very extraordinariness was what qualifiedhim in Doolittle's mind. The affair, indeed, began to interest him asa beautiful problem in humanity. De Launay was rich, of course, but hedid not believe that mademoiselle was mercenary. If she had been shewould not have saved her inheritance for the purpose of squandering iton a wild-goose chase worthy of the "Arabian Nights. " Anyway De Launayhad no use for money, and mademoiselle probably had. However, he hadno intention of telling her of De Launay's situation. He had a notionthat Morgan _la fée_ would be driven off by that knowledge. 

"But, mademoiselle, it is not necessary that you marry a rough andcommon soldier. Surely there are officers, gentlemen, distinguished, whom one of your charms might win?"

"We will not bring my charms into the discussion, monsieur, " saidSolange. "I reject the idea that I should marry in order to get toAmerica. I have serious business before me, and not such business as Icould bring into a husband's family--unless, indeed, he were a Basque. But, then, there are no Basques whom I could marry. "

"I wouldn't suggest a Basque, " said Doolittle. "But I believe there isone whom you could wed without compromising your intentions. Indeed, Ibelieve the only chance you would have to marry him would be bytelling him all about them. He is, or was, an American, it is true, but he has been French for many years and he is not a common soldier. I refer to General de Launay. "

"General de Launay!" repeated Solange wonderingly. "Why, he is adistinguished man, monsieur!"

"It would be more correct to say that he _was_ a distinguished man, "said Doolittle, smiling at the recollection of the general as he hadlast seen him. "He has been demoted, as many others have been, or willbe, but he has not taken it in good part. He is a reckless adventurer, who has risen from the ranks of the Legion, and yet--I believe that heis a gentleman. He has, I regret to say, taken to--er--drink, to someextent, out of disappointment, but no doubt the prospect of excitementwould restore him to sobriety. And he has told me that he mightmarry--if it were made a sporting proposition. "

"A sporting proposition! _Mon Dieu!_ And is such a thing their ideaof sport? These Americans are mad!"

"They might say the same of you, it seems to me, " said the bankerdryly. "At any rate there it stands. The general might agree as asporting proposition. Married to the general there should be nodifficulty in securing passage to America. After you get to Americathe matter is in your hands. "

"But I should be married to the general, " exclaimed Solange inprotest. Doolittle waved this aside. 

"The general would, I believe, regard the marriage merely as anadventure. He does not like women. As for the rest, marriage, inAmerica, is not a serious matter. A decree of divorce can be obtainedvery easily. If this be regarded as a veritable _mariage deconvenance_, it should suit you admirably and the general as well. "

"He would expect to be paid?"

"Well, I can't say as to that, " said Doolittle, smiling as he thoughtof De Launay's oil wells. "He might accept pay. But he is as likely totake it on for the chance of adventure. In any event, I imagine thatyou are prepared to employ assistance from time to time. "

"That is what the money is for, " said Solange candidly. "I have evenconsidered at times employing an assassin. It is a regrettable factthat I hesitate to kill any one in cold blood. It causes me toshudder, the thought of it. When I am angry, that is a differentmatter, but when I am cold, ah, no! I am a great coward! This Generalde Launay, would he consider such employment, do you think?"

"Judging from his reputation, " said Doolittle, "I don't believe hewould stop at anything. "

Solange knew something of De Launay and Doolittle now told her more. Before he had finished she was satisfied. She rose with thanks to himand then requested the general's address. 

"I think you'll find him, " he referred to a memorandum on his desk, "at the café of the Pink Kitten, which is in Montmartre. It is therethat he seems to make his headquarters since he resigned from thearmy. "

"Monsieur, " said Solange, gratefully, "I am indeed indebted to you. "

"Not at all, " said Doolittle as he bowed her out. "The pleasure hasbeen all mine. "

CHAPTER III

A SPORTING PROPOSITION

Louis de Launay, once known as "Louisiana" and later, as a general ofcavalry, but now a broken man suffering from soul and mind sickness, was too far gone to give a thought to his condition. Thwarted ambitionand gnawing disappointment had merely been the last straw which hadbroken him. His real trouble was that strange neurosis of mind andbody which has attacked so many that served in the war. Janglednerves, fibers drawn for years to too high a tension, had sagged andgrown flabby under the sudden relaxation for which they were notprepared. 

His case was worse than others as his career was unique. Where othershad met the war's shocks for four years, he had striven titanicallyfor nearly a score, his efforts, beginning with the terrible five-yearservice in the _Légion des Etrangers_, culminating in ever-mountingstrain to his last achievement and then--sudden, stark failure! Hewas, as he had said, burned out, although he was barely thirty-nineyears old. He was a man still young in body but with mind and nerveslike overstrained rubber from which all resilience has gone. 

His uniform was gone. Careless of dress or ornamentation, he had sunkinto roughly fitting civilian garb of which he took no care. Of allhis decorations he clung only to the little red rosette of the Legionof Honor. Half drunk, he lolled at a table in a second-class café. Hewas in possession of his faculties; indeed, he seldom lost them, buthe was dully indifferent to most of what went on around him. Beforehim was stacked a respectable pile of the saucers that marked hisindebtedness for liquor. 

When the cheerful murmur of his neighbors suddenly died away, helooked around, half resentfully, to note the entrance of a woman. 

"What is it?" he asked, irritably, of a French soldier near him. 

The Frenchman was smiling and answered without taking his eyes fromthe woman, who was now moving down the room toward them. 

"Morgan _la fée_, " he answered, briefly. 

"Morgan--what the deuce are you talking about?"

"It is Morgan _la fée_, " reiterated the soldier, simply, as though noother explanation were necessary. 

De Launay stared at him and then shifted his uncertain gaze to thefigure approaching him. He was able to focus her more clearly as shestopped to reply to the proprietor of the place, who had hastened tomeet her with every mark of respect. Men at the tables she passedsmiled at her and murmured respectful greetings, to which she repliedwith little nods of the head. Evidently she was a figure of some notein the life of the place, although it also seemed that as muchsurprise at her coming was felt as gratification. 

She presented rather an extraordinary appearance. Her costume was thefamiliar one of a French Red Cross nurse, with the jaunty, close-fitting cap and wimple in white hiding her hair except for a fewstrands. Her figure was slender, lithe and graceful, and such of herfeatures as were visible were delicate and shapely; her mouth, especially, being ripe and inviting. 

But over her eyes and the upper part of her face stretched a strip ofveiling that effectually concealed them. The mask gave her an air ofmystery which challenged curiosity. 

De Launay vaguely recalled occasional mention of a young womanfavorably known in the hospitals as Morgan _la fée_. He also wasfamiliar with the old French legend of Morgan and the Vale of Avalon, where Ogier, the Paladin of Charlemagne, lived in perpetual felicitywith the Queen of the Fairies, forgetful of earth and its problemsexcept at such times as France in peril might need his services, whenhe returned to succor her. He surmised that this was the nurse of whomhe had heard, setting her down as probably some attractive, sympathetic girl whom the soldiers, sentimental and wounded, endowedwith imaginary virtues. He was not sentimental and, beholding her inthis café, although evidently held in respect, he was inclined to beskeptical regarding her virtue. 

The young woman seemed to have an object and it was surprising to him. She exchanged a brief word with the maître, declined a proffered seatat a table, and turned to come directly to that at which De Launay wasseated. He had hardly time to overcome his stupid surprise and risebefore she was standing before him. Awkwardly enough, he bowed andwaited. 

Her glance took in the table, sweeping over the stacked saucers, but, behind the veil, her expression remained an enigma. 

She spoke in a voice that was sweet, with a clear, bell-like note. 

"Le Général de Launay, is it not? I have been seeking monsieur. "

"Colonel, if mademoiselle pleases, " he answered. Then suspicion creptinto his dulled brain. "Mademoiselle seeks me? Pardon, but I am hardlya likely object----"

She interrupted him with an impatient wave of a well-kept hand. "Monsieur need not be afraid. It is true that I have been seeking him, but my motive is harmless. If Monsieur Doolittle, the banker, has toldme the truth----"

De Launay's suspicions grew rapidly. "If Doolittle has been talking, I can tell you right now, mademoiselle, that it is useless. What youdesire I am not disposed to grant. "

Mademoiselle caught the meaning of the intonation rather than any inthe words. Her inviting mouth curled scornfully. Her answer was stillbell-like but it was also metallic and commanding. 

"Sit down!" she said, curtly. 

De Launay, who, for many years had been more used to giving ordersthan receiving them, at least in that manner, sat down. He could nothave explained why he did. He did not try to. She sat down oppositehim and he looked helplessly for a waiter, feeling the need ofstimulation. 

"You have doubtless had enough to drink, " said the girl, and De Launaymeekly turned back to her. "You wonder, perhaps, why I am here, " shewent on. "I have said that Monsieur Doolittle has told me that you arean American, that you contemplate returning to your own country----"

"Mademoiselle forgets or does not know, " interrupted De Launay, "thatI am not American for nearly twenty years. "

"I know all that, " was the impatient reply. She hurried on. "I know_monsieur le général's_ history since he was a légionnaire. But it isof your present plans I wish to speak, not of your past. Is it nottrue that you intend to return to America?"

"I'd thought of it, " he admitted, "but, since they have adoptedprohibition----" He shrugged his shoulders and looked with raisedeyebrows at the stack of saucers bearing damning witness to hishabits. 

She stopped him with an equally expressive gesture, implying distastefor him and his habits or any discussion of them. 

"But Monsieur Doolittle has also told me that monsieur is reckless, that he has the temperament of the gamester, that he is bored; in aword, that he would, as the Americans say, 'take a chance. ' Is hewrong in that, also?"

"No, " said De Launay, "but there is a choice among the chances whichmight be presented to me. I have no interest in the hazards incidentalto----"

Then, for the life of him, he could not finish the sentence. Hehalfway believed the woman to be merely a _demimondaine_ who had heardthat he might be a profitable customer for venal love, but, facingthat blank mask above the red lips and firm chin, sensing the frozenanger that lay behind it, he felt his convictions melting in somethinglike panic and shame. 

"Monsieur was about to say?" The voice was soft, dangerously soft. 

"Whatever it was, I shall not say it, " he muttered. "I begmademoiselle's pardon. " He was relieved to see the lips curve inlaughter and he recovered his own self-possession at once, though hehad definitely dismissed his suspicion. 

"I am, then a gambler, " he prompted her. "I will take risks and I ambored. Well, what is the answer?"

Mademoiselle's hands were on the table and she now was twisting theslender fingers together in apparent embarrassment. 

"It is a strange thing I have to propose, perhaps. But it is a hazardgame that monsieur may be interested in playing, an adventure that hemay find relaxing. And, as monsieur is poor, the chance that it may beprofitable will, no doubt, be worthy of consideration. "

De Launay had to revise his ideas again. "You say that Doolittle gaveyou your information?" She agreed with a nod of the head. 

"Just what did he tell you?"

Mademoiselle briefly related how Doolittle, coming from his interviewwith De Launay to hear her own plea for help, had laughed at her crazyidea, had said that it was impossible to aid her, and had finally, inexasperation at both of them, told her that the only way she couldaccomplish her designs was by the help of another fool like herself, and that De Launay was the only one he knew who could qualify for thatdescription. He--De Launay--was reckless enough, gambler enough, assenough, to do the thing necessary to aid her, but no one else was. 

"And what, " said De Launay, "is this thing that one must do to helpyou?" It seemed evident that Doolittle, while he had told something, had not told all. 

She hesitated and finally blurted it out at once while De Launay sawthe flush creep down under the mask to the cheeks and chin below it. "It is to marry me, " she said. 

Then, observing his stupefaction and the return of doubt to his mind, she hurried on. "Not to marry me in seriousness, " she said. "Merely amarriage of a temporary nature--one that the American courts will endas soon as the need is over. I must get to America, monsieur, and Icannot go alone. Nor can I get a passport and passage unaided. If onetries, one is told that the boats are jammed with returning troops anddiplomats, and that it is out of the question to secure passage formonths even though one would pay liberally for it. 

"But monsieur still has prestige--influence--in spite of that. " Hernod indicated the stack of saucers. "He is still the general ofFrance, and he is also an American. It is undoubtedly true that hewill have no difficulty in securing passage, nor will it be denied himto take his wife with him. Therefore it is that I suggest the marriageto monsieur. It was Monsieur Doolittle that gave me the idea. "

De Launay was swept with a desire to laugh. "What on earth did he tellyou?" he asked. 

"That the only way I could go was to go as the wife of an Americansoldier, " said mademoiselle. "He added that he knew of none I couldmarry--unless, he said, I tried Monsieur de Launay. You, he informedme, had just told him that the only marriage you would consider wouldbe one entered into in the spirit of the gambler. Now, that is thekind of marriage I have to offer. "

De Launay laughed, recalling his unfortunate words with the banker tothe effect that the only reason he'd ever marry would be as a resultof a bet. Mademoiselle's ascendency was vanishing rapidly. Her naïveassumption swept away the last vestiges of his awe. 

"Why do you wear that veil?" he asked abruptly. 

She raised her hand to it doubtfully. "Why?" she echoed. 

"If I am to marry you, is it to be sight unseen?"

"It is merely because--it is because there is something that causescomment and makes it embarrassing to me. It is nothing--nothingrepulsive, monsieur, " she was pleading, now. "At least, I think not. But it makes the soldiers call me----"

"Morgan _la fée_?"

"Yes. Then you must know?" There was relief in her words. 

"No. I have merely wondered why they called you that. "

"It is on account of my eyes. They are--queer, perhaps. And my hair, which I also hide under the cap. The poor soldiers ascribe all sortsof--of virtues to them. Magic qualities, which, of course, is silly. And others--are not so kind. "

In De Launay's mind was running a verse from William Morris' "EarthlyParadise. " He quoted it, in English:

 "The fairest of all creatures did she seem; So fresh and delicate you well might deem That scarce for eighteen summers had she blessed The happy, longing earth; yet, for the rest Within her glorious eyes such wisdom dwelt A child before her had the wise man felt. "

"Is that it?" he murmured to himself. To his surprise, for he had notthought that she spoke English, she answered him. 

"It is not. It is my eyes; yes, but they are not to be described soflatteringly. " Yet she was smiling and the blush had spread again tocheeks and chin, flushing them delightfully. "It is a superstition ofthese ignorant poilus. And of others, also. In fact, there are somewho are afraid. "

"Well, " said De Launay, "I have never had the reputation of beingeither ignorant or afraid. Also--there is Ogier?"

"What?"

"Who plays the rôle of the Danish Paladin?"

Mademoiselle blushed again. "He is not in the story this time, " shesaid. 

"I hardly qualify, you would say. Perhaps not. But there is more. Where is Avalon and what other names have you? You remember

 "Know thou, that thou art come to Avalon, That is both thine and mine; and as for me, Morgan le Fay men call me commonly Within the world, but fairer names than this I have----

"What are they?"

"I am Solange d'Albret, monsieur. I am from the Basses Pyrenees. ABasque, if you please. If my name is distinguished, I am not. On thecontrary, I am very poor, having but enough to finance this trip toAmerica and the search that is to follow. "

"And Avalon--where is that? Where is the place that you go to inAmerica?"

She opened a small hand bag and took from it a notebook which sheconsulted. 

"America is a big place. It is not likely that you would know it, orthe man that I must look for. Here it is. The place is called 'TwinForks, ' and it is near the town of Sulphur Falls, in the State ofIdaho. The man is Monsieur Isaac Brandon. "

In the silence, she looked up, alarmed to see De Launay, who wasclutching the edge of the table and staring at her as though she hadstruck him. 

"Why, what is the matter?" she cried. 

De Launay laughed out loud. "Twin Forks! Ike Brandon! Mademoiselle, what do you seek in Twin Forks and from old Ike Brandon?"

Mademoiselle, puzzled and alarmed, answered slowly. 

"I seek a mine that my father found--a gold mine that will make usrich. And I seek also the name of the man that shot my father downlike a dog. I wish to kill that man!"

CHAPTER IV

HEADS! I WIN!

De Launay turned and called the waiter, ordering cognac for himselfand light wine for mademoiselle. 

"You have rendered it necessary, mademoiselle, " he explained. Mademoiselle's astounding revelation and the metallic earnestness ofmurder in her voice alike took him aback. He saw that her sweet mouthwas set in a cruel line and her cameo chin was firm as a rock. But herhomicidal intentions had not affected him as sharply as the rest ofit. 

Mademoiselle took her wine and sipped it, but her mouth again relaxedto scornful contempt as she saw him toss off the fiery liquor. She wassomewhat astonished at the effect her words had had on the man, butshe gathered that he was now considering her bizarre proposal withreal interest. 

The alcohol temporarily enlivened De Launay. 

"So, " he said, "Avalon is at Twin Forks and I am to marry you in orderthat you may seek out an enemy and kill him. There was also word of agold mine. And your father--d'Albret! I do not recall the name. "

"My father, " explained Solange, "went to America when I was a babe inarms. He was very poor--few of the Basques are rich--and he was indanger because of the smuggling. He worked for this Monsieur Brandonas a herder of sheep. He found a mine of gold--and he was killed whenhe was coming to tell about it. "

"His Christian name?"

"Pedro--Pierre. "

"H'm-m! That must have been French Pete. I remember him. He was morethan a cut above the ordinary Basco. " He spoke in English, againforgetting that mademoiselle spoke the language. She reminded him ofit. 

"You knew my father? But that is incredible!"

"The whole affair is incredible. No wonder you have the name of beinga fairy! But I knew your father--slightly. I knew Ike Brandon. I knowTwin Forks. If I had made up my mind to return to America, it is tothat place that I would go. "

It was mademoiselle's turn to be astonished. 

"To Twin Forks?"

"To Ike Brandon's ranch, where your father worked. It must have beenafter my time that he was killed. I left there in nineteen hundred, and came to France shortly afterward. I was a cow hand--a cowboy--andwe did not hold friendship with sheepmen. But I knew Ike Brandon andhis granddaughter. Now, tell me about this mine and your father'sdeath. "

Mademoiselle d'Albret again had recourse to her hand bag, drawing fromit a small fragment of rock, a crumpled and smashed piece of metalabout the size of one's thumb nail and two pieces of paper. The latterseemed to be quite old, barely holding together along the lines wherethey had been creased. These she spread on the table. De Launay firstpicked up the rock and the bit of metal. 

He was something of a geologist. France's soldiers are trained in manysciences. Turning over the tiny bit of mineral between his fingers, hereadily recognized the bits of gold speckling its crumbling crystals. If there was much ore of that quality where French Pete had found hismine, that mine would rank with the richest bonanzas of history. 

The bit of metal also interested him. It had been washed but therewere still oxydized spots which might have been made by blood. It wasa soft-nosed bullet, probably of thirty caliber, which had mushroomedafter striking something. His mouth was grim as he saw the jaggededges of metal. It had made a terrible wound in whatever flesh hadstopped it. 

He laid the two objects down and took the paper that mademoisellehanded to him. It seemed to be a piece torn from a paper sack, and onit was scrawled in painful characters a few words in some languageutterly unknown to him. 

"It is Basque, " said mademoiselle, and translated: "'My love, I amassassinated! Farewell, and avenge me! There is much gold. The goodMonsieur Brandon will----'"

It trailed off into a meaningless, trembling line. 

The other was a letter written on ruled paper. The cramped, schoolboyish characters were those of a man unused to much compositionand the words were the vernacular of the ranges. 

"Dear madam, " it began, "I take my pen in hand to write you somethingthat I sure regrets a whole lot. Which I hope you all bears up underthe blow like a game woman, which your late respected husband sure wasgame that a way. There ain't much I can say to break the news, ma'am, and I can't do nothing, being so far away, to show my sympathy. Yourhusband has done passed over. He was killed by some ornery hound whobushwhacked him somewheres in the hills, and who must have been abloody killer because Pete, your husband, sure didn't have no enemies, and there wasn't no one that had any reason to kill him. He was cominghome from the Esmeraldas with his sheep which we was allowing towinter close to the ranch instead of in the desert to see if feedingthem would pay and some murdering gunman done up and shot him with athirty-thirty soft nose, which makes it worse. I'm sending the slugthat done it. 

"Pete was sure a true-hearted gent, ma'am, and we was all fond of himspite of his being a Basco. If we could have found the murderer wewould sure have stretched him a plenty but there wasn't no clew. 

"Pete had found a gold mine, ma'am, and the specimens he had in hiswar bags was plenty rich as per the sample I am sending you herewith. He tried to tell me where it was but he was too weak when we foundhim. He said he wanted us to give you half of it if we found it and wesure would do that though it don't look like we got much chancebecause he couldn't tell where it was. The boys have been looking butthey haven't found it yet. If they do you can gamble your last chipthey will split it with you or else there will be some more funeralsaround hereaways. But it ain't likely they will find it, I got to tellyou that so's you won't put your hopes on it and be disappointed. 

"I am all broke up about Pete, and if there is anything I can do tohelp don't you hesitate to let me know. I was fond of Pete, ma'am, andso was my granddaughter, which he made things for her and she suredoted on him. He was a good hombre. "

The letter was signed "I. Brandon. "

De Launay mused a moment. "Is that all?" he asked finally. 

"It is all, " said mademoiselle. "But there is a mine, and, especially, there is the man who killed him. "

De Launay looked at the date on the letter. It was October, 1900. 

"After nineteen years, " he reminded her, "the chances of findingeither the mine or the man are very remote. Perhaps the mine has beenfound long ago. "

"Monsieur, " replied the girl, and her voice was again metallic andhard, "my mother received that letter. She put it away and treasuredit. She hoped that I would grow up and marry a Basque, who wouldavenge her husband. She sent me to a convent so that I might be a goodmate for a man. When she died she left me money for a _dot_. She hadsaved and she had inherited, and all was put aside for the man whoshould avenge her husband. 

"But the war came before I was married, and afterward there was littlechance that any Basque would take the quarrel on himself. It is tooeasy for the men to marry now that they are so scarce, and it is verydifficult for one like me to find a husband. Besides, I have lived inthe world, monsieur, and, like many others, I do not like to marry asthough that were all that a woman might do. I do not see why I cannotgo to America, find this mine and kill this man. The money that was tobe my portion will serve to take me there and pay those who willassist me. "

"You desire to find the mine--or to kill the man?"

"Both. I do not like to be poor. It is an evil thing, these days, tobe a poor woman in France. Therefore I wish to find the mine and berich, for, if I cannot marry, wealth will at least make life pleasantfor me. But I wish to find that man, more than the mine. "

"And if I marry you, I will be deputized to do the butchery?"

"Monsieur mistakes me, " Solange spoke scornfully. "I can do my ownavenging. Monsieur need not alarm himself. "

De Launay smiled. "I don't think I'm alarmed. In fact, I am not sure Iwouldn't be willing to do it. Still, this vendetta seems to be ratherold for any great amount of feeling on your part. How old were youwhen your father was killed?"

"Two years. "

De Launay laughed again, but choked it off when he noted the angrystiffening of mademoiselle's figure. Somehow, her veiled countenancewas impressive of lingering, bitter emotions. She was a Basque, andthat was a primitive race. She was probably bold enough and hardyenough to fulfill her mission. She had plenty of courage andself-reliance, as he knew. 

"The adventure appeals, " he told her, soberly enough, though the fumesof cognac were mounting again in his brain. "I am impelled to considerit, though the element of chance seems remote. It is rather acertainty that you will fail. But what is my exact part in theadventure?"

"That rests with you. For my part, all I require is that you securefor me the right to go to America. I can take care of myself afterthat. "

"And leave me still married?"

"The marriage can be annulled as soon as you please after we arrive. "

"I am afraid it will hardly be as easy as that. To be sure, in theState of Nevada, where you are going, it should be easy enough, buteven there it cannot be accomplished all at once. In New York it willbe difficult. And how would I know that you had freed me if you leftme behind?"

"If it pleases you you may go with me. " He caught the note of scornagain. In fact, the girl was evidently feeling a strain at having tonegotiate with him at all. She was proud, as he guessed, and the onlyreason she had even considered such an unusual bargain was hercontempt for him. He was one who, when he might have remainedrespected and useful, had deliberately thrown away his chances tobecome a sot and vagabond. 

"But you will understand that this marriage is--not a real marriage. It gives you no right over me. If you so much as dare once topresume----" She was flaming with earnest threat, and he could wellimagine that, if he ventured a familiarity, she would knife him asquickly as look at him. 

"I understand that. You need have no fear. I was a gentleman once andstill retain some of the instincts. Then I am employed to go with youon this search? And the remuneration?"

"I will pay the expenses. I can do no more than that. And if the mineis found, you shall have a full share in it. That would be a third. "

"If I am to have a full share it would seem only fair that Icontribute at least my own expenses. I should prefer to do so. Whilemy pay has not been large, it has been more than an unmarried soldierneeds to spend and I have saved some of it. "

"Then, " said mademoiselle in a tired voice, "you have decided that youwill go?"

De Launay ordered and tossed off another drink and Solange shuddered. His voice was thickening and his eyes showed the effects of theliquor, although he retained full possession of his faculties. 

"A sporting proposition!" he said with a chuckle. "It's all of thatand more. But still, I'm curious about one thing. This Morgan _la fée_business. If I am to wed a fairy I'll at least know why they call herone. I'll take on no witches sight unseen. "

Solange shrank a little. "I do not understand, " she said, faltering. Her expectations had been somewhat dashed. 

De Launay spun a coin into the air and leaned forward as it clashed onthe marble top of the table. 

"Heads I go, tails I don't!" he said, and clapped his hand over it ashe looked at mademoiselle. "And if I go, I'll see why they call youMorgan _la fée_!"

"Because of my coloring, " said mademoiselle, wearily. "I have toldyou. "

"But I have not seen. Shall I lift my hand, mademoiselle, with thatunderstanding?"

Solange stared at him through the veil and he looked back at hermockingly. Angry and depressed at the same time, she nodded slowly, but her stake was large and she could not refrain from bending forwardwith a little intake of the breath as he slowly lifted his hand fromthe coin. Then she sighed deeply. It was heads. 

"Mademoiselle, " he said with a bow, "I win! You will lift your veil?"

Solange nodded. To her it seemed that _she_ had won. Then, with nosign of anxiety or embarrassment she bent her head slightly, slippedthe coif back from her hair with one hand and lifted the veil with theother, sweeping them both away from her head with that characteristictoss that women employ on such occasions. Then she raised her face andlooked full at him. 

He stared critically, and remained staring, but not critically. He hadseen a good many women in his time, and many of them had beenhandsome. Some had been very beautiful. None of them had ever had muchof an effect upon him. Even now he did not stop to determine in hismind whether this woman was beautiful as others had been. Her beauty, in fact, was not what affected him, although she was more than pretty, and her features were as perfect as an artist's dream. 

As she had said, it was her coloring that was extraordinary. He hadseen sharp contrasts in his time, women with black hair and light-blueor gray eyes, women with blond hair and brown eyes, but he had neverseen one with that mass of almost colorless, almost transparent hair, scintillant where the light fell upon it, black in shadow where therolls of it cut off the light, nor had he seen such hair in such sharpcontrast with eyes that were large and black as night and as deep aspools. The thing would have been uncanny and disturbing if it had notbeen that her skin was as fair as her hair, white and delicate. As itwas, the whole impression was startlingly vivid and yet, after thefirst shock, singularly fascinating. The strange mixture of extremeblondness and deep coloration seemed to fit a nature that was bothfiery and deep. 

De Launay reflected that one might well call her a fairy. In manyprimitive places that combination would have won her the name ofhaving the evil eye. In a kinder land it gave her gentler graces. 

"Are you satisfied, monsieur?" asked Solange, with a sneer. As henodded, soberly, she dropped the veil and restored her cap. The peoplein the café had looked on with respectful and yet eager curiosity, amurmur of affectionate comment running about the tables. 

"I'm quite satisfied, " he repeated again, as he tossed a note on thetable to satisfy his account. Solange's mouth curled scornfully as shenoted again the stack of saucers indicating his habits. "I'm going tomarry Morgan _la fée_, the Queen of Avalon, and I'm going to enlist inher service to do her bidding, even to unlicensed butchery wherenecessary. Mademoiselle, lead on!"

Solange led on, but her head was high and her face expressed anextreme disdain for the mercenary who had signed on with her. 

CHAPTER V

A MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE

De Launay expressed himself as quite willing to look after most of thedetails of the affair, and Solange, although capable, being more orless ignorant, was willing to leave them to him, although with somemisgiving. The sight of that stack of saucers in the café of the PinkKitten remained to haunt her with distaste for the whole adventure. She distrusted De Launay, recalling some of the more lurid tales shehad heard of his exploits. In spite of everything, he had been alégionnaire, and légionnaires could hardly be purified even in thefires of war. Before he arrived at her apartment to go with her to the_mairie_ of that _arrondissement_, she was to suffer furthermisgiving. Ahead of him arrived a gorgeous bouquet of lilies of thevalley and orange blossoms, and they were not artificial flowers, either. When he arrived, looking much more respectable than she hadexpected, his mustache even twisted jauntily and his clothes pressedto neatness, she met him with accusation. 

"Is it monsieur that I have to thank for--these?" she indicated theflowers with expressive and disdainful hands. De Launay stared atthem vacantly as he stood in the door. 

"I suppose it must have been, " he said, meekly. "I am forgetful, mademoiselle. You must make allowances for a broken soldier ifmy--vagaries--occasionally offend you. "

"It is in bad taste, to say the least, to bedeck the bride in such aceremony, " she said cuttingly. "If I must hire a husband, he need not, at least, forget decency and make me conspicuous. Remember that. "

"The flowers, " said De Launay, "are as if they had never been. Idismiss them from the earth. With another drink or two I will cease torecall that such things as flowers exist. Mademoiselle will commandme!"

Solange tossed the offending blossoms on the floor and walked outahead of him. He followed at her side but a step behind, and shestalked with face turned forward out to the street and toward the_mairie_. Yet, in spite of all precautions some wind of her intentionsmust have got about, for more than one old woman or wounded soldierspoke to her and uttered a blessing and good wishes as she walkedalong. To all of them she returned greetings in kind, thanking themsoberly, but with a lip that trembled. De Launay, rolling behind, wasthe recipient of curious and doubtful glances, as the man who wastaking their Morgan _la fée_ from them. Yet here and there a soldierrecognized him and came to a stiff salute, and when this was the casea murmur informing others ran about, and all doubt seemed to die, thegreetings growing more cheerful and the blessings being addressed toboth of them. This annoyed Solange more than the flowers had done. 

"Is it that I am honored by having this mercenary drunkard for ahusband?" she said to herself. "_Mon Dieu!_ One would think so!"

Yet she could find nothing really offensive in his attitude to theaffair, unless that he was almost too respectful. She suspected thathe had been drinking and that his air was due to the exaggerationinduced by liquor--or else, and that was worse--he was deliberately, with drunken humor, making a burlesque of his very deference. 

The signing of the contract and the ceremony before the _maire_ weresuccessfully completed and De Launay turned to her with a deep bow. The _maire_, puzzled at the utterly emotionless quality of thiswedding, congratulated them formally, and Solange acknowledged it withstiff thanks and a smile as stiff and mirthless. But it was to DeLaunay that the official showed the deepest respect, and that angeredher again. 

Her pride was restored somewhat after they had left the _mairie_ andwere on their way back to her rooms. A squat, swarthy individual, inthe dingy uniform of the French marines, doffed his cap and steppedup to them, speaking to Solange in French, tinged with a broad Bretonaccent. 

"And is it true, Morgan _la fée_, " he asked, ducking his head, "thatthis man has been married to you?"

"Why, yes, it is true, Brebon, " she answered, kindly. The man lookedsearchingly into her face, observing the coldness of it. 

"If it is by your will, mademoiselle, " he answered, "it is well. But, "and he swung his lowering head on its bull neck toward De Launay, "ifthis man who has taken you should ever make you regret, you shall letme know, Morgan _la fée_! If he causes you a single tear, I shall makesausage meat out of him with a knife!"

Solange shook her head in protest, but just behind her she heard a lowlaugh from De Launay. 

"But, _mon brave_, " said he, "you would find this one a tough swine tocarve!"

The Breton stared at him like a sullen and dangerous bull and movedaway, saying no more. But Solange felt cheered. There were some whoregarded her ahead of this soldier of fortune whom she had hired tomasquerade as her husband. 

She had little to cheer her in the next few days before she took thetrain for Le Havre. In the neighborhood where her marriage had becomeknown, the fact that De Launay had left her at her door and came tosee her only occasionally and then stayed but a moment was a fruitfulsubject of comment. What sort of a marriage was this! Suspicion began, gradually, to take the place of confidence in her. The women that hadbeen her worshiping friends now spoke behind her back, hinting at somescandal. Nasty tales began to circulate as feminine jealousy got theupper hand. In the presence of soldiers these tongues were silent, butthere were other males in the quarter who were not soldiers. Big, beefy Achille Marot, who kept the butcher shop on the corner had neverbeen one, except in the reserve, where he had done some police dutybehind the front. And Marot was a bully, foul of mind and foul ofmouth. The whispers of the women were meat and drink to him. Solangehad seen fit to resent in a practical manner some of his freedoms. Herpoilu friends had nearly wrecked his shop for him on that occasion. But now she was married--this was said with a suggestive raise of theshoulders and eyebrows--and the poilus were not so much in evidence. 

"Ah! what have I always said to you about this one!" Marot remarked asSolange passed his shop on her way to her rooms one day. He waslooking out at her and smirking at Madame Ricot, the neighborhoodgossip and scold. "Is this what one calls a marriage? Rather is itthat such a marriage indicates that a marriage was necessary--andarranged conveniently, is it not? For observe that this brokenadventurer who, as I know, was kicked out of the army in disgrace, isnot a real husband at all, as every one may see. It is reasonable tosuppose, therefore, that the affair has been arranged to hidesomething, is it not?"

A hand that was like steel closed on the beefy neck of the butcher anda calm voice behind him spoke in his ear. 

"Now here is a word for you, my friend, from De Launay, thelégionnaire, and you will do well to remember it! A tongue that isevil will win you an evil end and words that are not true will resultin your throat being cut before you know it. Realize that, Marot, myfriend, and say again that De Launay was kicked out of the army!"

"Death of a dog!" sputtered the butcher, twisting in the iron grasp onhis neck. "I will slit thy belly----"

"Thou wilt do nothing but root in the mud as is thy nature, " said DeLaunay and kicked him vigorously into the gutter where he did, indeed, plow the filth with his nose. Madame Ricot uttered a shrill shriek forthe police, and Solange, who had been unconscious of it all, turnedabout to see De Launay standing on the sidewalk brushing his handswhile the butcher rolled in the mud. At this moment a gendarme camerunning up. 

