[Illustration: KILMENY'S ALERT EYES SWEPT AGAIN AND AGAIN THE TRAILLEADING UP THE GULCH. HE DID NOT INTEND TO BE CAUGHT NAPPING BY THEOFFICERS. Frontispiece (p. 67)]

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THE HIGHGRADER

BY

WILLIAM MacLEOD RAINE

Author of "Wyoming, " "Ridgway of Montana, " "Bucky O'Connor, " "A TexasRanger, " "Mavericks, " "Brand Blotters, " "Crooked Trails and Straight, ""The Vision Splendid, " "The Pirate of Panama, " "A Daughter of the Dons, "Etc. 

Illustrations ByD. C. HUTCHISON

G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANYPublishers New York

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Copyright, 1915, byG. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY

The Highgrader

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

 I. The Campers 11 II. Mr. Verinder Complains 18 III. Night Fishing 28 IV. Fugitives From Justice 44 V. "I'm Here, Neighbor" 56 VI. Lord Farquhar Gives Moya A Hint 71 VII. Moya's Highwayman 84 VIII. The Bad Penny Again 102 IX. "An Out and Out Rotter" 113 X. Old Friends 123 XI. A Blizzard 141 XII. Out of the Storm a Man 157 XIII. Shot To the Core With Sunlight 170 XIV. "Prove It!... Prove It!" 180 XV. A Highgrader--In Principle 189 XVI. One Maid--Two Men 201 XVII. A Warning 218 XVIII. Two Ambushes 237 XIX. Mr. Verinder Is Treated To A Surprise 243 XX. Colter Takes A Hand 250 XXI. Spirit Rapping? 264 XXII. The Acid Test 274 XXIII. Captain Kilmeny Retires 284 XXIV. Two In A Bucket 291 XXV. Homing Hearts 309

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ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE

Kilmeny's alert eyes swept again and again the trailleading up the gulch. He did not intend to be caughtnapping by the officers _Frontispiece_ 67

"He's hooked pretty fast. Take your time about gettinghim into your net. These big fellows are likely to squirmaway" 33

They rode through a world shot to the core with sunlight. The snow sparkled and gleamed with it 177

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THE HIGHGRADER

PRELUDE

A young idealist, _ætat_ four, was selling stars to put in the sky. Shehad cut them with her own scissors out of red tissue paper, so that shewas able to give a guarantee. 

"But you'll have to get the ladder out of our bedroom to put 'em upwiv, " she told purchasers honestly. 

The child was a wild dark creature, slim and elfish, with a queer littlesmile that flashed sudden as an April sun. 

It was evening, on the promenade deck of an ocean liner. The sea waslike glass and the swell hardly perceptible. Land was in sight, a vagueuneven line rising mist-like on the horizon. Before morning the_Victorian_ would be running up the St. Lawrence. Even for the mostsqueamish the discomforts of the voyage lay behind. A pleasant goodfellowship was in the air. In some it took the form of an idlecontentment, a vague regret that ties newly formed must so soon bebroken. In others it found an expression more buoyant. Merry voices ofshuffleboard players drifted forward. Young couples paced the deck andleaned over the rail to watch the phosphorescent glow. The open windowsof the smoking-room gave forth the tinkle of glasses and the low rattleof chips. All sounds blended into a mellow harmony. 

"What's your price on a whole constellation with a lovers' moon thrownin?" inquired a young man lounging in a deck chair. 

The vendor of stars looked at him in her direct serious fashion. "I finkI tan't sell you all 'at, but I'll make you a moon to go wiv thestars--not a weally twuly one, jus' a make-believe moon, " she added in awhisper. 

An irritated voice made itself heard. "Steward, have you seen that childanywhere? The naughty little brat has run away again--and I left heronly a minute. "

The dealer in celestial supplies came to earth. 

"I'm goin' to be smacked, " she announced with grave conviction. 

An unvoiced conspiracy formed itself instantly in her behalf. A lady ina steamer chair gathered the child under the shelter of her rug. Aneight-year-old youngster knotted his fists valiantly. The young man whohad priced a constellation considered the chances of a cutting-outexpedition. 

"She should have been in bed long ago. I just stepped out to speak toour room steward and when I came back she was gone, " the annoyedgoverness was explaining. 

Discovery was imminent. The victim prepared herself for the worst. 

"I don't care, " she protested to her protector. "It's ever so nicer tostay up, an' if it wasn't runnin' away it would be somefing else. "

At this bit of philosophy the lounger chuckled, rose swiftly, andintercepted the dragon. 

"When do I get that walk you promised me, Miss Lupton? What's the matterwith right now?"

The governess was surprised, since it was the first she had heard of anywalk. Flattered she was, but still faithful to duty. 

"I'm looking for Moya. She knows she must always go to her room aftertea and stay there. The naughty child ran away. "

"She's all right. I saw her snuggled under a rug with Mrs. Curtis nottwo minutes ago. Just a turn or two in this lovely night. "

Drawn by the magnet of his manhood, Moya slipped into the chair besidethe eight-year-old. 

"I'd kick her darned shins if she spanked me, " boasted he of the eightyears. 

Moya admired his courage tremendously. Her dark eyes followed theretreating figure of her governess. "I'm 'fraid. "

"Hm! Bet I wouldn't be. Course, you're only a girl. "

His companion pleaded guilty with a sigh and slipped her hand into hisbeneath the steamer rug. 

"It's howwid to be a dirl, " she confided. 

"Bet I wouldn't be one. "

"You talk so funny. "

"Don't either. I'm a Namerican. Tha's how we all talk. "

"I'm Irish. Mith Lupton says 'at's why I'm so naughty, " the sinnerconfessed complacently. 

Confidences were exchanged. Moya explained that she was a norphan andhad nobody but a man called Guardy, and he was not her very own. Shelived in Sussex and had a Shetland pony. Mith Lupton was horrid and wasalways smacking her. When she said her prayers she always said in softto herself, "But pleathe, God, don't bless Mith Lupton. " They weretaking a sea voyage for Moya's health, and she had been seasick just theteentiest weentiest bit. Jack on his part could proudly affirm that hehad not missed a meal. He lived in Colorado on a ranch with his father, who had just taken him to England and Ireland to visit his folks. Hedidn't like England one little bit, and he had told his cousin Ned soand they had had a fight. As he was proceeding to tell details MissLupton returned from her stroll. 

She brought Moya to her feet with a jerk. "My goodness! Who will youpick up next? Now walk along to your room, missie. "

"Yes, Mith Lupton. "

"Haven't I told you not to talk to strangers?"

"He isn't stwanger. He's Jack, " announced Moya stanchly. 

"I'll teach you to run away as soon as my back is turned. You shouldhave been in bed an hour ago. "

"I tan't unbutton myself. "

"A likely reason. Move along, now. "

Having been remiss in her duty, Miss Lupton was salving her conscienceby being extra severe now. She hurried her charge away. 

Suddenly Moya stopped. "Pleathe, my han'erchif. "

"Have you lost it? Where is it?"

"I had it in the chair. "

"Then run back and get it. "

Moya's thin white legs flashed along the deck. Like a small hurricaneshe descended upon the boy. Her arms went around his neck and for aninstant he was smothered in her embrace, dark ringlets flying about hisfair head. 

"Dood-night, Jack. "

A kiss fell helter-skelter on his cheek and she was gone, tugging alittle handkerchief from her pocket as she ran. 

The boy did not see her again. Before she was up he and his father leftthe boat at Quebec. Jack wondered whether she had been smacked, afterall. Once or twice during the day he thought of her, but the excitementof new sights effaced from his mind the first romance his life hadknown. 

But for nearly a week Moya added a codicil silently to her prayer. "And, God, pleathe bless Jack. "

CHAPTER I

THE CAMPERS

Inside the cabin a man was baking biscuits and singing joyously, "It's aLong, Long Way to Tipperary. " Outside, another whistled softly tohimself while he arranged his fishing tackle. From his book he hadselected three flies and was attaching them to the leader. Nearest therod he put a royal coachman, next to it a blue quill, and at the end aginger quill. 

The cook, having put his biscuits in the oven, filled the doorway. Hewas a big, strong-set man, with a face of leather. Rolled-up sleevesshowed knotted brown arms white to the wrists with flour. His eyes werehard and steady, but from the corners of them innumerable littlewrinkles fell away and crinkled at times to mirth. 

"First call to dinner in the dining-car, " he boomed out in a heavy bass. 

Two men lounging under a cottonwood beside the river showed signs oflife. One of them was scarcely more than a boy, perhaps twenty, apleasant amiable youth with a weak chin and eyes that held no steel. His companion was nearer forty than thirty, a hard-faced citizen whochewed tobacco and said little. 

"Where you going to fish to-night, Crumbs?" the cook asked of the manbusy with the tackle. 

"Think I'll try up the river, Colter--start in above the Narrows andwork down, mebbe. Where you going?"

"Me for the Meadows. I'm after the big fellows. Going to hang the Indiansign on them with a silver doctor and a Jock Scott. The kid here got histhree-pounder on a Jock Scott. "

The man who had been called Crumbs put his rod against the side of thehouse and washed his hands in a tin pan resting on a stump. He was aslender young fellow with lean, muscular shoulders and the bloom of manydesert suns on his cheeks and neck. 

"Going to try a Jock Scott myself after it gets dark. "

The boy who had come up from the river's bank grinned. "Now I've shownyou lads how to do it you'll all be catching whales. "

"Once is a happenstance, twice makes a habit. Do it again, Curly, andwe'll hail you king of the river, " Colter promised, bringing to thetable around which they were seating themselves a frying pan full oftrout done to a crisp brown. "Get the coffee, Mosby. There's beer in theicebox, kid. "

They ate in their shirtsleeves, camp fashion, on an oil cloth scarredwith the marks left by many hot dishes. They brought to dinner theappetites of outdoors men who had whipped for hours a turbid streamunder an August sun. Their talk was strong and crisp, after the fashionof the mining West. It could not be printed without editing, yet in thatatmosphere it was without offense. There is a time for all things, evenfor the elemental talk of frontiersmen on a holiday. 

Dinner finished, the fishermen lolled on the grass and smoked. 