"Take that carrion and lock him up!" said De Launay, calmly. "I accusehim of public indecency, spreading scandal and criminal slander. Hehas said that I, the General de Launay, was kicked out of the armyfor unmentioned crimes. I will prefer charges against him in themorning. "

"_Monsieur le général_, it shall be done, " said the gendarme, with asmart salute. He grabbed the groveling butcher and hoisted him fromhis wallow. "Come along with me, Marot! I have long had my eye onthee! And is there a charge against the woman, my general?"

Madame Ricot was gaping wide-mouthed and silent at the unexpectedresult of her appeal to the forces of the law. And now she shrankfearfully back toward the gathering crowd. 

"There is no charge--as yet, " said De Launay. "But she is suspected ofbeing a procuress and a vile scold. If it is she who has been injuringrespected reputations, I shall soon know it, and then----"

"I shall be at your service, my general, " the gendarme assured him, and, with another salute, departed, jerking the roaring Marot withhim. De Launay sauntered on, with his rolling walk, toward Solange, who turned and walked away from him so that he did not overtake heruntil they had come to her apartment. 

"There is entirely too much gossip in this quarter, " said De Launay, casually, as she wheeled about at the entrance to her rooms. "It isjust as well that you are getting out of it. "

"It is just as well, " agreed Solange, angrily. "For if I remain heremuch longer the gossip that you arouse will ruin me. "

"Again, " said De Launay, rather dryly, "I apologize. "

Solange was left to feel at fault. She knew that she had been unjust, but De Launay's casual ways and his very indifferent deference angeredher. Yet it could not last much longer since they were to take a trainfor Le Havre that evening and sail upon the following day. De Launayhad called regarding the final arrangements. 

Her passports had been secured and her passage on the _Astarte_, ofthe Blue Star line, was arranged for. How this had been done she didnot inquire, remaining in ignorance of efforts spent by De Launay insecuring the intercession of the French and American militaryauthorities in order that she might have suitable accommodations onthe crowded liner, which was being used as a troopship. A highdignitary of an allied nation had had to postpone his sailing in orderthat Madame de Launay might travel in a first-class stateroom. 

Even so, the girl, concerned chiefly with her own adventure, andstrange to the conditions existing, suspected nothing. The littlestateroom was none too luxurious, for the _Astarte_ was not one of thebest boats, and four or five years of war service had not improvedher. And she had no notion that De Launay, even for such comfort asthis, had paid an exorbitant price out of his own pocket. He had givenher the rate of the second-cabin berth, a dingy little insidecubby-hole, which he himself occupied. 

The voyage was long and slow and dull. The swarming troops andmilitary men crowded the ship to embarrassing fullness and Solangekept mostly to her cabin. She saw little of De Launay, who had not therun of the upper decks as she had, though his rank was recognized andhe was made free of the lounge where the military men congregated. Sheheard somewhat of him, however, and what she heard angered her stillmore. It was chiefly in the line of gossip and conjecture as to whyMadame de Launay, who seemed to be distinguished because she _was_Madame de Launay, should be traveling alone, first class, while thefamous soldier shared a stuffy hole in the wall with a Chicagomerchant. The few women aboard, nurses, Y.  M.  C.  A. Workers, welfareworkers on war missions, picked up the talk among the officers andpassed their curiosity on to Solange through stewardesses and maids. Every one seemed to think it strange, and Solange acknowledged that itwas strange--stranger than they thought. But the thing that rankledwas the fact that the assiduous care of the stewardess, her veryobsequiousness, seemed to emanate from De Launay. It was because shewas De Launay's wife that she was a figure of importance--althoughshe pictured him as a discredited mercenary who was even now, probably, indulging his bestial appetite for liquor in the officers'lounge and boasting of his exploits to a congenial audience. 

Her one consoling thought was that it could not last much longer. True, New York would not mean the last of him since he was toaccompany her to her destination, but that should not take long. Onceat Sulphur Falls, which she understood to be her final railroadstation, he could be relegated to his proper place. 

Something like this did happen, though not in the measure sheanticipated. They landed in New York on a chill, rainy day, and DeLaunay appeared at the gangway with his usual rolling gait, as thoughhalf intoxicated, eyes half closed and indifferent. His bow was almostmocking, she thought, with the flash of irritation that he alwaysaroused in her. Other passengers looked at him curiously and atherself with some wonder, whispers running among them. Behind her veilshe flushed, realizing that her own personality was not so much thesubject of interest as his. She was uncomfortably aware that he was astriking figure, tall and handsome in spite of his careless demeanorand slouching walk. It was all the more reprehensible that such a manshould make so little of himself. 

But De Launay led her through the customs with a word that workedlike magic and soon had her in a taxicab. He took her to a small andgood hotel, not at all conspicuous, and saw that she was properlytaken care of and supplied with American currency. Then, as she turnedto follow the bell boy to her rooms, he bowed again. But she hesitateda moment. 

"May I ask, " she said, with some contrition roused by his care of her, "where you are going?"

"To my usual haunts, mademoiselle, " he answered, carelessly. "But Ishall be within reach. To-morrow afternoon the train leaves for theWest. I will see that everything goes well. "

"See that it goes well with you, " she answered, a little tartly, "ifnot for your own sake, then for mine. "

"Things go--as they go, with me, " he answered, with a shrug. Solangeturned away, but she felt somewhat more kindly toward him. 

In part this was due to the fact that she was no longer overshadowedby him. The hotel clerks knew nothing of him. As soon as he passedwithout the zone of military activities, he became nothing and no one. They only knew that they had been liberally tipped to afford Madame deLaunay every service and comfort, and, as her appearance was strikingand distinguished, they rendered the service with an impressiveenthusiasm. From this point on De Launay took his rightful place as amere appanage. 

When they left New York Solange was apparently in full control and DeLaunay a mere courier. Used to short European trips, it did not occurto her that the price for which she secured drawing-roomaccommodations on the Twentieth Century Limited was ridiculously low, and as De Launay had proved capable of handling such matters, and shewas a stranger, she gladly and unquestioningly left such things in hishands. He, himself, had a berth in some obscure part of the train andremained there. The maid and the porter of her car hovered around herwith solicitude, and she became very favorably impressed with thekindliness and generosity of America, extended, apparently, withoutthought of reward. 

At Chicago De Launay again showed himself in what she supposed was histrue light. He had seen her to a hotel for the two or three hours theyhad to wait there and had escorted her back to her train again. Whileshe was settling herself in her compartment she chanced to look out ofthe window before the train left the station and perceived her escortconversing with an individual who was not prepossessing. It was ashort, broad man, dressed roughly, wearing boots covered by histrousers and with a handkerchief knotted about his neck. He wore awide-brimmed, high-crowned felt hat, old and battered, its brimcurled disreputably at all angles. She perceived that, after a fewwords together, this fellow and De Launay appeared to be on the bestof terms, shaking hands cordially, conversing with much laughter andan occasional slap on the back. Finally the man, in the shelter of atruck loaded with baggage, produced a bottle from his hip pocket andoffered it to De Launay who, with a preliminary salute, lifted it tohis mouth. After which he wiped the neck of it with his hand andpassed it back, the man duplicating his action. 

The train was about to start and, with a few hilarious farewells, theyparted and De Launay rolled in her direction while the other trampstrolled away at a gait very much like the general's. Two of a kind, she thought, bitterly; two ruffians who were hail-fellow-well-met--andshe was married to one of them! A soldier of France, a distinguishedgeneral, to descend to this level! It was almost inconceivable. 

But the train started and the long journey began. 

Hour after hour the landscape flashed past the windows. Day faded tonight, and Solange slept as best she could on the reeling train. Inthe morning she awoke to pass another weary time of gazing from thewindows at the endless checkerboard of prairie farms rolling past, divided into monotonous squares by straight, dusty roads, each withits house and big red barn forming an exact replica of every other. She ate and dozed, tried to read a magazine but found the English morethan usually difficult to understand, though ordinarily she read itwith facility. Now her thoughts were in French and they persisted incoming back to her mission and to the man who accompanied her. 

Another long, almost endless day of blatant sun and baked, brownprairie, passing by almost imperceptible degrees into wide plains, flat and dry, cut by wire fences here and there, but no longercheckerboarded in a maddening monotony of pattern. No longer did thehouses and red barns succeed one another at exact intervals. In factthey seemed to have almost disappeared and had changed theircharacter, such of them as she saw. They were rough, unpainted boardaffairs, for the most part, with here and there a more pretentiousedifice. But in any case they were scarce and far apart. Low, grass-roofed dugouts also were to be seen at times, but, generallyspeaking, the view presented almost nothing but an endless vista ofrolling, baked plain, covered with scattering grass and dusty graysage. 

And then, far ahead, a dim blue line against the horizon, themountains appeared. When she awoke in the morning they were rollingmajestically through wild gorges under towering peaks clad in snow. Pines and firs shaded the slopes, and the biting, rare air of thepeaks burned her lungs. She forgot De Launay, forgot the depressionthat had grown upon her with the realization of the immensity intowhich she was plunging, and felt her spirit soaring in exhilarationand hopes of success. Mountain born and bred, she reacted buoyantly tothe inspiration of the environment. The preposterous nature of herquest, a realization of which had been growing upon her, as theendless miles unrolled before her, was forgotten. She felt at home andat ease in the rugged hills, capable of doing anything she set out todo, no longer fettered with the binding restrictions of civilizationand no longer bound by the cold laws of probability. 

She wanted to summon De Launay, to point out to him the glories of thelandscape and to let its purity and strength sink into him for thesalvation of his manhood. But he remained aloof, lost, she surmised, in the buffet, drinking illicit liquor with disreputable booncompanions. 

Then, in time, they passed the mountain rampart, though they neveragain got entirely out of sight of it, and descended into otherdesolate plains, broken here and there by patches of green and fertileland where villages and farms stood. Beside a leaden, surging inlandsea, across a vast plain of alkali, plunging through enormous gorgescut out of the solid, towering rock, they entered mountains again, andagain shot out onto barren plains, now, however, rusty brown and roughwith broken and jagged lava. Another night was descending when, withdefiant shrieks of the whistle, the train shot out upon a vast benchand, with flickering electric lights flashing past the windows, andglass reflecting back its blazing stack, it rolled with tolling bellinto a station. The porter appeared. 

"Sulphuh Falls, ma'am! Hoyeah's whah you gits off!"

Then De Launay lurched into view behind the porter and she felt asudden revulsion against the thrill of interest and anticipation thathad seized her. 

CHAPTER VI

WHERE THE DESERT HAD BEEN

Solange awoke in the bustling, prosperous environment of SulphurFalls, nestled in the flats below the cañon of the Serpentine, with afeeling of ease and comfort. She had expected to find some wild, frontier village, populated by Indians and cowboys, a desperate andlawless community, and, instead, encountered a small but luxurioushotel, paved streets, shops, people dressed much as they had been inNew York. She knew nothing of the changes that had taken place withthe building of the great irrigation dam and the coming of the warfactories which belched smoke back at the foot of the cañon. She didnot realize that, twenty years ago, there had been no town, nothingbut limitless plains on which cattle and sheep grazed, a crude ferryand a road house. It was beyond her present comprehension that in adozen years a city could have sprung up harboring twenty thousandsouls and booming with prosperity. Nor did she reflect upon thepossible consequences these unknown facts might have upon her search. 

Everything was strange to her, and yet everything was what she wasaccustomed to. Comfort and even luxury surrounded her, and the lawstalked the streets openly in the person of a uniformed policeman. That fact, indeed, spelled a misgiving to her, for, where the law heldsway, a private vengeance became a different thing from what she hadimagined it to be. Only De Launay's careless gibe as he had left herat the hotel held promise of performance. "To-morrow we'll start ourprivate butchery, " he had said, and grinned. But even that gibe hintedat a recklessness that matched her own and gave her comfort now. 

De Launay, coming into the glittering new town utterly unprepared forthe change that had taken place, had felt the environment strike himlike a blow. He saw people like those on Broadway, walking pavedsidewalks in front of plate glass under brilliant electric lights. Hehad come back to seek rest for his diseased nerves in the limitlessranges of his youth and this was what he found. 

He had turned and looked back at the frowning cañon through which thetrain had come from the northeast. There were the mountains, forestclad and cloud capped, as of old. There was the great, black lavagulch of the Serpentine. It looked the same, but he knew that it waschanged. 

Smoke hung above the cañon where tall chimneys of nitrate plant andsmelters belched their foulness against the blue sky. In the foreststhe loggers were tearing and slashing into all but the remnant of thetimber. Down the gloomy gulch cut out of the lava ran a broad, whiteribbon of concrete road. Lastly, and primary cause of all this change, where had once been the roaring falls now sprang a gigantic bow ofmasonry, two hundred feet in height, and back of it the cañon held avast lake of water where once had run the foaming Serpentine. From thedam enormous dynamos took their impulses, and from it also hugeditches and canals led the water out and around the valley downbelow. 

Where the lonely road house had stood at the ford across theSerpentine, and the reckless range riders had stopped to drink andgamble, now stood the town, paved with asphalt and brick, jammed withcottages and office buildings, theaters, factories, warehouses, andmills. Plate glass gleamed in the sun or, at night, blazed in theeffulgence of limitless electricity. 

Around the town, grown in a few years to twenty thousand souls, stretched countless acres of fenced and cultivated land, yieldingbountifully under the irrigating waters. From east and west longtrains of nickel-plated Pullmans pulled into a granite station. 

The people spoke the slang of Broadway and danced the fox trot inevening clothes. 

Southward, where the limitless desert had been, brown or white withalkali, one beheld, as far as eye could reach, orderly green patchesof farmland, fenced and dotted with the dainty houses of thesettlers. 

But no! There was something more, beyond the farms and beyond thedesert. It was a blue and misty haze on the horizon, running an unevenand barely discernible line about the edges of the bright blue sky. Itwas faint and undefined, but De Launay knew it for the Esmeraldarange, standing out there aloof and alone and, perhaps, still untamedand uncivilized. 

He felt resentful and at the same time helpless. To him it seemed thathis last chance to win ease of mind and rest from the drivingrestlessness had been taken away from him. Only the mountains remainedto offer him a haven, and those might be changed as this spot was. 

The natural thing to do was to drown his disappointment in drink, andthat is what he set out to do. He left Solange safely ensconced in theshiny, new hotel, whose elevators and colored waiters filled him withdisgust and sought the darker haunts of the town. 

With sure instinct for the old things, if they still existed, hehunted up a "livery and feed barn. " He found one on a side street, near a lumber yard and not far from the loading chutes which spoke ofa considerable traffic in beef cattle. He noted with bitterness acheap automobile standing in front of the place. 

But there were horses in the stalls, horses that lolled on a droppedhip, with heads down and eyes closed. There were heavy roping saddleshanging on the pegs, and bridles with ear loops and no throat latches. If the proprietor, one MacGregor, wore a necktie and a cloth cap, heforgave him for the sake of the open waistcoat and the lack of anouter coat. 

MacGregor was an incident of little importance. One of moreconsequence was a good horse that roamed the open feed yard at theside of the barn. De Launay, seedy and disreputable, still had a lookabout him that spoke of certain long dead days, and MacGregor, when hewas asked about the horse, made no mistake in concluding that he hadto deal with one who knew what he was about. 

The horse was MacGregor's, taken to satisfy a debt, and he would sellit. The upshot of the affair was that De Launay bought it at a fairprice. This took time, and when he finally came out again to the frontof the barn it was late afternoon. 

Squatted against the wall, their high heels planted under them on thesloping boards of the runway, sat two men. Wide, flapping hats shadedtheir faces. They wore no coats, although the November evenings werecool and their waistcoats hung open. Overalls of blue denim, turned upat the bottoms in wide cuffs, hid all but feet and wrinkled ankles oftheir boots which were grooved with shiny semicircles around theheels, where spurs had dented them. 

One of them was as tall as De Launay, gaunt and hatchet faced. Hishair was yellowish, mottled with patches of grayish green. 

The other was sturdy, shorter, with curly, brown hair. 

The tall one was humming a tune. De Launay recognized it with a shockof recollection. "Roll on, my little doggy!"

Without a word he sat down also, in a duplicate of their pose. No onespoke for several minutes. 

Then, the shorter man said, casually, addressing his remarks to nobodyin particular. 

"They's sure a lotta fresh pilgrims done hit this here town. "

The tall one echoed an equally casual chorus. 

"They don't teach no sort of manners to them down-East hobos, neither. "

De Launay stared impassively at the road in front of them. 

"You'd think some of them'd sense it that a gent has got a right to beprivate when he wants to be. "

"It's a ---- of a town, nohow. "

"People even run around smellin' of liquor--which is plumb illegal, Sucatash. "

"Which there are some that are that debased they even thrives on woodalcohol, Dave. "

Silence settled down on them once more. It was broken this time by DeLaunay, who spoke as impersonally as they. 

"They had real cow hands hereaways, once. "

A late and sluggish fly buzzed in the silence. 

"I reckon the sheep eat 'em outa range and they done moved down toArizona. "

The gaunt Sucatash murmured sadly:

"Them pilgrims is sure smart on g'ography an' history. "

"An' sheep--especially, " said the one called Dave. 

"_Ca ne fait rien!_" said De Launay, pronouncing it almost like"sinferien" as he had heard the linguists of the A.  E.  F. Do. The twomen slowly turned their heads and looked at him apparently aware ofhis existence for the first time. 

Like MacGregor, they evidently saw something beneath his habiliments, though the small mustache puzzled them. 

"You-all been to France?" asked Dave. De Launay did not answerdirect. 

"There was some reputed bronk peelers nursin' mules overseas, " hemused. "Their daddies would sure have been mortified to see 'em. "

"We didn't dry nurse no mules, pilgrim, " said Sucatash. "When did youlick Hindenburg?"

De Launay condescended to notice them. "In the battle of _vin rouge_, "he said. "I reckon you-all musta won a round or two with the _vin_sisters, yourselves. "

"You're sure a-sayin' something, old-timer, " said Dave, with emotion. For the first time he saw the rosette in De Launay's buttonhole. "Youdone a little more'n café fightin' though, to get that?"

De Launay shrugged his shoulders. "They give those for entertainin' apolitician, " he answered. "Any cow hands out of a job around here?"

Both of the men chuckled. "You aimin' to hire any riders?"

"I could use a couple to wrangle pilgrims in the Esmeraldas. Moreexactly, there's a lady, aimin' to head into the mountains and she'llneed a couple of packers. "

"This lady don't seem to have no respect for snow and blizzards, nonewhatever, " was the comment. 

"Which she hasn't, bein' troubled with notions about gold mines andsuch things. She needs taking care of. "

"Ridin' the Esmeraldas this time o' year and doin' chores for Pop allwinter strikes me as bein' about a toss-up, " said the man calledSucatash. "I reckon it's a certainty that Pop requires considerablelabor, though, and maybe this demented lady won't. If the wages isliberal----"

"We ought to see the lady, first, " said Dave. "There's some ladypilgrims that couldn't hire me with di'monds. "

"The pay's all right and the lady's all right. She's French. "

"A mad'mo'selle?" they echoed. 

"It's a long story, " said De Launay, smiling. "You'd better see herand talk it over. Meantime, this prohibition is some burdensome. "

"Which it ain't the happiest incumbrance of the world, " agreedSucatash. "They do say that the right kind of a hint will work at theEmpire Pool Rooms. "

"If they have it, we'll get it, " asserted De Launay, confidently. "You-all point the way. "

The three of them rose by the simple process of straightening theirlegs at the knees, and walked away. 

CHAPTER VII

MAID MARIAN GROWN UP

The Empire Pool Room was an innocent enough place to the uninitiate. To those who had the confidence of the proprietor it was somethingelse. There were rooms upstairs where games were played that weresomewhat different from pool and billiards. There was also a bar upthere and the drinks that were served over it were not of the softvariety. It seemed that Sucatash and Dave MacKay were known here andhad the entrée to the inner circles. 

De Launay followed them trustfully. The only thing he took the troubleto note was at a rack in front of the place where--strange anachronismin a town that swarmed with shiny automobiles--were tethered twoslumberous, moth-eaten burros laden with heavy packs, miners' pan, pick and bedding. 

"Prospector?" he asked, indicating the dilapidated songsters of thedesert. 

The two cow hands looked at the beasts, identifying them with thefacility of their breed. 

"Old Jim Banker, I reckon. In for a wrastlin' match with the demonrum. Anything you want to know about the Esmeraldas he can tell you, if you can make him talk. "

"Old Jim Banker? Old-timer, is he?"

"Been a-soakin' liquor and a-dryin' out in the desert hereaways eversince fourteen ninety-two, I reckon. B'en here so long he resembles ahorned toad more'n anything else. " This from Sucatash. 

De Launay paused inside the door. "I wonder. Are there any moreold-timers left hereaways?"

"Oh, sure. There's some that dates back past the Spanish War. I reckon'Snake' Murphy--he tends bar for Johnny the Greek, who runs thishonkatonk--he's one of 'em. Banker's another. You remember when themWall Street guys hired 'Panamint Charlie' Wantage to splurge East in aprivate car scatterin' double eagles all the way and hoorayin' aboutthe big mine he had in Death Valley?"

"No, " said De Launay. "When was that?"

"Back in nineteen eight. "

"I was in Algeria then. I'd never heard. But I remember Panamint. Heand Jim Banker were partners, weren't they?"

"They was. " Sucatash looked curiously at De Launay, wondering how aman who was in Algeria came to know so much about these old survivals. "Leastways, I've heard tell they was both of them prospectin' theEsmeraldas a whole lot in them days and hangin' together. But Panamintstruck this soft graft and wouldn't let Jim in on it, so they broke upthe household. You know--or maybe you don't--that Panamint was finallyfound dead in a cave in Death Valley and there was talk that Bankerfollowed him there and beefed him, thinkin' he really had a mine. Nothin' come of it except to make folks a little dubious about Jim. Henever was remarkable for popularity, nohow, so it don't amount tomuch. "

"And Snake Murphy: he used to keep the road house at the ford over theriver, didn't he?"

Once more Sucatash, fairly well informed on ancient history himself, eyed De Launay askance. 

"Which he might have. That's before my time, I reckon. I was justbein' weaned when Louisiana was run out of the country. My old mancould tell you all about it. He's Carter Wallace, of the Lazy Y atWillow Spring. "

"I knew him, " said De Launay. 

"You knowed my old man?"

"But maybe he'd not remember me. "

Sucatash sensed the fact that De Launay intended to be reticent. "Dadsure knows all the old-timers and their histories, " he declared. "Himand old Ike Brandon was the last ranchers left this side theEsmeraldas, and since Ike checked in a year ago he's the lastsurvivor. There's a few has moved into town, but mostly the place isall pilgrims and nesters. "

They had climbed the stairs and come into the hidden sanctum of Johnnythe Greek, and De Launay looked about curiously, noting the tables andthe scattering of customers about the place, rough men, closecropped, hard faced and sullen of countenance, most of them, typicalof the sort of itinerant labor that was filling the town with recruitsand initiates of the I.  W.  W. There were one or two who were ofcleaner strain, like the two young cowmen. Behind the bar was ared-faced, shifty-eyed man, wearing a mustache so black as to appearstartling in contrast to his sandy hair. De Launay eyed him curiously, noting with a secret smile that his right arm appeared to be stiff atthe wrist. He made no comment, however, but followed the two men tothe bar where the business of the day began. It consisted of imbibingvile whisky served by the stiff-armed Snake Murphy. 

But De Launay still had something on his mind. "You say Ike Brandon'sdead?" he asked. "What became of his granddaughter?"

"Went to work, " said Sucatash. "Dave, where's Marian Pettis?"

"Beatin' a typewriter fer 'Cap' Wilding, last I heard, " said Dave. 

"She was a little girl when I knew her, " said De Launay, his voicesoftening a little with a queer change of accent into a Southern slur. Snake Murphy, who was polishing the rough bar in front of him, glancedquickly up, as though hearing something vaguely familiar. But he sawnothing but De Launay's thoughtful eyes and sober face with its small, pointed mustache. 

"'Scuse me, gents, " he murmured. "What'll it be?"

"A very little girl, " said De Launay, absently looking into andthrough Murphy. "A sort of little fairy. "

The lanky Sucatash looked at him askance, catching the note ofsentiment. "Yeah?" he said, a bit dryly. "Well, folks change, youknow. They grow up. "

"Yes, " said De Launay. 

"And this Marian Pettis, she done growed up. I ain't sayin' nothin'against a lady, you understand, but she ain't exactly in the fairyclass nowadays, I reckon. "

De Launay, somewhat to his surprise, although he sensed the note ofwarning and dry enlightenment in Sucatash's words, felt no shock. Hehad had a sentimental desire to see if the girl of six had fulfilledthe promise of her youth after nineteen years, had even dreamed, inhis soberer moments, of coming back to her to play the rôle of aprince, but nevertheless, he found himself philosophically acceptingthe possibility hinted at by Sucatash and even feeling a vague sort ofrelief. 

"Who's Wilding?" he asked. They told him that he was a young lawyer ofthe town, an officer of their regiment during the war. They seemed tothink highly of him. 

De Launay had postponed his intended debauch. In spite ofmademoiselle's conviction, his lapses from sobriety had been onlyoccasional as long as he had work to do, and this occasion, after theinformation he had gathered, was one calling for the exercise of hisfaculties. 

"If you-all will hang around and herd this here desert rat, Banker, with you when you can find him, and then call at the hotel forMademoiselle d'Albret, I'll look up this lawyer and his stenographer. I have to interview her. "

He left them then and went out, a bit unsteady, seedy, unprepossessing, but carrying under his dilapidated exterior someremains of the man he had been. 

He reached Wilding's office and found the man, a young fellow whoappeared capable and alert. He also found, with a distinct shock, thegirl who had occupied a niche in his memory for nineteen years. Hefound her with banged and docked hair, rouged and bepowdered, clad ingeorgette and glimmering artificial silk, tapping at a typewriter inWilding's office. He had seen Broadway swarming with replicas of her. 

His business with Wilding took a little time. He explained thatmademoiselle might have need of his legal services and certainly wouldwish to see Miss Pettis. The lawyer called the girl in and to her DeLaunay explained that mademoiselle was the daughter of hergrandfather's former employee and that she would wish to discuss withher certain matters connected with the death of French Pete. The girlswept De Launay with hard, disdainful eyes, and he knew that she wasforming a concept of mademoiselle by comparison with his own generaldisreputableness. 

"Oh, sure; I jus' as soon drop in on this dame, " she said. "One o'these Frog refygees, I s'pose. Well, believe me, she's come a long wayto get disappointed if she thinks I'm givin' any hand-outs togranddad's pensioners. I got troubles of my own. "

"We'll be at the hotel, Miss Pettis and I, " said Wilding. "That willdo, Miss Pettis. "

The girl teetered out on her spiky heels, with a sway of hips. 

De Launay turned back to the lawyer. "I've a little personal businessyou might attend to, " he said. Wilding set himself to listen, resignedly, imagining that this bum would yield him nothing ofprofit. 

In ten minutes he was staring at De Launay with amazement that wasalmost stupefaction, fingering documents as though he must awake fromsleep and find he had been dreaming. De Launay talked on, his voiceslightly thick, his eyes heavy, but his mind clear and capable. 

Wilding went with him to a bank and, after their business there wasfinished, shook hands in parting with a mixture of astonishment, disapproval and awe. 

De Launay, having finished the more pressing parts of his business, made straight for Johnny the Greek's. The two burros still stoodthere, eyes closed and heads hanging. He walked around them beforegoing in. A worn, dirty leather scabbard, bursting at the seams, slanted up past the withers of one brute, and out of its mouthprojected the butt of a rifle. The plate was bright with wear, and thewalnut of the stock was battered and dull with age. 

De Launay scratched the chin of the burro, was rewarded by the lazyflopping of an ear and then went in to his delayed orgy. 

He had received a shock, as he realized he would, and for the momentall thought of Solange and his responsibility to her had vanished. Hehad come back home after twenty years, seeking solace in the scenes hehad known as a boy, seeking, with half-sentimental memory, a littlegirl with bright hair and sweet face. He had come to find a roaring, artificial city on the site of the range, the friends of his youthgone, the men he had known dying out, his very trade a vanishing art. Instead of a fairy maiden, sweet and demure, a grown-up child as hehad vaguely pictured her, he had found a brazen, painted, slangy, gum-chewing flapper, a modern of moderns such as would have broken oldIke Brandon's heart--as it doubtless had. The last of the old-timerswere a bootlegging bartender and a half-crazy and wholly viciousprospector. 

Writhing under the sting of futility and disappointment, even therotten poison served by Johnny the Greek appealed to him. His oldneurosis, almost forgotten in the half-tolerant, half-amused interestin Mademoiselle d'Albret's adventure which had occupied his activitiesduring the past weeks, revived with redoubled force. Sick, shaken, anddisgusted, he strode through the pool room and, with deliberationmasking his avid desire for forgetfulness, climbed the stairs to thehidden oasis presided over by his old enemy, Snake Murphy. 

CHAPTER VIII

GETTING DOWN TO BUSINESS

Mademoiselle was having a series of enlivening shocks. First cameWilding, with Miss Pettis. He was received by Solange in the mezzaninegallery of the hotel and she learned, for the first time, that DeLaunay was sending her a lawyer to transact her business for her. Thismade her angry, his assuming that she needed a lawyer, or, even if shedid, that he could provide her with one. However, as she needed adivorce from her incubus, and Wilding practiced also in the Nevadacourts, she thought better of her first impulse to haughtily dismisshim. As for Wilding, he began to conclude that he had gone crazy orelse had encountered a set of escaped lunatics when he beheld Solange, slender and straightly tailored, but with hair hidden under aclose-fitting little turban and face masked by a fold of netting. 

Marian Pettis was another shock. The extraordinary De Launay, whom shehad supposed lost in some gutter, and without whose aid she had beenpuzzled how to proceed on her quest, was evidently very much on thejob. Here was a starting point, at least. 

Although, behind her mask, her face registered disapproval of thegirl, she welcomed her as cordially as possible. In her sweet, bellvoice, she murmured an expression of concern for her grandfather and, when Marian bluntly said, "He's dead, " she endeavored to convey hersorrow. To which Miss Pettis, staring at her with hard, bold eyes, asat some puzzling freak, made no reply, being engaged in uneasilywondering what "graft" the Frenchwoman was "on. " Marian disliked beingreminded of her grandfather's demise, having been largely responsiblefor it when she had run away with a plausible stranger who had assuredher that she had only to present herself at Hollywood to becomeinstantly famous as a moving-picture star, a promise that had sadlymiscarried. 

"But it was not so much of your grandfather as of my father that Iwished to see you, " mademoiselle explained, ignoring Marian's lack ofresponse. "As for Monsieur Wilding, it is later I will require hisservices, though it may be that he can aid me not only in procuring adivorce from this husband, but in another matter also, Miss Pettis, and perhaps, Monsieur Wilding, you know how my father was murdered?"

Wilding shook his head but Marian nodded at once. 

"Gee, yes!" she said. "I was a kid when he was croaked, but I rememberit all right. There was a guy they called Louisiana, and he was oneof those old-time gunmen, but at that he was some kid believe me! Hetook a shot at a fellow here in Sulphur Falls--that was before therewas any town here at all--and they was givin' him the gate outa theneighborhood. Going to lynch him if they caught him, I guess. I don'tremember much of it except how this guy looks, but I've heard the oldman tell about it. 

"He come ridin' out to our place all dressed up like a moviecow-puncher and you'd never have dreamed there was a mob about threejumps behind him. He sets in with us and takes a great shine to me. Iwas quite a doll in those days they tell me. " She tossed her head asmuch as to say that she was still able to qualify for thedescription. 

"Believe me, he was a regular swell, and you'd never in the world athought he was what he turned out to be. Delaney, his name was, orsomething like that. Well, he plays with me and when he goes away Icried and wanted him to stay. I remember it just as vivid! He had onthese chaps--leather pants, you know--and a Stetson slanting on hishead, and a fancy silk neckerchief which he made into comical dollsand things. Oh! he sure made a hit with Marian!

"He swore he was comin' back, like young Lochinvar, and marry me someday, and I was all tickled to think he would do it. 

"Then, would you believe it, the murdering villain rides away abouthalf an hour before the mob comes and goes south toward the mountains. Next day or so, we pick up your father, shot something terrible, andthis awful 'Louisiana' Delaney had done it, in cold blood and just tobe killing something. "

"Ah!" Mademoiselle stiffened and quivered. Her voice was like brass. "In cold blood, you say? Then he had no provocation? He was not anenemy of my father?"

"Naw. Your father didn't have no enemies. So far as I know, thisLouisiana didn't even know him. He was a cattleman and they hated thesheepmen, you know, and used to fight them. Then, he was one of thesegunmen, always shooting some one, and they used to be terrible. They'dkill some one just for the fun of it--to sort of keep in practice. "

Mademoiselle shuddered, envisioning some bloodthirsty, evil thing, unspeakably depraved. But it was momentary. She spoke again in hermetallic voice. 

"That is well to know. I will look for this Louisiana. "

"You ain't likely to find him. He never was seen or heard of aroundhere no more. I've heard granddad call him 'the last of the gunmen, 'because the country was settling up and getting civilized then. Onething sure, he never made good on that Lochinvar sketch, I can promiseyou. "

"It is no matter. He will come back--or I will follow him. It is ofanother matter I would talk. There was something of a mine that myfather had found. "

"I've heard of that, " said Wilding. "It's quite a legend around here. The Lunch Rock mine, they call it, and Jim Banker, the prospector, looks for it every year. "

"But he ain't found it----"

A bell boy passed, singing out: "Call for Mad'mo'selle Dalbray! Callfer Mad'mo'selle Dalbray!" Mademoiselle rose and beckoned to him. 

"Three men in the lobby wish to see yuh, miss!" the boy told her. "Said Mr. Delonny sent 'em. "

"Monsieur de Launay! What next? Well, show them up here. "

A few moments later Sucatash and Dave Mackay stalked on their highheels up the stairs and into the alcove of the mezzanine balcony, holding their broad hats in their hands. Sucatash gulped asmademoiselle's slender figure confronted him, and Dave's mouth fellopen. 

Behind them lurched another man, slinking in the background. 

"What is it, messieurs?" asked Solange, her voice once more clear andsweet. The cow-punchers blushed in unison. 

"This here Mr. Delonny done sent us here to see you, ma'am. He allowsyou-all wants a couple of hands for this trip you're takin' into theEsmeraldas. He likewise instigates us to corral this here horned toad, Banker, who's a prospector, because he says you'll want to see himabout some mine or other, and, Banker, he don't know nothing aboutnothing but lookin' for mines: which he ain't never found a whole lot, I reckon, none whatever. "

Solange smiled and her smile, even with veiled face, was something toput these bashful range riders at their ease. Both of them felt warmedto their hearts. 