A man cantered out of the patch of woods above and drew up at the cabin, disposing himself for leisurely gossip. 

"Evening, gentlemen. Heard the latest?" He drew a match across his chapsand lit the cigarette he had rolled. 

"We'll know after you've told us what it is, " Colter suggested. 

"The Gunnison country ce'tainly is being honored, boys. A party ofeffete Britishers are staying at the Lodge. Got in last night. I seenthem when they got off the train--me lud and me lady, three young ladiesthat grade up A1, a Johnnie boy with an eyeglass, and another lad wholooks like one man from the ground up. Also, and moreover, there's acook, a hawss wrangler, a hired girl to button the ladies up the back, and a valley chap to say 'Yes, sir, coming, sir, ' to the dude. "

"You got it all down like a book, Steve, " grinned Curly. 

"Any names?" asked Colter. 

"Names to burn, " returned the native. "A whole herd of names, honest toGod. Most any of 'em has five or six, the way the Denver _Post_ tellsit. Me, I can't keep mind of so many fancy brands. I'll give you the A BC of it. The old parties are Lord James and Lady Jim Farquhar, leastwaysI heard one of the young ladies call her Lady Jim. The dude has Verinderburnt on about eight trunks, s'elp me. Then there's a Miss Dwight and aMiss Joyce Seldon--and, oh, yes! a Captain Kilmeny, and an HonorableMiss Kilmeny, by ginger. "

Colter flashed a quick look at Crumbs. A change had come over that youngman's face. His blue eyes had grown hard and frosty. 

"It's a plumb waste of money to take a newspaper when you're around, Steve, " drawled Colter, in amiable derision. "Happen to notice the colorof the ladies' eyes?"

The garrulous cowpuncher was on the spot once more. "Sure, I did, leastways one of them. I want to tell you lads that Miss Joyce Seldon isthe prettiest skirt that ever hit this neck of the woods--and her eyes, say, they're like pansies, soft and deep and kinder velvety. "

The fishermen shouted. Their mirth was hearty and uncontained. 

"Go to it, Steve. Tell us some more, " they demanded joyously. 

Crumbs, generally the leader in all the camp fun, had not joined in thelaughter. He had been drawing on his waders and buckling on his creel. Now he slipped the loop of the landing net over his head. 

"We want a full bill of particulars, Steve. You go back and size up theeyes of the lady lord and the other female Britishers, " ordered Curlygayly. 

"Go yore own self, kid. I ain't roundin' up trouble for no babe just outof the cradle, " retorted the grinning rider. "What's yore hurry, Crumbs?"

The young man addressed had started away but now turned. "No hurry, Ireckon, but I'm going fishing. "

Steve chuckled. "You're headed in a bee line for Old Man Trouble. TheJohnnie boy up at the Lodge is plumb sore on this outfit. Seems that youlads raised ructions last night and broken his sweet slumbers. He's gotthe kick of a government mule coming. Why can't you wild Injuns behaveproper?"

"We only gave Curly a chapping because he let the flapjacks burn, "returned Crumbs with a smile. "You see, he's come of age most, Curlyhas. He'd ought to be responsible now, but he ain't. So we gave him whatwas coming to him. "

"Well, you explain that to Mr. Verinder if he sees you. He's sure on hishind laigs about it. "

"I expect he'll get over it in time, " Crumbs said dryly. "Well, so-long, boys. Good fishing to-night. "

"Same to you, " they called after him. 

"Some man, Crumbs, " commented Steve. 

"He'll stand the acid, " agreed Colter briefly. 

"What's his last name? I ain't heard you lads call him anything butCrumbs. I reckon that's a nickname. "

Curly answered the question of the cowpuncher. "His name 'sKilmeny--Jack Kilmeny. His folks used to live across the water. Maybethis Honorable Miss Kilmeny and her brother are some kin of his. "

"You don't say!"

"Course I don't know about that. His dad came over here when he was awild young colt. Got into some trouble at home, the way I heard it. Bought a ranch out here and married. His family was high moguls inEngland--or, maybe, it was Ireland. Anyhow, they didn't like Mrs. Kilmeny from the Bar Double C ranch. Ain't that the way of it, Colter?"

The impassive gaze of the older man came back from the rushing river. "You know so much about it, Curly, I'll not butt in with any moremisinformation, " he answered with obvious sarcasm. 

Curly flushed. "I'd ought to know. Jack's father and mine were friends, so's he and me. "

"How come you to call him Crumbs?"

"That's a joke, Steve. Jack's no ordinary rip-roaring, hell-raisin'miner. He knows what's what. That's why we call him Crumbs--because he'sfine bred. Pun, see. Fine bred--crumbs. Get it?"

"Sure I get it, kid. I ain't no Englishman. You don't need a two-by-fourto pound a josh into my cocoanut, " the rider remonstrated. 

CHAPTER II

MR. VERINDER COMPLAINS

Jack Kilmeny followed the pathway which wound through the woods alongthe bank of the river. Occasionally he pushed through a thick growth ofyoung willows or ducked beneath the top strand of a neglected wirefence. 

Beyond the trees lay a clearing. At the back of this, facing the river, was a large fishing lodge built of logs and finished artistically inrustic style. It was a two-story building spread over a good deal ofground space. A wide porch ran round the front and both sides. Upon theporch were a man in an armchair and a girl seated on the top step withher head against the corner post. 

A voice hailed Kilmeny. "I say, my man. "

The fisherman turned, discovered that he was the party addressed, andwaited. 

"Come here, you!" The man in the armchair had taken the cigar from hismouth and was beckoning to him. 

"Meaning me?" inquired Kilmeny. 

"Of course I mean you. Who else could I mean?"

The fisherman drew near. In his eyes sparkled a light that belied hisacquiescence. 

"Do you belong to the party camped below?" inquired he of the rockingchair, one eyeglass fixed in the complacent face. 

The guilty man confessed. 

"Then I want to know what the deuce you meant by kicking up such aninfernal row last night. I couldn't sleep a wink for hours--not forhours, dash it. It's an outrage--a beastly outrage. What!"

The man with the monocle was smug with the self-satisfaction of histribe. His thin hair was parted in the middle and a faint straw-coloredmustache decorated his upper lip. Altogether, he might measure five feetfive in his boots. The miner looked at him gravely. No faintest hint ofhumor came into the sea-blue eyes. They took in the dapper Britisher asif he had been a natural history specimen. 

"So kindly tell them not to do it again, " Dobyans Verinder ordered inconclusion. 

"If you please, sir, " added the young woman quietly. 

Kilmeny's steady gaze passed for the first time to her. He saw a slightdark girl with amazingly live eyes and a lift to the piquant chin thatwas arresting. His hat came off promptly. 

"We didn't know anybody was at the Lodge, " he explained. 

"You wouldn't, of course, " she nodded, and by way of explanation: "LadyFarquhar is rather nervous. Of course we don't want to interfere withyour fun, but----"

"There will be no more fireworks at night. One of the boys had abirthday and we were ventilating our enthusiasm. If we had known----"

"Kindly make sure it doesn't happen again, my good fellow, " cut inVerinder. 

Kilmeny looked at him, then back at the girl. The dapper little man hadbeen weighed and found wanting. Henceforth, Verinder was not on the map. 

"Did you think we were wild Utes broke loose from the reservation? Ireckon we were some noisy. When the boys get to going good they don'tquite know when to stop. "

The eyes of the young woman sparkled. The fisherman thought he had neverseen a face more vivid. Such charm as it held was too irregular forbeauty, but the spirit that broke through interested by reason of itshint of freedom. She might be a caged bird, but her wings beat for theopen spaces. 

"Were they going good last night?" she mocked prettily. 

"Not real good, ma'am. You see, we had no town to shoot up, so we justpunctured the scenery. If we had known you were here----"

"You would have come and shot us up, " she charged gayly. 

Kilmeny laughed. "You're a good one, neighbor. But you don't need toworry. " He let his eyes admire her lazily. "Young ladies are too seldomin this neck of the woods for the boys to hurt any. Give them a chanceand they would be real good to you, ma'am. "

His audacity delighted Moya Dwight. "Do you think they would?"

"In our own barbaric way, of course. "

"Do you ever scalp people?" she asked with innocent impudence. 

"It's a young country, " he explained genially. 

"It has that reputation. "

"You've been reading stories about us, " he charged. "Now we'll be on ourgood behavior just to show you. "

"Thank you--if it isn't too hard. "

"They're good boys, though they do forget it sometimes. "

"I'm glad they do. They wouldn't interest me if they were too good. What's the use of coming to Colorado if it is going to be as civilizedas England?"

Verinder, properly scandalized at this free give and take with ahaphazard savage of the wilds, interrupted in the interest ofpropriety. "I'll not detain you any longer, my man. You may get at yourfishing. "

The Westerner paid not the least attention to him. "My gracious, ma'am, we think we're a heap more civilized than England. We ain't got anymilitant suffragettes in this country--at least, I've never met up withany. "

"They're a sign of civilization, " the young woman laughed. "They provewe're still alive, even if we are asleep. "

"We've got you beat there, then. All the women vote here. What's thematter with you staying and running for governor?"

"Could I--really?" she beamed. 

"Really and truly. Trouble with us is that we're so civilized we bendover backward with it. You're going to find us mighty tame. Themelodramatic romance of the West is mostly in storybooks. What there wasof it has gone out with the cowpuncher. "

"What's a cowpuncher?"

"He rides the range after cattle. "

"Oh--a cowboy. But aren't there any cowboys?"

"They're getting seldom. The barb wire fence has put them out ofbusiness. Mostly they're working for the moving picture companies now, "he smiled. 

Mr. Verinder prefaced with a formal little cough a second attempt todrive away this very assured native. "As I was saying, Miss Dwight, Iwouldn't mind going into Parliament, you know, if it weren't for thebally labor members. I'm rather strong on speaking--that sort of thing, you know. Used to be a dab at it. But I couldn't stand the bounders thatget in nowadays. Really, I couldn't. "

"And I had so counted on the cowboys. I'm going to be disappointed, Ithink, " Miss Dwight said to the Westerner quietly. 