"I am very glad to see you, " she said. "It is true that I requirehelp, and I shall be glad of yours. It is kind of you to enter myemploy. "

Dave uttered a protest. "Don't you mention it, mad'moiselle. Sucatashand me was both in France and, while we can't give that there countryany rank ahead of the U.  S.  A. , we hands it to her frank, that anytime we can do anything fer a mad'moiselle, we does it pronto! We'reyours, ma'am, hide, hair an' hoofs!"

"Which we sure are, " agreed Sucatash, not to be outdone. "That'swhatever!"

"And here is this minin' sharp, " said Dave, turning about and reachingfor the shrinking Banker. "Come here, Jim, and say howdy, if you ain'therded with burros so long you've forgotten human amenities that away. Mad'mo'selle wants to talk to you. "

Banker emerged from behind them. He, too, held his hat in hand, anincredibly stained and battered felt atrocity. His seamed face was nutbrown under constant exposure to the sun. His garments were fadednondescripts, and on his feet were thick-soled, high-lacing boots. Hegave an impression of dry dinginess, like rawhide, and his eyes weremean and shifty. He might have been fifty or he might have been older;one could not tell. 

Mademoiselle was uncertain. She hardly knew enough to question thisqueer specimen, and so she turned to Marian Pettis. 

"Miss Pettis, can you explain to him? I can hardly tell him what wewish to know. And, if the mine is found, half of it will be yours, youknow. "

"Mine! Lord sakes, I ain't counting on it. You gotta fat chance tofind it. This bird, here, has been searchin' for it ever since theyear one and he ain't found it. Say, Banker, this is Mad'mo'selleDalbray. She's the daughter of that French Pete that was killed----"

"Hey?" said Banker, sharply. 

"Ah, you know the yarn. You been huntin' his mine since Lord knowswhen. This lady is lookin' for it and she wants some dope on how to goabout findin' it. "

"An she expects me to tell her?" cried Banker, in a falsetto whine. "Yuh reckon if I knowed where it was I wouldn't have staked it longago? I don't know nothin' about it. "

"Well, you know the Esmeraldas, old Stingin' Lizard, " growledSucatash. "You can tell her what to do about gettin' there. "

"I can't tell her nothin' no more than you can, " said Banker. "She'sgot Ike Brandon's letters, ain't she? He told her where it was, didn'the? What's she comin' to me fer? I don't know nothin'. "

"Were you here when my father was killed?" Solange asked, kindly. Shefelt sorry for the old fellow. 

"Hey! What's that? Was I here? No'm, I wasn't here! I was--I reckon Iwas over south of the range, out on the desert. I don't know nothin'about the killin'. "

He was looking furtively at her veil, his eyes shifting away and backto it, awed by the mystery of the hidden eyes. He was like a wild, shyanimal, uneasy in this place and among these people so foreign to hisnatural environment. 

Solange sighed. "I am sorry, monsieur, " she said. "I had hoped youcould tell me more. "

He broke in again with his whining voice. "It was this here Louisiana, every one says. "

"Louisiana! Yes----" Solange's tones became fierce and she leanedcloser to the dry desert rat, who shrank from her. "And when I findhim--when I find this man who shot my father like a dog----"

Her voice was tense and almost shrill, cutting like steel. 

"I shall kill him!"

The dim, veiled face was close to Banker's. He raised his corded, leanhand to the corded, lean throat as though he was choking. He stared ather fixedly, his shifty eyes for once held steady. There was horrorand fear in the back of them. He put one foot back, shifted his weightto it, put the other back, then the first again, slowly retreatingbackward, with his stricken eyes still on her. Then he suddenlywhirled about and scuttled down the stairs as though the devil wereafter him. 

Solange remained standing, puzzled. 

"That is queer, " she said. "Why is he frightened? I did not mean tostartle him. I suppose he is shy. "

"No. Just locoed, like all them prospectors, " said Sucatash. "Furthermore, he's ornery, ma'am. Probably don't like this talk ofkillin'. They say he beefed Panamint Charlie, his partner, some yearsago and I reckon he's a mite sensitive that a way. "

"He doesn't seem to know where the mine is, " said Solange. "Nor doyou, mademoiselle?"

"Me?" said Marian, airily. "If I knew where that mine was, believe me, you'd be late looking for it. I'd have been settled on it long ago. "

"I wish, " said Solange, "that I knew what to do. Perhaps, if thisunspeakable De Launay were here----"

"I can telephone the Greek's and see if he's there, " suggestedMacKay. Solange assented and he hurried to a telephone. 

"It ain't likely he knows much that will help, mad'mo'selle, " saidSucatash, also eager to aid, "but my old man was around here whenthese hostilities was pulled off, and it's possible he might help you. He could tell you as much as any one, I reckon. "

"Your father?"

"Yes, ma'am. I recommend that you get your outfit together, except ferhosses, hire a car to take it out and start from our ranch at WillowSpring. It's right near the mountains and not far from ShoestringCañon, which it's likely you'll have to go that way to get into thehills. And you'll be able to get all the hosses you want rightthere. "

"That sounds as though it might be the wise thing to do, " saidWilding. 

Solange turned to him. "That is true. I thank Monsieur Sucatash. And, Monsieur Wilding, there is one thing you can do for me, besides thearrangements for that divorce. Can you not search the records to findout what is known of my father's death and who killed him?"

"But it appears that the killer was Louisiana. "

"Yes--but who is Louisiana? Where did he go? That is what I must findout. Oh! If this depraved De Launay were of any benefit, instead ofbeing a sorrow and disgust to me----"

At this moment Dave MacKay reappeared. Solange turned to him eagerly. "Did you find him, monsieur?"

"I sure did, " said Dave, with disgust. "Leastways, I located him. Thatanimated vat of inebriation has done went and landed in jail. "

CHAPTER IX

BEHIND PRISON BARS

A somewhat intoxicated cow-puncher, in from the mountain ranges northof the town, intrigued De Launay when he returned to Johnny theGreek's. To be exact, it was not the cow-puncher, who was merely agawky, loud-mouthed and uncouth importation from a Middle Westernfarm, broken to ride after a fashion, to rope and brand when necessaryand to wield pliers in mending barbed wire, the sort of product, infact, that had disillusioned De Launay. It was his clothes that theex-légionnaire admired. 

They were clothes about like those worn by Sucatash and Dave Mackay. De Launay could have purchased such clothes at any one of a dozenshops, but they would have been new and conspicuous. The fellow wore awide-brimmed hat, the wear of which had resulted in certainpicturesque sags that De Launay considered extremely artistic. Hisboots were small and fairly new, and not over adorned withornamentation. There was also a buckskin waistcoat which was aged andripened. The other accessories were unimportant. Such things asspurs, bridle, and saddle De Launay had bought when he acquired ahorse. 

De Launay had imbibed enough of the terrible liquor served by SnakeMurphy to completely submerge his everyday personality. He retainedmerely a fixed idea that he wished to return as far as possible inspirit to the days of nineteen years ago. To his befuddled mind, thefirst step was to dress the part. He was groping after his lost youth, unable to realize that it was, indeed, lost beyond recovery; that hewas, in hardly a particular, the wild lad who had once ridden thedesert ranges. 

The more he drank, the firmer became the notion that, to him, insteadof to this imitation of the real thing, rightfully belonged theseinsignia of a vanishing fraternity. He considered ways and means, rejecting one after another. He vaguely laid plans to wait until thefellow went to his quarters for the night, and then break in and stealhis clothes. A better plan suggested itself; to ply him with drinkuntil unconscious and then drag him somewhere and strip him. This alsodid not seem practical. Then he thought of inducing him to gamble andwinning all his possessions, but a remnant of sense deterred him. DeLaunay, though he gambled recklessly, never, by any chance, won. Infact, his losings were so monotonous that the diversion had ceased tobe exciting and he had abandoned it. 

Finally, having reached a stage where the effort to think was toomuch for him, he did the obvious thing and offered to buy the fellow'sclothes. The cow-puncher was almost as drunk as De Launay and showedit much more. He was also belligerent, which De Launay never was. Furthermore, he had reached the stage where he was suspicious ofanything out of the ordinary. He thought De Launay was ridiculinghim. 

"Sell you my clo'es! Say, feller, what you givin' me?"

A bullet-headed, crop-haired, and lowering laborer, who was leaningagainst the bar, uttered a snorting laugh. 

"Lamp de guys wit' de French heels an' de one wit' de sissy eyebrow on'is lip, would youse? Dey's a coupla heroes wat's been to France; deygets dem habits dere. "

The sensitive cow hand glared about him, but the leering toughs whoechoed their spokesman's laughter were not safe to challenge. Therewere too many of them. De Launay stood alone and, to him as to theothers, that little pointed mustache was a mark of affectation andeffeminacy. 

"You better pull yer freight before I take a wallop at yuh, " heremarked, loudly. 

"Tell 'im to go git a shave, bo, " suggested the bullet-headed man. 

"I'll singe the eyebrow offa him myself if he don't git outa here, "growled the cow hand, turning back to his liquor. 

De Launay went back to his table and sat down. He brooded on hisfailure, and to him it seemed that he must have that hat, thatwaistcoat and those boots at any cost. The others in the roomsnickered and jeered as they eyed his sagging figure and closed eyes. 

He finally got up and lurched out of the room. The door opened on anarrow stairway leading down to a sort of pantry behind the mainbilliard parlor on the ground floor. The stairway was steep and dark, and the landing was small and only dimly lighted by a dusty, cobwebbedsquare of window high up in the outer wall. 

De Launay sat on the top step and resumed his brooding, his head sunkon his arms, which were folded on his knees. He felt a deep sense ofinjury, and his sorrow for himself was acute. He was only halfconscious of his sufferings, but they were dully insistent, above thedeadening influence of the liquor. There were some things he wantedand they continually ran through his mind in jumbled sequence. Therewas a pair of high heels, then there was a sort of vision oflimitless, abandoned plain covered with yellowing grass and black sageclumps, and surmounted with a brilliant blue sky. Following this was aconfused picture of a blackened, greasy waistcoat from which a dark, fathomless pair of eyes looked out. He wondered how a waistcoat couldhave a pair of eyes, and why the eyes should hold in them lights likethose that flashed from a diamond. 

Men came up the stairs and crowded roughly past him. He paid them noheed. Occasionally other men left the hidden barroom and went down. These were rougher. One of them even kicked him in passing. He merelylooked up, dully took in the figure and sank his head again on hisarms. Inside, newcomers advised Snake Murphy to go out and throw thebum into the street. As this might have led to inquiries, Snakedecided to leave well enough alone until dark. 

Finally the cow-puncher, well loaded with more liquor than he couldcomfortably carry, decided to take an uncertain departure. He waved adebonair and inclusive farewell to all those about him, teetered a biton his high heels, straddled an imaginary horse, and, with legs wellapart and body balanced precariously, tacked, by and full, for thedoor. 

Reaching it, he leaned against it, felt for the knob, turned it, carefully backed away from the door and opened it. Holding the edge, he eased himself around it and, balancing on the outer side, closed itagain with elaborate care. Then he took a tentative step and liftedhis hand from its support. 

The next moment he tripped over De Launay and fell over his head, turning a complete flip. 

De Launay came out of his trance with a start to find a hundred andseventy pounds of cow-puncher sprawling in his lap and clinging abouthis neck. His dull eyes, gummy with sleep, showed him a hat of sorts, a greasy waistcoat----

Calmly he took the cowboy by the neck and raised him. The fellowuttered a cry that was choked. De Launay pulled off his hat andsubstituted his own on the rumpled locks of the young man. He thenswung him about as though he were a child, laid him over his knees andstripped from him his waistcoat. 

His own coat was tossed aside while he wriggled into the ancientgarment. He held the cowboy during this process by throwing one legover him, around his neck, and clamping his legs together. The cowboyuttered muffled yells of protest. 

He hauled the fellow's boots off without much trouble, but when itcame to removing his own shoes there was a difficulty which he finallyadjusted by rising, grasping the man by the neck again--incidentallyshutting off his cries--and depositing him on the top step, afterwhich he sat upon him. 

It took only a second to rip the laces from his shoes and kick themoff. Then he started to pull on the boots. But the noise had finallyaroused those inside and they came charging out. 

Fortunately for De Launay, Snake Murphy and his cohorts were sosurprised to see the pose of the late guests that they gave him amoment of respite. He had time to get off of the cowboy and stamp thesecond boot on his foot. Then, with satisfaction, he turned to facethem. 

They answered the cowboy's protesting shout with a charge. De Launaywas peaceful, but he did not intend to lose his prize without a fight. He smote the first man with a straight jab that shook all his teeth. The next one he ducked under, throwing him over his shoulder and downthe stairs. Another he swept against the wall with a crash. 

They were over him and around him, slugging, kicking, and pushing. Hefought mechanically, and with incredible efficiency, striking with asnaky speed and accuracy that would have amazed any one capable ofnoting it. But they were too many for him. He was shoved from thestep, crowded back, stumbling downward, losing his balance, strugglinggamely but hopelessly, until, like Samson, he fell backward, draggingwith him a confused heap of his assailants, who went bumping down thestairs in a squirming, kicking mass. 

They brought up at the bottom, striking in all directions, with DeLaunay beneath, missing most of the destruction. The stair well wasdark and obscure, but at the bottom was a narrow space where thebattle waged wildly. De Launay managed to get to his hands and knees, but over him surged and swept a murmurous, sweating, reeking crowd whostruck and battered each other in the gloom. 

The door into the billiard parlor burst open and Johnny the Greek andreënforcements rushed on the scene. But Johnny, not knowing what thefight was about and not being able to find out--the outraged cowboyhad thrust himself before a hostile fist in the start of the encounterand now lay unconscious at the top of the stairs--proceeded to dealwith what he imagined was impartiality. He simply added his weight tothe combat. This naturally increased the confusion. 

Such pandemonium was bound to attract attention. Still unable tocomprehend the reason of the whole affair, De Launay was crawlingbetween legs and making a more or less undamaged progress to the door, while his enemies battered one another. He had almost reached it, andwas rising to his feet, when a new element was injected into the riot. A couple of uniformed policemen threw themselves into the mêlée. 

De Launay saw only the uniforms. His wrath surged up. What werepolicemen doing in this country of range and sheriffs? What had theyto do with the West? They stood for all that had come to the country, all the change and innovation that he hated. 

He expressed his feelings by letting the first policeman have it onthe point of the jaw. The second he proceeded to walk over, to beatback and to drive through the door, out into the big room and clearto the sidewalk. The man resisted, swinging his mace, but he found DeLaunay a cold, inhumanly accurate and swift antagonist, whom it wasdifficult to hit and impossible to dodge. Twice he was knocked down, and twice he leaped up, swinging his mace at a head that was neverthere when the club reached its objective. 

The policeman whom De Launay had first knocked down had arisen quicklyand, seeing his Nemesis now pursuing his comrade, ran to the rescue. De Launay could avoid a club in the hands of the man in front of himbut that wielded by the man behind was another matter. It fell on hishead just as he was driving the other policeman through the door intothe street. It was a shrewd blow and he went to the ground under it. 

While they waited for the patrol wagon, the two policemen tried togather information about the cause of the fight, but they found Johnnythe Greek somewhat reticent. The cowboy still was upstairs, held thereby Snake Murphy. The others were more or less confused in their ideas. Johnny was chiefly anxious that the police should remove the prisonerand refrain from any close inquiry into the premises, so he merelystated that the fellow had come in drunk and had made an attack onsome of the men playing pool. His henchman was seeing to it that therobbed and wronged cowboy had no opportunity to tell a story thatwould send the police upstairs. 

Half conscious and wholly drunk, De Launay was carted to SulphurFalls' imposing stone jail, where he was duly slated before a policesergeant for drunkenness, assault and battery, mayhem, inciting ariot, and resisting an officer in the performance of his duty. Then hewas led away and deposited in a cell. Here he went soundly to sleep. 

In the course of time he began to dream. He dreamed that he was on araft which floated on a limitless sea of bunch grass, alkali andsagebrush, where the waves ran high and regularly, rocking the raftback and forth monotonously and as monotonously throwing him from sideto side and against a mast to which he clung. Right in front of theraft, floating in the air above the waves, drifted a slender, veiledfigure, and through the veil sparkled a pair of eyes which werebottomless and yet held the colors of the rainbow in their depths. Above this figure, which beckoned him on, and after which the raftdrifted faster and faster, was a halo of sparkling hair, which caughtand broke up the light into prismatic colors. 

The raft sailed faster and faster, rotating in a circle until it wasspinning about the ghostly figure, which grew more and more distinctas the raft gyrated more crazily. Raft, desert, waves and sky becameconfused, hazy, fading out, but the figure stood there as he openedhis eyes and the stanchion thumped him in the ribs. 

His sleep and his liquor-drugged mind came back to him and he foundhimself lying on his bunk in a cell, while Solange stood before himand a turnkey poked him in the ribs and rocked him to wake him up. 

Sick, bruised and battered, he raised himself, swung his feet to thefloor and sat up on the edge of the bed. He tried to stand, but hishead swam and he became so dizzy that he feared to fall. 

"Don't get up, " said Solange, icily. 

The turnkey went to the door. "I reckon he's all right now, ma'am. Yougot half an hour. If he gets rough just holler and we'll settle him. "

"Is the charge serious?" asked Solange. 

"It ought to be. He's a sure-enough hard case. But a fine and sixmonths on the rocks is about all he'll get. "

De Launay looked up sullenly. The turnkey made a derisive, threateningmotion and, grinning, slammed the door behind him, locking it. 

De Launay licked his dry lips. There was a pitcher of water on a standand he seized it, almost draining it as he gulped the lukewarm stuffdown his sizzling throat. 

It strengthened and revived him. He got up from the bed and stoodaside. Solange stood like a statue, but her eyes scorched him throughher veil. 

"So this is what a general of France has come to, " she said. Words andtone burned him like fire. He said nothing, but motioned to the bedas the only seat in the cell. 

He picked up the hat, the battered thing that had brought on thisdisaster, from the floor and, stooping, felt the sharp throb of hishalf-fractured skull. His weakened nerves reacted sharply, and heuttered a half-suppressed cry, raising his hand to the lump on hiscranium. 

Solange started. "They have hurt you?" she said, sharply. 

De Launay took hold of himself again. 

"Nothing to speak of, " he answered, gruffly. "Will you sit down?"

She sat down, then. Through her veil he could not tell what herexpression was, but he was uneasily conscious of the black pools thatlurked there, searching his scarred soul to its depths, and finding itevil. He was in no condition to meet her, half drugged with stalealcohol, shaken to his inmost being by reaction against the poisoningof weeks, jumpy, imaginative, broken of mind and body. 

His eyes did not meet hers squarely. They shifted, sidelong andbloodshot. But she might have read in them something of despair, something of sullenness, something of shame, but mostly she could haveseen a plea for mercy, and perhaps she did. 

If so, she did not yield to the plea--at first. In a cold, steelyvoice she told him what he was. In incisive French she rebaptized hima coward, a beast, a low and disgusting thing. Her voice, curiouslybeautiful even in rage, cut and dissected him and laid him bare. 

She painted for him what a gentleman and a soldier should be andcontrasted with it what he was. She sketched for him all the glory andthe fame of the men who had led the soldiers of France, neithersparing nor exalting, but showing them to be, at least, men who hadcourage and command of themselves or had striven for it. Shecontrasted them with his own weakness and supineness and degradation. Then, her voice softening subtly, she shifted the picture to what hehad been, to his days of unutterable lowness in the Legion, the fiveyears of brutal struggle, fiercely won promotion. His gaining of acommission, the _cachet_ of respectability, his years of titanicstruggle and study and work through the hardly won grades of thearmy. 

She made him see himself as something glorious, rising from obscurityto respect and influence; made him see himself as he knew he was not;made him see his own courage, which he had; his ability, which he alsohad; and, what it had not, great pride, noble impulses, legitimateambition. When she painted the truth, he did not respond, but when shepictured credits he did not deserve he winced and longed to earnthem. 

"And, after all this, " she said wearily, at last, "you descend--tothis? It would seem that one might even gauge the depths from whichyou rose by the length and swiftness of the fall. Is it that you haveexhausted yourself in the effort that went before?"

De Launay stared at the floor with dull eyes. 

"What would you expect of a légionnaire?" he muttered. 

"Nothing!" she cried, angrily. "Nothing from the légionnaire! But, inthe name of God, cannot one expect more than this from the man whowears the medaille militaire, the grand cross of the legion, who won acolonelcy in Champagne, a brigade at Verdun, a division at the Chemindes Dames, and who, as all know, should have had an army corps afterthe Balkan campaign? From such a man as that, from him, monsieur, oneexpects everything!"

De Launay twisted the unfortunate hat in his hands and made no replyfor some minutes. Solange sat on the bed, one knee crossed over theother and her chin resting in her hand, supported on her elbow. Herhead was also bent toward the floor. 

"Mademoiselle, " said De Launay, at last, "I think you have guessed thetrouble with me. " His manner had reverted to that of his rank andclass, and she looked up in instant reaction to it. "I am all that yousay except what is good. There is no doubt of that. I have been asoldier for nineteen years; have made it the work of my life, in fact. I know nothing else--except, perhaps, a little of a passing, obsoletetrade of this fading West you see around you. I had hoped to win--hadwon, I thought, place and distinction in that profession. You knowwhat happened. Perhaps I did not deserve more. Perhaps it wasnecessary to reduce us all. Perhaps I was wrong in despairing. But Ihad won my way by effort, mademoiselle, that exhausted me. I was tootired to take up again the task of battering my way up through theremaining ranks. 

"There was nothing left to me. There is nothing for me to do. There isno one who can use me unless it be some petty state which needsmercenaries. I have served my purpose in the world. Why should I notwaste the rest of my time?"

Solange nodded. "Then what you need is an object?" she said, reflectively. "Work?" she asked. 

He shook his head. "I have no need of money. And why should I work, otherwise? I know nothing of trade, and there are others who need therewards of labor more than I. "

"Philanthropy--service?"

At this he grinned. "I am not a sentimentalist, but a soldier. As forservice--I served France until she had no further use for me. "

"Marriage; a family?"

He laughed, now. "I am married. As for the love that is said tomitigate that relation, am I the sort of man a woman would care for?"

Solange straightened up, and then rose from the bunk. She came andstood before him. 

"If neither love, ambition nor money will stir you, " she said. "Still, you may find an incentive to serve. There is chivalry. "

"I'm no troubadour. "

"Will you serve me?" she asked abruptly. He looked at her insurprise. 

"Am I not serving you?"

"You are--after your own fashion--which I do not like. I wish yourservice--need it. But not this way. "

He nodded slowly. "I will serve you--in any way you wish, " he said. 

Solange smiled under the veil, her mouth curving into beautifullines. 

"That is better. I shall need you, monsieur. You cannot, it is clear, serve me effectively by being thrown into jail for months. I must findthe mine and the man who killed my father before that. "

De Launay shook his head. "You expect to find the mine and the man, after nineteen years?"

"I expect to make the attempt, " she replied, calmly. "It is in thehands of God, my success. Somehow, I feel that I shall succeed, atleast in some measure, but the same premonition points to you as onewho shall make that success possible. I do not know why that is. "

"Premonition!" said De Launay, doubtfully. "Still--from Morgan _lafée_, even a premonition----"

The shrouding mask was turned upon him with an effect of question ashe paused. 

"Is entitled to respectful consideration, " he ended. He satthoughtfully a minute, his throbbing head making mental actiondifficult. "I see no hope of tracing the man--but one. Have you thatbullet, mademoiselle?"

She took it out of the hand bag, shivering a little as she handed itto him. 

"It is common--a thirty caliber, such as most hunters use. Yet it isall the clew you possess. As for the mine, there seems to be only onehope, which is, to retrace as closely as possible, the route taken byyour father before he was shot. May I keep this?"

She nodded her assent, and he put it in his pocket. Solange wasrelieved to be rid of it. 

"And now, " he added, "I must get out of here. "

CHAPTER X

THE GET-AWAY

"If you need money--to pay the fine, " began Solange, doubtfully. Heshook his head. 

"I have a fancy to do this in my own way; the old-time way, " he said. "As for money, you will have need of all you possess. The cowboy, Sucatash, is a type I know. You may take a message to him for me, andI think he will not refuse to help. "

He gave her rapidly whispered instructions, her quick mind taking themin at once. 

"And you, " he finished, "when you are ready to start, will gather youroutfit at Wallace's ranch near Willow Spring. From there is only oneway that you can go to follow your father's trail. He must have comeout of the Esmeraldas through Shoestring Cañon, therefore you must gointo them that way. I will be there when you come. "

Solange turned to the door and he bowed to her. She shook the gratingand called for the turnkey. As she heard him coming she swung roundand, with a smile, held out her hand to the soldier. His sallow faceflushed as he took it. Her hand clung to his a moment and then thedoor swung open and she was gone. 

De Launay took the bullet from his pocket and held it in his hand. Hesat on his bunk and weighed the thing reflectively, balancing it onhis palm. It was just such a bullet as might have been shot from anyone of a hundred rifles, a bullet of which nothing of the originalshape remained except about a quarter of an inch of the butt. 

He wondered if, after nineteen years, there remained any one who hadeven been present when French Pete was found dying. 

As for the mine, that was even more hopeless. No one had seriouslyattempted any prolonged search for the murderer, he assumed, knowingthe region as it had been. Homicides were not regarded as seriously asin later days and a Basco sheep-herder's murder would arouse littleinterest. The mine, however, was a different thing, as he knew by thefact that even recent arrivals had heard of it. It was certain that, throughout all these years there had been many to search for it andthe treasure it was supposed to hold. Yet none had found it. 

Solange's premonition made him smile tolerantly. Still, he was pledgedto the search, and he would go through with it. They would not findit, of course, but there might be some way in which he could make upthe disappointment to her. He thought he could understand the urgethat had led her on the ridiculous quest. A young, pretty, butportionless girl, with just enough money to support life in Francefor a few years, hopeless of marriage in a country where the womenoutnumbered the men by at least a million, would have a bleak futurebefore her. He could guess that her high, proud spirit would rebel, onthe one hand, at the prospect of pinching poverty and ignoble workand, on the other, from the alternative existence of the_demimondaine_. 

Here, in America, she might have a chance. He could see to it that shedid have a chance. With those eyes and that hair and her voice, thestage would open its arms to her, and acting was a recognized andrespectable profession. There might be other opportunities, also. 

But the vendetta she would have to drop. In the Basses Pyrénées onemight devote a life to hunting vengeance, but it wouldn't do in theUnited States. If she found the man, by some freak of chance, whatwould she do with him? To expect to convict him after all these yearswas ridiculous, and it was not likely that he would confess. Thoughshe might be certain, the only thing left to her would be the takingof the law into her own hands; and that would not do. He did not doubther ability or her willingness to kill the man. He knew that she woulddo it, and he knew that she must not be allowed to do it. He shudderedto think of her imprisoned in some penitentiary, her bright haircropped and those fathomless eyes looking out on the sun throughstone walls and barred windows; her delicate body clothed in rough, shapeless prison garments. If there was to be any killing, she mustnot do it. 

She would insist on vengeance! Very well, he had promised to serveher; he had no particular object in life; he was abundantly able tokill; he would do her killing for her. 

Having settled this to his satisfaction and feeling a certaincomplacent pleasure in the thought that, if the impossible happened, he could redeem himself in her eyes by an act that would condemn himin the eyes of every one else, he lay down on his bunk and went tosleep again. 

In the morning he was aroused by the turnkey and brought out of hiscell. A couple of officers took charge of him and led him from thejail to the street, across it and down a little way to the criminalcourt building. Here he was taken into a large room just off thecourtroom, to await his preliminary hearing. 

The rest was almost ridiculously simple. He had had no plan, beyond avague one of breaking from his guardians when he was led back to thejail. But he formed a new one almost as soon as he had seated himselfin the room where the prisoners were gathered. 

He was placed on a long bench, the end of which was near a doorleading to the corridor of the building. A door opposite led into thedock. A number of prisoners were seated there and two men in uniformformed a guard. One of them spent practically all his time glancingthrough the door, which he held on a crack, into the courtroom. 

The other was neither alert nor interested. The officer who hadbrought De Launay, and who, presumably, was to make the charge againsthim, remained, while his companion departed. 

Among those gathered in the room were several relatives or friends ofprisoners, lawyers, and bondsmen, who went from one to another, whispering their plans and proposals. One, a bulbous-nosed, greasyindividual, sidled up to him and suggested that he could furnish bail, for a consideration. 

De Launay's immediate guard, at this moment, said something to theuniformed policeman who sat near the center of the room. The otherglanced perfunctorily in De Launay's direction and nodded, and the manstepped out into the hall. 

De Launay whispered an intimation that he was interested in the bailsuggestion. He arose and led the bondsman off to one side, near theouter door, and talked with him a few moments. He suggested that theman wait until they discovered what the bail would be, and said hewould be glad to accept his services. He had money which had not beentaken from him when he was searched. 

The bondsman nodded his satisfaction at netting another victim andstrolled away to seek further prey. De Launay calmly turned around, opened the outer door and walked into the corridor. 

He walked rapidly to the street entrance, out to the sidewalk, anddown the street. At the first corner he turned. Then he hurried alonguntil he saw what he was looking for. This was Sucatash, loungingeasily against a lamp-post while De Launay's horse, saddled andequipped, stood with head hanging and reins dangling just before himat the curb. 

A close observer would have noticed that a pair of spurs hung at thesaddle horn and that the saddle pockets bulged. But there were noclose observers around. 

De Launay came up to the horse while, as yet, there had been not theslightest indication of any hue and cry after him. This he knew couldobtain for only a short time, but it would be sufficient. 

Sucatash, against the lamp-post, lolled negligently and rolled acigarette. He did not even look at De Launay, but spoke out of acorner of his mouth. 

"How'd you make it, old-timer?"

"Walked out, " said the other, dryly. 

"Huh? Well, them blue bellies are right bright, now. You'll find packhosses and an outfit at the spring west of the Lazy Y. Know where itis?"

De Launay nodded as he felt the cinch of the horse's saddle. 

"But how the deuce will you get them there? It's nearly ninetymiles. "

"We got a telephone at pa's ranch, " said Sucatash, complacently. "Better hit the high spots. There's a row back there, now. "

De Launay swung into the saddle. "See you at Shoestring, this side theCrater, " he said, briefly. "Adios!"

"So long, " said Sucatash, indifferently. De Launay spurred the horseand took the middle of the road on a run. Sucatash looked after himreflectively. 

"That hombre can ride a whole lot, " he remarked. "He's a sure-enough, stingin' lizard, I'll say. Walked out! Huh!"

A few moments after De Launay had rounded a corner and disappearedwith his ill-gotten habiliments, excited policemen and citizens camerushing to where Sucatash, with nothing on his mind but his hat, strolled along the sidewalk. 

"Seen an escaped prisoner? Came this way. Wasn't there a horse here aminute ago?" The questions were fired at him in rapid succession. Sucatash was exasperatingly leisurely in answering them. 

"They was a hoss here, yes, " he drawled. 

"Was it yours?"

"Not that I know of, " answered Sucatash. "Gent came along and forkedit. I allowed it was hisn and so I didn't snub him down none. Was hethe gent you was lookin' for?"

"Which way did he go?"

"He was headin' south-southeast by no'th or thereabouts when I lastseen him, " said Sucatash. "And he was fannin' a hole plumb through theatmosphere. "

They left the unsatisfactory witness and rushed to the corner aroundwhich De Launay had vanished. Here they found a man or two who hadseen the galloping horse and its rider. But, as following on foot wasmanifestly impossible, one of them rushed to a telephone while othersran back to get a police automobile and give chase. 

De Launay, meanwhile, was riding at a hard pace through the outlyingstreets of the town, heading toward the south. The paved streets gaveway to gravel roads, and the smoke of the factories hung in the airbehind him. Past comfortable bungalows and well-kept lawns he rushed, until the private hedges gave place to barbed-wire fences, and thecropped grass to fields of standing stubble. 

The road ran along above and parallel to the river, following a ridge. To one side of it the farms lay, brown and gold in their autumnvesture. At regular intervals appeared a house, generally of thestereotyped bungalow form. 

De Launay had passed several of these when he noticed, from one aheadof him, several men running toward the road. He watched them, saw thatthey gesticulated toward the cloud of dust out of which he rode, andturned in his saddle to open the pockets back of the cantle. From onehe drew belt and holster, sagging heavily with the pistol that filledit. From the other he pulled clips loaded with cartridges. Leaving thehorse to run steadily on the road he strapped himself with the gun. 

The men had reached the road and were lined up across it. One of themhad a shotgun and others were armed with forks and rakes. They wavedtheir weapons and shouted for him to stop. He calmly drew the pistoland pulled his horse down in the midst of them. 

"Well?" he asked as they surged around him. The man with the shotgunsuddenly saw the pistol and started to throw the gun to his shoulder. 

"We got him!" he yelled, excitedly. 

"Got who?" asked De Launay. "You pointing that gun at me? Better headit another way. "

His automatic was swinging carelessly at the belligerent farmer. Theman was not long in that country, but he was long enough to know thedifference between a shotgun and an automatic forty-five. He lost hisnerve. 

"We're lookin' for an escaped convict, " he muttered. "Be you thefeller?"

"Keep on looking, " said De Launay, pleasantly. "But drop that gun andthose pitchforks. What do you mean by holding up a peaceable man onthe highroads?"

The rattled farmer and his cohorts were bluffed and puzzled. Theautomatic spoke in terms too imperative to be disregarded. Capturingescaped prisoners was all very well, but when it involved risks suchas this they preferred more peaceful pursuits. The men backed away, the farmer let the shotgun drop to the ground. 

"Pull your freight!" said De Launay, shortly. They obeyed. 

He whirled his horse and resumed his headlong flight. He had gainedfifty yards when the farmer, who had run back to his gun, fired itafter him. The shot scattered too much to cause him any uneasiness. Helaughed back at them and fled away. 

Other places had been warned also, but De Launay rushed past themwithout mishap. The automatic was a passport which these citizens wereeager to honor, and which the police had not taken into account. Tostop an unarmed fugitive was one thing, but to interfere with one whobristled with murder was quite another. 

A new peril was on his trail, however. He soon heard the distant throbof a motor running with the muffler open. Looking back along the road, he could see the car as it rounded curves on top of the ridge. All toosoon it was throbbing behind him and not half a mile away. 