Verinder had sense enough to know that he was being punished. He hadtried to put the Westerner out of the picture and found himselfeliminated instead. An angry flush rose to his cheeks. 

"That's the mistake you all make, " Kilmeny told her. "The true romanceof the West isn't in its clothes and its trappings. "

"Where is it?" she asked. 

"In its spirit--in the hope and the courage born of the wide plains andthe clean hills--in its big democracy and its freedom from convention. The West is a condition of mind. "

Miss Dwight was surprised. She had not expected a philosophy of thisnature from her chance barbarian. He had the hands of a working man, brown and sinewy but untorn; yet there was the mark of distinction inthe lean head set so royally on splendid shoulders. His body, spare offlesh and narrow of flank, had the lithe grace of a panther. She hadseen before that look of competence, of easy self-reliance. Some of themen of her class had it--Ned Kilmeny, for instance. But Ned was anofficer in a fighting regiment which had seen much service. Where hadthis tanned fisherman won the manner that inheres only in a leader ofmen?

"And how long does it take to belong to your West?" asked the youngwoman, with the inflection of derision. 

But her mockery was a fraud. In both voice and face was a vivideagerness not to be missed. 

"Time hasn't a thing to do with it. Men live all their lives here andare never Westerners. Others are of us in a day. I think you wouldqualify early. "

She knew that she ought to snub his excursion into the personal, but shewas by nature unconventional. 

"How do you know?" she demanded quickly. 

"That's just a guess of mine, " he smiled. 

A musical voice called from within the house. "Have you seen my_Graphic_, Moya?"

A young woman stood in the doorway, a golden-white beauty with softsmiling eyes that showed a little surprise at sight of the fisherman. Afaint murmur of apology for the interruption escaped her lips. 

Kilmeny could not keep his eyes from her. What a superb young creatureshe was, what perfection in the animal grace of the long lines of thesoft rounded body! Her movements had a light buoyancy that was charming. And where under heaven could a man hope to see anything lovelier thanthis pale face with its crown of burnished hair so lustrous andabundant?

Miss Dwight turned to her friend. "I haven't seen the _Graphic_, Joyce, dear. "

"Isn't it in the billiard room? Thought I saw it there. I'll look, "Verinder volunteered. 

"Good of you, " Miss Joyce nodded, her eyes on the stranger who hadturned to leave. 

Kilmeny was going because he knew that he might easily outwear hiswelcome. He had punished Verinder, and that was enough. The miner hadmet too many like him not to know that the man belonged to the family ofcommon or garden snob. No doubt he rolled in wealth made by his father. The fellow had studied carefully the shibboleths of the society withwhich he wished to be intimate and was probably letter-perfect. None theless, he was a bounder, a rank outsider tolerated only for his money. Hemight do for the husband of some penniless society girl, but he wouldnever in the world be accepted by her as a friend or an equal. Thethought of him stirred the gorge of the fisherman. Very likely the manmight capture for a wife the slim dark girl with the quick eyes, oreven her friend, Joyce, choicest flower in a garden of maidens. Nowadaysmoney would do anything socially. 

"Cheekiest beggar I ever saw, " fumed Verinder. "Don't see why you letthe fellow stay, Miss Dwight. "

The girl's scornful eyes came round to meet his. She had never beforeknown how cordially she disliked him. 

"Don't you?"

She rose and walked quickly into the house. 

Verinder bit his mustache angrily. He had been cherishing a fiction thathe was in love with Miss Dwight and more than once he had smartedbeneath the lash of her contempt. 

Joyce sank gracefully into the easiest chair and flashed a dazzlingsmile at him. "Has Moya been _very_ unkind, Mr. Verinder?"

He had joined the party a few days before at Chicago and this was thefirst sign of interest Miss Seldon had shown in him. Verinder wasgrateful. 

"Dashed if I understand Miss Dwight at all. She blows hot and cold, " heconfided in a burst of frankness. 

"That's just her way. We all have our moods, don't we? I mean we poorwomen. Don't all the poets credit us with inconstancy?" The leastripple of amusement at her sex swelled in her throat and died away. 

"Oh, by Jove, if that's all! I say, do you have moods too, Miss Joyce?"

Her long thick lashes fluttered down to the cheeks. Was she embarrassedat his question? He felt a sudden lift of the heart, an access ofnewborn confidence. Dobyans Verinder had never dared to lift his hopesas high as the famous beauty Joyce Seldon. Now for the first time hisvanity stirred. Somehow--quite unexpectedly to him--the bars betweenthem were down. Was it possible that she had taken a fancy to him? Hisimagination soared. 

For a moment her deep pansy eyes rested in his. He felt a suddenintoxication of the senses. Almost with a swagger he drew up a chair andseated himself beside her. Already he was the conquering male inheadlong pursuit. Nor was he disturbed by the least suspicion of havingbeen filled with the sensations and the impulses that she had contrived. 

Miss Seldon had that morning incidentally overheard Lady Farquhar tellher husband that Dobyans Verinder's fortune must be nearer two millionpounds than one million. It was the first intimation she had been giventhat he was such a tremendous catch. 

CHAPTER III

NIGHT FISHING

Jack Kilmeny crossed the river by the rope ferry and followed the trailthat ran up. He took the water above the Narrows, about a mile and ahalf from camp. The mosquitoes were pretty bad near the willows alongthe shore, but as he got out farther they annoyed him less and with thecoming of darkness they ceased to trouble. 

The fish were feeding and he had a few strikes. Half a dozen eight andnine-inch trout went into his creel, but though he was fishing along theedge of the deep water, the big fellows would not be tempted. His watchshowed a quarter to ten by the moon when at last he hooked one worthwhile. 

He was now down by the riffles not far from the Lodge. A long castbrought him what fishermen along the Gunnison call a bump. Quietly hedropped his fly in exactly the same spot. There was a tug, a flash ofwhite above the water, and, like an arrow, the trout was off. The reelwhirred as the line unwound. Kilmeny knew by the pressure that he hadhooked a good one and he played it carefully, keeping the line taut butnot allowing too much strain on it. After a short sharp fight he drewthe fish close enough to net the struggler. Of the Lochleven variety, hejudged the weight of the trout to be about two pounds. 

He would have liked to try another cast, but it was ten o'clock, thelimit set by law. He waded ashore, resolved to fish the riffles againto-morrow. 

Next day brought Kilmeny the office of camp cook, which was taken inturn by each of the men. Only two meals a day were eaten in camp, sothat he had several hours of leisure after the breakfast things werecleared away. In a desultory fashion he did an hour or two of fishing, though his mind was occupied with other things. 

The arrival of the party at the Lodge brought back to him vividly somechapters of his life that had long been buried. His father, ArchibaldKilmeny, had married the daughter of a small cattleman some years afterhe had come to Colorado. Though she had died while he was still a child, Jack still held warmly in his heart some vivid memories of thepassionate uncurbed woman who had been his mother. 

She had been a belle in the cow country, charming in her way, beautifulto the day of her death, but without education or restraint. Her husbandhad made the mistake of taking her back to Ireland on a visit to hispeople. The result had been unfortunate. She was unconquerablyprovincial, entirely democratic, as uncultured as her native columbine. Moreover, her temper was of the whirlwind variety. The staid life of theold country, with its well-ordered distinctions of class and ruttedconventions, did not suit her at all. At traditions which she could notunderstand the young wife scoffed openly. Before she left, veileddislike became almost open war. The visit had never been repeated, nor, indeed, had she ever been invited again. This she had bitterly resentedand she had instilled into Jack the antagonism she herself felt. When hewas eight years old Jack's father had insisted on taking him back tomeet his relatives. Immediately upon his return the youngster's motherhad set about undermining any fondness he might have felt for hisBritish kindred. Three years later she had died. 

She had been a doting mother, with fierce gusts of passionate adorationfor her boy. Jack remembered these after he forgot her less amiablequalities. He had grown up with an unreasonable feeling of disliketoward those of his father's family who had failed to get along withher. Some instinct of loyalty which he could hardly define set himunconsciously in antagonism to his cousins at the Lodge. He had decidednot to make himself known to them. In a few days their paths woulddiverge again for all time. 

Dusk found him again in the river just above the riffles. He fished downthe stream slowly, shortening his line as darkness settled over thehills. His luck was rather worse than usual. The trout were nosing theflies rather than striking with any appetite. 

He was nearly opposite the Lodge when he noticed a fisherman in front ofhim. Working steadily forward, Kilmeny found himself gaining on theother. In order not to pass too near he struck out into the deeper watertoward the center of the river. When almost opposite the other he hearda splash not twenty feet away, followed by the whirr of the reel as thetrout made for the deep water. From the shadows where his unknowncompanion was obscured came the click of the line being wound up. Therewas a flash of silver in the moonlight, and again the rapid whirl of thereel. 

"You've hooked a whale, neighbor, " Kilmeny called across. 

The voice that came back to him across the water was eager and glad. Jack would have known its throb of youthful zest among a thousand. "MustI let him have all the line he wants?"

Kilmeny waded toward her as he gave counsel. "Don't make it too easy forhim, but don't jerk. Keep his nose up if you can. "

The humming of the reel and the steady click-click-click of the windingalternated. The trout fought gamely and strongly, but the young womanstuck to her work and would not give him any rest. Jack watched hercarefully. He saw that she was tiring, but he did not offer any help, for he knew that she was a sportsman. She would want to win alone or notat all. 

Yet he moved closer. The water was up to her hips, and no river in theRockies has a swifter current than the Gunnison. The bottom too iscovered with smooth slippery stones and bowlders, so that a misstepmight send her plunging down. Deprived of the use of her landing pole, she could make less resistance to the tug of the stream, and the four orfive pounds of dynamic energy at the end of her line would give her allshe could do to take care of for the next few minutes. Her pole wasbraced against her body, which made reeling difficult. The man besideher observed that except for a tendency to raise the pole too much shewas playing her trout like a veteran. 

The thing that he had anticipated happened. Her foot slipped from itsinsecure rock hold and she stumbled. His arm was round her waist in aninstant. 

"Steady! Take your time. "

"Thanks. I'm all right now. "

His right arm still girdled her slight figure. It met with his approvalthat she had not cried out or dropped her pole, but he would not takethe chance of an accident. 