But he did not worry. Right ahead was a stone marker which he knewmarked the boundary of Nevada. Long before the car could reach him hehad passed it. He kept on for two or three hundred yards at the samepace while the car, forging up on him, was noisy with shouts andcommands to stop. He slowed down to a trot and grinned at the men whostood in the car and pointed their revolvers at him. His pistol wasdangling in his hand. 

"You gents want me?" he asked, pleasantly. His former captor sputteredan oath. 

"You're shoutin' we want you, " he cried. "Get off that horse and climbin here, you----"

De Launay's voice grew hard and incisive. 

"You got a warrant for my arrest?"

"Warrant be hanged! You're an escaped prisoner! Climb down before welet you have it!"

"That's interesting. Where's your extradition papers?"

The officer shrieked his commands and imprecations, waving his pistol. De Launay grinned. 

"If you want to test the law, go ahead, " he said. "I'm in Nevada asyou know very well. If you want to shoot, you may get me--but I canpromise that _I'll_ get you, too. The first man of you that tightens atrigger will get his. Go to it!"

An officer who is on the right side of the law is thereby fortifiedand may proceed with confidence. If he is killed, his killer commitsmurder. But an officer who is on the wrong side of the law has nosuch psychological reënforcement. He is decidedly at a disadvantage. The policemen were courageous--but they faced a dilemma. If they shotDe Launay, they would have to explain. If he shot them, it would be inself-defense and lawful resistance to an illegal arrest. Furthermore, there was something about the way he acted that convinced them of hisintention and ability. There were only three of them, and he seemedquite confident that he could get them all before they could killhim. 

The officer who had been his guardian thought of a way out. 

"There's a justice of the peace a mile ahead, " he said. "We'll justlinger with you until we reach him and get a warrant. "

"Suit yourselves, " said De Launay, indifferently. "But don't crowd metoo closely. Those things make my horse nervous. "

They started the car, but he galloped easily on ahead, turning in hissaddle to watch them. They proceeded slowly, allowing him to gainabout forty yards. The officer thought of shooting at him when he wasnot looking, but desisted when he discovered that De Launay seemed tobe always looking. 

They had proceeded only a short distance when De Launay, withoutwarning, spurred his horse into a run, swinging him at the same timefrom side to side of the road. Turned in his saddle, he raised hishand and the staccato rattle of his automatic sounded like the rollof a drum. The startled officers fired and missed his elusive form. They had their aim disarranged by the sudden jolt and stoppage of thecar. De Launay had shot the two front tires and a rear one to pieces. 

The discomfited policemen saw him disappearing down the road in acloud of dust from which echoed his mocking laugh and a chanted, jubilant verse that had not been heard in that region for nineteenyears:

 "My Louisiana! Louisiana Lou!"

CHAPTER XI

JIM BANKER HITS THE TRAIL

When Jim Banker, the prospector, hurried from the hotel, he wassingularly agitated for a man merely suffering from the shyness of thedesert wanderer in the presence of a pretty woman. His furtive looksand the uneasy glances he cast behind him, no less than the panickycharacter of his flight, might have aroused further question on thepart of those he left, had they been in a position to observe theman. 

He made no pause until he had gained the comparative seclusion ofJohnny the Greek's place, which he found almost deserted after theriot of which De Launay had been the center. Johnny had succeeded ingetting rid of the officers without the discovery of his illicitoperations, and Snake Murphy was once more in his place ready todispense hospitality. Few remained to accept it, however, the imminentmemory of the police having frightened all others away. A liberaldispensation of money and the discovery that De Launay's coat andshoes were of excellent make and more valuable than those he had lost, had secured the silence of the man whom De Launay had robbed, and hehad departed some time since. 

Banker sidled into the upstairs room and made his way to the end ofthe bar, where he called huskily for whisky. Having gulped a couple offiery drinks, he shivered and straightened up, his evil eyes losingtheir look of fright. 

"Say, Murph, " he whispered, hoarsely. "They's the devil to pay!"

"How come?" asked Murphy, yawning. 

"You remember French Pete, who was killed back in nineteen hundred?"

"The Basco? Sure I do. I got a reminder, hain't I? Louisiana done shotme up before he went out an' beefed Pete--if he did beef him. "

"_If_ he did? Whatever makes you say that? If he _didn't_--who did?"Jim blurted out the question in a gasp, as though fairly forcingutterance of the words. Murphy flicked a sidelong look at him and thenbent his absent gaze across the room. 

"Oh--I dunno. Never knew Louisiana to use a rifle, though. Thedare-devil! I can hear him now, ridin' off a-laughin' and a-chortlin'

 "Back to Whisky Chitto; to Beau Regarde bayou; To my Louisiana--Louisiana Lou. 

"Remember the feller's singin', Jim?"

The few men in the place had turned startled eyes as Murphy whined thedoggerel ballad nasally. It was strange to them, but Banker shiveredand shrank from the grinning bartender. 

"Stop it, yuh darn fool! yuh gi' me the creeps! W'at's the matter witheverything to-day? Everywhere I go some one starts gabblin' aboutmines and French Pete an' this all-fired--Louisiana! It's a damn goodthing there ain't any more like him around here. "

"W'at's that about mines--an' French Pete? Yuh was the one thatmentioned _him_. "

Banker leaned confidentially nearer. "Snake, d'yuh think old IkeBrandon didn't know where the mine was?"

Snake regarded him contemptuously. "Yuh reckon Ike would have livedand died pore as a heifer after a hard winter if he'd a knowed? You'reloco, Jim: plumb, starin', ravin' loco!"

But Jim only leaned closer and dropped his voice until it was almostinaudible. 

"Maybe so. But did you or any one else ever know what language themBascos talks?"

"French, I reckon, " said Snake, indifferently. 

"French, no, sir! Charlie Grandjean, that used to ride fer Perkins &Company was French and he told me once that they didn't talk no Frenchnor nothin' like it. They talks their own lingo and there ain't nobodybut a Basco that knows this Basco talk. "

"Well, " said Snake, easily. "What's the answer? I'll bite. "

"French Pete's gal has lit in here all spraddled out an' lookin' ferFrench Pete's mine, " croaked Banker, impressively. Snake was owlishlydense. 

"His gal? Never knew he had a gal. "

"He had one, a plenty: sort of a gashly critter like a witch, withteeth all same like a lobo. Kind 'at'd stick a knife in yuh quick aslook at yuh. "

"I reckon I won't go sparkin' her none, then. Well, how's this hereBasco lady with the enchantin' ways allow she's goin' to find Pete'smine?"

"That's what I'm askin' yuh? How's she goin' to find it? Yuh reckonshe comes pirootin' out here all the way from Basco regions just onthe hunch that she can shut her eyes an' walk to it?"

"Maybe--if she's full o' witchcraft. I reckon she stands as good achance that a way as any one does. Drink up and ferget it, Jim. "

"I been a-thinkin', Snake. Brandon didn't know where it was. But maybePete leaves a writin', say, which he tells Ike to send to his folks. It's in Basco, see, and Ike can't read it nor nobody else, so theysends it to this Basco place and the gal gits it. If that ain't rightwhy ever does this Basco lady come a-runnin' out here?"

"If it is right, why does she delay all these years?" asked Snake, pertinently. 

"Which yuh ain't seen her, Snake. I makes a guess this gal ain'tmore'n risin' two or three years when she gets that Basco note. Shehas to grow up, and when she gets big enough the war done come alongand keeps her holed up until now. Yuh can gamble she knows where thatmine was. "

Snake pondered this theory thoughtfully. "Yuh may be right at that, "he admitted, an expression of wonder passing over his features. "Butyuh been to see her? What she say about it?"

"Huh! She was askin' _me_ if I knowed where it was. But that was justa blind to put me off'n the track--an' she probably wanted to makesure no one else had found it. She was quizzin' that Pettis girl, too, makin' sure Ike hadn't told _her_ nothin'. "

"Yuh may be right, " admitted Snake again. "God-dlemighty! Yuh reckonshe'll find it?"

Jim leered evilly at him. "No, I don't reckon she will. But she mighthelp _me_ find it. "

"Howzzat?" Snake was startled. 

"I gotta have a grubstake, Snake. How about it?"

"Jest outline this here project, Jim. Let me git the slant on it. "

The two heads, one slick and black, though with streaks of gray, theother shaggy, colorless, and unkempt, came together and a growl ofhoarse and carefully guarded whispers murmured at that end of the bar. After ten minutes' talk, Snake went to the safe and returned with aroll of bills and a piece of paper, pen, and ink. He laboriously madeout a document, which Banker as laboriously signed. Then Snakesurrendered the money and the two rascals shook hands. 

Banker at once became all furtive activity. For a few hours he slunkfrom store to store, buying necessaries for his trip. By nighttime hewas ready, and before the moon had risen in the cold November sky hewas hazing his burros southward toward the Nevada line. 

Although he was mounted on a fairly good horse, his progress wasnecessarily slow, as he had to accommodate his pace to that of thesedate burros. He was in no hurry, however. With true, desert-bornpatience, he plodded along, making camp that night about ten milesfrom Sulphur Falls. The following day he resumed his snaillike pace, crawling out of the fertile valley to the grasslands beyond, and so onand on until the night found him in the salt pan and the alkali. Hepassed the Brandon ranch at Three Creek, long since sold and nowoccupied by a couple of Basques who had built up from sheep-herdingfor wages until they now owned and ran a fair flock of sheep. Here hedid not stop, hazing his burros past as though he had suddenlyacquired a reason for haste. When Twin Forks was a couple of miles tothe rear he reverted to his former sluggish pace. 

The next day was a repetition. He plodded on stolidly, making withouthesitation for some spot which was ahead of him. Finally, thatevening, he made camp about three miles north of Wallace's Lazy YRanch, near Willow Spring, and not very far from the gap in the wallof the Esmeraldas which marked the entrance to Shoestring Creek andCañon. 

The next morning he did not break camp, but lolled around all dayuntil about three o'clock in the afternoon. At that time his acuteears caught the murmur of a motor long before the car came in sight inthe rolling ground. 

When it passed he was sitting stolidly by his camp fire, apparentlyoblivious to his surroundings. He did not seem to look up or noticethe car, but, in reality, not a detail of it escaped him. He saw theoccupants turn and look at him and heard their comments, though thewords escaped him. 

He muttered an imprecation, strangely full of hate and, in the mannerof lonely desert rats, grumbled in conversation with himself. 

"I gotta do it. She never come all this way without he told hersomethin'. Fer all I know he might ha' seen more'n I thought. An'she'd do what she said, quicker'n look at yuh. She ain't right, nohow. Why don't she show her face? An' Charlie Grandjean says them Basquesis uncanny, that a way. She _knows_! There ain't no gettin' around it. Even if he never told her, she _knows_!"

The car had passed and he now openly looked after it, mouthing andmuttering. He had observed the driver, a hired chauffeur from thetown, and he deduced that the car was going back. Indeed, there wasno road by which it could have gone into the mountains at this point. He saw that young Wallace, nicknamed Sucatash from the color of hishair, and Dave MacKay, another of the Lazy Y riders, were in the carwith their saddles, and that the veiled Basque girl was seated withthem, while her luggage was piled high between the seats. 

"Goin' to git hosses and outfit at Wallace's and go in from there. Course, they'll have to go into Shoestring. It's the only way. They'llstop at Wallace's and it'll take a day to git the cavvy up and ready. They'll be movin' day after to-morrow 'nless they want to git caughtin the snow. Proves she knows right where to go or she wouldn't headin there this time o' year. "

He gloomed some more. 

"That girl ain't right. She's one o' these here hypnotis', er amedium, er some kind o' witch. But she ain't goin' to git away withit. She ain't goin' to git the best of old Jim Banker after nineteenyears. She ain't goin' to git her knife into Jim. No more'n oldPanamint did. I fixed _him_--an' I'll fix her, too. Old Betsy's stillgood fer a couple a' hunderd yards, I reckon. I'll let her lead me toit--er maybe I'll git a chance to ketch her alone. "

This thought gave him pleasure for a while and he mumbled over it foran hour or two. Then he ate his evening meal and went to sleep. In hissleep he moaned a good deal and tossed about, dreaming of mysterious, ghostlike, veiled figures which threatened him and mocked him. 

The next day he remained where he was. About noon he was puzzled atthe sight of another motor car northward bound. He recognized in thedriver the lawyer who had been present when he had been interviewed bythe French girl, but he did not know what brought him there. Manifestly, he was on the way back to Sulphur Falls, and Bankerfinally concluded that he had been to Maryville, the county seat southof the Esmeraldas, on some legal business. In this he was right, though he could not guess what the business was nor how it favored hisown designs. 

On the following day he resumed his march. Now he followed the trailof the motor car which had brought Solange until he came oppositeWallace's ranch. From here he took up another trail, that of aconsiderable train of pack horses and three saddle animals. It ledstraight to the steep gully in the rim of the Esmeraldas, whereShoestring Creek cut its way to the plain. 

He noted, but hardly considered, an older trail that underlay thisone. It was of a rider and two pack animals who had passed a day ortwo before. 

CHAPTER XII

A REMINDER OF OLD TIMES

Much cheered and encouraged by his late adventures with the forces oflaw and order, De Launay fared onward to the south where the dim lineof the Esmeraldas lay like a cloud on the horizon. He was halfconscious of relief, as though something that had been hanging overhis head in threat had been proved nonexistent. He did not know whatit was and was content for the time being to bask in a sort of animalcomfort and exhilaration arising out of his escape into thefar-stretching range lands. Here were no fences, no farms, nogingerbread houses sheltering aliens more acquainted with automobilesthan with horses. He had passed the last of them, without interruptioneven from the justice of the peace who lived along the road. As amatter of fact, De Launay had left the road as soon as the fencespermitted and had taken to the trackless sage. 

Even after nineteen years or more his knowledge and instinct heldgood. Unerringly he seized upon landmarks and pushed his way overunmarked trails that he recalled from his youth. Before the sun setthat evening he had ridden up to the long-remembered ranch at TwinForks and swung from his saddle, heedless of two or three fiercemongrel sheep dogs that leaped and howled about him. 

The door that opened on the little porch, once hung with vines, butnow bare and gray, opened and a stolid, dark foreigner appeared. Heanswered De Launay's hail in broken English, but the légionnaire'squick ear recognized the accent and he dropped into French. The man atonce beamed a welcome, although the French he answered in was almostas bad as his English. 

He and his brother, he told De Launay, while assisting him to put uphis horse, were two Basques who had come out here fifteen years agoand had worked as herders until they had been able to save enough togo into business for themselves. They had gradually built up until, when Ike Brandon had died, they were in a position to buy his ranch. All of this was interesting to the soldier. 

The first flush of his plunge into old scenes had faded out, and hewas feeling a little lonely and depressed, missing, queerly enough, his occasional contact with mademoiselle. It came over him, suddenly, as he chattered with the Basque, in the kindly French tongue that wasmore familiar to him than his native English, that the vague dreadthat had been lifted had had to do with what he might expect atBrandon's ranch. That dread had vanished when he had encountered MissPettis. That was queer, too, for his recent debauch had been theproduct of sharp disappointment at finding her, as well as thecountry, so changed from what he had expected. Then why should he nowfeel as though a load were lifted from his mind since he had seen herand found her utterly wanting in any trait that he regarded asadmirable? He did not know, and for the time being he did not pause toinquire. With the directness born of long training in arms, he had amission to pursue and he gave his thought to that. 

The obvious thing was to question the Basque as to long-ago events. But here he drew blank. Neither this man nor his brother knew anythingbut vague hearsay, half forgotten. They had, it is true, known thestory of Pierre d'Albret and his murder, and had looked for his mineas others had, but they had never found it and were inclined to doubtthat it had ever existed. 

"Monsieur, " said the hospitable Basque, as he set an incomprehensiblestew of vegetables and mutton on the table before the hungry DeLaunay, "these stories have many endings after so many years. It waslong after D'Albret was killed that we came into this country. It wasspoken of at the time as a great mystery by some, and by others it wasregarded as a settled affair. One side would have it that a man whowas a desperado and a murderer had done it, while others said that itwould never be known who had shot him. There is only this that Iknow. A man named Banker, who spends all his time searching for gold, has spent year after year in searching the Esmeraldas for D'Albret'smine and, although he has never found it, he still wanders in thehills as though he believed that it would be found at last. Now, whyshould this Banker be so persistent when others have abandoned thesearch long ago?"

"I suppose because it is his business, as much as he has any, tosearch for gold wherever there is prospect of finding it, " said DeLaunay, carelessly. 

"That may be so, " said the Basque, doubtfully, "As for me, I do notbelieve that the mine was in the Esmeraldas at all. I have looked, asothers have, and have never seen any place where D'Albret might havedug. I have been through Shoestring Cañon many times and have seenevery foot of its surface. If D'Albret came through the cañon, as hemust have done, he must have left some sign of his digging. Yet whohas ever found such indications?"

"Perhaps he covered it up?"

"Perhaps! I do not know. The man, Banker, searches, not only in thecañon but also throughout the range. And as he searches, he mutters tohimself. He is a very strange man. "

"Most prospectors, especially the old ones, are strange. Theloneliness goes to their heads. "

"That is true, monsieur, and it is the case with herders, as we haveknown. But Banker is more than queer. Once, when we were with ourflocks in the Esmeraldas, we observed, one evening, a fire at somedistance. My brother went over to see who it was and to invite him toshare our camp if he were friendly. He came upon the man, Banker, crouched over his fire and talking to himself. He seemed to belistening to something, and he muttered strange words which my brothercould not understand. Yet my brother understood one phrase which theman repeated many times. It was, as he told me, something like 'I willfind it. I will find it. I will find the gold. ' But he also spoke ofeverybody dying, and my brother was uneasy, seeing his rifle lyingclose at hand. He endeavored to move away, but made some noise and theman heard him. He sprang to his feet with a cry of fear and shot withhis rifle in the direction of my brother. Fortunately he did not hithim and my brother fled away. In the morning we found that Banker haddeparted in great haste during the night as though he feared someattack. "

"H'm, " said De Launay, "that's rather strange. But these old desertrats get strange attacks of nerves. They become very distrustful ofall human beings. He was frightened. "

"He may have been--indeed--he was. Nevertheless, the man Banker is aviolent man and very evil. When he is about, we go carefully, mybrother and I. If Pierre d'Albret was shot for no reason, what is toprevent us, who are also Basques, from being treated in the sameway?"

"By Banker? Nonsense!"

"Nonsense it may be, monsieur. Yet I do not know why it may not havebeen some one like Banker who shot D'Albret. But I talk too much toyou because you are French. "

He became reticent after that, and De Launay, who, whatever he mayhave thought of the man's opinions, did not intend to make a confidantof him, allowed the subject to drop. He slept there that night, feeling reasonably safe from pursuit, and in the morning went on hisway. 

But again, as he rode steadily across the alkali and sage, thelightness of heart that had long been unfamiliar, came back to him. Hefound himself looking back at his vague sentiment for the little girlof the years gone by and the strange notion that he must come back toher as he had so lightly promised. He had had that notion in the fullbelief that she must have developed as she had bade fair to do. It hadbeen a shock to find her as she was, but, after the shock, here wasthat incomprehensible feeling of relief. He had not wanted to findher, after all!

But why had he not? At this point he found his mind shifting tomademoiselle's vivid and contrasting beauty and uttered a curse. Hewas getting as incorrigibly sentimental as a girl in her teens! Thisrecurring interest in women was a symptom of the disease he had notyet shaken off. The cure lay in the fresh air and the long trail. 

He pushed on steadily and rapidly, shutting his mind to everything butthe exigencies of the trail. In the course of time he rode into WillowSpring, and, cautiously pushing his way into the cottonwoods andwillows that marked the place, found everything there as he hadarranged with Sucatash Wallace. There were few tracks of visitorsamong the signs left by cattle and an antelope, except the prints ofone mounted man who had led two horses. The two horses he foundhobbled beside the spring, and with them were a tarpaulin-covered pileof provisions, bedding, and utensils, together with packsaddles. Apaper impaled on a willow twig near by he pulled down, to find amessage written on it. 

"Two pack outfits according to inventory. Compliments of J. B. Wallace. Return or send the price to Lazy Y Ranch when convenient. Asking no questions but wishing you luck. "

He chuckled over this, with its pungent reminder of ancient days whenunhesitating trust had been a factor in the life of the range. Old manWallace, at the behest of his son, turning over to an unknown strangerproperty of value, seeking not to know why, and calmly confident ofeither getting it back or receiving payment for it, was a refreshingdraft from his youth. De Launay inspected his new property, found itall that he could wish and then set about his preparations for thenight. 

On the next day he saddled up early, after a meal at daybreak, but hedid not start at once. Instead, while smoking more than one thoughtfulcigarette, he turned over and over in his mind the problem thatconfronted him. He had pledged himself to help Solange in her search, but, rack his brains as he would, he could come to no conclusion aboutit except that it was simply a hopeless task. There was no point fromwhich to start. People who remembered the affair were few and farbetween. Even those who did could have no very trustworthyrecollections. There would have been an inquest, probably, and thatwould have been conducted in Maryville, east and south of themountains. But would there be any record of it in that town? Recallingthe exceedingly casual and informal habits of minor-elected officialsof those days, he greatly doubted it. Still, Maryville offered him hisonly chance, as he saw it. 

It took him all of that day and a part of the next to head around theEsmeraldas, across the high plateau into which it ran on the east anddown to the valley in which Maryville lay. Here he found thingschanged almost as much as they had at Sulphur Falls, although the townhad not grown in any such degree. The atmosphere, however, was strangeand staidly conventional. Most of the stores were brick instead ofwood with false fronts. The sidewalks were cement instead of boards. The main street was even paved. A sort of New England respectabilityand quietness hung over it. There was not a single saloon, and thedrone of the little marble in the roulette wheel was gone from theland. Even the horses, hitched by drooping heads to racks, werescarce, and their place was taken by numerous tin automobiles ofpopular make and rusty appearance. 

An inquiry at the coroner's office developed the fact that there wereno records reaching back beyond nineteen hundred and eight and theofficial could not even tell who had had the office in nineteenhundred. 

De Launay, who had expected little success, made a few more inquiriesbut developed nothing. There were few in the town who had lived therethat long, and while nearly all had heard something or other of themurdered Basque and his lost mine, they set it down to legend andshrugged their shoulders skeptically. The affairs of those who livednorth of the Esmeraldas were not of great concern to the inhabitantsof Maryville at any time and especially since the Falls had grown andoutshadowed the place. All business of the country now went that wayand none came over the barrier to this sleepy little place. In actualpopulation it had fallen off. 

Seeking for signs of the old general store that he recalled he foundon its site a new and neat hardware establishment, well stocked withagricultural implements, automobile parts, weapons, and householdgoods. He wandered in, but his inquiry met the response that theoriginal proprietor had long retired and was now living on a ranchsouth of the railroad. De Launay looked over the stock of weapons andasked to see an automatic pistol. The clerk laid an army modelforty-five on the counter and beside it another of somewhat similarappearance but some distinct differences. 

"A Mauser, " he explained. "Lot of them come in since the war and it'sa good gun. "

"Eight millimeter!" said De Launay, idly picking up the familiarpistol. "It's a good gun but the ball's too light to stop a man right. And the shells are an odd size. Might have some difficulty gettingammunition for it out here. "

"None around here, " said the clerk. "Plenty of those guns in thecountry. Most every store stocks all sizes nowadays. It ain't like itused to be when every one shot a thirty, a thirty-eight, aforty-five-seventy, or a forty-five-ninety. Nowadays they use 'em all, Ross & Saugge, Remingtons, Springfields, Colts; and the shells run allthe way from seven millimeter up through twenty-fives, eightmillimeter, thirty, . 303, thirty-two, thirty-five, thirty-eight and soon. You can get shells to fit that gun anywhere you go. "

"Times have changed then, " said De Launay, idly. "I can remember whenyou couldn't introduce a new gun with an odd caliber because a mancouldn't afford to take a chance on being unable to get the shells tofit it. Still, I'll stick to the Colt. Let me have this and a coupleof boxes of shells. And a left-hand holster, " he added. 

There was nothing to keep him longer in the town since he saw nofurther prospect of getting any news, and his agreement to meetSolange necessitated his heading into the mountains if he were to bethere on time. So, at the earliest moment, he got his packs on andstarted out of town, intending to cross the range from the south andcome down into the cañon. The weather was showing signs of breaking, and if the snow should set in there might be difficulty in finding thegirl. 

That evening he camped in the southern foothills of the range just offthe trail that mounted to the divide and plunged again down intoShoestring Cañon. Next day he resumed his ride and climbed steadilyinto the gloomy forests that covered the slopes, sensing the snow thathovered behind the mists on the peaks and wondering if Solange wouldplunge into it or turn back. He rather judged of her that a littlething like snow would not keep her from her objective. 

But while the snow held off on this side of the mountains he knew thatit might well have been falling for a day or two on the other side. When he came higher he found that he had plunged into it, lying thickon the ground, swirling in gusts and falling steadily. He did not stopfor this but urged his horses steadily on until he had come to thewindswept and comparatively clear divide and headed downward towardthe cañon. 

CHAPTER XIII

AT WALLACE'S RANCH

The efficient Sucatash reported back to Solange the details of DeLaunay's escape, making them characteristically brief and colorful. Then, with the effective aid of MacKay, he set out to prepare for theexpedition in search of the mine. 

Neither Sucatash nor Dave actually had any real conviction thatSolange would venture into the Esmeraldas at this time of year to lookfor a mine whose very existence they doubted as being legendary. Yetneither tried to dissuade her from the rash adventure--as yet. In thisattitude they were each governed by like feelings. Both of them werecurious and sentimental. Each secretly wondered what the slender, rather silent young woman looked like, and each was beginning toimagine that the veil hid some extreme loveliness. Each felt himselfhandicapped in the unwonted atmosphere of the town and each imaginedthat, once he got on his own preserves, he would show to much betteradvantage in her eyes. 

Sucatash was quite confident that, once they got Solange at hisfather's ranch, they would be able to persuade her to stay there forthe winter. Dave also had about the same idea. Each reasoned that, inan indeterminate stay at the ranch, she would certainly, in time, showher countenance. Neither of them figured De Launay as anything butsome assistant, more or less familiar with the West, whom she hadengaged and who had been automatically eliminated by virtue of hislatest escapade. 

Solange, however, developed a disposition to arrange her own fate. Shesmiled politely when the young men gave awkward advice as to hercostuming and equipment, but paid little heed to it. She allowed themto select the small portion of her camping outfit that they thoughtnecessary at this stage, and to arrange for a car to take it and themto Wallace's ranch. They took their saddles in the car and sent theirhorses out by such chance riders as happened to be going that way. 

The journey to Wallace's ranch was uneventful except for a stop at theformer Brandon ranch at Twin Forks, where Solange met the Bascoproprietors, and gave her cow-puncher henchmen further cause forwonder by conversing fluently with them in a language which bore noresemblance to any they had ever heard before. They noted an unusualdeference which the shy mountaineers extended toward her. 

There was a pause of some time while Solange visited the almostobliterated mound marking the grave of her father. But she did notpray over it or manifest any great emotion. She simply stood therefor some time, lost in thought, or else mentally renewing her vow ofvengeance on his murderer. Then, after discovering that the sheepmenknew nothing of consequence concerning these long-past events, shecame quietly back to the car and they resumed the journey. 

Finally they passed a camp fire set back from the road at somedistance and the cow-punchers pointed out the figure of Bankercrouched above it, apparently oblivious of them. 

"What you all reckon that old horned toad is a-doin' here?" queriedDave, from the front seat. "Dry camp, and him only three mile from thehouse and not more'n five from the Spring. "

"Dunno, " replied Sucatash. "Him bein' a prospector, that a way, mostlikely he ain't got the necessary sense to camp where a white mannaturally would bog down. "

"But any one would know enough to camp near water, " said Solange, surprised. 

"Yes'm, " agreed Sucatash, solemnly. "Any one would! But themprospectors ain't human, that a way. They lives in the deserts so muchthey gets kind of wild and flighty, ma'am. Water is so scarce thatthey gets to regardin' it as somethin' onnatural and dangerous. More'nenough of it to give 'em a drink or two and water the Jennies acts on'em all same like it does on a hydrophoby skunk. They foams at themouth and goes mad. "

"With hydrophobia?" exclaimed the unsophisticated Solange. 

"Yes'm, " said Sucatash. "Especially if it's deep enough to cover theirfeet. Yuh see, ma'am, they gets in mortal terror that, if they nearsenough water to wet 'em all over, some one will rack in and justforcibly afflict 'em with a bath--which 'ud sure drive one of 'emplumb loco. "

"I knows one o' them desert rats, " said Dave, reminiscently, "whatboasts a plenty about the health he enjoys. Which he sure allows he'slived to a ripe old age--and he _was_ ripe, all right. This herevenerableness, he declares a whole lot, is solely and absolutely dueto the ondisputable fact that he ain't never bathed in forty-twoyears. And we proves him right, at that. "

"What!" cried the horrified Solange. "That his health was due to hisuncleanliness? But that is absurd!"

"Which it would seem so, ma'am, but there ain't no gettin' round theproof. We all doubts it, just like you do. So we ups and hog ties theold natural, picks him up with a pair of tongs and dips him in thecrick. Which he simply lets out one bloodcurdlin' yell of despair andpasses out immediate. "

"_Mon Dieu!_" said Solange, fervently. "_Quels farceurs!_"

"Yes'm, " they agreed, politely. 

Then Solange laughed and they broke into sympathetic grins, even thesolemn Sucatash showing his teeth in enjoyment as he heard hertinkling mirth with its bell-like note. 

Then they forgot the squatting figure by its camp fire and drove on tothe ranch. 

This turned out to be a straggling adobe house, shaded by cottonwoodsand built around three sides of a square. It was roomy, cool, andcomfortable, with a picturesqueness all its own. To Solange, it wasinviting and homelike, much more so than the rather cold luxury ofhotels and Pullman staterooms. And this feeling of homeliness wasenhanced when she was smilingly and cordially welcomed by a big, gray-bearded, bronzed man and a white-haired, motherly woman, theparents of young Sucatash. 

The self-contained, self-reliant young woman almost broke down whenMrs. Wallace took her in charge and hurried her to her room. Theyseemed to know all about her and to take her arrival as an ordinaryoccurrence and a very welcome one. Sucatash, of course, wasresponsible for their knowledge, having telephoned them before theyhad started. 

Before Solange reappeared ready for supper, Sucatash and Dave hadexplained all that they knew of the affair to Wallace. He was muchinterested but very dubious about it all. 

"Of course, she'll not be going into the mountains at this time o'year, " he declared. "It ain't more than a week before the snow's boundto fly, and the Esmeraldas ain't no place for girls in the wintertime. I reckon that feller you-all helped get out o' jail and that Iplanted hosses for won't more than make it across the range before theroad's closed. I hope it wasn't nothin' serious he was in for, son. "

"Nothin' but too much hooch an' rumplin' up a couple of cops, " saidhis son, casually. "Not that I wouldn't have helped so long as he wasin fer anything less than murder. The mad'mo'selle wanted him out, yuhsee. "

"S'pose she naturally felt responsible fer him, that a way, " agreedWallace. "Reckon she's well rid o' him, though. Don't sound like thesort o' man yuh'd want a young girl travelin round with. What was helike?"

"Tall, good-lookin', foreign-appearin' hombre. Talked pretty goodrange language though, and he sure could fork a hoss. Seemed to have agnawin' ambition to coil around all the bootleg liquor there is, though. Outside o' that, he was all right. "

"De Launay? French name, I reckon. "

"Yeah, I reckon he'd been a soldier in the French army. Got the idea, somehow. "

"Well, he's gone--and I reckon it's as well. He won't be botherin' thelittle lady no more. What does she wear a veil for? Been marked any?"

Sucatash was troubled. "Don't know, pop. Never seen her face. Oughtto be a sure-enough chiquita, if it's up to the rest of her. D'jeverhear a purtier voice?"

The old man caught the note of enthusiasm. "Yuh better go slow, son, "he said, dryly. "I reckon she's all right--but yuh don't really knownothin'. "

"Shucks!" retorted his son, calmly. "I don't have to know nothin'. Shecan run an iron on me any time she wants to. I'm lassoed, thrown an'tied, a'ready. "

"Which yuh finds me hornin' in before she makes any selection, yuhmottled-topped son of a gun!" Dave warmly put in. "I let's that ladyfrom France conceal her face, her past and any crimes she may havecommitted, is committin' or be goin' to commit, and I hereby declaresmyself for her forty ways from the Jack, fer anything from matrimonyto murder. "

"Shucks, " said the old man, "you-all are mighty young. "

"Pop, " declared the Wallace heir, solemnly, "this here French lady isclean strain and grades high. Me and Dave may be young, but we ain'tmaking no mistake about her. She has hired herself a couple of hands, I'm telling you. "

Solange appeared at this moment, coming in with Mrs. Wallace, who wassmiling in an evident agreement with her son. Mr. Wallace, whileinclined to reserve judgment, had all the chivalry of his kind andstepped forward to greet her. But he paused a little uncertainly ashe noticed that she had removed her veil. For a moment he looked ather in some astonishment, her unusual coloring affecting him as it didall those who observed it for the first time. The first glanceresulted in startlement and the feeling that there was somethinguncanny about her, but as the deep eyes met his own and the prettymouth smiled at him from beneath the glinting pale halo of her hair, he drew his breath in a long sigh of appreciation and admiration. Hiswife, looking at him with some deprecation, as though fearing anadverse judgment, smiled as his evident conquest became apparent. Standing near him the two boys stared and stared, something like awein their ingenuous faces. 

"Ma'am, " said Wallace, in his courtly manner, "we're sure proud towelcome you. Which there ain't many flowers out hereaways, and ifthere was there wouldn't be none to touch you. It sure beats me whyyou ever wear a veil at all. "

Solange laughed and blushed. "_Merci, monsieur!_ But that isexquisite! Still, it is not all that flatter me in that way. There aremany who stare and point and even some who make the sign of the evileye when they see this impossible ensemble. And the women! _Mon Dieu!_They ask me continually what chemist I patronize for the purpose ofbleaching my hair. "

"Cats!" said Mrs. Wallace, with a sniff. 

CHAPTER XIV

READY FOR ACTION

The fact that Solange ate heartily and naturally perhaps went far toovercome the feeling of diffidence that had settled on the Wallacerancheria. Perhaps it was merely that she showed herself quite humanand feminine and charmingly demure. At any rate, before the meal wasover, the Wallaces and Dave had recovered much of their poise and thetwo young men were even making awkward attempts at flirtation, much tothe amusement of the girl. 

Mr. Wallace, himself, although retaining a slight feeling that therewas something uncanny about her, felt it overshadowed by a convictionthat it would never do to permit her to go into the hills as sheintended to do. He finally expressed himself to that effect. 