[Illustration: "HE'S HOOKED PRETTY FAST. TAKE YOUR TIME ABOUT GETTINGHIM INTO YOUR NET. THESE BIG FELLOWS ARE LIKELY TO SQUIRM AWAY. " (p. 33)]

The trout was tiring. Inch by inch she brought him nearer. Sometimes hewould dart away again, but each dash for liberty was shorter and weakerthan the last. 

Presently she panted, "My landing net. "

It was caught in the creel. Kilmeny unfastened the net and brought itround where it would be ready for instant use. 

"Tell me what I must do now. "

"He's hooked pretty fast. Take your time about getting him into yournet, and be careful then. These big fellows are likely to squirm away. "

It was a ticklish moment when she let go of the rod with her left handto slip the net under the trout, but she negotiated it in safety. 

"Isn't he a whopper?" she cried in delight. "He won't go into the creelat all. "

"Then let me have him. The glory is yours. I'll be your gillie to carrythe game bag. "

He got his fingers through its gill before he took the hook from themouth of the fish. Carrying the trout in one hand and his pole in theother, he waded slowly through the swift water to the shore. 

The girl's vibrant voice came to him as she splashed at his heels towardthe bank. "He's such a ripping good one. I'm so pleased. How much do youthink he will weigh?"

The young man took the catch far enough back from the river, so thatthey could examine him in safety. 

"My guess is six pounds. He's the biggest taken this year so far. Icongratulate you, Miss Dwight. "

"I would never have got him if you hadn't been there to help me withadvice. But I really did it all myself, didn't I? If you had touched therod before I had him netted I'd never have forgiven you, " she confessed, eyes glowing with the joy of her achievement. 

"It's no joke to land one of these big fellows. I saw you were tired. But it's the sporting thing to play your own fish. "

Her dark eyes flashed a questioning glance at him. She had been broughtup in a society where class lines were closely drawn, but her experiencegave her no data for judging this young man's social standing. Casualinquiries of old Ballard, the caretaker at the Lodge, had brought herthe information that the party of fishermen were miners from the hills. This one went by the name of Crumbs and sometimes Jack. What puzzledMiss Dwight was the difficulty of reconciling him with himself. Sometimes he used the speech and the slow drawl of the plainsman, andagain he spoke with the correctness of one who has known good society. In spite of his careless garb he had the look of class. The well-shaped, lightly poised head, the level blue eyes of a man unafraid, the gracewith which he carried himself, all denied that he was an uncouth rustic. 

A young woman of impulse, she yielded to an audacious one now. "I'm gladyou let me do the sporting thing, Mr. --Crumbs. "

His gentle laughter welled out. "Where did you get that?"

"Isn't it your name?" she asked, with a lift of the dark eyebrows. 

He hesitated, barely an instant. Of course she knew perfectly well thatit was not his name. But it suited him not to give one more definite. 

"I reckon it's a name good enough to bring me to dinner by, " he drawled, smiling. 

He was back again in the Western idiom and manner. She wondered why. Thechange had come when she had spoken his name. A certain wariness hadsettled over his face like a mask. She could see that he was purposelytaking refuge in the class distinctions that presumably separated them. Yet she could have sworn that nothing had been farther from his mindduring the exciting ten minutes in the water while voice and presenceand arm had steadied her for the battle. 

They walked together up the slope to the big house. A fishing costume isnot a thing of grace, but the one this girl wore could not eclipse theelastic suppleness of the slender figure or the joy in life thatanimated the vivid face with the black curls straying from beneath thejaunty cap. The long hip waders she wore so briskly gave her the look ofa modern Rosalind. To deny her beauty was easy, but in the soft siftedmoonlight showered down through the trees it was impossible forKilmeny's eyes to refuse her an admission of charm. There was a hint ofpleasant adventure in the dusky eyes of this clean-limbed young nymph, aplastic energy in the provoking dainty face, that stung his reluctantadmiration. She had the gift for comradeship, and with it a freedom ofmind unusual in one of her class. 

She ran up the steps of the Lodge lightly and thanked him with apleasant "Good-night. " As he turned away Kilmeny came face to face withanother fisherman returning from the sport of the night. The manopposite him was rather short and thickset. In his eyes was a look ofkind shrewd wisdom. Red-faced and white-bearded, he was unmistakably anEnglishman of the upper class. 

Miss Dwight introduced him as Lord Farquhar, and the men shook hands. 

"Guess what I've got, " demanded the young woman, her hands behind her. 

"Heaven only knows. It might be anything from the measles to a newlover, " smiled Farquhar. 

She flashed upon him the fish that had been hidden behind her waders. 

"By Jove! Catch him yourself?"

She nodded, her eyes shining. 

Farquhar, very much a sportsman, wanted to know all about it, afterwhich he insisted on weighing the trout. Jack was dragged into the Lodgeto join in this function, and presently found himself meeting LadyFarquhar, a pleasant plump lady who did not at all conform to the usualstage conception of her part. Her smile was warm for this suppleblue-eyed engaging Westerner, but the latter did not need to be toldthat behind her friendliness the instinct of the chaperone was alert. The one swift glance she had thrown at Miss Dwight told him as much. 

Into the room drifted presently Miss Seldon, a late novel in her hand. In contrast with her sheathed loveliness Miss Dwight looked like a younggirl. There was something very sweet and appealing in Moya's slimindefinite figure of youth, with its suggestion of developing lines, butmost men ceased to look at her when Joyce swam within the orbit of theirvision. 

Joyce Seldon was frankly a beauty in every line and feature. Herexquisite coloring, the soft amber hair so extravagant in quantity, thelong lashes which shaded deep lovely eyes, satisfied the senses no lessthan the supple rounded young body which was carried with such lightgrace. Kilmeny was not very impressionable, but in her presence theworld seemed somehow shot through with a new radiance. She laid uponhim the spell of women. 

Presently Dobyans Verinder dropped in with an empty creel and openedwide supercilious eyes at sight of Jack. He was followed presently byCaptain Kilmeny and his sister, the latter a pretty Irish girl, quick oftongue, quicker of eye, and ready for anything from flirting to fishing. 

From the talk, Jack gathered that Lord Farquhar and Miss Dwight had bettheir catch would outweigh that of the other three, Farquhar and she tofish opposite the Lodge and the others half a mile below. The minorityparty had won easily, thanks to the big trout and Verinder's obstinacyin sticking to the flies he had used in England with success. There is atype of Englishman that goes through life using the flies he was broughtup on and trying to make them fit all places and times. Any divergenceis a form of treason. Neither Farquhar nor Kilmeny happened to be ofthat kind. They besieged the American with questions and soon had apretty fair idea of fishing on the Gunnison. 

"I should think you would ask me. I thought I was the one that catchesthe big fish, " suggested Miss Dwight, who had just returned from havingchanged into more conventional attire. 

"Make a habit of it, my dear, and we will, " Lord Farquhar assured her. 

"Once is enough, Moya. I can't afford a pair of gloves every evening, "India Kilmeny protested. 

"By Jove, leave some of the big ones for us, Miss Dwight, " implored thecaptain. He was a spare wiry man, with the long clean build one expectsto see in soldiers. Long residence in India had darkened his skin to analmost coffee brown, except for a wintry apple red where the high cheekbones seemed about to push through. 

Supper, to which Lady Farquhar had insisted that the American stay, wasbeing served informally in the living-room. Verinder helped himself to asandwich, ogling Moya the while with his eyeglass. 

"I say, you know, I believe in you, Miss Dwight, " he asserted. 

That young woman did not know why she resented more than usual hiswheedling attentions. Lady Jim had invited the millionaire to join theirparty, as the girl very well knew, in order to give her charges a chanceat him. Not that Lady Farquhar liked the man. She knew him quite wellfor an ill-bred little snob at heart. But he would pass muster in acrowd, and none of the young women of the party could afford to sniff attwo millions sterling. It was entirely probable that Joyce, with herbeauty and her clear vision of the need of money in the scheme ofthings, would marry as well as if she had a mother to look out for her. But Lady Jim felt it her duty to plan for India and Moya. She was moreanxious about Miss Dwight than the other Irish girl, for Moya was likelyto bolt the traces. Her friendships with men were usually amongineligibles. Verinder had shown a decided drift in her direction, butthe girl had not encouraged him in the least. If she had been possessedof an independent fortune she could not have been more airilyindifferent to his advances. 

Since Captain Kilmeny had joined the party in Denver the plans of LadyFarquhar had been modified. The soldier had taken an early opportunityto tell her that he meant to ask Moya Dwight to marry him. He had beenin love with her for years and had asked her just before his regimentleft for India the last time. The captain was not rich, but he hadenough. It happened too that he was a clean honest gentleman who hadmade a reputation for efficiency and gallantry in the army. If he wasnot brilliant, he was at least thorough. Lady Farquhar was quite willingto back his suit so far as she could. 

"He's our kind, Ned Kilmeny is, " she had told her husband. "I gave Moyaher chance with Verinder but I should have been disappointed in her ifshe had taken him. If she will only fall in love with Ned I'll forgiveher all the queer things she is always doing. "

Farquhar had chuckled. "It's an odds-on chance she'll not fancy him, Di. "

"For Heaven's sake, why not?" his wife had asked impatiently. "Does sheexpect to marry an emperor?"

"I don't know what she expects. The subject of matrimony is notall-important to Moya yet. But some day it will be--and then may I bethere to see!"

"You're so ridiculously wrapped up in her, " Lady Jim accused with asmile. "Why do you expect her love affair to be so interesting? For mypart, I think Ned quite good enough for her. "

"Oh, he's good enough. That isn't quite the point, is it? Moya wants tobe stormed, to be swept from her feet into the arms of the man she isready to love. A sort of a Lochinvar business--full of thrills and greatmoments. Ned can't give her those. "

"No, I suppose not. Pity she can't be sensible. "

"There are enough of us sensible, Di. We can spare her a few years yetfor romance. When she grows sensible she'll have to give up somethingshe can't afford to lose. "

His wife looked at him and smiled fondly. "You haven't quite lost ityourself, Jim. "

It was true enough that Lord Farquhar retained an interest in life thatwas refreshing. This evening his eyes gleamed while the Westerner toldof the frontier day program to be held at the little town of Gunnisonnext day. 