"This here mine you're hunting for, mad'mo'selle, " he said. "I ain'tgoin' to hold out no hopes to you, but I'll set Dave and my son tolookin' for it and you just stay right here with ma and me and makeyourself at home. "

Solange smiled and shook her head. She habitually kept her eyeslowered, and perhaps this was the reason that, when she raised themnow and then, they caught the observer unawares, with the effect ofholding him startled and fascinated. 

"It is kind of you, monsieur, " she said. "But I cannot stay. I ampledged to make the hunt--not only for the mine but for the man whokilled my father. That is not an errand that I can delegate. "

"I'm afraid there ain't no chance to find the man that did that, " saidWallace, kindly. "There ain't no one knows. It might have beenLouisiana, but if it was, he's been gone these nineteen years andyou'll never find him. "

Solange smiled a little sadly and grimly. "We Basques are queerpeople, " she said. "We are very old. Perhaps that is why we feelthings that others do not feel. It is not like the second sight I haveheard that some possess. Yet it is in me here. " She laid her hand onher breast. "I feel that I will find that man--and the mine, but notso strongly. It is what you call a--a hunch, is it not?"

Wallace shook his head dubiously, but Solange had raised her eyes andas long as he could see them he felt unable to question anything shesaid. 

"And it is said that a murderer always returns, sooner or later, tothe scene of his crime, monsieur. I will be there when he comesback. "

"But, " said Mrs. Wallace, gently, "it is not necessary for you to goyourself. Indeed, you can't do it, my dear!"

"Why not, madame?"

"Why--why---- But, mad'mo'selle, you must realize that a young girllike you can't wander these mountains alone--or with a set of youngscamps like these boys. They're good boys, and they wouldn't hurt you, but people would talk. "

Solange only shrugged her shoulders. "Talk! Madame, I am not afraid oftalk. "

"But, my dear, you are too lovely--too---- You must understand thatyou can't do it. "

"It'd sure be dangerous, " said Wallace, emphatically. "We couldn'tallow it, nohow. Even my son here--I wouldn't let you go with him, andhe's a good boy as they go. And there's others you might meet in thehills. "

Solange nodded. "I understand, monsieur. But I am not afraid. Besides, am I not to meet my husband on this Shoestring Cañon where we mustfirst go?"

Simultaneously they turned on her. "Your _husband_!" It was a cry ofastonishment from the older people and one of mingled surprise andshock from the boys. Solange smiled and nodded. 

"Yes, " she said. "Monsieur de Launay, whom you rescued from the jail. He is my husband and it is all quite proper. "

"It ain't proper nohow, " muttered Sucatash. "That bum is her husband, Dave!"

"I don't get this, quite, " said Wallace. 

Then Solange explained, telling them of the strange bargain she hadmade with De Launay and something of his history. The effect of thestory was to leave them more doubtful than ever, but when Wallacetried to point out that she would be taking a very long chance totrust herself to a man of De Launay's character and reputation, sheonly spread her hands and laughed, declaring that she had no fear ofhim. He had been a soldier and a gentleman, whatever he was now. 

Wallace gave it up, but he had a remedy for the situation, at least inpart. 

"Son, " he said, abruptly, "you and Dave are hired. You-all are goin'to trail along with this lady and see that she comes out all right. Ifshe's with her husband, there ain't no cause for scandal. But if thisDe Launay feller gets anyways gay, you-all just puts his light out. You hear me!"

"You're shoutin', pop. Which we already signs on with mad'mo'selle. Wehunts mines, murderers, or horned toads for her if she says so. "

Solange laughed, and there was affection in her mirth. 

"That is splendid, messieurs. I cannot thank you. "

"You don't need to, " growled Dave. "All we asks is a chance to slaythis here husband of yours. Which we-all admires to see you a widow. "

After that Solange set herself to question Wallace regarding herfather's death. But he could tell her little she did not know. 

"We never knows who killed him, " he said, after telling how Pierred'Albret had been found, dying in his wagon, with a sack ofmarvelously rich ore behind him. "There was some says it wasLouisiana, and a coroner's jury over to Maryville brings in a verdictthat a way. But I don't know. Louisiana was wild and reckless and hecould sure fan a gun, but he never struck me as bein' a killer. Likewise, I never knows him to carry a rifle, and Brandon says hedidn't have one when he went out past his ranch. Course, he might havegot hold of Pete's gun and used that, but if he did how come that Petedon't know who kills him?

"The main evidence against Louisiana lays with old Jim Banker, theprospector. He comes rackin' in about a week later and says he seesLouisiana headin' into Shoestring Cañon about the time Pete was shot. But the trailers didn't find his hoss tracks. There was tracks left byPete's team and some burro sign, but there wasn't no recent hosstracks outside o' that. "

"You say Jim Banker says he saw him?" demanded Sucatash. 

"Yes. "

"Huh! That's funny. Jim allows, down in Sulphur Falls, that he don'tknow nothin' about it. Says he was south of the range, out on thedesert at the time. "

"Reckon he's forgot, " said Wallace. "Anyway, if it was Louisiana, he'sgone and I reckon he won't come back. "

"I think it could not have been any one else, " said Solange, thoughtfully. "What kind of man was this--this Louisiana?"

"Tall, good-lookin' young chap, slim and quick as a rattler. He'd foolyou on looks. Came from Louisiana, and gets his name from that andfrom a sort of coon song he was always singin'. Something about 'MyLouisiana--Louisiana Lou!' Don't remember his right name except thatit was something like Delaney. Lew Delaney, I think. "

"He was a dangerous man, you say?"

"Well--he was sure dangerous. I've seen some could shake the loads outof a six-gun pretty fast and straight, but I never saw the beat ofthis feller. Them things gets exaggerated after a time, but if half ofwhat they tell of this fellow was true, he was about the boss of theherd with a small gun. 

"Still, he never shoots any one until he mixes with Snake Murphy andthat was Snake's fault. He was on the run with some of Snake's friendsafter him when this happens. That's how come he was down here. "

In the morning Solange appeared, dressed for the range. The two youngmen, who had been smitten by her previously, when she had been cladin the sort of garments they had seen on the dainty town girls, weredoubly so when they saw her now. Slim and delicate, she wore breechesand coat of fair, soft leather and a Stetson, set over a vivid silkhandkerchief arranged around her hair like a bandeau. The costume waseminently practical, as they saw at once, but it was alsopicturesquely feminine and dainty. It had the effect of raising hereven higher above ordinary mortals. If it had been any other who woreit they would have contemptuously set her down as a moving-pictureheroine and laughed behind her back. But Solange set off the costumeand it set her off. Besides, it was not new, and had evidently beensubjected to severe service. 

CHAPTER XV

THE SHERIFF FINDS A CLEW

"Miss Pettis, " Captain Wilding remarked to his office attendant, a dayor two after he had been summoned to meet Solange and had heard herrather remarkable story, "I'll have to be going to Maryville for a dayor two on this D'Albret case. I don't believe there will be anythingto discover regarding the mine and the man who killed her father, but, in case we do run into anything, I'd like to be fortified withwhatever recollection you may have of the affair. "

"I don't know a thing except what I told the dame, " said Marian, rather sullenly. "This guy Louisiana bumps the old man off after heleaves our place. Pete was comin' in and was goin' to take granddad inwith him on the mine, but he can't even tell where it was except thatit was somewhere along the way he had come. You got to remember that Iwas just a kid and I don't rightly remember anything about it exceptthat this Louisiana was some little baby doll, himself. His looks weresure deceiving. "

"Well, how old was he at this time?"

"Oh, pretty young, I guess. Not much more than a kid. Say that Frenchdame has a crust, hasn't she, comin' in here after all these years, swellin' round with her face covered as if she's afraid her complexionwouldn't stand the sun, and expectin' to run onto that mine, which, ifshe did find it would be as much mine as it is hers. And who's thisDelonny guy she's bringin' with her? Looks to me like a bolshevikanarchist or a panhandler. "

"Humph!" said Wilding, musingly. "He's nothing like that. Fact is, she's got a gold mine right there, and she wants to divorce it. Now, you're sure Louisiana did this and that he left the country? Ever hearwhat became of him?"

"Nary a word, " said the girl, indifferently. "I reckon everybody hasforgotten him around here except Snake Murphy, who works for Johnnythe Greek. Snake used to know this guy, and it was for shootin' himthat Louisiana was run out of the country. Fact is, I've heard most ofwhat I know from Snake. "

"I'd better interview him, I suppose, " said Wilding. 

"If you can get any info out of him as to where that mine is you oughtto tell me as quick as that French dame, " said Marian. "Believe me, I'm needing gold mines a lot more than she does. She ain't so hard upthat she can't go chasing around the country and livin' at swellhotels and hiring lawyers and things while I got to work for what Iget. Anyway, half of that mine belongs to me. "

"The mine belongs to whoever finds it, " said Wilding. "It was neverfiled on, and any claim D'Albret might have had was lost at his death. In any event, I imagine that it has been so long ago that the chanceof locating it now is practically nonexistent. "

"Me, too, " said Marian. "Unless----" and she paused. 

"Unless what?"

"Whatever brings this dame clear over from France to look for a mineafter twenty years? D'you reckon that any one in their sober senseswould squander money on a thing like that if they didn't have someinside info as to where to look? Seems to me this Frog lady must havegot some tip that we haven't had. "

"Perhaps she has, " said Wilding. "In fact, she would hardly come here, as you say, with nothing definite to go on. But I'm not interested inthe mine. What I want to know is where this Louisiana went after heleft here. "

"Maybe Snake Murphy knows, " said Marian. 

Wilding was inclined to agree with her. At least no other source ofinformation appeared to offer any better prospects, so with somedistaste he sought out Murphy at the pool room. He began by tactfullyremarking about the changes from the old times, to which Murphyagreed. 

"You've lived here since before the Falls was built, haven't you, Murphy?" asked Wilding, after Snake had expressed some contempt fornew times and new ways. 

"Me!" said Snake, boastfully. "Why, when I come here there wasn'tanything here but sunshine and jack rabbits. I _was_ the town ofSulphur Falls. I run a ferry and a road house down here when therewasn't another place within five miles in any direction. "

"You knew the old-timers, then?"

"Nobody knew them any better. They all had to stop at my placewhenever they were crossin' the river. There wasn't no ford. "

Wilding leaned over and grew confidential. 

"Snake, " he said, in a low tone, "I've heard that you know somethingabout this old-time gunman, Louisiana, and the killing of French Peteback about the first of the century. Is there anything in that?"

Snake eyed him coolly and appraisingly before he answered. 

"There seems to be a lot of interest cropping up in this Louisiana andFrench Pete all of a sudden, " he remarked. "What's the big idea?"

"I'm looking for Louisiana, " said Wilding. 

"And not fer French Pete's mine?"

"No interest at all in the mine, " Wilding assured him. "I've got anidea that Louisiana could be convicted of that murder if we could layhands on him. "

"Well, you're welcome to go to it if you want, " said Snake, dryly. Heheld up his stiffened right wrist and eyed it cynically. "But, personally, if it was me and I knowed that Louisiana was stillkickin', I'd indulge in considerable reflection before I wentsquanderin' around lookin' to lay anything on him. This hereLouisiana, I'm free to state, wasn't no hombre to aggravatecarelessly. _I_ found that out. "

"How?" Wilding asked. 

"Oh, it was my own fault, I'll admit at this day. There was a ladyused to frequent my place who wasn't any better than she should be. She took a grudge against Louisiana and, bein' right fond of her atthe time, I was foolish enough to horn in on the ruction. I'll saythis for Louisiana: he could just as well have beefed me completeinstead of just shootin' the derringer out of my fist the way he done. Takin' it all together, I'd say he was plumb considerate. "

"He was a bad man, then?"

"Why, no, I wouldn't say he was. He was a rattlesnake with asix-shooter, but, takin' it altogether, he never run wild with it. Notuntil he beefs French Pete--that is, if he did down him. As for me, Inever knew anything about that except what I was told because I wasnursin' a busted wrist about that time. All I know was that the boysthat hung around here was after him for gettin' me and that he headedout south, stoppin' at Twin Forks and then goin' on south toward themountains. Nobody ever saw him again, and from that day to this heain't never been heard of. "

"Looks like he had some reason better than shooting you up to keepgoing and never come back, don't it?"

"It looks like it. But I don't know anything about it. Might have beenthat he was just tired of us all and decided to quit us. Anyhow, ifthere's anything rightly known about it I reckon it'll be over atMaryville. There's where they held the inquest at the time. "

Snake evidently knew nothing more than he had told and Wilding againdecided that his only chance of gaining any real information would beat Maryville. Accordingly, he got an automobile and started for thatsomnolent village on the next day. 

After arriving at the little town, he spent two or three days inpreliminary work looking toward filing the petition for mademoiselle'sdivorce and arranging to secure her nominal residence in Nevada. Notuntil this had been accomplished did he set out to get informationregarding the long-forgotten Louisiana. 

His first place of call was the coroner's office. A local undertakerheld the position at this time and he had been in the country no morethan ten years. He knew nothing of his predecessors and had few oftheir records, none going back as far as this event. 

"There seems to be a lot of curiosity cropping up about this oldmurder, " he volunteered, when Wilding broached the subject. "Anotherman was in here yesterday asking about the same thing. Tall, good-looking fellow, dressed like a cowman and wearing a gun. Knowhim?"

Wilding asked a few further details and recognized the description asthat of De Launay. This satisfied him, as he had no doubt thatmademoiselle's nominal husband was employed on the same errand ashimself. So he merely stated that it was probably the man in whoseinterests he was working. 

"Well, I didn't know anything about him and didn't discuss the matterwith him. Fact is, I never heard of the murder so I couldn't tell himmuch about it. "

"Still, I'm sure there was an inquest at the time, " said Wilding. 

"There probably was, but that wouldn't mean any too much. In the olddays the coroner's juries had a way of returning any old verdict thatstruck their fancies. I've heard of men being shot tackling some notedgun fighter and the jury bringing in a verdict of suicide because heought to have known better than to take such a chance. Then it's by nomeans uncommon to find them laying a murder whose perpetrator wasunknown or out of reach against a Chinaman or Indian or some extremelyunpopular individual on the theory that, if he hadn't done this one, he might eventually commit one and, anyway, they ought to hang him ongeneral principles and get rid of him. This was in 1900, you say?"

"About then. "

"That doesn't sound early enough for one of the freak verdicts. Still, this country was still primitive at that time, and they might havedone almost anything. Anyway there are no coroner's records going backto that date, so I'm afraid that I can't help you or your client. "

Wilding was discouraged, but he thought there might still be a chancein another direction, although the prospects appeared slim. Leavingthe coroner he sought out the sheriff's office and encountered a burlyindividual who welcomed him as some one to relieve the monotony of hisdays. This man was also a newcomer, or comparatively so. He hadfifteen years of residence behind him. But he, too, knew nothing ofFrench Pete's murder. 

"To be sure, " he said, after reflecting, "I've heard something aboutit and I have a slight recollection that I've run onto it at sometime. There used to be considerable talk about the mine this hereBasco had found and many a man has hunted all over the map after it. But it ain't never been found. I've heard that he was shot from ambushby a gunman, and his name might have been Louisiana. Seems to me thatwhoever shot him must have done it because he had found the mine, andsince the mine ain't ever been discovered it looks like the murderermust have wanted its secret to remain hidden. That looks reasonable, don't it?"

"There might be something in it, " admitted Wilding. 

"Well, if that's the case, it's just as reasonable to figure that, ifit was a white man that shot him, he'd come back in time to locate themine. But he ain't ever done it. Then I'd say that proves one of twothings: either it wasn't no white man that shot him or if it was theman was himself killed before he could return. Ain't that right?"

"But if not a white man who would have done it?"

"Indians, " said the sheriff, solemnly. "Them Indians don't want whitemen ringing in here and digging up the country where they hunt. Backin those days I reckon there was heaps of Indians round here and mostlikely one of them shot him. But, come to think of it, the files mayhave a record of it in 'em. We'll go and look. "

Wilding followed him, still further convinced that he was on ahopeless search. The sheriff went into the office and led the way upto an unlighted second-story room, hardly more than an attic where, inthe dust and gloom, slightly dissipated by the rays of a flashlight, he disclosed several boxes and transfer cases over which he stooped. 

"Nineteen hundred. It wouldn't be in one of these transfer casesbecause I know they didn't have no such traps in those days. One ofthese old boxes might have something. Lend a hand while I haul themout. "

The two of them hauled out and opened two or three boxes before theyfound one the papers in which seemed to be dated in the years beforeand after nineteen hundred. This they carried downstairs and soon werebusy in pawing over the dusty, faded documents. The search producedonly one thing. The sheriff came upon it and held it up just as theywere giving up hope. Then, with Wilding eagerly leaning over hisshoulder, he read it slowly. 

 REWARD!

 The sheriff of Esmeralda County, State of Nevada, hereby offers a reward of FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS for the capture, dead or alive, and evidence leading to the conviction of Lewis Delaney, alias Louisiana Lou, alias Louisiana, who is wanted for the murder, on October 18, 1900, of Peter Dalbray, commonly known as French Pete, at a point near the entrance of Shoestring Cañon in Township 42 N. , Range 5 East. This reward is guaranteed and authorized by Isaac Brandon, of Twin Forks, Nevada. 

 DESCRIPTION!

 Just short of six feet, slim, quick, regular features, age about nineteen or twenty years, smooth face, brown hair, gray eyes. Dressed when last seen in open flap chaps, silver conchas, blue shirt. Boss of the Range Stetson, wearing wide belt with conchas and holster stamped with sunflowers. Carried a black rubber-handled Colt . 41-caliber gun with which he is very expert. Has probably picked up a 30-30 rifle, Winchester or Marlin, since last seen, with which he committed the crime. Speaks with slight Southern accent. Police of all cities notified. 

"That, " said the sheriff, reluctantly, "seems to dispose of my Indiantheory. They wouldn't have offered any such reward if they hadn't beenpretty sure they had the right man. But it's equally sure that theynever caught him or we'd have some record of it. On my second theorythen, he's either dead, or else he'd have come back to locate thatmine, or else he's been taken up for some other crime and has beenserving time somewhere. "

Wilding took the faded, yellow handbill with its crude printing. "Itlooks that way, " he said. "Evidently they couldn't get a photograph ofhim, and the description seems to be vague except as to his weaponsand accouterments. "

"That's the way with them old-timers. They didn't pay so muchattention to a man's looks as to his saddle and horse and gun. But ifit'll do you any good take it along. It's outlawed as far as thereward's concerned, so I don't reckon I'll go hunting this fellow. Thecounty wouldn't pay me, and old Brandon's been dead a year or more. "

The lawyer had to be satisfied with this, and, indeed, it seemed tosettle the matter fairly conclusively. His business having beencompleted, he got out his automobile and once more headed back forSulphur Falls. 

That evening he drew up at Wallace's ranch and there found Solangeabout to start into the mountains. He stayed the night, and deliveredto her the handbill after telling her what he had done regarding thedivorce and the search for the murderer. Solange listened to the firstpart of it with slight interest. Her desire to be free of De Launayhad lost its force lately and she found herself somewhat indifferent. As Wilding formally laid down the procedure she would have to gothrough she even found herself vaguely regretting that she had movedso promptly in that matter. Somehow, in this land of strangers, kindand sympathetic as they had been, she felt that her search washopeless without some more intimate help. The tall soldier, broken anddesperate as he seemed to be, was closer to her than any one else andshe felt that, if she should lose him, her plight would be forlorn. Asshe had last seen him standing in his cell, making his quiet promiseof service to her, he appeared to be a rock on which she could lean. To her mind came back the stories she had heard of him, the wild andstormy tale of his rise from an outcast of the Légion des Etrangers toa high and honored place in the French army. He had done wonderfulthings and had overcome tremendous obstacles. Such a man could stilldo marvels, and it was marvels that one must do to help her in hersearch. 

Some inborn superstition of her native mountains worked upon her. Inhis absence the things which had prejudiced her against him fadedwhile the smooth efficiency and ease of her journey to this distantland was recalled, with the realization that that comfort and speedmust have been due entirely to him whom she had thought spending histime in drunken carouses. He had brought her so far, to the verythreshold of what she sought, and, if he should now abandon her, thatthreshold must remain uncrossed. De Launay had taken on some of theattributes of a guardian angel, a jinni who alone could guide her tothe goal she sought. And she was about to divorce him, to cut theslight tie that bound him to her. 

This was her feeling when Wilding showed her the handbill, and theancient, faded poster carried instant conviction to her that she wasat last on the trail of the murderer. When the lawyer repeated thesheriff's deductions as to Louisiana's death or detention, she merelyshook her head. Although the description carried little meaning to hershe seemed to envision a figure, sinister and evil, something to seekand something to find. Or something that De Launay would surelyfind!

She went out to where the two young men were working with the packoutfit and horses which had been brought in for their journey. 

"My friends, " she said soberly, "we must hurry and be gone to-morrow. I have a feeling that we shall find this man. But it will be withMonsieur de Launay's help. I do not know why but I feel that he willbring us to the man. We must rejoin him as soon as possible. "

"All right, " said Sucatash, shortly. Dave muttered, "Damn De Launay!"But they both turned back to their work and hastened theirpreparations. 

CHAPTER XVI

IN THE SOLITUDES OF THE CANYON

The great wall of the Esmeraldas is split at one point by a raggedchasm opening out into the foothills and the grass plains to thenorth. This was the outlet of Shoestring Creek, a small stream ofwater which flowed out into the plain and was finally lost in thesands. It ran back into the range almost to the top of the maindivide, forming a sort of natural pathway through the ruggedmountains, a pathway much followed by the sheep-herders in drivingtheir flocks from winter to summer range. 

There was no road, properly speaking. In fact, when one had penetrateda few miles into the cañon passage was rendered arduous and difficultby a series of rocky terraces down which the stream tumbled. At manypoints the sheep trails winding along the slopes of the cañon wallsformed the only practical thoroughfare. 

Farther up, the cañon became more level, but no one had ever built aroad through it. A good trail ran along it, generally at the level ofthe stream. Once past the terraced and rough part, there were nodifficulties worthy of mention, at least in other seasons thanwinter. 

It was into this entrance to the Esmeraldas that Solange and hercavaliers rode, pushing on steadily so as to be able to make campabove the obstructions. Sucatash and Dave, finding that the girl was acapable horsewoman and apparently able to bear any reasonable amountof fatigue, had pushed their first day's travel relentlessly, coveringthe twenty miles between the ranch and the mountains, and aiming topenetrate another ten miles into the hills on the first day. 

There had been little conversation. The two boys had the habit oftheir kind and kept silence for the most part while on the trail. Asfor Solange, though interested in the strange and wild country, shewas engrossed in her own thoughts, aloof from all about her, wonderingceaselessly what her search would eventually develop. 

There had been many times, even after starting on her pilgrimage, whenthe whole adventure had appealed to her as one that was no better thana weird, senseless obsession, one that she would do well to turn backfrom and forget. Probably, at first, she had only been kept to thetask by a certain spirit of adventure, a youthful and long-repressedurge for romance, fortified by inherited traditions of the sacrednessof vengeance. It is even probable that, had it not been for thefortuitous advent of De Launay and the wild impulse which had led herto enlist him in the affair, she would have remained at home andsettled down to--what?

It was that memory of what her fate must be at home that had alwaysfurnished the final prick to her faltering resolution. Better towander, lonely and helpless, fighting and struggling to achieve somemeasure of independence, than remain to what her existence must be inFrance, whether it was the drab life of a seamstress or shopgirl, thegray existence of a convent, the sluggish grind of a sordidmarriage--provided she could find a man to marry--or the feverishdegradation of the _demi-monde_. 

But now, as she rode under the frowning, yellow-brown, black-patchedrocks of the Esmeraldas, or looked backward over the drab plain behindher, she felt an ever-increasing exaltation and tingling sense ofexpectation. She could not guess what was going to happen. She had noidea of what awaited her among those mountains, but she had a strongand distinct impression that fate was leading her on to a finalaccounting. 

Why De Launay should be inextricably entangled in that settlement shecould not imagine but he was always there. Her recollections of himwere those of disgust and contempt. To her he was merely a fallen, weak, dissipated man, criminally neglectful of opportunities, criminally indifferent to his obligations. She recalled him as he hadstood in the cell of the jail, unkempt, shattered of nerve, and sheshivered to think that he had been a man who was once consideredgreat. The fact that she was bound to him, even though the affair wasone purely of form, should have affected her as something degrading. 

Peculiarly, however, it did not. Most of the time she never consideredthe marriage at all. When she did it was with a feeling of mingledsecurity and comfort. It was convenient and, somehow, she felt that, in De Launay, she had the one husband who would not have been anuisance or have endeavored to take advantage of the circumstances. The marriage being a matter of form, a divorce was inevitable andsimple, yet, when she considered that matter of divorce, she felt aqueer sort of reluctance and distaste, as though it were best to shoveconsideration of that point into the future as far as possible. 

The gaunt, bare cañon thrilled her. She felt as though she werebreaking into some mysterious, Bluebeard region where danger, adventure and intrigue awaited her. The mine, indeed, remained a merevague possibility, hoped for but hardly expected. But her father'sslayer and the vengeance that she had nursed so long became realities. The rocks that blocked the way might hide him and, somewhere in thosehills, rode De Launay, who would lead her to that evil beast who hadblighted her life. 

Again, why De Launay? She did not know, except that she felt that thedrunken soldier held the key to the search. Probably he was to be theinstrument of vengeance; the slayer of the criminal; the settler ofthe blood feud. He was hers by marriage, and in marrying her hadwedded the vendetta. Besides, he was the type. A légionnaire, probablya criminal, and certainly one who had killed without compunction inhis time. The instrument of Providence, in fact!

Ahead of her rode Sucatash, ahead of him the long string of laden packhorses and ahead of them the silent Dave. The two cow-punchers hadjogged throughout the day with silent indifference to theirsurroundings, but after they had entered the foothills and werecreeping into the shadow of the cañon they evinced more animation. Every now and then Solange observed that one or the other cast aglance up into the air and ahead of them, toward the interior of therange. She was riding closer to Sucatash who motioned toward thedistant crest of the range which showed through the gap of the cañon. 

She nodded. She was mountain born and bred and recognized the signs. 

"There will be a storm, monsieur. "

Sucatash rewarded her with an admiring glance. "Afraid we're headedinto it, " he said. "Better turn back?"

"It will take more than storms to turn me back, " she answered. 

Sucatash nodded and turned again to look at the sky turning gray andgradually blackening above the dim line of the ridge. Even as theywatched it, the sky seemed to descend upon the crest and to melt it. The outlines became vague, broken up, changed. 

"Snowing up there, " he said. "By'n by, it'll be snowin' down here. Snow ain't so bad--but----"

"But what?"

"She drifts into this here cañon pretty bad. There ain't no road anddown hereaways where these rocks make the goin' hard at the best oftimes, the drifts sure stack up bad. "

"What is it that you mean, Monsieur Sucatash?"

"I mean that we ain't goin' to have no trouble gettin' in, mad'mo'selle, but we may have a fierce time gettin' out. In two daysthe drifts will be pilin' up on the divide and the trail on the otherside, and in a coupla days more they'll be blockin' the cañon downthis a way. "

Solange shrugged her shoulders. "We have food, " she answered. "At anyrate, I am going on. I have promised that I would meet Monsieur deLaunay in this cañon. I cannot keep him waiting. "

Sucatash accepted her ultimatum without protest. But, after amomentary silence, he turned once more in his saddle. 

"Say, mad'mo'selle, " he said, "this here De Launay, now; he's sureenough your husband?"

"Of course. "

"But he ain't noways a regular, honest-to-God husband, is he?"

"We are married, " said Solange. "Is that not enough?"

"I reckon so. Still, there's Dave and me--we would sure admire to knowhow this feller stands with you. "

Solange looked at him, and he found difficulty, as usual, inconcentrating on what she said or on anything but the fathomless eyes. Yet he comprehended that she was speaking, that she was smilingkindly, and yet that speech and smile were both destructive of hisimmature romance. 

"He stands--not at all, monsieur, except as an instrument. But--thatway--he and I are bound together forever. "

It was in her eyes that Sucatash read meaning. Somewhere in theirdepths he found a knowledge denied even to her, perhaps. He heaved aprofound sigh and turned to yell at Dave. 

"Get a wiggle on, old-timer! You an' me are just hired hands on thispasear. _Madame de Launay_ will be gettin' hungry before we makecamp. "

Dave swung quickly around, catching the slight emphasis on the strangename. Over the backs of the pack horses his and his companion's eyesmet. Then he turned back and jogged up the pace a trifle. 

By five o'clock in the evening they had passed the worst stages of thejourney and were well up into the cañon. But the storm was worse thanthey had thought. Already occasional snowflakes were drifting down, and the chill was beginning to bite even through the warm fleece thatlined mademoiselle's coat. The men decided to make camp. 

They pitched Solange's tent in a sheltered spot not far above thestream. They themselves slept in the open under heavy tarps. Sucatashsighed again when, during that evening, Solange showed that she was nohelpless creature of civilization but could fully perform her part ofany tasks that were to be done. She cooked over a camp fire as thoughshe had been born to it, and the food was better in consequence. 

But Sucatash was uneasy. In the morning he consulted Dave and thatyoung man shared his fears. 

"It ain't goin' to be bad for several days, " he said. "But when shedrifts in earnest we all are liable to be stuck in here until spring. I ain't aimin' to get anxious, Dave, but we ain't fixed to bucksnow. "

"She ain't goin' to turn back, so what can we do?" asked the other. 

"This here De Launay will probably be up near the crater. Once we gether up there we ain't responsible. But there ain't no telling how soonthe snow'll drift. I'm thinkin' one of us ought to mosey back to theranch and bring in webs and dogs. "

"He'd better get a-going, then, " said Dave. 

"You'd better stay with the lady and take her on. I hate to leave heralone with a feller like you, but I reckon she'll meet up with herhusband by night and he can settle you if necessary. I'll pull myfreight out o' here and git the snowshoes and a dog sled and team. We'll maybe need a heap more grub than we've got if we hole up heretoo long. "

"You're shoutin', " agreed Dave. 

Mademoiselle, when the plan was broached to her, made no objection. She was constitutionally fearless where men were concerned, and thedeparture of Sucatash did not in the least alarm her. She alsorecognized the wisdom of taking precautions against their being snowedin. 

Thus the party broke up in the morning. Sucatash, before departing, took his rifle and a full belt of ammunition and fastened it to thegirl's saddle. 

"If Dave gets gay, " he said, with a grin, "just bust him where helooks biggest with this here 30-30. "

After assisting in packing the horses, he mounted and rode down thecañon while Solange and Dave resumed their journey in the oppositedirection. 

Sucatash, as soon as he had passed out of sight, quartered up the sideof the cañon where sheep trails promised somewhat easier going thanthe irregular floor of the gulch. Thus he was enabled to get anoccasional glimpse of them by looking backward whenever favorableground exposed the valley. But he was soon past all hope of furthervision, and when the distraction was removed settled down to make thebest speed on his journey. 

He gave no heed to anything but the route ahead of him and that wassoon a task that engrossed him. It had been snowing some all night, and it was now slithering down in great flakes which made the air agray mystery and the ground a vague and shadowy puzzle. Sucatash didnot care to linger. Without the girl to care for he was one who wouldtake chances, and he rushed his horse rapidly, slogging steadily alongthe trails, without attention to anything but the ribbon of beatenpath immediately ahead of him. 

There was every reason to believe that the hills were empty of allhumankind except for their own party and De Launay, who was ahead andnot behind them. Sucatash was entirely ignorant of the fact that, among the rocky terraces of the cañon, Jim Banker camped, after havingfollowed their trail as long as the light would allow him to do so. 

The prospector was up and on the move as soon as Sucatash. He and hisburros were trudging along among the rocks, the old man muttering andtalking to himself and shaking his head from side to side as one whosebrain has been affected by years of solitude and unending search forgold. His eyes were never still, but swept the trail ahead of him orthe slopes on either hand, back and forth, back and forth, restlesslyand uneasily as though there were something here that he looked forand yet feared to see. 

Far ahead of him and high on the slope he finally beheld Sucatash, riding alone and at a rapid trot along a sheep trail, his long, leanfigure leaning forward, raised in his stirrups, and his hands onsaddle horn. He was evidently riding in haste, for that gait andattitude on the part of a cow hand means that he is in a hurry and hasa long way to go. 

The prospector hurriedly unslung a field glass and focused it onSucatash. When he was sure of the man and of his route he grinnedevilly. 

"One of 'em right into my hands, " he chuckled. 

He then dismounted and ran to one of the burros. From the pack hedragged a roll of wire which he carried there for some purpose orother, probably for the construction of a short length of fencewhenever he stopped long enough to make it desirable. He glanced up atthe gray sky, noting the swirl of snowflakes which settled down like acloud. A few moments ago they had almost ceased, enabling him toglimpse the rider at a distance and now they were providentiallyfalling again. Luck was surely with him. 

Above him, about fifty yards up the slope of the cañon wall, was along bench, rather narrow and beaten flat by the passage of countlesssheep. Under it the hill sloped sharply, almost precipitously. It wasas though made to order for his purpose. 

He mounted his horse and spurred it around and quartering up the hilleven as Sucatash wound in and out among the swales and depressions ofthe cañon wall, now coming into dim view and now vanishing behind abend. Banker had plenty of time. 

He reached the bench and hurriedly dismounted, to run to a scrubbycedar growing almost on the edge of the ledge. Round this, at no morethan six inches above the ground, he twisted an end of the wire. Thenhe ran with the other end across the bench and snubbed it around ascrub oak growing on the slope. The branches of the little tree werethick, and the tough, prickly leaves still hung to it in somequantity. 

He dropped the wire and went out and led his horse back among thescrub oaks. He then stood up close to the tree, almost invisibleagainst the tangled branches and dead leaves. In one hand he held thecoil of wire snubbed about the roots of the scrub oak while the otherwas clutching the nose of his horse. 

Finally out of the smother of snow Sucatash came driving, head bentand hat brim pulled down to avoid the snow. The road was easy enoughand he thought of nothing but getting along with all the speedpossible. He did not notice that his horse, when emerging onto thebench, broke its stride and threw up its head as though seekingsomething. Instead he sank his spurs and urged the beast on. 

The horse broke into a lope on the level stretch in answer to thespur. They came sweeping down until opposite where the prospectorcrouched. 

Banker released his hold on his horse's nose and tightened the pull onthe wire at the same time. His horse neighed. 