"You and your friends are miners, I understand. You'll not take part, then?" he asked. 

"I used to punch cows. My name is entered for the riding. The boys wantme to take a turn. "

India Kilmeny sat up straight. "Let's go. We can ride up in the morning. It will be jolly. All in favor of going eat another sandwich. "

"It will be pretty woolly--quite different from anything you have seen, "the miner suggested. 

"Thought we came here to fish, " Verinder interposed. "Great bore lookingat amateur shows--and it's a long ride. "

"Move we go. What say, Lady Farquhar?" put in Captain Kilmeny. 

"Do let's go, " Moya begged. 

"I don't see why we shouldn't, " Lady Farquhar smiled. "But I'm like Mr. Verinder about riding. If he'll drive me up the rest of you can go onhorseback. "

"Delighted, 'm sure. "

Verinder came to time outwardly civil but inwardly fuming. What thedeuce did Lady Farquhar mean? Captain Kilmeny would have five hoursclear with Miss Dwight and Miss Seldon during the ride back and forth. Ever since the soldier had joined the party things had been going badly. 

"If we're going it's time you girls were in bed. You've had a hard dayand to-morrow will be another, " Lady Jim pronounced. 

The Westerner rose to go. 

"Night's young yet. Stop and sit in with us to a game of poker. What!"Farquhar invited. 

"My pocketbook is at the camp, " the American demurred. 

"I'll be your banker, " his host volunteered. 

The ladies said good-night and departed. Chairs were drawn to the cardtable, chips sold, and hands dealt. The light of morning was breakingbefore Kilmeny made his way back to camp. He had in his pockets onehundred seventy three dollars, most of which had recently been theproperty of Dobyans Verinder. 

An early start for Gunnison had been agreed upon by the fishermen at thecamp. To go to bed now was hardly worth while. Jack took a towel fromthe willow bush upon which it was hanging, went down to the river, stripped, and from a rock ten feet above a deep pool dived straight asan arrow into the black water. The swirl of the current swept him intothe shallower stream below. He waded ashore, beautiful in his suppleslimness as an Apollo, climbed the rock a second time, and again knewthe delightful shock of a dive into icy water fresh from the mountainsnows. 

Ten minutes later he wakened the camp by rattling the stove lids. 

"Oh, you sluggards! Time to hit the floor, " he shouted. 

CHAPTER IV

FUGITIVES FROM JUSTICE

At the Lodge too an early breakfast was held, though it was five hourslater than the one at the camp. The whole party was down by nine-thirtyand was on the road within the hour. The morning was such a one as onlythe Rockies can produce. The wine of it ran through the blood warm andstimulating. A blue sky flecked with light mackerel clouds stretchedfrom the fine edge of the mountains to the ragged line of hills that cutoff the view on the other side. 

The horses were keen for the road and the pace was brisk. It was notuntil half the distance had been covered that Joyce, who was ridingbeside the captain, found opportunity for conversation. 

"You sat up late, didn't you?"

"Early, " the soldier laughed. 

"How did the savage behave himself?"

"He went the distance well. We all contributed to the neat little rollhe carried away. " Kilmeny smiled as he spoke. He was thinking ofVerinder, who had made a set against the miner and had tried to drivehim out by the size of his raises. The result had been unfortunate forthe millionaire. 

"He has a good deal of assurance, hasn't he?" she asked lightly. 

The captain hesitated. "Do you think that's quite the word? He fitted ineasily--wasn't shy or awkward--that sort of thing, you know--but hewasn't obtrusive at all. Farquhar likes him. "

"He's rather interesting, " Joyce admitted. 

She thought of him as a handsome untamed young barbarian, but it wasimpossible for her to deny a certain amount of regard for any virile manwho admired her. The Westerner had not let his eyes rest often upon her, but the subtle instinct of her sex had told her that he was very muchtaken with her. Since Joyce Seldon was the center and circumferenceabout which most of her thoughts revolved, it followed that the youngman had chosen the sure way to her favor. 

Moya Dwight too found that the young fisherman flitted in and out of hermind a good deal. He had told her, with that sardonic smile, that he wasa workingman. Indeed, there had been something almost defiant in the wayhe had said it, as if he would not for a moment accept their hospitalityon false pretenses. But, surely, he was worlds apart from any laborershe had ever seen. Last evening he had been as much at his ease as LordFarquhar himself. A little uncertainty about the use of the spoons andforks had not disturbed him at all. In spite of the soft vocal elisionsof the West, his speech had a dignity that suggested breeding. It wasquite likely he was not a gentleman, according to the code in which shehad been brought up, but it was equally sure there burned in him thatdynamic spark of self-respect which is at the base of all good manners. 

The little town of Gunnison rioted with life. Born and brought up as shehad been in the iron caste of modern super-civilization, Moya found thebarbaric color of the occasion very appealing. As she looked down on thearena from the box her party occupied, the heart of the girl throbbedwith the pure joy of it all. She loved this West, with its picturesquechap-clad brown-faced riders. They were a hard-bitten lot, burned to abrick red by the untempered sun of the Rockies. Cheerful sons of mirththey were, carrying their years with a boyish exuberance that wasdelightful. 

Most of the competitors for the bucking broncho championship had beeneliminated before the arrival of the party from the Lodge. Among thethree who had reached the finals was their guest of the previousevening. 

"Jack Kilmeny will ride Teddy Roosevelt, " blared the megaphone man. 

The English officer turned to Farquhar. "Didn't quite catch the name. Sounded like my own. "

"That's what I thought, " contributed his sister. A moment later, sheadded: "Why, it's Mr. Crumbs. "

That young man sauntered forward lazily, dragging his saddle by itshorn. He saddled the trembling animal warily, then swung lightly to theseat. The broncho stood for an instant motionless, then humped itselffrom the earth, an incarnate demon of action. As a pitcher, a weaver, asunfisher, this roan had no equal. Its ill-shaped nose and wicked redeyes were enough to give one bad dreams. But the lean-flanked youngminer appeared clamped to the saddle. Lithe and sinuous as a panther, herode with a perfect ease that was captivating. Teddy tried all itstricks. It went up into the air and came down with all four legs stiffas iron posts. It shot forward in a series of quick sharp bucks. Itflung itself against the wall of the arena to crush the leg of thisrider who held the saddle with such perfect poise. But Jack Kilmeny wasequal to the occasion and more. When the brute went over backward, in asomersault, he was out of the saddle and in again before the viciousoutlaw had staggered to its feet. Even the frontier West had never seena more daring and magnificent piece of horsemanship. 

Captain Kilmeny clapped his hands enthusiastically. "Bravo! Well done!"He turned to Moya, who sat beside him. "Finest bit of rough-riding Iever saw. Not one man in a million could have done it. "

"It's all in getting the hang of the thing, you know, " drawled Verindercomplacently. 

Moya, who was leaning forward with her dark eyes fixed on the two superbanimals fighting for mastery in the arena, thought both commentscharacteristic. The captain was a sportsman and a gentleman, themillionaire was neither. 

India whispered in the ear of Moya. "He's as broadminded as a crab, justabout. "

The reference was of course to Verinder. "I think we ought to be fair, even to a crab, dear, " Miss Dwight answered dryly. 

The battle between the outlaw broncho and its rider was over. Theconfidence of Teddy Roosevelt as well as its strength had been shaken. The bucks of the pony were easy to foresee. Presently they ceased. Thehorse stood with drooping head, foam dripping from its mouth, flanksflecked with sweat stains. 

Kilmeny swung from the saddle, and at the same time Colter stepped intothe arena. He drew Jack aside and whispered in his ear. India, watchingthe rough-rider through field glasses, saw the face of the young mangrow grim and hard. Without the delay of a moment he pushed through thecrowd that gathered to congratulate him and walked out of the groundswith Colter. 

The other two riders who had reached the finals were both experts in thesaddle. One of them, however, had been traveling with a Wild West showand was too soft to hold his own against the bit of incarnate deviltryhe was astride. To save himself he had to clutch at the horn of thesaddle. 

"He's pulling leather, " shouted one of the judges, and the man was wavedaside. 

The third cowpuncher made a good showing, but his horse lacked theenergy and spirit of Teddy Roosevelt. The unanimous decision of thejudges was in favor of Kilmeny. But when they sought for him to awardthe prize the new champion was nowhere to be found. 

Moya Dwight felt with genuine disappointment that the man's courtesy hadfailed. She and her friends had applauded his exploits liberally. Theleast he could have done would have been to have made a short call attheir box. Instead, he had ignored them. She resolved to bear herselfmore coldly if they met again. 

The early shadows of sunset were stretching down the rough mountainsides by the time the visitors from the Lodge reached the river cañon ontheir homeward way. Soon after this the champion rider and his friendColter passed them on a stretch of narrow road cut in the steep wall ofthe gulch. The leathery face of the latter took them in impassively ashe gave them a little nod of recognition, but the younger man reined infor a few words. He accepted their congratulations with a quiet "Gladyou enjoyed it, " but it was plain that he was in a hurry. In his eyesthere was a certain hard wariness that seemed hardly to fit theoccasion. Moya could not avoid the impression that he was anxious aboutsomething. As soon as he well could he put spurs to his horse andcantered after his companion. 

"I don't like your savage as well as I thought I was going to. If hecan't be pleasanter than that you may keep him yourself, Moya, " Joyceannounced with a smile. 

It was perhaps a quarter of an hour later that the sound of hard ridingreached them from the rear. Five dusty, hard-bitten men, all armed withrifles and revolvers, drew level with them. The leader threw a crispquestion at Lord Farquhar. 

"Two riders pass you lately?"

"Yes. "

"One on a big sorrel and the other on a roan with white stockings on thefront feet?"

"Yes. "

"Say anything?"

"The younger one stopped for a few words. He is a Mr. Crumbs, camped onthe river just below us. "

The lank man with the rifle across his saddle bow laughed grimly. "Yes, he is--not. His name is Kilmeny--Jack Kilmeny. I'm the sheriff ofGunnison County--and I want him bad. "

"Did you say Kilmeny?" asked the captain sharply. 