Shrilly and loud, Sucatash's mount answered. Head thrown high andturned to the side he half checked his stride at the call of his kind. Startled, Sucatash also threw up his head and turned. 

Then the wire clutched the forelegs of the horse and, with a crash, hewent down. Sucatash went with him, and, catlike, strove to throwhimself from the saddle. Unfortunately, he leaped on the outer sidewhere the ledge fell away steeply. 

He freed himself from the plunging horse, but his head struck hardagainst the gnarled trunk of a juniper and, half stunned, his bodyslid over the edge and dropped. 

Chuckling and mouthing, rubbing his hands together, Banker slunk fromhis ambush. He retrieved his wire and then looked at the horse kickingon the ground. 

"No use lettin' him go back to the ranch, " he said, slyly. Then hedrew his six-shooter and shot the animal. 

Leading his own horse he climbed carefully down the slope and workedhis way to where the body must have fallen. But it took him some timeto find it, as Sucatash had rolled far after striking the slope. 

He came upon it at last wedged against a clump of greasewood. Therewas blood on the head and the sightless eyes stared up to the graysky. Snowflakes fell steadily and melted against the white cheeks. Thebody lay awkwardly twisted. 

"Dead!" chuckled Banker. "All of 'em die! Old Jim don't die, though!Old Jim'll find it! He'll find the gold. French Pete hid it; Panaminthid it; this here Frog lady is hidin' it. But old Jim'll find it. OldJim'll find it after all of 'em's dead. Dead! Dead! Dead!"

He burst out into shrill laughter, and his horse snorted and tried topull away. He instantly broke off laughing to curse foully, mouthingobscenities and oaths as he jerked cruelly at the spade bit. Thetrembling horse squatted back and then stood with wildly rollingeyes. 

Muttering, Jim stamped heavily down the hill, dragging the horse withhim and leaving the still form to the mercies of the snow. The fallingflakes were already filling up the trail that he left. In an hour ortwo there would be no sign of his presence. 

CHAPTER XVII

THE SECRET OF THE LOST MINE

Through most of the day Dave and Solange pushed on up the cañon andthe snow fell steadily, deepening under foot. As yet there were nodrifts, for the wind was not blowing and progress was easy enough. After a few hours the snow grew deep enough to ball up under the feetof the horses and to cause some inconvenience from slipping. More thanonce Solange was in danger of being thrown by the plunge of her horseas his feet slid from under him. This served to retard their progressconsiderably but was not of much consequence aside from that and theslight element of added danger. 

They had no more than fifteen miles to go before reaching therendezvous, and this they made shortly after noon. Dave, who hadbecome more silent than ever when he found himself alone with thegirl, pitched the tent and then went to gather a supply of wood. Unused to strenuous riding, Solange went into her tent and lay down torest. 

They had expected to find De Launay, but there was no sign of him. Dave said that he might be within a short distance and they not knowit, and asserted his intention of scouting around to find him afterhe had got the wood. 

Solange was asleep when he came back with a load snaked in with hislariat, and he did not disturb her. Leaving the wood he rode on up thecañon looking for signs of De Launay. But, although he spent thebetter part of the afternoon in the search, riding in and out of everybranch gully, and quartering up the slopes to where the black standsof timber began, he found no trace of the man. 

Finally, fearing that Solange would begin to be frightened at hisabsence, he turned and started back to the camp. He had marked it by alarge outcrop that stuck out of the cañon wall, forming a flat oblongbench of rock. This had hung on the slope about a hundred feet abovethe floor of the valley, and so he made his way along at about thatheight. It was beginning to get dark, the snow was falling heavily andhe found it difficult to see far in front of him. 

"High time old Sucatash was fannin' in fer dogs, " he said to himself. "The winter's done set in for sure. "

Fearing that he would miss the camp by keeping so high he headed hishorse downward and finally reached the bottom of the cañon. Here thesnow was deeper but the going was better. He turned downward with somerelief, and was just about to spur his horse to greater speed when, through the gray mist of snow, a shadowy figure loomed up beforehim. 

"Hey, De Launay?" he called. The figure did not answer but movedtoward him. 

He reined in his horse and leaned outward to look more intently. Behind the man, who was mounted, he saw the blurred outlines of packanimals. "De Launay?" he called again. 

The figure seemed to grow suddenly nearer and more distinct, descending close upon him. 

"It ain't no Delonny, " chuckled a shrill voice. "It's me. "

"Huh!" said Dave, with disgust. "Jim Banker, the damned old desertrat!"

"Reckon you ain't so glad to see me, " wheezed Jim, still chuckling. "Old Jim's always around, though; always around when there's goldhuntin' to do. Always around, old Jim is!"

"Well, mosey on and pull your freight, " snarled Dave. "We don't wantyou too close around. It's a free country, but keep to windward andout o' sight. "

"You don't like old Jim! Hee, hee! Don't none of 'em like old Jim! ButJim's here, a-huntin'--and most of them's dead that don't like him. Old Jim don't die! The other fellers dies!"

"So I hears, " said Dave, with meaning. He said no more, for Banker, without the slightest warning, shot him through the head. 

The horses plunged as the body dropped to the ground and Jim wheezedand cackled as he held his own beast down. 

"Hee, hee! They all of 'em dies, but old Jim don't die!"

With a snort Dave's horse wheeled and galloped away up the cañon. Thesound of his going frightened the prospector. He ceased to laugh, andcowered in his saddle, looking fearfully about him into the dim swirlof the snow. 

"Who's that?" he called. 

The deadly silence was unbroken. The old man shook his fist in the airand again broke into his frightful cursing. 

"I ain't afraid!" he yelled. "Damn you. I ain't afraid! You're alldead. You're dead, there; French Pete's dead, Sucatash Wallace's dead, Panamint's dead. But old Jim's alive! Old Jim'll find it. You bet youhe will!"

He bent his head and appeared to listen again. Then:

"What's that? Who's singin'?"

He fell to muttering again, quoting doggerel, whined out in anapproach to a tune: "Louisiana--Louisiana Lou!"

"Louisiana's dead!" he chuckled. "If he aint he better not come back. The gal's a-waitin' fer him. Louisiana what killed her pappy! Ha, ha!Louisiana killed French Pete!"

He turned his horse and slowly, still muttering, began to haze hisburros back down the cañon. 

"Old Jim's smart, " he declaimed. "All same like an Injun, old Jim is!Come a-sneakin' up past the camp there and the gal never knew I wasnigh. Went a-sneakin' past and seen his tracks goin' up the cañon. Just creeps along and rides up on him and now he's dead! All dead butthe gal and old Jim! Old Jim don't die. The gal'll die, but not oldJim! She'll tell old Jim what she knows and then old Jim will find thegold. "

Through the muffling snow he pushed on until the faint glow of a firecame to him through the mist of snowflakes. A shadow flitted in frontof it, and he stopped to chuckle evilly and mutter. Then he dismountedand walked up to the camp, where Solange busied herself in preparingsupper. 

"That you, Monsieur David?" she called cheerily, as Jim's bootscrunched the snow. 

Jim chuckled. "It's just me--old Jim, ma'am, " he said, his voice oilyand ingratiating. "Old Jim, come to see the gal of his old friend, Pete. "

Solange whirled. But Jim had sidled between her and the tent, where, just inside the flap, rested the rifle that Sucatash had left her. 

"What do you wish?" she asked, angrily. Her head was reared, and inthe dim light her eyes glowed as they caught reflections from thefire. She showed no fear. 

"Just wants to talk to you about old times, " whined Banker. "Old Jimwants to talk to Pete's gal, ma'am. "

"I heard a shot a while ago, " said Solange sharply. "Where is MonsieurDave?"

"I don't know nothin' about Dave, ma'am. Reckon he'll be back. Boyslike him don't leave purty gals alone long--less'n he's got keerlessand gone an' hurt hisself. Boys is keerless that a way and they don'tknow the mount'ins like old Jim does. They goes and dies in 'em, ma'am--but old Jim don't die. He knows the mount'ins, he does! He, he!"

Solange took a step toward him. "What do you wish?" she repeated, sternly. Still, she did not fear him. 

"Just to talk, ma'am. Just to talk about French Pete. Just to talkabout gold. Old Jim's been a-huntin' gold a many years, ma'am. AndPete, he found gold and I reckon he told his gal where the gold was. He writ a paper before he died, they say, and I reckon he writ on thatpaper where the gold was, didn't he?"

"No, he did not, " said the girl, shortly and contemptuously. 

"So you'd say; so you'd say, of course. " He chuckled again. "Therewasn't no one could read that Basco writin'. But he done writ it. Now, you tell old Jim what that writin' says, and then you and old Jim willfind that gold. "

Solange suddenly laughed, bitterly. "Tell you? Why yes, I'll tell you. It said----"

"Yes, ma'am! It said----"

He was slaveringly eager as he stepped toward her. 

"It said--to my mother--that she should seek out the man who killedhim and take vengeance on him!"

Jim reeled back, cringing and mouthing. "Said--said what? You'relyin'. It didn't say it!"

"I have told you what it said. Now, stand aside and let me get into mytent!"

With supreme contempt, she walked up to him as though she would pushhim aside. It was a fatal mistake, though she nearly succeeded. Thegibbering, cracked old fiend shrank, peering fearfully, away from herblazing eyes and the black halo, rimmed with flashing color, of herhair. For a moment it seemed that he would yield in terror and giveher passage. 

But terror gave place suddenly to crazy rage. With an outburst ofbloodcurdling curses, he flung himself upon her. She thought to avoidhim, but he was as quick as a cat and as wiry and strong as a terrier. Before she could leap aside, his claw-like hands were tangled in hercoat and he was dragging her to him. She fought. 

She struck him, kicked and twisted with all her splendid, lithestrength, but it was in vain. He clung like a leech, dragging hercloser in spite of all she could do. She beat at his snarling faceand the mouth out of which were whining things she fortunately did notunderstand. His yellow fangs were bare and saliva dripped from them. 

Disgust and horror was overwhelming her. His iron arms were bendingher backward. She tried again to tear free, stepped back, stumbled, went down with a crash. He sprang upon her, grunting and whistling, seized her hair and lifted her head, to send it crashing against theground. 

The world went black as she lost consciousness. 

The prospector got to his feet, grumbling and cursing. He did not seemto feel the bruises left on his face by her competent hands. Hestooped over her, felt her breast and found her heart beating. 

"She ain't goin' to die. She ain't goin' to die yet. She'll tell oldJim what's writ on that paper. She'll tell him where the gold is. "

He left her lying there while he went to get his outfit. The packswere dragged off and flung to the ground, where saddle and riflefollowed them. Then he went into the tent. 

He pitched the rifle left by Sucatash out into the snow, kicked thegirl's saddle aside, dumped her bedding and her clothes on the floor, tore and fumbled among things that his foul hands should never havetouched nor his evil eyes have seen. He made a fearful wreck of theplace and, finally, came upon her hand bag, which, womanlike, she hadclung to persistently, carrying it in her saddle pockets when sherode. 

The small samples of ore he gloated over lovingly, mouthing andgibbering. But finally he abandoned them, reluctantly, and dug out thetwo notes. 

Brandon's letter he read hastily, chuckling over it as though itcontained many a joke. But he was more interested in the other scrawl, whose strange words completely baffled him. He tried in vain to makeout its meaning, turning it about, peering at it from all angles, likean evil old buzzard. Then he gave way to a fit of rage, whining cursesand making to tear the thing into bits. But his sanity heldsufficiently to prevent that. 

Finally he folded the paper up and tucked it into a pocket. Then hegathered up the bedding, took it outside and roughly bundled the girlin it. She lay unconscious and dreadfully white, with the snow siftingsteadily over her. Her condition had no effect on the old ruffian whocallously let her lie, covering her only to prevent her freezing todeath before he could extract the information he desired. 

He finished her culinary tasks and glutted himself on the food, grunting and tearing at it like a wild animal. Then he dragged out hisfilthy bedding and rolled himself up in it, scorning the shelter ofthe tent, which stood wanly in the white, misty night. 

It was morning when Solange recovered her senses. She awoke to a gray, chill world in which she alternately shivered and burned as feverclutched her. For many minutes she lay, swathed in blankets, dull tosensation, staring up at a leaden sky. The snow had ceased to fall. 

Still unable to comprehend where she was or what had happened, shemade a tentative attempt to move, only to wince as the pains, borne ofher struggle and of lying on the bare ground, seized her. Stiff andsore, weakened, with head throbbing and stabbing, the whole horribleadventure came back to her. She tried to rise, but she was totallyhelpless and her least movement gave her excruciating pain. Her headcovering had been laid aside before she had begun preparation ofsupper the night before, and her colorless and strangely brillianthair, all tumbled and loose, lay around her head and over hershoulders in great waves and billows, tinged with blue and red lightsagainst the snow. Her face, delicately flushed with fever, was wildlybeautiful, and her eyes were burning with somber, terrible light deepin their depths. 

It was this face that Jim Banker looked down upon as he came back fromthe creek, unkempt, dirty. It was these eyes he met as he stooped overher with his lunatic chuckle. 

He winced backward as though she had struck him, and his facecontorted with sudden panic. He cowered away from her and covered hisown eyes. 

"Don't you look at me like that! I never done nothing!" he whined. 

"Canaille!" said Solange. Her voice was a mere whisper but it fairlysinged with scorn. Fearless, she stared at him and he could not meether gaze. 

His gusty mood changed and he began to curse her. She heard morefoulness from him in the next five minutes than all the delirium ofwounded soldiers during five years of war had produced for her. Shesaw a soul laid bare before her in all its unutterable vileness. Yetshe did not flinch, nor did a single symptom of panic or fear crossher face. 

Once, for a second, he ceased his mouthing, abruptly. His head went upand he bent an ear to the wind as though listening to somethinginfinitely far away. 

"Singin'!" he muttered, as though in awe. "Hear that! 'Louisiana!Louisiana Lou!'"

Then he cackled. "Louisiana singin'. I hear him. Louisiana--who killedFrench Pete. He, he!"

After a while he tired, subsiding into mutterings. He got breakfast, bringing to her some of the mess he cooked. She ate it, though itnauseated her, determining that she would endeavor to keep herstrength for future struggles. 

While she choked down the food the prospector sat near her, but notlooking at her, and talked. 

"You an' me'll talk pretty, honey. Old Jim ain't goin' to hurt you ifyou're reasonable. Just tell old Jim what the writin' says and oldJim'll be right nice to you. We'll go an' find the gold, you and me. You'll tell old Jim, won't you?"

His horrible pleading fell on stony ears, and he changed his tune. 

"You ain't a-goin' tell old Jim? Well, that's too bad. Old Jim hatesto do it, pretty, but old Jim's got to know. If you won't tell him, he'll have to find out anyhow. Know how he'll do it?"

She remained silent. 

"It's a trick the Injuns done taught old Jim. They uses it to makepeople holler when they don't want to. They takes a little sliver ofpine, jest a little tiny sliver, ma'am, and they sticks it in underthe toe nails where it hurts. Then they lights it. They sticks more of'em under the finger nails and through the skin here an' there. Thenthey lights 'em. 

"Most generally it makes the fellers holler--and I reckon it'll makeyou tell, ma'am. Old Jim has to know. You better tell old Jim. "

She remained stubbornly and scornfully silent. 

The prospector shook his head as though sorrowful over herpertinacity. Then he got up and got a piece of wood, a stick of pitchpine, which he began to whittle carefully into fine slivers. These hecollected carefully into a bundle while the helpless girl watchedhim. 

Finally he came to her and pulled the blankets from her. He stoopedand unlaced her boots, pulling them off. One woolen stocking wasjerked roughly from a foot as delicate as a babe's. She tried to kick, feebly and ineffectively. Her feet, half frozen from sleeping in theboots, were like lead. 

The prospector laughed and seized her foot. But, as he held it andpicked up a sliver, a thought occurred to him. He got up and went tothe fire, where he stooped to get a flaming brand. 

At this moment, clear and joyous, although distant and faint, came arollicking measure of song:

 "My Louisiana! Louisiana Lou!"

The girl's brain failed to react to it. She gathered nothing from thesound except that there was some one coming. But Banker reared asthough shot and whirled about to stare down the cañon. She could notsee him and she was unable to turn. 

Shaking as though stricken with an ague, the prospector stood. Hisface had gone chalk white under its dirty stubble of beard. He lookedsick and even more unwholesome than usual. From his slack jaws poureda constant whining of words, unintelligible. 

Down the cañon, slouching carelessly with the motion of his horse, appeared a man, riding toward them at a jog trot. Behind him jingledtwo pack horses, the first of which was half buried under the highbundle on his back, the second more lightly laden. 

Banker stood, incapable of motion for a moment. Then, as thoughgalvanized into action, he began to gabble his inevitable oaths, whilehe leaped hurriedly for his rifle. He grabbed it from under thetarpaulin, jerked the lever, flung it to his shoulder and fired. 

With the shot, Solange, by a terrific effort, rolled over and raisedher head. She caught a glimpse of a familiar figure and shrieked outwith new-found strength. 

"_Mon ami! A moi, mon ami!_"

Then she stifled a groan, for, with the shot, the figure saggedsuddenly and dropped to the side of his horse, evidently hit. Sheheard the insane yell of triumph from the prospector and knew that hewas dancing up and down and shouting:

"They all dies but old Jim! Old Jim don't die!"

She buried her face in her hands, wondering, even then, why she feltsuch a terrible pang, not of hope destroyed, but because the man haddied. 

It passed like a flash for, on the instant, she heard another yellfrom Banker, and a yell, this time, of terror. At the same moment shewas aware of thundering hoofs bearing down upon them and of a voicethat shouted; a voice which was the sweetest music she had everheard. 

Dimly she was aware that Banker had dropped his rifle and scuttledlike a scared rabbit into some place of shelter. Her whole attentionwas concentrated on those rattling, drumming hoofs. She looked up, tried to rise, but fell back with the pain of the effort stabbing herunheeded. 

A horse was sliding to a stop, forefeet planted, snow and dirt flyingfrom his hoofs. De Launay was leaping to the ground and the packhorses were galloping clumsily up. Then his arms were around her andshe was lifted from the ground. 

"What's the matter, Solange? What's happened? Where's the boys? AndBanker, what's he doing shooting at me?"

His questions were pouring out upon her, but she could not answerthem. She clung to him and sobbed. 

"I thought he had killed you!"

His laugh was music. 

"That old natural? He couldn't kill me. Saw him aim and ducked. Shotright over me. But what's happened to you?"

He ran a hand over her face and found it hot with fever. 

"Why, you're sick! And your foot's bare. Here, tell me what hashappened?"

She could only sob brokenly, her strength almost gone. 

"That terrible old man! He did it. He's hiding--to shoot you. "

De Launay's hand had run over her thick mane of hair and he felt herwince. He recognized the great bump on the skull. 

"Death of a dog!" he swore in French. "_Mon amie_, is it this olddevil who has injured you?"

She nodded and he began to look about him for Banker. But theprospector was not in sight, although his discarded rifle was on theground. The lever was down where the prospector had jerked itpreparatory to a second shot which he had been afraid to fire. Theempty ejected shell lay on the snow near by. 

De Launay turned back to Solange. He bent over her and carefullyrestored her stocking and shoe. Then he fetched water and bathed herhead, gently gathering her hair together and binding it up under thebandeau which he found among her scattered belongings. She told himsomething of what had happened, ascribing the prospector's actions toinsanity. But when De Launay asked about Sucatash and Dave she coulddo no more than tell him that the first had gone to the ranch to getsnowshoes and dogs, and the latter had gone out yesterday and had notcome back, though she had heard a single shot late in the afternoon. 

De Launay listened with a frown. He was in a cold rage at Banker, butthere were other things to do than try to find him. He set to work togather up the wreckage of the tent and outfit. Then he rounded up thehorses, leaving the burros and Banker's horse to stay where theywere. Hastily he threw on the packs, making no pretense at neatpacking. 

"I'll have to get you out of this, " he said. "With that lunaticbushwacking round there'll never be a moment of safety for you. You'resick and will have to have care. Can you ride?"

Solange tried to rise to her feet but was unable to stand. 

"I'll have to carry you. I'll saddle your horse and lead him. Theothers will follow my animals. I'll get you to safety and then comeback and look for Dave. "

With infinite care he lifted her to his saddle, holding her while hemounted and gathered her limp form into his left arm. His horsefortunately was gentle, and stood. He was about to reach for the reinsof her horse when something made her turn and look up the slope of thehill toward the overhanging, ledgelike rock above the camp. 

"_Mon ami!_" she screamed. "_Gardez-vous!_"

What happened she was not able to exactly understand. Only she somehowrealized that never had she understood the possibility of rapid motionbefore. Her own eyes had caught only a momentary glimpse of a headabove the edge of the rock and the black muzzle of a six-shootercreeping into line with them. 

Yet De Launay's movement was sure and accurate. His eyes seemed tosense direction, his hand made one sweep from holster to an arc acrossher body and the roar of the heavy weapon shattered her ears beforeshe had fairly realized that she had cried out. She saw a spurt ofdust where the head had appeared. 

Then De Launay's spurs went home and the horse leaped into a run. Thepack horses, jumping at the sound of the shot, flung up their heels, lurched to one side, circled and fell into a gallop in the rear. Clattering and creaking, the whole cavalcade went thundering up thevalley. 

De Launay swore. "Missed, by all the devils! But I sure put dust inhis eyes!"

He turned around and there, sure enough, was Banker, standing on therock, pawing at his eyes. The shot had struck the edge of the rockjust below his face and spattered fragments all over him. 

De Launay laughed grimly as the groping figure shook a futile fist athim. Then Banker sat down and dug at his face industriously. 

They had ridden another hundred yards when a yell echoed in the cañon. He turned again and saw Banker leaping and shrieking on the rock, waving hands to the heavens and carrying on like a maniac. 

"Gone plumb loco, " said De Launay, contemptuously. 

But, unknown to De Launay or mademoiselle, the high gods must havelaughed in irony as old Jim Banker raved and flung his hands towardtheir Olympian fastness. 

De Launay's shot, which had crushed the edge of the rock to powder, had exposed to the prospector the glittering gold of French Pete'slost Bonanza!

CHAPTER XVIII

TELLTALE BULLETS

De Launay headed up into the hills, making for the spot he and othersfamiliar with the region knew as The Crater. Back about half a milefrom the rim of Shoestring Cañon, which, itself, had originally beencut out of lava from extinct volcanoes of the range, rose a vastbasalt peak, smooth and precipitous on the side toward the cañon. Itslower slopes had once been terraced down to the flat bench land whichrimmed the cañon, but, unnumbered ages ago, the subterranean forceshad burst their way through and formed a crater whose sides fellsteeply away to the flats on three sides. The fourth was backed by thebasalt cliff. 

Although long extinct, the volcano had left reminders in the shape ofwarm springs which had an appreciable effect on the temperature withinthe basin of the ancient crater. The atmosphere in the place was, evenin winter, quite moderate compared with that of the rest of the range. There was, in the center of the crater, a small pond or lake, of whichthe somewhat lukewarm water was quite potable. 

This spot, once a common enough rendezvous for the riders on rodeo, was his objective and toward it he climbed, with mademoiselle's warmbody in his arms. Behind him straggled the pack horses. 

Solange lay quiet, but under his arm he felt her shiver from time totime. His downward glance at her fell only on her hat and a casualwisp of glistening hair which escaped from it. He felt for and foundone of her hands. It clutched his with a hot, dry clasp. 

Somewhat alarmed, he raised his hand to her face. That she had feverwas no longer to be doubted. 

She was talking low to herself, but she spoke in Basque which he didnot understand. He spoke to her in French. 

"I knew you would come; that I should find you, " she answered at once. "That terrible man! He could not frighten me. It is certain thatthrough you I shall find this Louisiana!"

"Yes, " he answered. "You'll find Louisiana. "

He wondered what she knew of Louisiana and why she wished to find him, concluding, casually, that she had heard of him as one who might knowsomething of her father's death. Well, if she sought Louisiana, shehad not far to look: merely to raise her head. 

"I thought I heard him singing, " said Solange. 

"I reckon you did, " he answered. "Are you riding easy?"

"Yes--but I am cold, and then hot again. The man hurt me. "

De Launay swore under his breath and awkwardly began to twist from hisMackinaw, which, when it was free, he wrapped around her. Then, holding her closer, he urged his horse to greater speed. 

But, once upon the bench and free to look about him toward the steepslope of the crater's outer walls, he was dismayed at the unexpectedchange in the landscape. 

On the rocky slopes there had once stood a dense thicket of lodgepolepine, slender and close, through which a trail had been cut. But, years ago, a fire had swept the forest, leaving the gaunt stems andbare spikes to stand like a plantation of cane or bamboo on thecrumbling lava. Then a windstorm had rushed across the mountains, leveling the dead trees to the ground, throwing them in wild, heapingchaos of jagged spikes and tangled branches. The tough cones, openedby the fire, had germinated and seedlings had sprung up amidst theriot of logs, growing as thick as grass. They were now about theheight of a tall man's head, forming, with the tangled abatis of spikytrunks, a seemingly impenetrable jungle. 

There might be a practicable way through, but to search for it wouldtake more time than the man had to spare. He must get the girl to restand shelter before her illness gained much further headway, and heknew that a search for a passage might well take days instead of thehours he had at his command. He wished that he had remained in thecañon where he might have pitched camp in spite of the danger from theprospector. But a return meant a further waste of time and he decidedto risk an attempt to force his way through the tangle. 

Carefully he headed into it. The going was not very hard at first asthe trees lay scattered on the edge of the windfall. But, as he wormedinto the labyrinth, the heaped up logs gave more and more resistanceto progress, and it soon became apparent that he could never winthrough to the higher slopes which were free of the tangle. 

If he had been afoot and unencumbered, the task would have been hardenough but not insuperable. Mounted, with pack horses carrying loadsprojecting far on the sides, to catch and entangle with spikybranches, the task became impossible. Yet he persisted, with a feelingthat his best chance lay in pressing onward. 

The lurching horse, scrambling over the timber, jolted and shook hisburden and Solange began again to talk in Basque. Behind them the packhorses straggled, leaping and crashing clumsily in the jungle ofimpeding tree trunks. De Launay came to a stop and looked despairinglyabout him. 

About thirty yards away, among the green saplings and gray downtimber, stood a bluish shape, antlered, with long ears standingerect. The black-tailed deer watched him curiously, and without anyapparent fear. De Launay knew at once that the animal was unaccustomedto man and had not been hunted. He stared at it, wondering that it didnot run. 

Now it moved, but not in the stiff leaps of its kind when in flight. He had expected this, but not what happened. There was no particularmystery in the presence of the agile animal among the down logs. Butwhen it started off at a leisurely and smooth trot, winding in and outand upward, he leaped joyously to the only conclusion possible. Thedeer was following a passable trail through the jungle and a trailwhich led upward. 

He marked the spot where he had seen it and urged his horse toward it. It was difficult going, but he made it and found there, as he hadhoped, a beaten game trail, narrow, but fairly clear. 

It took time and effort to gather the horses, caught and snaredeverywhere among the logs, but it was finally done. Then he pushed on. It was not easy going. The trail was narrow for packs, and snagscontinually caught in ropes and tarpaulins, but De Launay took an axfrom his pack and cut away the worst of the obstacles. Finally theywon through to the higher slopes where the trees no longer lay on theground. 

But it was growing late and the gray sky threatened more snow. Hepressed on up to the rim of the crater and lost no time in the descenton the other side. The willing horses slid down behind him and, beforedarkness caught them, he had reached the floor of the little valley, almost free from snow, grass-grown and mildly pleasant in contrast tothe biting wind of the outer world. 

Jingling and jogging, the train of horses broke into a trot across themeadow and toward the grove of trees that marked the bank of the pond. Here there was an old cabin, formerly used by the riders, but longsince abandoned. Deer trotted out of their way and stood at a distanceto look curiously. A sleepy bear waddled out of the trees, eyed themsuperciliously and then trotted clumsily away. The place seemed to beswarming with game. Their utter unconcern showed that this haven hadnot been entered for years. 

Snow lay on the surrounding walls in patches, but there was hardly atrace of it on the valley floor. Steaming springs here and thereexplained the reason for the unseasonable warmth of the place. Thegrass grew lush and rich on the rotten lava soil. 

"The Vale of Avalon, Morgan _la fée_, " said De Launay with a smile. Solange murmured and twisted restlessly in his arms. 

He dismounted before the cabin, which seemed to be in fair condition. It was cumbered somewhat with débris, left by mountain rats whichhaunted the place, but there were two good rooms, a fairly tightroof, and a bunk built in the wall of the larger chamber. There was arusty iron stove and the bunk room boasted a rough stone fireplace. 

De Launay's first act was to carry the girl in. His second was tothrow off several packs and drag them to the room. He then took the axand made all haste to gather an armful of dry pitch pine, with whichhe soon had a roaring fire going in the ancient fireplace. Then, witha pine branch, he swept out the place, cleaned the bunk thoroughly andcleared the litter from the floors. Solange reclined against a pile ofbedding and canvas and fairly drank in the heat from the fire. 

He found a clump of spruce and hacked branches from it, with which hefilled the bunk, making a thick, springy mattress. On this he spread atarpaulin, and then heaped it with blankets. Solange, flushed and halfcomatose, he carried to the bed. 

The damp leather of her outer garments oppressed him. He knew theymust come off. Hard soldier as he was, the girl, lying there withhalf-closed eyes and flushed face, awed him. Although he had neversupposed himself oppressed with scruples, it seemed a sacrilege totouch her. Although she could not realize what he was doing, his handstrembled and his face was flushed as he forced himself to the task ofdisrobing her. But, at last, he had the cumbering, slimy outergarments free and her body warmly wrapped in the coverings. 

Food came next. She wanted broth and he had no fresh meat. Her riflerendered that problem simple, however. He had hardly to step from thegrove before game presented itself. He shot a young buck, feeling likea criminal in violating the animal's calm confidence. Workingfeverishly he cleaned the carcass, cut off the saddle and a hindquarter, hung the rest and set to work to make broth in the Dutchoven. 

The light had long since failed, but the fire gave a ruddy light. Solange supped the broth out of a tin cup, raised on his arm, andimmediately after fell back and went to sleep. Feeling her cheek, hefound that it was damp with moisture and cool. 

He bound up her head with a dampened bandage and left her to sleep. Then he began the postponed toil of arranging the camp. 

After her things had been brought in and placed in her room, he atlast came to his own packs. He ate his supper and then spread hisbedding on the ground just outside the door of the cabin. As heunrolled the tarpaulin, he noted a jagged rent in it which he at firstthought had been caused by a snag in passing through the down timber. 

But when the bed had been spread out he found that the blankets werealso pierced. Searching, he found a hard object, which on beingexamined, turned out to be a bullet, smashed and mushroomed. 

De Launay smiled grimly as he turned this over in his hand. He readilysurmised that it was the ball that Banker had fired at him and which, missing him as he ducked, had struck the pack on the horse behind him. Something about it, however, roused a queer impression in him. It was, apparently, an ordinary thirty-caliber bullet, yet he sensed somesubtle difference in size and weight, some vague resemblance toanother bullet he had felt and weighed in his hand. 

Taking his camp lantern he went into the cabin and sat down before arude table of slabs in the room where the stove was. He took from hispocket the darkened, jagged bullet that Solange had given him andcompared it with the ball he had taken from his pack. The first wassplit and mushroomed much more than the other, but the butts of bothwere intact. They seemed to be of the same size when held together. 

Yet they were both of ordinary caliber. Probably nine out of ten menwho carried rifles used those of thirty-thirty caliber. Bulletsdiffered only in jacketing and the shape of the nose. A Winchester wasround, with little of the softer metal projecting from the jacket, while a U.  M.  C. Was flatter and more of the lead showed. But thebases were the same. 

Still, De Launay was vaguely dissatisfied. It seemed to him thatthere was something in these two misshapen bullets that should beinvestigated. He took one of Solange's cartridges from his pocket andlooked at it. Then, with strong teeth, he jerked the ball from theshell and compared the bullet with those he held in his hand. To allseeming they were much the same. 

Still, the feeling of dissatisfaction persisted. In some subtle waythe two mushroomed bullets were the same and yet were different to theunused one. De Launay tried to force Solange's bullet back into theshell, finding that it went in after some force was applied. Then, withdrawing it, he took the other two and tried to do the same withthem. 

The difference became apparent at once. The two used bullets werelarger than the 30-30; almost imperceptibly so, but enough greater indiameter to make it clear that they did not fit the shell. 

De Launay weighed the bullets in his hand and his face was grim. Aftera while he put the two in his pocket, threw the one he had pulled fromthe shell into the stove and rose to look at Solange. He held thelantern above her and stood for a moment, the light on her hairglinting back with flashes of red and blue and orange. He stooped andraised a lock of it on his hand, marveling at its fine texture and itsspun-glass appearance. His hand touched her face, finding it damp andcool. 

The iron lines of his face relaxed and softened. He stooped andbrushed her forehead with his lips. Solange murmured in her sleep andhe caught his own nickname, "Louisiana. "

He saw that the fire was banked and then went out and turned in to hisblankets, regardless of the drizzle of snow that was falling andmelting in the warm atmosphere. 

CHAPTER XIX

THE FINDING OF SUCATASH

De Launay came into the cabin the next morning with an armload of woodto find Solange sitting up in bed with the blankets clutched abouther, staring at the unfamiliar surroundings. He smiled at her, and wasdelighted to be met with an answering, though somewhat puzzled smile. 

"You are better?" he asked. 

"Yes, " she said. "And you--brought me here?"

He nodded and knelt to rebuild the fire. When it was crackling againhe straightened up. 

"I was afraid you were going to be ill. You had a bad shock. "

Solange shuddered. "It is true. That evil old man! He hurt my head. But I am all right again. "

"You had better lie quiet for a day or two, just the same. You havehad a bad blow. If you feel well enough, though, there is something Imust do. Will you be all right if I leave you for a few hours?"

Her face darkened a little but she nodded. "If you must. You have beenvery kind, monsieur. You brought me here?"

Her eyes fell on her leather coat flung over the end of the bunk andshe flushed, looking sideways at the man. He seemed impassive, unconscious, and her puzzled gaze wandered over his face and form. Shenoted striking differences in the tanned, lean face and the lithebody. The skin was clear and the eyes no longer red and swollen. Hestood upright and moved with a swift, deft certainty far from hisformer slouch. 

"You are changed, " she commented. 

"Some, " he answered. "Fresh air and exercise have benefited me. "

"That is true. Yet there seems to be another difference. You lookpurposeful, if I may say it. "

"I?" he seemed to protest. "What purpose is there for me?"