"That's what I said--the man that won the broncho busting contestto-day. "

To Moya, looking around upon the little group of armed men, there was amenacing tenseness in their manner. Her mind was groping for anexplanation, but she understood this much--that the law was reaching outfor the devil-may-care youth who had so interested her. 

"What do you want with him? What has he done?" she cried quickly. 

"He and his friend held up the gatekeeper of the fair association andgot away with three thousand dollars. "

"Held up! Do you mean robbed?"

"That's what I mean--vamoosed with the whole proceeds of the show. Howlong since they passed?"

"Between a quarter and half an hour, " answered Farquhar. 

The sheriff nodded. "All ready, boys. "

The clattering hoofs disappeared in a cloud of dust down the road. 

The rough places of life had been padded for all these young women. Never before had they come so close to its raw, ugly seams. The shadowof the law, the sacredness of caste, had always guarded them. 

India turned upon her brother big dilated eyes. "He said Kilmeny. Whocan the man be?"

"I don't know. " He was silent a moment in frowning thought, struck by anunwelcome idea. "You remember Uncle Archie. He had a son named Jack wholives somewhere in Colorado. D'ye remember he came home when you were alittle kiddie? Stopped at granddad's. "

The girl nodded. "He fought you once, didn't he?"

The captain nodded. The doubt began to grow into certainty. "Thought Ihad seen his face before. He's our cousin Jack. That's who he is. "

"And now he's a highwayman. By Jove, he doesn't look it, " contributedFarquhar. 

"I don't believe it. Such nonsense!" flamed Moya. 

"Fancy! A real live highwayman to supper with us, " Joyce reminded themwith sparkling eyes. 

"I'm sure he isn't. There must be a mistake. "

"He was troubled about something, Moya, " Lord Farquhar suggested. "Heand his friend were riding fast and plainly in a hurry. "

"Didn't he stop to talk?"

"He had to do that to avoid suspicion. I could see his mind wasn't onwhat he was saying. The man was anxious. "

"I thought you liked him, " Moya charged scornfully. 

Her guardian smiled. "I did, but that isn't evidence that will acquithim in court of being a road agent. "

"He's India's cousin--maybe. How could he be a criminal? Shall we haveto cut her and Captain Kilmeny now?" Miss Dwight demanded hotly. 

The captain laughed, but there was no mirth in his laughter. "You're astanch friend, Miss Dwight. By Jove, I hope you're right about him. "

Deep in her heart Moya was not at all sure. What did she know of him?And why should she care what he was? The man was a stranger to her. Forty-eight hours ago she had never seen him. Why was it that every goodlooking vagabond with a dash of the devil in him drew on her sympathies?She recalled now that he had hesitated when she had mentioned his name, no doubt making up his mind to let her think him other than he was. Thesheriff must know what he was talking about when he said the man was anoutlaw. But the appearance of him pleaded potently. Surely those clearunflinching eyes were not the homes of villainy. Nor could she find itpossible to think his gallant grace of bearing the possession of amiscreant. 

Before the day was out her faith in him had sunk to zero. CaptainKilmeny returned from the camp of the miners with the news that it wasdeserted except for two of the deputies who had stayed to guard itagainst the possible return of the robbers. He brought with him thedetailed story of the hold-up. 

Two masked men on horseback had robbed the treasurer of the GunnisonCounty Fair association as he was driving to the bank to deposit thereceipts of the day. The men had not been recognized, but thedescription of the horses corresponded closely to those ridden byKilmeny and Colter. It was recalled that these two men had disappearedas soon as the bucking broncho contest was over, not half an hour beforethe robbery. This would allow them just time to return to the corral onthe outskirts of the town, where they had left their mounts, and tosaddle so as to meet the treasurer on his way to the bank. It happenedthat the corral was deserted at the time, the boy in charge having leftto see the finals of the contest. Cumulative evidence of guilt lay inthe disappearance from the fishing camp not only of the two mensuspected, but also of their companions, Curly and Mosby. 

"Think he really did it, Ned?" India asked her brother. 

"Can't say, sis. Looks like it, " he answered gloomily. 

Of the party at the Lodge only one member was pleased at the turn eventshad taken. Verinder's manner was as openly triumphant as he dared allowit to become. It cried offensively, "I told you so!"

CHAPTER V

"I'M HERE, NEIGHBOR"

Moya still rode afternoons with her friends, fished occasionally, andtook her regular hand at bridge. But it was unaccountably true that herzest in these amusements was gone. She could give no satisfactory reasonfor it, but she felt as if something had passed out of her life forever. It was as if the bubbling youth in her were quenched. The outstandingnote of her had been the eagerness with which she had run out to meetnew experiences. Now she found herself shrinking from them. Whenever shecould the girl was glad to slip away by herself. To the charge that shewas in love with this young vagabond she would have given a promptdenial. Nevertheless, Lady Farquhar recognized the symptoms asdangerous. 

On the fifth day after the Gunnison trip the young people at the Lodgemade a party to fish Sunbeam Creek. They followed the stream far intothe hills, riding along the trail which bordered it. Kilmeny andVerinder carried lunch baskets, for they were to make a day of it andreturn only in time for a late dinner. 

Moya made her brave pretense of gayety. With alacrity she responded toVerinder's challenge of a bet on the relative sizes of their catches. But as soon as the rest were out of sight she sat down in a shady spotand fell to musing. 

How long she sat there, a sun-dappled nymph upon whom gleams of lightfiltered through the leaves of the aspens, she had not the least idea. The voice of a grizzled rider startled her from her dreams. Her liftedeyes took in the grim look of the man, garnished with weapons ready tohis hands. 

"Mornin', miss, " he nodded amiably. 

"Good-morning. " And swift on the heels of it, "You are a deputy sheriff, are you not?"

"Rung the bell, ma'am. You belong to the English outfit, I reckon. "

She smiled. "I suppose so, though I don't know what an outfit is. "

"I mean to Lord What's-his-name's party. "

"Yes, I think I do. I'm rather sure of it. "

"Funny about some members of your crowd having the same name as the manwe're looking for. "

"Mr. Kilmeny, you mean?"

"Jack Kilmeny! Yes, ma'am. "

"He introduced himself to us, but I don't think the name he went by wasKilmeny. I was told it was Crumbs. "

"That's just a joke. His friends call him that because his people are'way up in G. Fine bred--crumbs. Get the idea?"

"I think so. "

"Came from the old country, his father did--son of some big gun overthere. Likely he's some kin to your friends. "

He put the last observation as a question, with a sharp glance fromunder his heavy gray eyebrows. Moya chose to regard it as a statement. 

"Are you still searching for him?" she asked. 

"You bet we are. The sheriff's got a notion he's up in these hillssomewheres. A man answering his description was seen by some rancher. But if you ask _me_, I'd say he was busy losing himself 'way off inRoutt County, clear off the map. He used to punch cows up there and heknows all kinds of holes to hide in. It don't stand to reason he'd stillbe fooling around here. He's bridle-wise and saddle-broke--knows everyturn of the road. "

"Yes, " Moya assented listlessly. 

"He had his getaway all planned before ever he came down here. That's acinch. The fishing was all a bluff. The four of them had the hold-uparranged weeks ago. They've gone into a hole and drawn it in afterthem. "

"Don't you think there's a chance he didn't do it?" she asked in aforlorn way. 

"Not a chance. Jack Kilmeny and Colter pulled off the play. What theothers had to do with it I don't know. "

The deputy passed to the fishing in his conversation, hoped she wouldhave luck, stroked his white goatee, and presently departed. 

The man had scarcely disappeared around a bend in the gulch before asound startled her. Moya turned quickly, to see a man drop down the faceof a large rock to the ground. Even before he turned she recognized thatpantherine grace and her heart lost a beat. 

He came straight toward her, with the smile in his blue eyes thatclaimed comradeship as a matter of course. 

"You--here, " she gasped. 

"I'm here, neighbor. Where ought I to be--in Routt County losingmyself?"

Her little hand was lost in his big brown fist, her gaze locked in his. 

"You heard him?"

"Couldn't help it. I was working down through that grove of pines to theriver when I saw him. "

"He may come back. " Her quick glance went up the gulch into which thedeputy had disappeared. 

"I reckon not. Let's sit down and talk. "

Her first thought had been of his danger, but she remembered somethingelse now. "No, I think not, Mr. Kilmeny. "

The deep eyes that met his steadily had in them the rapier flash. Hesmiled. 

"Because I am a miscreant, I reckon, " he drawled. 

"You say it, not I. "

"Now you're dodging, neighbor. You think it. "

"If so, do I think more than the truth?"

A ripple of sardonic laughter stirred in him. "I see you have meconvicted and in the penitentiary already. "

"Your actions convict you. "

"So _you_ think. Isn't it just possible you don't understand them?"There was the faintest hint of derision in his polite inquiry. 

A light flashed in her dusky eyes, a shining hope newborn in her eagerheart. "Are you telling me that you are innocent?"

"You've been thinking me guilty, then, " he countered swiftly. 

"What else could I think?"

"You might have waited to hear the defense. "

"If you had stayed to make one, but you ran away. "

"How do you know I did?"

"You were gone when the officers reached your camp. "

His smile was grim and his voice defiant. "There was a man up in thehills I wanted to see in a hurry. "

By the look in her eyes it was as if he had struck her. With finecontempt her answer came. "Was there another man up there in the rocksjust now that you had to see until the deputy left?"

"Anyhow, there was a young woman down by the banks of Sunbeam I wantedto see after he was gone, " the fugitive claimed boldly. 

A faint angry flush glowed delicately beneath the olive of her cheeks. "Evasions--nothing but evasions. "

She turned away, sick at heart. He had treated with flippancy the chanceshe had given him. Would an innocent man have done that?

Swift as an arrow his hand shot out, caught her shoulder, and held herfirmly. The eyes that lifted to his flamed with proud resentment. 

"I'm not going to let you go like this. Don't think it. "

"Sir. "

"You'll do me justice first. " His hand dropped from her shoulder, butthe masterful look of him stayed her steps. "You'll tell me whatevidence you've got against me. "

Again an insurgent hope warmed her heart. Wild he might be, but surelyno criminal--if there was any truth in faces. 

What she had heard against him she told. "The robbers were ridinghorses like yours. You left the fair grounds early. You and your friendwere seen going into the corral where you had stabled the animals. Thiswas less than half an hour before the robbery. When you passed us on theroad you were anxious about something. You looked back two or threetimes. Both you and Mr. Colter showed you were in a hurry. Then you ranaway before the sheriff reached your camp. Does an innocent man dothat?" She put her question as an accusation, but in the voice was alittle tremble that asked to be refuted. 

"Sometimes he does. Now listen to me. The horses ridden by the robberswere Colter's and mine. We certainly were worried about the time we metyou. And we did break camp in a hurry so as to miss the sheriff. Doesthis prove me guilty?"

She brushed away the soft waves of dark hair that had fallen over herforehead in little escaping tendrils. The fearless level eyes of theoutdoors West were looking straight at her. 

"I don't know. Does it?"

"We'll say this evidence had piled up against Captain Kilmeny instead ofagainst me. Would you have believed him guilty?"

"No. He couldn't have done it. "

"On the same evidence you would acquit him and condemn me. Is thatfair?"

"I have known him for years--his standards, his ways of thinking. Allhis life he has schooled himself to run a straight course. "

"Whereas I----" He waited, the sardonic frosty smile on his lean strongface. 

Moya knew that the flutter of her pulses was telling tales in the pinkof her cheeks. "I don't know you. "

"I'm only a workingman, and an American at that--so it follows that Imust be a criminal, " he answered with a touch of bitterness. 

"No--no! But you're--different. There's something untamed about you. Idon't quite know how to put it--as if you had been brought up withoutrestraints, as if you didn't care much for law. "

"Why should I? Law is a weapon to bolster up the rich and keep down thepoor, " he flung back with an acid smile. "But there's law and law. Evenin our class we have our standards, such as they are. "

"Now it's you that isn't fair, " she told him quietly. "You know I meantnothing like that. The point is that I don't know what your standardsare. Law doesn't mean so much to people here. Your blood runs freer, less evenly than ours. You don't let the conventions hamper you. "

"The convention of honesty, for instance. Thanks, Miss Dwight. "

"I didn't want to believe it, but----"

The penitence in her vivid face pleaded for her. He could not refuse theoutstretched hand of this slender lance-straight girl whose sweetvitality was at once so delicate and so gallant. Reluctantly his palmmet hers. 

"You're quite sure now that I didn't do it?"

"Quite sure. "

"Even though I've been brought up badly?"

"Oh, I didn't say badly--really. You know I didn't. "

"And though I'm wild and lawless?"

"Aren't you?" she flashed back with a smile that took from the words anysting they might otherwise have had. 

Mirth overflowed in his eyes, from which now many little creasesradiated. "You're a good one, neighbor. But, since you will have it, Iam. I reckon my standards even of honesty wouldn't square with yours. Ilive in a rough mining camp where questions have two sides. It's up tome to play the game the way the other fellow plays it. But we'll not gointo that now. "

Strong, clear-eyed and masterful, she knew him a man among ten thousand. He might be capable of great sin, but what he did would be done with hiseyes wide open and not from innate weakness. Her heart sang jubilantly. How could she ever have dreamed this crime of him? Her trust was now athing above any evidence. 

"And you'll sit down with me now if I ask you, neighbor, " he laughed. 

She did not wait to be asked, but sat down, tailor fashion, and lookedexpectantly up with a humorous little twist of the eyebrows. Flakes ofdappled sunlight played on her through the moving leaves and accentedthe youthful bloom of her. 

With a sigh of content he stretched himself on the sun-warmed loam. Hisglance swept up the gulch, a sword cleft in the hills, passed over thegrove of young pines through which he had recently descended, and cameback to the slim Irish girl sitting erectly on the turf. 

"It's sometimes a mighty good world, neighbor, " he said. 

"I'm thinking that myself, " she admitted, laughter welling softly out ofher. 

The sun lit the tips of the pines, so that they looked like burnishedlances in battle array, poured its beams over the scarred hillside, andbathed the little valley in effulgent glory. 

"You can always find it somewhere, " he said with deep content, leaningon an elbow indolently. 

She asked for no antecedent to his pronoun. What he meant was notambiguous to her. 

"If one knows where to look for it, " she added softly. 

"That's the trouble. We get so busy with our little everyday troublesthat we forget to look. But the joy of life is always there if we'llforget our grouch and see it. "

"Yes--if having eyes we see. "

"I'm comforted a heap to know that you believe in me--even if I'm notCaptain Kilmeny, " he assured her with his slow rippling laugh. 

Had he been looking at her he would have seen the telltale color tideher cheeks. "If that is a comfort you are welcome to it. I might haveknown the idea of connecting you with such a thing was folly. "

He glanced whimsically at her. "Don't be too sure of me, neighbor. I'mlikely to disappoint you. What one person thinks is right another knowsis wrong. You'd have to make a heap of allowances for me if I were yourfriend. "

"Isn't that what friendship is for--to make allowances?"

"You've found that out already, have you?"

The long-lashed lids fell to her cheeks in self-defense. Not for worldswould she have had him guess the swift message ready to leap out towardhim. He seemed to be drawing her soul to his unconsciously. Tingling inevery nerve, athrob with an emotion new and inexplicable, she drew along slow breath and turned her head away. A hot shame ran likequicksilver through her veins. She whipped herself with her own scorn. Was she the kind of girl that gave her love to a man who did not wantit?

His next words brought to her the shock she needed, the effect of aplunge into icy water on a warm day. 

"What about your friends--what about Miss Seldon--did she believe meguilty too?" He could not quite keep the self-consciousness out of hisvoice. 

"Hadn't you better ask her that?" she suggested. 

In spite of his interest in their talk, Kilmeny's alert eyes had sweptagain and again the trail leading up the gulch. He did not intend to becaught napping by the officers. Now he rose and offered her a hand up. 

"Your friends are coming. "

Swiftly Moya came to earth from her emotions. In another moment she wasstanding beside the fugitive, her gaze on the advancing group. CaptainKilmeny was in the lead and was the first to recognize her companion. Ifhe was surprised, his voice failed to show it. 

"No, no, Verinder. I had him hooked all right, " he was saying. "Dashedpoor generalship lost him. He went into the rushes like a shot. Ipersuaded him out--had him in the open water. Looked to me like a two toone shot, hang it. Mr. Trout develops a bad break to the off and headsunder a big log. Instead of moving down the bank I'm ass enough to reelfrom where I hooked him. Leader snaps, and Mr. Trout has the laugh onme. "

To the sound of that high cheerful voice Moya roused at once. The raptexpression died from her face. 

"How many?" called India, holding up her string. 

"I haven't been fishing, " Moya answered; then gave herself away. "Itsurely isn't time for luncheon already. "

She took a step toward her friends, so that for the first time JackKilmeny stood plainly revealed. India's pretty piquant face set to ared-lipped soundless whistle. Joyce stared in frank amusement. Verinder, rutted in caste and respectability as only a social climber dubious ofhis position can be, ejaculated a "God bless my soul!" and collapsedbeyond further articulation. Captain Kilmeny nodded to the Westernerwithout embarrassment. 

"Mornin', Mr. Crumbs. "

"Good-morning. But you have the name wrong, sir. "

"Beg pardon. " The captain's eyebrows lifted in inquiry. 

"Kilmeny, " the American corrected. 

Nonchalantly the captain came to time. "Same name as ours. Wonder if byany chance we're of the same family. Happen to be any relation ofArchibald Kilmeny, who died in Colorado fifteen years ago?"

Jack looked at him quietly. "A son. "

"Makes us cousins. He was my father's brother. "

The Westerner nodded coolly, not in the least impressed. "Yes. "

It would have been easy to read hostility in his bearing, but Indiasailed past her brother with hand extended. "Glad to meet you, CousinJack. 'Member me? Last time you saw me I was a squalling five-year-old. "

The American warmed a trifle. "I remember you, all right. Never saw akid before so fond of currant jam. "

"Still am. You've improved in your personal appearance. Last time I sawyour eye it had been beautifully blacked, kindness of Ned. "

"Fortune of war. My lip was swollen for a week, " her brother laughed ashe extended his hand. 

"Ned got caned for fighting with a guest. Served him jolly well right, "Miss Kilmeny said. 

Joyce sailed forward into the picture gracefully. Her radiant beautytook the Westerner's breath. 

"You'll stay with us for luncheon, " she said with soft animation. "For, of course, this is an occasion. Long-lost cousins do not meet everyday. "

Verinder, making speechless sounds of protest at this indiscretion, grewvery red in the face. Would he have to sit down to eat with a criminalat large?

Jack hesitated scarcely a second. He could not take his gaze from thissuperb young creature, whose every motion charmed, whose deep eyesglowed with such a divine warmth of molten gold. 

"Thanks awf'lly, but I really can't stay. "

He bowed to one and another, turned upon Joyce that look of dumb worshipshe had seen on the faces of many men, and swung off into the pines, aselastic-heeled, confident, and competent a youth as any of them had seenin many a day. 

India's eyes danced. She was Irish enough to enjoy a situation sounusual. "Snubbed, Joyce, by a highwayman, " she laughed. 

But Joyce merely smiled. She knew what she knew. 

"If you ask me, he's got the deuce of a cheek, you know, " Verinderfumed. 

Miss Kilmeny pounced instantly upon him. "Referring to our cousin, Mr. Verinder?" she demanded sweetly. 

"But--er--you said yourself----"

"That was all in the family, " she informed him promptly. 

Joyce came to the assistance of Verinder with one confidential glance ofher incredibly deep eyes of velvet. "Of course he's cheeky. How could hebe India's cousin and not be that?" she asked with a rippling littlelaugh. "Come and help me spread the tablecloth, Mr. Verinder. "

Deeply grateful, the millionaire flew to assist. 