"You must tell me that. "

He went out into the other room and returned with broth for her. Butshe was hungry and the broth did not satisfy her. He brought in meatand bread, and she made a fairly hearty breakfast. It pleased DeLaunay to see her enjoying the food frankly, bringing her nearer tothe earth which he, himself, inhabited. 

"The only purpose I have, " he said, while she ate, "is that of findingwhat has become of your escort. There's another matter, too, on whichI am curious. Do you think you can get along all right if I leave foodfor you here and go down to the camp? I will be back before evening. "

"You will be careful of that crazy old man?"

He laughed. "If I am not mistaken he thinks I am a ghost and isfrightened out of seven years' growth, " he said, easily. His voicechanged subtly, became swiftly grim. "He may well be, " he added, halfto himself. 

Breakfast over and the camp cleared up, De Launay took from his packsa second automatic, hanging the holster, a left-hand one, to the bunk. He showed Solange how to operate the mechanism and found that shereadily grasped the principle of it, though the squat, flat weapon wasincongruous in her small hand. The rifle also he left within herreach. 

Shortly he was mounted on his way out of the crater. He made good timethrough the down timber and, in about an hour and a half, was headedinto the cañon. He searched carefully for traces of Dave but foundnone. The snow was over a foot deep and had drifted much deeper inmany spots. Especially on the talus slopes at the bottom of the cañonhad it gathered to a depth of several feet. 

Finally he came to the site of the camp where he had rescued Solangefrom the mad prospector. Here he was surprised to find no trace of theman although the burros were scraping forlornly in the snow on theslopes trying to uncover forage. Camp equipment was scattered around, and a piece of tarpaulin covered a bundle of stuff. This was tuckedaway by a rock, but De Launay ran on it after some search. 

He devoted his efforts to finding the shell from Banker's rifle whichhe had seen on the snow when he left the place. It was finallyuncovered and he put it in his pocket. Then he left the place andheaded down the cañon, searching for signs of the cow-puncher. 

He found none, since Dave had not been in this direction. But DeLaunay pushed on until almost noon. He rode high on the slopes wherethe snow was shallower and where he could get an unrestricted view ofthe cañon. 

He was about to give it up, however, and turn back when his horsestopped and pricked his ears forward, raising its head. De Launayfollowed this indication and saw what he took to be a clump ofsagebrush on the snow about half a mile away. He watched it andthought it moved. 

Intent observation confirmed this impression and it was made acertainty when he saw the black patch waver upward, stagger forwardand then fall again. 

With an exclamation, De Launay spurred his horse recklessly down theslope toward the figure on the snow. He galloped up to it and flunghimself to the ground beside it. The figure raised itself on arms fromwhich the sleeves hung in tatters and turned a pale and ghastly facetoward him. 

It was Sucatash. 

Battered and bruised, with an arm almost helpless and a leg as bad, the cow-puncher was dragging himself indomitably along while hisfailing strength held out. But he was almost at the end of hisresources. Hunger and weakness, wounds and bruises, had done theirwork and he could have gone little farther. 

De Launay raised his head and chafed his blue and frozen hands. Thecow-puncher tried to grin. 

"Glad to see you, old-timer, " he croaked. "You're just about intime. "

"What happened to you, man?"

"Don't know. Heard a horse nicker and then mine stumbled and pinnedme. Got a bad fall and when I come to I was lying down the hillagainst some greasewood. Leg a'most busted and an arm as bad. Horsenowhere around. Got anything to drink? Snow ain't much for thirst. "

De Launay had food and water and gave it to him. After eatingravenously for a moment he was stronger. 

"Funny thing, that horse nickerin'. It was snowin' and I didn't seehim. But, after I come to I tried to climb up where I was throwed. Itwas some job but I made it. There was my horse, half covered withsnow. Some one had shot him. "

"Shot him? And then left you to lie there?"

"Just about that. There wasn't no tracks. Snow had filled 'em. But Ireckon that horse wasn't just shot by accident. "

"It was not. And Dave's gone. "

"Dave? What's that?"

"He's gone. Left the camp day before yesterday and never came back. Iwasn't there. "

"And madame? She all right?"

"She is--now. I found her yesterday morning with Banker, theprospector. He was trying to torture her into telling him where thatmine is located. Hurt her pretty bad. "

Sucatash lay silent for a moment. Then:

"Jumpin' snakes!" he said. "That fellow has got a lot comin' to him, ain't he?"

"He has, " said De Launay, shortly. "More than you know. "

Again the cow-puncher was silent for a space. 

"Reckon he beefed Dave?" he said at last. 

"Shouldn't be surprised, " said De Launay. "I searched for him butcouldn't find him. He wouldn't get lost or hurt. But Jim Banker's doneenough, in any case. "

"He sure has, " said Sucatash. 

De Launay helped the cow-puncher up in front of him and turned back tothe crater. He rode past Banker's camp without stopping, but keepingalong the slope to avoid the deeper snow he came upon a stake set in apile of small rocks. This was evidently newly placed. He showed it toSucatash. 

"The fellow's staked ground here. What could he have found?"

"Maybe the old lunatic thinks he's run onto French Pete's strike, "grinned Sucatash. "This don't look very likely to me. "

"Gone to Maryville to register it, I suppose. That accounts for hisleaving the burros and part of his stuff. He'd travel light. "

"He better come back heavy though. If he aims to winter in here he'llneed bookoo rations. It'd take some mine to make me do it. "

Sucatash was in bad shape, and De Launay was not particularlyinterested in old Jim's vagaries at the present time, so he made allspeed back to the crater. Sucatash, who knew of the windfall, wouldnot believe that the soldier had found an entrance into the placeuntil he had actually treaded the game trail. 

He looked backward from the heights above the tangle after they hadcome through it. 

"Some stronghold, " he commented. "It'd take an army to dig you outahere. "

They found Solange as De Launay had left her. She was overjoyed to seeSucatash and at the same time distressed to observe his condition. Sheheard with indignation his account of his mishap and, like De Launay, suspected Banker of being responsible for it. Indeed, unless theyassumed that some mysterious presence was abroad at this unseasonabletime in the mountains, there was no one else to suspect. 

She would have risen and assumed the duties of nursing thecow-puncher, but De Launay forbade it. She was still very weak and herhead was painful. The soldier therefore took upon himself the task ofcaring for both of them. 

He made a bed for Sucatash in the kitchen of the cabin and went aboutthe work of getting them both on their feet with quiet efficiency. This bade fair to be a task of some days' duration though both werestrong and healthy and yielded readily to rest and treatment. 

It was night again before he had them comfortably settled andsleeping. Once more, with camp lantern lit, he sat before the slabtable and examined his bullets and the shell he had picked up atBanker's camp. 

He found that both bullets fitted it tightly. Then he turned the rimto the light and looked at it. 

Stamped in the brass were the cabalistic figures:

U. M. C. SAV. . 303. 

For some time he sat there, his mouth set in straight, hard lines, hismemory playing backward over nineteen years. He recalled the men hehad known on the range, a scattered company, every one of whom couldbe numbered, every one of whom had possessions, weapons, accouterment, known to nearly all the others. In that primitive community of fewindividuals the tools of their trades were as a part of them. Men weremarked by their saddles, their chaparajos, their weapons. A pair ofsilver-mounted spurs owned by one was remarked by all the others. 

Louisiana had known the weapons of the range riders even as they knewhis. The six-shooter with which he had often performed his feats wouldhave been as readily recognized as he, himself. When a new rifleappeared in the West its advent was a matter of note. 

In Maryville, then a small cow town and outfitting place for the menof the range, there had been one store in which weapons could bebought. In that store, the proprietor had stocked just one rifle ofthe new make. The Savage, shooting an odd caliber cartridge, had beendistrusted because of that fact, the men of the country fearing thatthey would have difficulty in procuring shells of such an unusualcaliber. Unable to sell it, he had finally parted with it for a merefraction of its value to one who would chance its inconvenience. Theman who possessed it had been known far and wide and, at that time, hewas the sole owner of such a rifle in all that region. 

Yet, with this infallible clew to the identity of French Pete'smurderer at hand, it had been assumed that the bullet was 30-30. 

De Launay envisioned that worn and battered rifle butt projecting fromthe scabbard slung to the burro in Sulphur Falls. Nineteen years, andthe man still carried and used the weapon which was to prove hisguilt. 

Once more he got up and went in to look at the sleeping girl. Shouldhe tell her that the murderer of her father was discovered? What goodwould it do? He doubted that, if confronted with the knowledge, shecould find the fortitude to exact the vengeance which she had vowed. And if, faced with the facts, she drew back, what reproach would shealways visit upon herself for her weakness? Torn between a barbariccode and her own gentle instincts, she would be unhappy whatevereventuated. 

But he was free from gentleness--at least toward every one but her. Hehad killed. He was callous. Five years in the _Légion des Etrangers_and fourteen more of war and preparation for war had rendered himproof against squeamishness. The man was a loathly thing who had slainin cold blood, cowardly, evil, and unclean. Possibly he had murderedwithin the past few days, and, at any rate he had attempted murder andtorture. 

Why tell her about it? He had no ties; no aims; nothing to regretleaving. He had nothing but wealth which was useless to him, but whichwould lift her above all unhappiness after he was gone. And he couldkill the desert rat as he would snuff out a candle. 

Yet--the thought of it gave him a qualm. The man was so contemptible;so unutterably low and vile and cowardly. To kill him would be likecrushing vermin. He would not fight; he would cower and cringe andshriek. There might be a battle when they took De Launay for the"murder, " of course, but even his passing, desperate as he might makeit, would not entirely wipe out the disgrace of such a butchery. Hewas a soldier; a commander with a glorious record, and it went againstthe grain to go out of life in an obscure brawl brought on by theslaughter of this rat. 

Still, he had dedicated himself to the service of this girl, half injest, perhaps, but it was the only service left to him to perform. Hehad lived his life; had his little day of glory. It was time to go. She was his wife and to her he would make his last gesture and depart, serving her. 

Then, as he looked at her, her eyes opened and flashed upon him. Intheir depths something gleamed, a new light more baffling than any hehad seen there before. There was fire and softness, warmth andsweetness in it. He dropped on his knees beside the bunk. 

"What is it, _mon ami_?" Solange was smiling at him, a smile that drewhim like a magnet. 

"Nothing, " he said, and rose to his feet. Her hand had strayed lightlyover his hair in that instant of forgetfulness. "I looked to see thatyou were comfortable. "

"You are changed, " she said, uncertainly. "It is better so. "

He smiled at her. "Yes. I am changed again. I am the légionnaire. Nameless, hopeless, careless! You must sleep, _mon enfant_! Goodnight!"

He brushed the hand she held out to him with his lips and turned tothe door. As he went out she heard him singing softly:

 "_Soldats de la Légion, De la Légion Etrangère, N'ayant pas de Nation, La France est votre Mère. _"

He did not see that the light in her marvelous eyes had grown verytender. Nor did she dream that he had made a mat of his glory for herto walk upon. 

CHAPTER XX

LOUISIANA!

On the following morning, De Launay, finding his patients doing well, once more left the camp after seeing that everything was in order andfood for the invalids prepared and set to their hands. Among Solange'seffects he had found a pair of prism binoculars, which he slung overhis shoulder. Then he made his way on foot to the lower end of thevalley, up the encircling cliffs and out on the ridge which surroundedthe crater. 

Here he hunted until he came upon a narrow, out-jutting ledge whichoverlooked the country below and the main backbone of the range to thesouthward and eastward. From here he could see over the bench at thebase of the cliff, with its maze of tangled, down timber, and on tothe edge of Shoestring Cañon, though he could not see down into thatgulch. Above Shoestring, however, he could see the rough trail whichwound out of the cañon on the opposite side and up toward the crest ofthe range, where it was lost among the timber-clad gorges and peaks ofthe divide. Over this trail came such folk as crossed the range fromthe direction of Maryville. All who came from the Idaho side wouldhead in by way of Shoestring and come up the cañon. 

That day, although he swept the hills assiduously with his glasses, hesaw nothing. The dark smears and timber, startlingly black against thesnow, remained silent, brooding and inviolate, as though the presenceof man had never stirred their depths. 

He did not remain long. Fearing that he would be needed at the cabin, he returned before noon. Solange was progressing bravely, though shewas still weak. Sucatash, however, was in worse shape and evidentlywould not be fit to move for several days. 

The next day he did not go to his post, but on the third morning, finding Sucatash improving, he again took up his vigil. On that daybanked clouds hovered over the high peaks and nearly hid them fromview. A chill and biting wind almost drove him from his post. 

Seeing nothing, he was about to return, but, just as a heavy flurry ofsnow descended upon him, he turned to give one last look toward thedivide and found it lost in mist which hung down into the timber. Under this fleecy blanket, the cañon and the lower part of the trailstood forth clearly. 

Just as De Launay was about to lower his glasses, a man rode out ofthe timber, driving before him a half dozen pack horses. The soldierwatched him as he dropped below the rim of the cañon and, althoughdistant, thought he detected signs of haste in his going. 

This man had been gone hardly more than ten minutes when a secondhorseman rode down the trail. There might have been doubt in the caseof the first rider, but it was certain that the second was in a hurry. He urged his horse recklessly, apparently in pursuit of the first man, whom he followed below the cañon's rim. 

De Launay was earlier than usual at his post the next day. Yet he wasnot too early to meet the evidence of activity which was even morealert than his. But before he could settle himself he saw the trailacross the cañon alive with moving men and beasts. In ones, twos, andthrees they came. Some rode singly and without outfit, while othersurged on pack animals. But one and all were in a hurry. 

He counted more than twoscore travelers who dropped into Shoestringwithin an hour and a half. Then there was a pause in the rush. For anhour no more came. 

After that flowed in another caravan. His glasses showed these werebetter equipped than the first comers though he was too far away toget any accurate idea of what they carried. Still a dim suspicion wasfilling his mind, and as each of the newcomers rushed down the trailand over the cañon rim his suspicion took more vivid form until itbecame conviction and knowledge. 

"By heavens! It's a mining rush!"

His mind worked swiftly. He jumped at the evidence he had seen whereBanker had staked a claim. The prospector had ridden to Maryville torecord the claims. He had been followed, and in an incredibly shorttime here were veritable hordes rushing into Shoestring Cañon. If thiswas the vanguard what would be the main body? It must have been astrike of fabulous proportions that had caused this excitement. Andthat strike must be----

"French Pete's Bonanza!" he almost yelled. 

The thing was astounding and it was true. In naming a rendezvous he, himself, had directed these men to the very spot--because there was noother spot. The obvious, as usual, had been passed by for years whilethe seekers had sought in the out-of-the-way places. But where wouldPete find a mine when he was returning to the ranch with his flock?Surely not in the out-of-the-way places, for he would not be leadinghis sheep by such ways. He would be coming through the range by theshortest and most direct route, the very route that was the mostfrequented--and that was the trail over the range and down ShoestringCañon. 

De Launay wanted to shout with laughter as he thought of the search ofyears ending in this fashion: the discovery of the Bonanza, under thevery nose of the dead man's daughter, by the very man who had murderedhim!

But his impulse was stifled as his keen mind cast back over the pastdays. He recalled the rescue of Solange and the ambush from the top ofthe great, flat outcrop. Vague descriptions of Pete's location, heardin casual talks with Solange, came to him. The old sheep-herder hadbeen able to describe his find as having been made where he had eatenhis noonday meal "on a rock. " That rock--the Lunch Rock, as it hadbeen called, had even given the mine a name in future legend, as thePeg Leg had been named. 

But there had been no rock that could answer the description near thecamp. At least there had been only one, and that one had been the flatoutcrop on which Banker had lain at length and from which he hadattempted to shoot De Launay. 

Then swiftly he recalled Solange's cry of warning and his own swiftreaction. He had fired at the eyes and forehead appearing above theedge of the rock and he had hit the edge of the rock itself. He hadlaughed to see the mad prospector clawing at his eyes, filled with thepowdered rock, and had laughed again to see his later antics as hestood upright, while De Launay rode away, waving his arms in the airand yelling. 

He saw now what had caused those frantic gestures and shouts. It hadbeen he, De Launay, who had uncovered to the prospector's gaze thegold which should have been mademoiselle's. 

No wonder he had no desire to laugh as he turned back into the valley. He was weighted down with the task that was his. He had to tellSolange that the quest on which she had come was futile. That her minewas found--but by another, and through his own act. He visualizedthose wonderful eyes which had, of late, looked upon him with suchsoft fire, dulling under the chilling shock of disappointment, mutelyreproaching him for her misfortune and failure. 

The wild Vale of Avalon, which had seemed such a lovely haven forMorgan _la fée_, had lost its charm. He plodded downward and acrossthe rank grass, going slowly and reluctantly to the cabin. Enteringit, he went first to Sucatash, asking him how he felt. 

The cow-puncher raised himself with rapidly returning strength, notingthe serious expression on De Launay's face. 

"I'm getting right hearty, " he answered. "I'll drag myself out and situp to-night, I reckon. But you don't look any too salubrious yourself, old-timer. Aimin' to answer sick call?"

"No, " said De Launay. "Thinking about mademoiselle. You remember thosestakes we saw?"

"Banker's claim? Sure. "

"Well, he's struck something. There is a small army pouring intoShoestring from Maryville. It's a regular, old-time gold rush. "

"Damn!" said Sucatash, decisively. 

He pondered the news a moment. 

"In these days, " he finally said, "with gold mines bein' shut downbecause it don't pay to work 'em, there wouldn't be no rush unlesshe'd sure struck something remarkable. "

"You've guessed it!" said De Launay. 

"It's French Pete's mine?"

"I don't see any other explanation. "

Again Sucatash was silent for a time. Then:

"That little girl is sure out o' luck!" he said. There was a deep noteof sympathy in the casual comment. And the cow-puncher looked at DeLaunay in a manner which the soldier readily interpreted. 

"No mine, no means of support, no friends within five thousand miles;nothing--but a husband she doesn't want! Is that what you'rethinking?"

"Not meaning any offense, it was something like that, " said Sucatash, candidly. 

"She'll get rid of the incumbrance, without trouble, " said De Launay, shortly. 

"Well, she ain't quite shy of friends, neither. I ain't got no goldmines--never took no stock in them. But I've got a bunch of cows andthe old man's got a right nice ranch. If it wasn't for one thing, I'djust rack in and try my luck with her. "

"What's the one thing?"

"You, " said Sucatash, briefly. 

"I've already told you that I don't count. Her marriage was merely aformality and she'll be free within a short time. "

Sucatash grinned. "I hate to contradict you, old-timer. In fact, Isure wish you was right. But, even if she don't know it herself, Iknow. It sure beats the deuce how much those eyes of hers can say evenwhen they don't know they're sayin' it. "

De Launay nodded. He was thinking of the lights in them when she hadturned them on him of late. 

"They told _me_ something, not very long ago--and I'm gamblin' therewon't be any divorce, pardner. "

"There probably won't, " De Launay replied, shortly. "It won't benecessary. "

He got up and went into the other room where Solange reclined on thebunk. He found her sitting up, dressed once more in leather breechesand flannel shirtwaist, and looking almost restored to full strength. Her cheeks were flushed again, but this time with the color of health. The firelight played on her hair, glowing in it prismatically. Hereyes, as she turned them on him, caught the lights and drew them intotheir depths. They were once more fathomless and hypnotic. 

But De Launay did not face them. He sat down on a rude stool besidethe fire and looked into the flame. His face was set and indifferent. 

"Monsieur, " said Solange, "you are changed again, it seems. It is notpleasant to have you imitate the chameleon, in this manner. What hashappened?"

"Your mine has been found, " said De Launay, shortly. 

Solange started, half comprehending. Then, as his meaning caught hold, she cried out, hesitating, puzzled, not knowing whether his mannermeant good news or bad. 

"But--if it has been found, that is good news? Why do you look sogrim, monsieur? Is it that you are grieved because it has beenfound?"

De Launay had half expected an outburst of joyous questions whichwould have made his task harder. In turn, he was puzzled. The girl didnot seem either greatly excited or overjoyed. In fact, she appeared tobe doubtful. Probably she could not realize the truth all at once. 

"It has been found, " he went on, harshly, "by Banker, the prospectorfrom whom I rescued you. "

Solange remained still, staring at him. He sat with elbows on hisknees, his face outlined in profile by the fire. Clean and fine linedit was, strong with a thoroughbred strength, a face that a woman wouldtrust and a man respect. As she looked at it, noting the sombersuppression of emotion, she read the man's reluctance anddisappointment for her. She guessed that he buried his feelings underthat mask and she wondered wistfully how deep those feelings were. 

"Then, " she said, at last, "it is not likely that this MonsieurBanker would acknowledge my claim to the mine?"

"The mine is his under the law. I am afraid that you have no claim toit. Your father never located it nor worked it. As for Banker----"

He paused until she spoke. 

"Well? And what of this Banker?"

"He will not hold it long. But he has heirs, no doubt, who would notacknowledge your claim. Still, I will do my best. Sucatash will backus up when we jump the claim. "

"Jump the claim? What is that?"

He explained briefly the etiquette of this form of sport. 

"But, " objected Solange, "this man will resist, most certainly. Thatwould mean violence. "

A faint smile curled the man's mouth under the mustache. "I amsupposed to be a violent man, " he reminded her. "I'll do the killing, and you and Sucatash will merely have to hold the claim. The sympathyof the miners will be with you, and there should be little difficultyunless it turns out that some one has a grubstake interest. "

He had to explain again the intricacies of this phase of mining. Solange listened intently, sitting now on the edge of the bunk. Whenhe was done, she slid to her feet and took position beside him, layingher hand on his shoulder. Behind her, by the side of the bunk, was ashort log, set on end as a little table, on which rested theholstered automatic which De Launay had left with her. 

"It appears then, " she said, when he had finished, "that, in any eventI have no right to this mine. In order to seize it, you would have tofight and perhaps kill some one. But, monsieur, I am not one who wouldwish you to be a common bravo--a desperado--for me. This mine, it isnothing. We shall think no more of it. "

Again De Launay was mildly surprised. He had supposed that the loss ofthe mine would affect her poignantly and yet she was dismissing itmore lightly than he could have done had she not been concerned. Andin her expression of consideration for him there was a sweetness thatstirred him greatly. He lifted his hand to hers where it rested on hisshoulder, and she did not withdraw from his touch. 

"And yet, " he said, "there is no reason that you should concernyourself lest I act like a desperado. There are those who would saythat I merely lived up to my character. The General de Launay you haveheard of, I think?"

"I have heard of him as a brave and able man, " answered Solange. 

"And as a driver of flesh and blood beyond endurance, a butcher ofmen. It was so of the colonel, the _commandant_, the _capitaine_. And, of the _légionnaire_, you have heard what has always been heard. We ofthe _Légion_ are not lap dogs, mademoiselle. "

"I do not care, " said Solange. 

"And before the _Légion_, what? There was the cow-puncher, the rangebully, the gunman; the swashbuckling flourisher of six-shooters; thenotorious Louisiana. "

He heard her breath drawn inward in a sharp hiss. Then, with startlingsuddenness, her hand was jerked from under his but not before he hadsensed an instant chilling of the warm flesh. Wondering, he turned tosee her stepping backward in slow, measured steps while her eyes, fixed immovably upon him, blazed with a fell light, mingled of grief, horror and rage. Her features were frozen and pale, like a death mask. The light of the fire struck her hair and seemed to turn it into awheel of angry flame. 

There was much of the roused fury in her and as much of a lost anddespairing soul. 

"Louisiana!" she gasped. "You! You are Louisiana?"

CHAPTER XXI

GOLD SEEKERS

Puzzled, but watchful and alert, De Launay saw her retreating, sensingthe terrible change that had come over her. 

"Yes, I am Louisiana, " he said. "What is the matter?"

In answer she laughed, while one hand went to the breast of hershirtwaist and the other reached behind her, groping for something asshe paced backward. Like a cameo in chalk her features were set andthe writhing flames in her hair called up an image of Medusa. Therewas no change in expression, but through her parted lips broke a lowlaugh, terrible in its utter lack of feeling. 

"And I have for my husband--Louisiana! _Quelle farce!_"

The hand at her breast was withdrawn and in it fluttered the yellowpaper that Wilding had brought from Maryville to Wallace's ranch. Sheflung it toward him, and as he stooped to pick it up, her groping handfell on the pistol resting on the upturned log at the side of thebunk. She drew it around in front of her, dropped the holster at herside and snapped the safety down. Her thumb rested on the hammer andshe stood still, tensely waiting. 

De Launay read the notice of reward swiftly and looked up. His facewas stern, but otherwise expressionless. 

"Well?" he demanded, his eyes barely resting on the pistol before theyswept to meet her own blazing gaze. There was no depth to her eyesnow. Instead they seemed to be fire surrounded by black rims. 

"You have read--murderer!"

"I have read it. " De Launay's voice was like his face, and in bothappeared a trace of contempt. 

"What have you to say before I kill you?"

"That you would have shot before now had you been able to do it, "answered De Launay, and now the note of contempt was deeper. He turnedhis back to her and leaned forward over the fire, one outstretchedhand upon the stone slab that formed the rude mantel. 

The girl stood there immobile. The hand that held the pistol was notraised nor lowered. The thumb did not draw back the hammer. But overher face came, gradually, a change; a desperate sorrow, an abandonmentof hope. Even the light in her hair that had made it a flaming wheelseemed in some mysterious way to die down. The terrible fire in hereyes went out as though drowned in rising tears. 

A sob burst from her lips and her breast heaved. De Launay gazed downupon the fire, and his face was bitter as though he tasted death. 

Solange slowly reached behind her again and dropped the heavy weaponupon the log. Then, in a choked voice she struggled to call out:

"Monsieur Wallace! Will you come?"

In the next room there was a stirring of hasty movements. Sucatashraised a cheery and incongruous voice. 

"Just a minute, mad'mo'selle! I'm comin' a-runnin'. "

He stamped into his boots and flung the door open, disheveled, shirtopen at the neck. Astonished, he took in the strange attitudes of theothers. 

"What's the answer?" he asked. "What was it you wanted, ma'am?"

Solange turned to him, her grief-ridden face stony in itshopelessness. 

"Monsieur, you are my friend?"

"For mayhem, manslaughter or murder, " he answered at once. "What'swanted?"

"Then--will you take this pistol, and kill that man for me?"

Sucatash's eyes narrowed and his mottled hair seemed to bristle. Heturned on De Launay. 

"What's he done?" he asked, with cold fury. 

De Launay did not move. Solange answered dully. 

"He is the man who--married me--when he was the man who had murderedmy father!"

But Sucatash made no move toward the pistol. He merely gaped at herand at De Launay. His expression had changed from anger to stupidityand dazed incomprehension. 

"What's that? He murdered your father?"

"He is Louisiana!"

"He? Louisiana! I allowed he was an old-timer. Well, all I can sayis--heaven's delights!"

Solange put out her hand to the edge of the bunk as though she couldnot support herself longer unaided. Her eyes were half closed now. 

"Will you kill him, monsieur? If you do, you may have--ofme--anything--that you ask!"

The words were faltered out in utter weariness. For one instant DeLaunay's eyes flickered toward her, but Sucatash had already sprung toher side and was easing her to a seat on the edge of the bunk. Herhead drooped forward. 

"Ma'am, " said Sucatash, earnestly, "you got me wrong. I can't killhim--not for that. "

"Not for that?" she repeated, wonderingly. 

"Never in the world! I thought he'd insulted you, and if he had I'd ataken a fall out of him if he was twenty Louisianas. But this herenotion you got that he beefed your father--that's all wrong! You can'tgo to downin' a man on no such notions as that!"

"Why not?" asked Solange, in a stifled voice. 

"Because he never done it--that's whatever. You'd never get over it, mad'mo'selle, if you done that and then found you was wrong! And youare wrong. "

Slowly, Solange dragged herself upright. She was listless, thelightness had gone out of her step. Without a word, she reached outand lifted her leather coat from the nail on which it hung. Then shedragged her leaden feet to the door. Sucatash silently followed her. 

In the other room she spoke once. 

"Will you saddle my horse for me, monsieur?"

"There ain't no place for you to go, ma'am. "

"Nevertheless, I shall go. If you please----"

"Then I'll go with you. "

She followed him to the door, putting on her coat. Outside, she satdown on a log and remained stonily oblivious as Sucatash hastilycaught up several horses and dragged saddles and _alforjas_ intoposition. The westering sun was getting low along the rim of thecrater and he worked fast with the knowledge that night would soon beupon them. Inside the cabin he heard De Launay moving about. A momentlater as he entered to gather Solange's equipment, he saw the soldierseated at the rough table busy with paper and fountain pen. 

As Sucatash went past him, carrying an armload of blankets and atarpaulin, De Launay held out a yellow paper. 

"She will want this, " he said, and then bent over his writing. 

Again, when Sucatash came in for more stuff, De Launay stopped him. Heheld out the pen, indicating the sheet of paper spread upon thetable. 

"This needs two witnesses, I think, but one will have to serve. She ismy wife, after all--but it will make it more certain. Will you signit?"

Sucatash glanced hastily at the document, reading the opening words:"I, Louis Bienville de Launay, colonel and late general of division ofthe army of France, being of sound and disposing mind, do make, declare, and publish this my Last Will and Testament----"

His eye caught only one other phrase: "I give, bequeath, and devise tomy dearly beloved wife, Solange----"

With an oath, Sucatash savagely dashed his signature where De Launayindicated, and then rushed out of the room. The soldier took anotherpiece of paper and resumed his writing. When he had finished he foldedthe two sheets into an envelope and sealed it. Outside, Sucatash washeaving the lashings taut on the last packs. 

De Launay came to the door and stood watching the final preparations. Solange still sat desolately on the log. 

Finally Sucatash came to her and assisted her to rise. He led her toher horse and held the stirrup for her as she swung to the saddle. Hewas about to mount himself when De Launay caught his eye. Instead, hestepped to the soldier's side. 

"Take this, " said De Launay, holding out the envelope. "Give it to herto-morrow. And--she needn't worry about the mine--or Banker. "

"She's not even thinkin' about them!" growled Sucatash. 

He turned and strode to his horse. In another moment they were ridingrapidly toward the rim of the crater. 

De Launay watched them for some time and then went into the cabin. Hecame out a moment later carrying saddle and bridle. On his thighs werenow hanging holsters on both sides, and both were strapped down at thebottoms. 

He caught and saddled his horse, taking his time to the operation. Then, searching the darkening surface of the crater wall, he found notrace of the two who had ridden away. But he busied himself in gettingfood and eating it. It was fully an hour after they had gone before hemounted and rode after them. 

By this time Solange and Sucatash had reached the rim and were well ontheir way through the down timber. More by luck than any knowledge ofthe way, they managed to strike the game trail, and wound through theimpeding snags, the cow-puncher taking the lead and the girl followinglistlessly in his wake. Before dark had come upon them they hadgained the level bench and were riding toward the gulch which led intothe cañon. 

After a while Sucatash spoke. "Where you aimin' to camp, ma'am?"

"I am going down to these miners, " she said flatly. 

"But, mad'mo'selle, that camp ain't no place for you. There ain't nowomen there, most likely, and the men are sure to be a tough bunch. Iwouldn't like to let you go there. "

"I am going, " she answered. To his further remonstrances sheinterposed a stony silence. 

He gave it up after a while. As though that were a signal, she becamemore loquacious. 

"In a mining camp, one would suppose that the men, as you have said, are violent and fierce?"

"They're sure likely to be some wolfish, ma'am, " he agreed. In hopethat she would be deterred by exaggeration, he dwelt on the subject. "The gunmen and hoss thieves and tinhorn gamblers all come in on therush. There's a lot of them hobos and wobblies--reds and anarchistsand such--floatin' round the country, and they're sure to be in on it, too. I reckon any of them would cut a throat or down a man for twobits in lead money. Then there's the kind of women that follows arush--the kind you wouldn't want to be seen with even--and the menmight allow you was the same kind if you come rackin' in among 'em. "

Solange listened thoughtfully and even smiled bleakly. 

"These men would kill, you say, for money?"

"For money, marbles or chalk, " said Sucatash. He was about toembellish this when she nodded with satisfaction. 

"That is good, " she said. "And, if not for money, for a woman--one ofthat kind of woman--they would shoot a man?"

Sucatash blanched. "What are you drivin' at, ma'am?"

"They will kill for me, for money--or if that is not enough--for awoman; such a woman as I am. Will they not, Monsieur Sucatash?"

"Kill who?"

He knew the answer, though, before she spoke: "Louisiana!"

Shocked, he ventured a feeble remonstrance. 

"He's your husband, ma'am!"

But this drove her to a wild outburst in startling contrast to herformer quiescence. 

"My husband! Yes, my husband who has defiled me as no other on earthcould have soiled and degraded me! My husband! Oh, he shall be killedif I must sell myself body and soul to the man who shoots him down!"

Then she whirled on him. 

"Monsieur Sucatash! You have said to me that you liked me. Maybeindeed, you have loved me a little! Well, if you will kill that manfor me--you may have me!"

Sucatash groaned, staring at her as though fascinated. She threw backher head, turning to him, her face upraised. The sweetly curved lipswere half parted, showing little white teeth. On the satin cheeks aspot of pink showed. The lids were drooping over the deep eyes, veiling them, hiding all but a hint of the mystery and beauty behindthem. 

"Am I not worth a man's life?" she murmured. 

"You're worth a dozen murders and any number of other crimes, " saidSucatash gruffly. He turned his head away. "But you got me wrong. Ifhe was what you think, I'd smoke him up in a minute and you'd not oweme a thing. But, ma'am, I know better'n you do how you really feel. You think you want him killed--but you don't. "

Solange abruptly straightened round and rode ahead without anotherword. Morosely, Sucatash followed. 

They came into the cañon at last and turned downward toward the spotwhere camp had been pitched that day, which seemed so long ago, andyet was not yet a week in the past. Snow was falling, clouding the airwith a baffling mist, but they could see, dotted everywhere along thesides of the cañon, the flickering fires where the miners had campedon their claims. Around them came the muffled voices of men, free withprofanity. Here and there the shadow of a tent loomed up, or a moresolid bulk spoke of roughly built shacks of logs and canvas. Faintlaughter and, once or twice, the sound of loud quarreling was heard. It all seemed weirdly unreal and remote as though they rode through analien, fourth dimensional world with which they had no connection. Thesnow crunched softly under the feet of the horses. 

But as they progressed, the houses or shacks grew thicker until itappeared that they were traversing the rough semblance of a street. Mud sloshed under the hoofs of the horses instead of snow, and a blackribbon of it stretched ahead of them. Mistily on the sides loomeddimly lighted canvas walls or dark hulks of logs. The sound of voiceswas more frequent and insistent down here, though most of it seemed tocome from some place ahead. 

In the hope that she would push on through the camp Sucatash followedthe girl. They came at last to a long, dim bulk, glowing with lightfrom a height of about six feet and black below that level. From thisplace surged a raucous din of voices, cursing, singing and quarreling. A squeaky fiddle and a mandolin uttered dimly heard notes which weretossed about in the greater turmoil. Stamping feet made a continuoussound, curiously muffled. 

"What is this?" said Solange, drawing rein before the place. 

"Ma'am, you better come along, " replied Sucatash. "I reckon thebootleggers and gamblers have run in a load of poison and started ahonkatonk. If that's it, this here dive is sure no place for peaceablefolks like us at this time o' night. "

"But it is here that these desperate men who will kill may be found, is it not?" Solange asked. 

"You can sure find 'em as bad as you want 'em, in there. But you can'tgo in there, ma'am! My God! That place is _hell_!"

"Then it is the place for me, " said Solange. She swung down from herhorse and walked calmly to the dimly outlined canvas door, swung itback and stepped inside. 

CHAPTER XXII

VENGEANCE!

The place, seen from within, was a smoky inferno, lighted precariouslyby oil lanterns hung from the poles that supported a canvas roof andsides. Rows of grommets and snap hasps indicated that pack tarpaulinshad been largely used in the construction. To a height of about fivefeet the walls were of hastily hewn slabs, logs in the rough, piecesof packing cases, joined or laid haphazard, with chinks and gapsthrough which the wind blew, making rivulets of chill in a stiflingatmosphere of smoke, reeking alcohol, sweat and oil fumes. Thebuilding was a rough rectangle about twenty feet by fifty. At one endboards laid across barrels formed a semblance of a counter, behindwhich two burly men in red undershirts dispensed liquor. 

Pieces of packing cases nailed to lengths of logs made crazy tablesscattered here and there. Shorter logs upended formed the chairs. There was no floor. Sand had been thrown on the ground after the snowhad been shoveled off, but the scuffling feet had beaten and trampledit into the sodden surface and had hashed it into mud. 

Ankle-deep in the reeking slush stood thirty or forty men, cladmostly in laced boots, corduroys or overalls, canvas or Mackinawjackets; woolen-shirted, slouch-hatted. Rough of face and figure, theystood before the bar or lounged at the few tables, talking in groups, or shouting and carousing joyously. There was a faro layout on one ofthe tables where a man in a black felt hat, smoking a cigar, dealtfrom the box, while a wrinkle-faced man with a mouth like a slit cutin parchment sat beside him on a high log, as lookout. Half a dozenmen played silently. 

Perhaps half of those present milled promiscuously among the groups, hail-fellow-well-met, drunk, blasphemous, and loud. These shouted, sang and cursed with vivid impartiality. The other half, keener-eyed, stern of face, capable, drew together in small groups of two or threeor four, talking more quietly and ignoring all others except as theykept a general alert watch on what was going on. These were theold-timers, experienced men, who trusted no strangers and had no mindto allow indiscreet familiarities from the more reckless andignorant. 

When the door opened to admit Solange, straight and slim in her plainleather tunic and breeches, stained dark with melted snow, the drunkenmusicians perched on upended logs were the first to see her. Theystopped their playing and stared, and slowly a grin came upon one ofthem. 

"Oh, mamma! Look who's here!" he shouted. 

Half a hundred pairs of eyes swung toward the door and silence fellupon the place. Stepping heedlessly into the ankle-deep muck, Solangewalked forward. Her flat-brimmed hat was pulled low over her face andthe silk bandanna hid her hair. Behind her Sucatash walkeduncertainly, glaring from side to side at the gaping men. 

The groups that kept to themselves cast appraising eyes on thecow-puncher and then turned them away. They pointedly returned totheir own affairs as though to say that, however strange, the adventof this girl accompanied by the lean rider, was none of theirbusiness. Again spoke experience and the wariness born of it. 

But the tenderfeet, the drunken roisterers, were of different clay. Achorus of shouts addressed to "Sister" bade her step up and have adrink. A wit, in a falsetto scream, asked if he might have the nextdance. Jokes, or what passed in that crew for them, flew thickly, growing more ribald and suggestive as the girl stood, indifferent, andlooked about her. 

Then Sucatash strode between her and the group near the bar from whichmost of the noise emanated. He hitched his belt a bit and faced themtruculently. 

"You-all had better shut up, " he announced in a flat voice. His wordsbrought here and there a derisive echo, but for the most part themirth died away. The loudest jibers turned ostentatiously back to thebar and called for more liquor. The few hardy ones who would havecarried on their ridicule felt that sympathy had fled from them, andmuttered into silence. Yet half of the crew carried weapons hung inplain sight, and others no doubt were armed, although the tools werenot visible, while Sucatash apparently had no weapon. 

Behind the fervid comradeship and affection, the men were strangerseach to the other. None knew whom he could trust; none dared to strikelest the others turn upon him. 

At one of the rude tables not far from the entrance, sat three men. They had a bottle of pale and poisonous liquor before them from whichthey took frequent and deep drinks. They talked loudly, advertisingtheir presence above the quieter groups. One or two men stood at thetable, examining a heap of dirty particles of crushed rock spread uponthe boards. They would look at it, finger it and then pass on, generally without other comment than a muttered word or two. But thethree seated men, one of whom was the gray, weasel-faced Jim Banker, boasted loudly, and profanely calling attention to the "color" and theexceeding richness of the ore. Important, swaggering, and braggart, they assumed the airs of an aristocracy, as of men set apart andelevated by success. 

Outside, in the lull occasioned by Solange's dramatic entrance, noises of the camp could be heard through the flimsy walls. Far downthe cañon faint shouts could be heard. Some one was calling to animalsof some sort, apparently. A faint voice, muffled by snow, raised ayell. 

"H'yar comes the fust dog sled in from the No'th, " he cried. "That'sthe sour doughs for yuh! He's comin' _right_!"

They could hear the faint snarls and barks of dogs yelping far downthe cañon. 

Then the noise swelled up again and drowned the alien sounds. 

Dimly through the murk Solange saw the evil face of the desert rat, now flushed with drink and greed, and, with a sudden resolution, sheturned and walked toward him. He saw her coming and stared, his facegrowing sallow and his yellow teeth showing. He gave the impression ofa cornered rat at the moment. 

Then his eyes fell on Sucatash, who followed her, and he half rosefrom his seat, fumbling for a gun. Sucatash paid no heed to him, notnoticing his wild stare nor the slight slaver of saliva that sprang tohis lips. His companions were busy showing the ore to curiousspectators and were too drunk to heed him. 

Slowly Banker subsided into his seat as he saw that neither Solangenor Sucatash apparently had hostile intentions. He tried to twist hisseamed features into an ingratiating grin, but the effort was afailure, producing only a grimace. 

"W'y, here's ole French Pete's gal!" he exclaimed, cordially, thoughthere was a quaver in his voice. "Da'tter of my old friend whatdiskivered this here mine an' then lost it. Killed, he was, by agunman, twenty years gone. Gents, say howdy to the lady!"

His two companions gaped and stared upward at the strange figure. Thestanding men, awkwardly and with a muttered word or two, backed awayfrom the table, alert and watchful. Women meant danger in such acommunity. Under the deep shadow of her hat brim, Solange's eyessmoldered, dim and mysterious. 

"You are Monsieur Banker!" she asserted, tonelessly. "You need not befrightened. I have not come to ask you for an accounting--yet. It isfor another purpose that I am here. "

"Shore! Anything I kin do fer old Pete's gal--all yuh got to do is askme, honey! Old Jim Banker; that's me! White an' tender an' faithful toa friend, is Jim Banker, ma'am. Set down, now, and have a nip!"

He rose and waved awkwardly to his log. One of the others, with a grinthat was almost a leer, also rose and reached for another log at aneighboring table from which a man had risen. All about that end ofthe shack, the seated or standing men, mostly of the silent and aloofgroups, drifted casually aside, leaving the table free. 

Solange sat down and Sucatash put out a hand to restrain her. 

"Mad'mo'selle!" he remonstrated. "This ain't no place fer yuh! Yuhdon't want to hang around here with this old natural! He's plumpoisonous, I'm tellin' yuh!"

Solange made an impatient gesture. "Some one quiet him!" sheexclaimed. "Am I not my own mistress, then!"

"Yuh better be keerful what yuh call me, young feller, " said Banker, belligerently. "Yuh can't rack into this here camp and get insultin'that a way. "

"Aw, shut up!" retorted Sucatash, flaming. "Think yuh can bluff mewhen I'm a-facin' yuh? Yuh damn', cowardly horned toad!"

He half drew back his fist to strike as Banker rose, fumbling at hisgun. But one of the other men suddenly struck out, with a fist like aham, landing beneath the cow-puncher's ear. He went down without agroan, completely knocked out. 

The man got up, seized him by the legs, dragged him to the door andthrew him into the road outside. Then he came back, laughing loudly, and swaggering as though his feat had been one to be proud of. Solangehad shuddered and shrunk for a moment, but almost at once she shookherself as though casting off her repulsion and after that wasstonily composed. 

On his way to the table the man who had struck Sucatash down, calledloudly for another bottle of liquor, and one of the red-shirted menbehind the bar left his place to bring it to them. 

The burly bruiser sat down beside Solange with every appearance ofself-satisfaction. He leered at her as though expecting her to flameat his prowess. But she gave no heed to him. 

"Yuh might lift up that hat and let us git a look at yuh, " he said, reaching out as though to tilt the brim. She jerked sharply away fromhim. 

"In good time, monsieur, " she said. "Have patience. "

Then she turned to Banker, who had been eying her with furtive, speculative eyes, cautious and suspicious. 

"Monsieur Banker, " she said, "it is true that you have known this manwho killed my father--this Louisiana?"

"Me! Shore, I knowed him. A murderin' gunman he was, ma'am. A badhombre!"

"And did you recognize him that time he came--when you played thatlittle--joke--upon me?"

Banker turned sallow once more, as though the recollection frightenedhim. 

"I shore did, " he assented fervently. "He plumb give me a start. Thought he was a ghost, that a way, you----"

He leaned forward, grinning, his latent lunacy showing for a moment inhis red eyes. Confidentially, he unburdened himself to hiscompanions. 

"This lady--you'll see--she's a kind o' witch like. This here fellerracks in, me thinkin' him dead these many years, an' I misses himclean when I tries to down him. I shore thinks he's a ha'nt, called upby the lady. Haw, haw!"

His laughter was evil, chuckling and cunning. It was followed bycackling boasts:

"But they all dies--all but old Jim. Louisiana, he dies too, even if Imisses him that a way with old Betsy that ain't missed nary a one fernigh twenty year. "

Under her hat brim Solange's eyes gleamed with a fierce light as thebloodthirsty old lunatic sputtered and mouthed. But the other twogrinned derisively at each other and leered at the girl. 

"Talks like that all the time, miss, " said one. "Them old-timers likesto git off the Deadwood Dick stuff. Me, I'm nothin' but a p'fessionalpug and all the gun fightin' I ever seen was in little old Chi. But Iain't a damn' bit afraid to say I could lick a half dozen of thesehere hicks that used to have a reputation in these parts. Fairy tales;that's wot they are!"

He swigged his drink and sucked in his breath with vastself-satisfaction. The other man, of a leaner, quieter, but just asvillainous a type, grinned at him. 

"Oh, I don't know, " he said. "I ain't never seen no one could juggle asix-gun like they say these birds could do, but I reckon there's sometruth in it. Leastways, there are some that can shoot pretty good. "

He, too, leaned back, with an air of self-satisfaction. Bankerchuckled again. 

"You're both good ones, " he said. "This gent can shoot some, ma'am. Hecomes from Arkansas. But I ain't a-worryin' none about that. Old Jim'sluck's still holdin' good. I found this here mine, now, although youwouldn't tell me where it was. Didn't I?"

"I suppose so, " said Solange indifferently. "I do not care about themine, monsieur. It is yours. But there is something that I wish and--Ihave money----"

The instant light of greed that answered this announcement convincedher that she had struck the right note. If the mine had been as richas Golconda these men would have coveted additional money. 

"You got money, ma'am?" Banker spoke whiningly. 

"Money to pay for your service. You are brave men; men who would helpa woman, I feel sure. You, Monsieur Banker, knew my father and wouldhelp his daughter--if she paid you. "

The irony escaped him. 

"I sure would, " he answered, eagerly. "What's it you want, ma'am, andwhat you goin' to pay fer it?"

She spoke quite calmly, almost casually. 

"I want you to kill a man, " she answered. 

The three of them stared at her and then the big bruiser laughed. 

"Who d'you want scragged?" he said, derisively. 

Solange looked steadily at Banker. "Louisiana!" she answered, clearly. But old Jim turned pale and showed his rat's teeth. 

The others merely chuckled and nudged each other. 

Solange sensed that two considered her request merely a wild jokewhile the other was afraid. She slowly drew from her bag the yellowposter that De Launay had sent back to her by Sucatash. 

"You would be within the law, " she pleaded, spreading it out beforethem. As they bent over it, reading it slowly: "See. He is a fugitivewith a price on his head. Any one may slay him and collect a reward. It is a good deed to shoot him down. "

"Five hundred dollars looks good, " said the lean man from Arkansas, "but it ain't hardly enough to set me gunnin' for a feller I don'tknow. Is this a pretty bad actor?"

"Bad?" screamed Banker, suddenly. "Bad! I've seen him keep a chip inthe air fer two or three seconds shootin' under it with a six-shooter!I've seen him roll a bottle along the ground as if you was a-kickin'it, shootin' between it and the ground and never chippin' the glass. Bad! You ask Snake Murphy if he's bad. Snake was drunk an' starts afuss with him an' his hand was still on his gun butt an' the gun inthe holster when Louisiana shoots him in the wrist an' never looks athim while he's a-doin' it! Bad! I'll say he's bad!"

He was shivering and almost sick in his sudden fright at the idea offacing Louisiana. The others, however, were skeptical andcontemptuous. 

"Same old Buffalo Bill and Alkali Ike stuff!" said the pugilistsneeringly. "I ain't afraid of this guy!"

"Well--neither am I, " said the man from Arkansas, complacently. "Heain't the only one that can shoot, I reckon. "

Banker fairly fawned upon them. "Yes, " he cried. "You-all are goodfellers and you ain't afraid. You'll down Louisiana if he comes. Buthe won't come, I reckon. "

"He _is_ coming, " said Solange. "Not many hours ago I heard him saythat he was going to 'jump your claim, ' which he said did not belongto you. And he intimated that there would be a fight and that he wouldwelcome it. "

The three men were startled, looking at one another keenly. Bankerlicked his lips and was unmistakably frightened more than ever. Butin his red eyes the flame of lunacy was slowly mounting. 

"If I had old Betsy here----" he muttered. 

"He ain't goin' to jump this mine, " said the man from Arkansas, grimly. "Me and Slugger, here, has an interest in that mine. We worksit on shares with Jim. If this shootin' sport comes round, we'll knowwhat to do with him. "

"Slugger, " however, was more practical. "We'll take care of him, " heagreed, slapping his side where a pistol hung. "But if there's moneyin gettin' him, I want to know how much. What'll you pay, ma'am?"

"A--a thousand dollars is all I have, " said Solange. "You shall havethat, messieurs. "

But, somehow, her voice had faltered as though she, now, werefrightened at what she had done and regretted it. Some insistentdoubt, hitherto buried under her despair and rage, was struggling tothe surface. As she watched these sinister scoundrels mutteringtogether and concerting the downfall of the man who was herhusband--and perhaps something more, to her--she felt a panic growingin her, an impulse to spring up and rush out, back on the trail towarn De Launay. But she suppressed it, cruelly scourging herself toremembrance of her dead father and her vow of vengeance. She tried towhip the flagging sense of outrage at the trick that the brutalLouisiana had played upon her in allowing her to marry him. 

"If he lights around here, " she heard Banker cackling, "we'll downhim, we will! I'll add a thousand more to what the lady gives. We'llkeep a lookout, boys, an' when he shows up, he dies!"

Then his shrill, evil cry arose again and men turned from theirpursuits to look at him. The foam stood on his lips, writhen into asnarl over yellow fangs and his red eyes flamed with insanity. 

"He'll die! They all dies! Only old Jim don't die. French Pete dies;Panamint dies; that there young Dave dies! But old Jim don't die!"

Solange turned pale as he half rose, leaning on the table with onehand while the other rested on the butt of his six-shooter. A greatterror surged over her as she saw what she had let loose on herlover. 

Her lover! For the first time she realized that he was her lover andthat, despite crime and insult and deadly injury, he could be nothingelse. She staggered to her feet, shoving back the brim of her hat, herwonderful eyes showing for the first time as she turned them on thesegrim wolves who faced her. 

"My God!" said the bruiser, in a sudden burst of awe as he was caughtby the fathomless depths. The man from Arkansas could not see them soclearly, but he sensed something disturbing and unusual. Banker facedher and tried to tear his own eyes from her. 

Then, as they stood and sat in tableau, the flimsy door to the shackflew open and Louisiana stood on the threshold, holsters sagging oneach hip and tied down around his thighs. 

CHAPTER XXIII

TO THE VALE OF AVALON

Slowly the sense of something terrible and menacing was borne in onthose who grouped themselves at the table. First there came adiminishing of the sounds that filled the place. They died away like afading wind. Then the chill sweep of air from the door surged acrossthe room, like a great fear congealing the blood. In the sloppy messunderfoot could be heard the sucking, splashing sound of feet moving, as men all about drew back instinctively and rapidly to be out of theway. 

Solange felt what had happened rather than saw it. The fearfulconvulsion of fright, followed by maniac rage that leaped to Banker'sface told her as though he had shouted the news. His companions andallies were merely stupefied and startled. 

With an impulse to cry out a warning or to rush to him and throw herbody between De Launay and these enemies, she suddenly whirled aboutto face him. She saw him standing in the doorway, the night blackbehind him except where the light fell on untrodden snow. Dim andshadowy in the open air of the roadway were groups of figures. Theyelping and snarling of dogs floated into the place and she could seetheir wolfish figures between the legs of men and horses. 

De Launay stood upright, hands outstretched at the level of hisshoulders and resting against the sides of the doorway. He was open toand scornful of attack. His clean features were set sternly and hiseyes looked levelly into the reeking interior, straight at Solange andthe three men grouped behind her. 

"Monsieur de Launay!" she cried. His eyes flickered over her andfocused again on the men. 

"Louisiana--at your service, " he answered, quietly. 

In some wild desire to urge him back she choked out words. 

"Why--why did you come?"

He did not answer her direct but raised his voice a little, thoughstill without emotion. 

"Jim Banker, " he said, "I came for you. There are others out here whohave also come for you--but I am holding them back. I want youmyself. "

Out of Banker's foaming lips came a snarling cry. 

"Wh-what fer?"

Again the answer was not direct, and this time it was Solange he spoketo, though he did not alter the direction of his gaze. 

"Mademoiselle, you are directly in line with these--men. You hadbetter move aside. "

But Solange felt the pressure of a gun muzzle at her back and thesnarl was in her ear. 

"You don't move none! Stand where you be, or I'll take you fust andgit him next!"

Nevertheless she would have moved, had not De Launay caught theknowledge of her peril. He spoke again, still calm but with a new, steely note in his voice. 

"Stand fast, mademoiselle, then, if they must have you for a shield. But don't move. Shut your eyes!"

Hardly knowing why, she obeyed, oblivious of the peril to herself butin an agony lest her presence and position increase his danger. DeLaunay dominated her, and she stood as rigid as a statue, awaiting thecataclysm. 

But he was speaking again. 

"The wolves dug up the body of Dave MacKay, Banker, and the menoutside found it. What you did to Wallace the other day he hasrecovered sufficiently to tell us. What you tried to do to this youngwoman I have also told them. Shall I tell her, and the others, whokilled French Pete nineteen years ago?"

Again came the whining, shrill snarl from behind Solange. 

"You did, you----"

"So you have said before, Jim. But I have the bullet that killed Peted'Albret. I also have the bullet you shot at me when I came up to savemademoiselle from you a week ago. Those two are of the same caliber, Banker. It's a caliber that's common enough nowadays but wasn't verycommon in nineteen hundred. Who shot a Savage . 303, nineteen yearsago, and who shoots that same rifle to-day?"

There was a slow mutter of astonishment rising from the men crowdedabout the walls and in front of the crude bar. It was a murmur thatcontained the elements of a threat. 

"I give you first shot, Jim, " came the half-mocking voice of De Launaybeating, half heard, on Solange's ears, where the astounding reversalof her notions was causing her brain almost to reel. Then she heardthe whistling scream of Banker, quite lunatic by now, as he lost allsense of fear in his rising madness. 

"By heaven, but you don't git me, Louisiana! Nobody gits old Jim. Theyall die--all but old Jim!"

The shattering concussion of a shot fired within an inch or two of herear almost stunned her. She felt the powder burning her cheek. Almostagainst her will her eyes flew open to see the figure in the door jerkand sag a little. Triumphant and horrible came Banker's scream. 

"They all die--all but old Jim!"

She was conscious of hasty movements beside her. The two other men, awaking from their stupor and sensing their opportunity as De Launaywas hit, were drawing their guns. 

"Stand still!" thundered De Launay and she stiffened automatically. His hands had dropped from the doorway and now they seemed to snapupward with incredible speed and in them were two squat and heavyautomatics, their grizzly muzzles sweeping like the snap of a whip toa line directly at herself, as it seemed. 

Two shots again rocked her with their concussion. They seemed merelyechoes of the flaming roars from the big automatics as each of themspoke. A man standing against the wall some feet away from De Launayducked sharply, with a cry. The shot fired by the Slugger had gonewide, narrowly missing him. A chip flew from the door lintel near DeLaunay's head. The man from Arkansas was shooting closer. 

Solange was conscious that some one beside her had grunted heavily andthat some one else was choking distressingly. She could not lookaround but she heard a heavy slump to her left. To her right somethingfell more suddenly and sharply, splashing soggily in the muck. Then, once more the powder burned her cheek and the eardrum was numbed underan explosion. 

"I got you, Louisiana!" came Banker's yell. She saw De Launay staggeragain and felt that she was about to faint. 

"Stand still!" he shouted again. She knew she was sheltering hismurderer and that, from behind her, the finishing shot was alreadybeing aimed over her shoulder. Yet, although she felt that she mustrisk her life in order to get out of line and give him a chance, hisvoice still dominated her and she stiffened. 

One of the big pistols swept into line and belched fire and noise ather. She heard the brittle snapping of bone at her ear and somethingstruck her sharply on the collar bone, a snapping blow, as though somehard and heavy object had struck and glanced upward and away. Then thesecond pistol crashed at her. 

Again she heard the sound of something smashing behind her. There wasno other sound except the noise of something slipping. That somethingthen slid, splashing, to the floor. 

De Launay's pistols were lowered and he was taking a step into theroom. Solange noted that he staggered again, that the deerskinwaistcoat was stained, and she tried to find strength to run to him. 

She saw, as she moved, the huddled figures at her side where the deadmen lay, and she knew that there was another behind her. She heard theslopping of feet in the mud as men closed in from all about her. Sheheard awe-struck voices commenting on what had happened. 

"Plumb center--and only a chunk of his haid showin' above the gal! Ifyou ask me, that's shore some shootin'!"

"An each o' the other two with a shot--jest a left an' a right!"

"Gets the gun with one barrel an' the man with the other. Did you-allsee it?"

Her feet were refusing to carry her, leaden and weighty as theyseemed. Her knees were trembling and her head swimming. Yet sheretained consciousness, for, in front of her, De Launay was crumplingforward, and sinking to the muddy shambles in which he stood. 

Friendly hands were holding her up and she swept the cobwebs from herbrain with her hands, determined that she would conquer her weakness. Somehow she staggered to De Launay's side and, heedless of the mud, sank to her knees. 

"_Mon ami! Mon ami!_" she moaned over him, her hands folding over hislean cheeks, still brown in spite of the pallor that was sweepingthem. 

A man dropped to his knees beside De Launay and opposite her. She didnot heed his swift gesture in ripping back the buckskin vest. Nor didshe feel the hand on her shoulder where Sucatash stood behind her. Thecrowding bystanders were nonexistent to her consciousness as sheraised De Launay's head. 

Then his eyes fluttered open and met hers; were held by them as thoughthey were drawn down to the depths of her and lost in them. Over hismouth, under the small, military mustache crept a smile. 

"Morgan _la fée_!" he whispered. 

Solange choked back a sob. She leaned nearer and opened her eyeswider. De Launay's gaze remained lost in the depths of hers. But hesaw at last to the bottom of them; saw there unutterable sorrow andlove. 

"Don't worry, fair lady!" he gasped. "It's been something--to livefor--once more! And the mine--you'll not need that--after all!"

His eyes slowly closed but he was not unconscious, for he spokeagain. 

"It's nothing much. That rat couldn't kill--Louisiana!"

The man who was examining De Launay made an impatient gesture andSucatash drew her gently away. She rose slowly, bending dumbly overthe physician, as he seemed to be. 

"Reckon he's right, " said this man, grimly, as he bared De Launay'schest. "Huh! These holes aren't a circumstance to what this hombre'shad in him before this. Reckon he's had a habit of mixing with cougarsor something like that! Here's a knife wound--old. "

"A bayonet did that, " said Solange. 

"Soldier, eh! Well, he's used to bullet holes and it's a good thing. Hand me something to bandage him with, some one. He's lost a heap ofblood but there ain't anything he won't get over--that is, if you canget him out of this hole. "

The man seemed competent enough, although, abandoning his practice tojoin the gold rush, he had brought few of the tools of his trade withhim. He gathered handkerchiefs and Solange ripped open her flannelshirtwaist and tore the lingerie beneath it to furnish him additionalcloth. She had collected herself and, although still shaky, was cooland efficient, her nurse's experience rendering the doctor invaluableaid. Together they soon stanched the bleeding and directed De Launay'sremoval to a near-by tent where he was laid upon ample bedding. 

Then the doctor turned to Solange and Sucatash, who hovered around herlike a satellite. 

"I've done what I can, " he said. "But he'll not stand much chance ifhe's left up here. You'd better risk it and get him down to the Fallsif it can be done. "

"But how can we take him?" cried Solange. "Surely it would kill him toride a horse. "

"No, he can't, " agreed the doctor. "But there is the dog team thatcame in to-night. You ought to get him to Wallace's with that and hecan probably stand it. "

Solange turned at once and ran out to seek the driver of the dog team. The dogs lay about in the road but the man was not visible. Shehastily burst into the saloon again in the hope of finding him there. 

The signs of conflict had been removed and men were once more lined upbefore the rude bar, discussing the fight in low voices. 

They fell silent when Solange entered and most of them took off theirhats, although they had all been puzzled to explain her connectionwith the event and her actions before it had come off. 

She paid no attention to them but swept the crowd looking for thenewcomer. He saved her the trouble of identifying him by comingforward. 

"Ma'am, " he said, with great embarrassment, "I'm Snake Murphy and Iwas grubstakin' that ornery coyote that Louisiana just beefed. I comein to-night with that dog team and I reckon that, accordin' to law, this here claim of Jim's belongs to me now that he's dead. But I wantsto say that I ain't robbin' no women after they come all the wayacross the ocean to find this here mine and--well--if half of it'llsatisfy you, it's yours!"

Solange seized him by the arm. 

"You are the man with the dogs?" she cried. 

"Yes ma'am. "

"Then--you keep the mine--all of it, I do not want it. But you willlet us have the dogs that we may take Monsieur de Launay to thehospital? We must have the dogs. The mine--that is yours if youagree!"

Snake Murphy broke into a grin. "Why, ma'am, shore you're welcome tothe dogs. This here Louisiana shot me up once--but damned if I standsfer no one shootin' him from behind a woman that a way. Come on, andwe'll fix the sled!"

A few minutes later Solange had resumed her watch beside De Launaywhile, outside, Sucatash and Murphy were busy unloading the sled andgetting it ready for the wounded man. 

De Launay slept, apparently. Solange sat patiently as the long hourspassed. At intervals he muttered in his sleep and she listened. Fragments of his life formed the subject of the words, incoherent anddisconnected. She caught references to the terrible years of existenceas a légionnaire and later snatches of as terrible scenes of warfare. 

Once he spoke more clearly and his words referred to her. 

"Morgan _la fée_!--promised to be something interesting--more thanthat--worth living, perhaps, after all. "

She dropped her hand over his and he clutched it, holding fast. Afterthat he was quiet, sleeping as easily as could be expected. 

In the morning the doctor examined him again and said that the tripmight be taken. De Launay awoke, somewhat dazed and uncertain butcontented, evidently, at finding Solange at his side. He had fever butwas doing very well. 

Solange gave him broth, and as he sipped it he looked now and then ather. Something seemed to be on his mind. Finally he unburdenedhimself. 

"I was planning to save you the divorce, " he said. "But I probablywill get well. It is too bad!"

"Why too bad?" asked Solange, with eyes on broth and spoon. 

"After this even a Nevada divorce will mean notoriety for you. Andyou've lost the mine. "

"I have not lost it, " said Solange. "Monsieur Murphy gave me half ofit--but I traded it away. "

"Traded it?"

"For a team of dogs to take you out. As for a divorce, Monsieur deLaunay, there is a difficulty in the way. "

"A difficulty! What's that? All you have to do is establish aresidence. I'm still an American citizen--at least I never took stepsto be naturalized in France. Perhaps that's why they demoted me. Anyhow, such a marriage of form wouldn't hold a minute if you want tohave it annulled. "

Solange blushed a little. 

"But you forget. I cannot blame you for I hardly recalled it myselfuntil recently. I am a Catholic--and divorce is not allowed. "

"But--even a Catholic could get an annulment--under the circumstances, if she wished it. "

"But----" said Solange, and stopped. 

"But what?"

"Be quiet, please! If you twist that way you will spill the broth. IfI wished--yes, perhaps. "

"Solange!"

"But I--do not wish!"

De Launay lay still a moment, then:

"Solange!"

"Monsieur?"

"_Why_ don't you wish it?"

She stole a glance at him and then turned away. His face was damp andthe fever was glittering in his eyes but behind the fever was a greathunger. 

"Husbands, " said Solange, "are not plentiful, monsieur. "

He sank back on the bed, sighing a little as though exhausted. Instantly Solange bent over him, frightened. 

"Is that all?" she heard him mutter. 

Slowly she stooped until her glimmering hair swept around his face andher lips met his. 

"_Méchant!_" she breathed, softly. "That is not all. There isalso--this!"

Her lips clung to his. 

Finally she straightened up and arranged her hair, smiling down athim, her cheeks flushed delicately and her eyes wonderfully soft. 

"Morgan _la fée_!" said De Launay. "My witch--my fairy lady!"

Solange kissed him lightly on the forehead and rose. 

"We must be getting ready to go, " she said. "It will be a hard trip, Iam afraid. But we shall get you down to the town and there is enoughmoney left to keep you in the hospital until you are well again. AndI shall find work until everything is all right again. "

De Launay stared at her. "Hasn't Sucatash given you that note?"

"But what note?"

He laughed out loud. 

"Call him in. "

When the cow-puncher came in he held the note in his hand and held itout to Solange. 

"I done forgot this till this minute, ma'am. The boss told me to giveit to you to-day--but I reckon it ain't needed yet. "

"Open it, " said De Launay. 

Solange complied and took out the two inclosures. The first she readwas the will and her eyes filled at this proof of De Launay's care forher, although she had no idea that his estate was of value. Then sheunfolded the second paper. This she read with growing amazement. 

"But, " she cried, and stopped. She looked at him, troubled. "I did notknow!" she said, uncertainly. 

His hand groped for hers and as she took it, timidly, he drew hercloser. 

"Why, " he said, "it makes no difference, does it, dear?"

She nodded. "It makes a difference, " she replied. "I am not onethat----"

"You are one that traded a mine worth millions that I might have dogsto take me out, " he interrupted. "Now I will buy those dogs from youand for them I will pay the value of a dozen gold mines. If you willkiss me again I will endow you with every oil well on my father'sancestral acres!"

Solange broke into a laugh and her eyes grew deep and mysterious againas she stooped to him while the embarrassed Sucatash sidled out underthe tent flap. 

"You will make yourself poor, " she said. 

"I couldn't, " he answered, "so long as Morgan _la fée_ is with me inAvalon. "

Sucatash called from outside, plaintively:

"I got the dogs fed and ready, mad'mo'selle--I mean, madame! Reckon webetter carry the gen'ral out, now!"

Solange threw back the flap to let him enter again. 

"We are ready--for Avalon, " she said. 

"Wallace's ranch, you mean, don't you?" asked Sucatash. 

"Yes--and Avalon also. "

Then, as the stalwart Sucatash gathered the wounded man and liftedhim, she took De Launay's hand and walked out beside him. 

THE END

Transcriber's Notes:

Obvious spelling and punctuation errors repaired and noted. 

Chapter I page 36 - "when I had ambition" Corrected typo: "ambiton"

 page 48 - "the ex-légionnaire shepherding" Corrected typo: "ex-legionnaire"

 - "Pyrenean wild cat" Corrected typo: "Pyreneen"

Chapter II page 52 - "_mariage de convenance_" Corrected (French) typo: "marriage"

Chapter V page 86 - "seemed to emanate from" Corrected typo: "eminate"

Chapter VI page 102 - ""A mad'mo'selle?" they echoed. " Original "mad'moselle" is inconsistent with rest of text. 

Chapter VII page 104 - "since fourteen ninety-two, I reckon. " Original had a full-stop after "ninety-two"

Chapter VIII page 115 - "in her metallic voice" Corrected typo: "metalic"

Chapter IX page 123 - "disillusioned De Launay" Corrected typo: "dissillusioned"

 page 126 - "were dully insistent" Corrected typo: "insistant"

 page 132 - "the raft gyrated" Corrected typo: "girated"

 page 134 - "meet hers squarely" Corrected typo: "her's" (N. B. Apostrophe)

Chapter X page 141 - Added double-quote to start of chapter. 

 page 149 - "Other places had been warned" Corrected typo: "beeen"

Chapter XI page 154 - ""Remember the feller's singin', Jim?"" Added double-quote before 'Remember'

Chapter XII page 161 - "another motor car northward bound" Corrected typo: "nothward"

 page 166 - "direction of my brother. " Corrected typo: "directon"

Chapter XVI page 212 - "one whose brain" Corrected typo: "who's"

Chapter XVII page 236 - "subterranean forces" Corrected typo: "subterrannean"

Chapter XXII page 283 - "Rows of grommets" Corrected typo: "grommetts"

 page 283 "indiscreet familiarities" Corrected typo: "familiarites"

Chapter XXIII page 309 - "get an annulment" Corrected typo: "annullment"