CHAPTER VI

LORD FARQUHAR GIVES MOYA A HINT

Verinder's man, Biggs, who had been a fascinated spectator of the WildWest sports at Gunnison, was describing them to Fisher, maid to LadyFarquhar and general buttoner-up-the-back to the entire femininecontingent of the party. 

"What do you mean when you say a horse bucks?" she wanted to know. 

"'E throws down 'is 'ead and 'e throws up 'is 'eels and you cawn'tremain, " he explained, without entire originality. 

"Fancy now!"

"Consequence is the rider lands himpromptu on _terra firma_, so tohexpress it. "

"Dear me. But doesn't it make him dusty, Mr. Biggs?"

"A bit. "

"Couldn't Captain Kilmeny ride one of the bronchos?"

"I've 'eard that the captain is a crack rider, none better in the harmy, Miss Fisher. 'E could ride the blawsted brute if it wouldn't 'ide itsbloomin' 'ead between its legs. "

Moya, patrolling the willow walk in front of the Lodge, took this inwith a chuckle. 

It was a still night, save only for the rushing waters of the river. Thelamps of the sky had all been lit and were gleaming coldly millions ofmiles away. The shadowed moonlight in the trees offered a stage set tolowered lights. 

The thoughts of the girl had drifted to speculation about thetransplanted countryman of hers whose personality had come to interesther so greatly. He had challenged her trust in him and she had respondedwith a pledge. He had not explained a single one of the suspiciouscircumstances against him. He had not taken her into his confidence, norhad he in so many words declared his innocence. She was glad he had toldher nothing, had demanded her faith as a matter of course. It was partof her pride in him that she could believe without evidence. All theworld would know he was not guilty after he had shown his proofs. Itwould be no test of friendship to stand by him then. 

A step sounded on the gravel behind her and an arm opened to let herhand slip round the elbow. 

"May I stroll out this dance with you, Miss Dwight?" Lord Farquhar askedformally, dropping into step with her. 

Moya and her guardian were kindred spirits. They never needed toexplain themselves to each other. Both knew how to make-believe. 

"If you're not afraid of a scandal at being alone with me so far from achaperone, " the girl answered lightly. 

He burlesqued a sigh. "I'm only afraid there won't be any. It's thepenalty of age, my dear. I can claim all sorts of privileges withoutmaking Verinder jealous. "

"Oh, Verinder, " she scoffed. 

"Should I have said Kilmeny?" he asked. 

"I'll tell you a secret, guardy, " whispered Moya gayly. "You're ahundred years younger than either of them. "

"I wish my glass told me so. "

"Fiddlesticks! Youth is in the heart. Mr. Verinder has never been youngand Captain Kilmeny has forgotten how to be. "

"I fancy Ned would be willing to learn how again if he had the properteacher. "

She gave his arm a little squeeze. "You dear old matchmaker. "

"Heaven forbid! I'm merely inquiring, my dear. "

"Oh, I see--your _in-loco-parentis_ duty. "

"Exactly. So it isn't going to be Ned?"

She looked across the turbid moonlit river before she answered. "I don'tthink so. "

"Nor Verinder?"

"Goodness, no!" A little ripple of laughter flowed from her lips beforeshe added: "He's changed his mind. It's Joyce he wants now. "

Farquhar selected a cigar from the case. "Hm! Sure you didn't change itfor him?"

A dimple flashed into her cheeks. "I may have helped a little, but nothalf as much as Joyce. "

"That young woman is a born flirt, " Lord Farquhar announced, his beardand the lower part of his face in the sudden glow of the lighted match. "Upon my word, I saw her making eyes at your highwayman the night we hadhim here. "

There was a moment's silence before she answered. "Anybody could seethat he was interested in her. "

"It doesn't matter to me who interests him, but I can't have any of mywards being romantic over a Dick Turpin, " he replied lightly. 

She was standing in the shadow, so that he could not see the dye sweepinto her cheeks. 

"I'm afraid he is going to disappoint you. He's not a highwayman atall. "

"Did he tell you so?"

"No. But I know it. "

"Looks to me as if he might make a good one. The fellow is cool as acucumber and afraid of nothing on two legs or four. "

"You forget he is India's cousin. "

"No, I'm remembering that. His father had a devil of a temper and hismother was as wild as an unbroken colt when I met her. "

"They weren't thieves, were they?" she flashed. 

He gave her his frank smile. "You like this young man, Moya?"

"Yes. Why shouldn't I?"

"Why not--if you don't like him too well?"

"So that's why you came out here--sent by Lady Farquhar to scold me--andI thought you had come because you like to be with me. "

"One reason doesn't preclude the other. "

"I've known for several days she had it on her mind--ever since we sawMr. Kilmeny on Sunbeam Creek. "

"Come; let us reason together, " he invited cheerfully. "We'll sit on theend of the wharf and dangle our legs while your guardian finishes hiscigar and does his duty by you. "

They compromised on a wire-woven seat under a cottonwood. Across theriver two fishermen could be seen working down stream close to theopposite shore. The two were Verinder and Captain Kilmeny, though atthat distance they were not recognizable. 

Lord Farquhar seemed in no hurry to begin, nor did Moya attempt tohasten him. His cigar glowed and ashed and glowed again before he spoke. 

"Odd how things work out, my dear. There across the river are two menwho would like to marry you. Both are good matches. One is by way ofbeing a bit of a bounder perhaps, but the other is as fine a fellow asany girl could look for--not brilliant, but no fool either, and assteady as a clock. "

A breath of wind lifted the edge of her white skirt. She followed thewoman's instinct to tuck it safely under her before making demureanswer. "Captain Kilmeny is his own certificate of merit. Any praise issurplusage. "

He shrugged. "That's the perversity of it. You see all his merits andthey don't touch you. "

With a vivacious little turn that was wholly charming she turned merrilyupon him. "Are you by any chance proposing for him, Lord Farquhar?"

"Hasn't he proposed for himself?" her guardian asked bluntly. 

"I believe he has. "

"And you--didn't see it?"

"I couldn't. "

"Sorry. " He looked at the tip of his cigar and brushed away the ash. "Because he's a no end good sort. "

"You don't know that any better than I do. Don't think I can't see allthe advantages of it. I do. I want to say 'Yes, ' but--well, I can't. That's all. "

"On account of the other man?" he questioned gently. 

"I haven't mentioned any other man, " she cried, her face in a flame. 

"No, I mentioned him. Devilish impudent of me, if you want to take itthat way, Moya. But, then, as you've said, I'm _in loco_. Got to grubaround and find out how you feel. "

"Lady Jim has been poking you up and telling you it's your duty, " shetold him in derision. 

"I daresay. I'm a lazy beggar. Always shirking when I can. "

"Lady Jim isn't lazy. "

"Di does her duty even when it isn't pleasant. Pity more of us don't. "

"Meaning that it is my unpleasant duty to marry Mr. Verinder's money?"

"Hang Verinder and his money. I'm no end glad you can't stand him. Factis, we didn't quite know how bad he was when we asked him to join us. "

"What then?"

"Well, sure your money isn't on the wrong horse, Moya? Mind, I don't sayit is. I ask. "

"If you mean Mr. Kilmeny, there hasn't been a word between us youcouldn't have heard yourself, " the girl told him stiffly. 

"If my memory serves it didn't use to be so much a matter of words. Whatabout your feelings? Di fancies----"

"Of course she does. She's always fancying. That's the business of achaperone. It's perfectly absurd, " Moya flung back hotly. 

"Glad you see it that way. It wouldn't do, of course. "

She looked directly at him, a challenge in her stormy eyes. "The wholething is ridiculous. The man hasn't given me a second thought. If you'regoing to warn anyone, it ought to be Joyce. "

Lord Farquhar looked straight at her. "Joyce has her eyes wide open. Shecan look out for herself. "

"And I can't?"

"No, you can't--not when your feelings are involved. You're tooimpulsive, too generous. "

"It's all a storm in a teacup. I've only met him three times to talkwith. He's been friendly--no more. But if he and I wanted to--not thatthere's the ghost of a chance of it, but if we did--I don't see why itwouldn't do. "

"Any number of reasons why it wouldn't. Marriage nowadays isn't entirelya matter of sentiment. You're an Englishwoman. He's an American, andwill be to the end of the chapter. "

"I'm not English; I'm Irish--and the Irish make the best Americans, " shetold him sturdily. 

Farquhar ignored her protest. "His ways of thinking are foreign toyours, so are his habits of life. You're a delightful rebel, my dear, but you've got to come to heel in the end. All girls do. It's a rule ofthe game, and you'll have to accept it. No matter how captivating yourhighwayman may be--and upon my word I admire him tremendously--he is notyour kind. He makes his own laws, and yours are made for you. "

"You're making one for me now, aren't you?" she demanded rebelliously. 

"Let's not put it so strong as that. I'm trying to persuade you tosomething of which you are fully persuaded already. "

"I'm not--not in the least. It's absurd to talk about it because the manhasn't the least idea of making love to me. But suppose he wanted to. Why shouldn't I listen to him? You tell me he doesn't have the samelittle conventions as we do. Thank heaven he hasn't. His mind is free. If that condemns him----"

She broke off from sheer passionate inadequacy to express herself. 

"Those conventions are a part of your life, little girl. Can you imagineyourself sitting opposite him at breakfast for the rest of your naturaldays?"

"You mean because he is a workingman, I suppose. "

"If you like. You would miss all the things to which you were used. Lovein a cottage isn't practicable for young women brought up as you havebeen. "

"Then I've been brought up wrong. If I were fond enough of the man--butthat's absurd. We're discussing an impossible case. I'll just say this, though. I've never met a man who would be as little likely to bore one. "

"Does his cousin bore you?"

"No. Captain Kilmeny is interesting in his way too, but----"

"Well?"

"His thoughts are all well regulated ones. He keeps to the proper beatentrack. " She flung up a hand impatiently. "Oh, I know he's perfect. I'venever been allowed to forget that. He's too perfect. He would let me doanything I wanted to do. I would want a husband--if I ever have one--whowould be strong enough to make me want to do whatever he said. "

Farquhar smiled as he flung his cigar into the river. "That works outbetter in theory than in practice, my dear. It's the little things thatcount in married life. What we need is a love well under control andfriction eliminated. "

"That's not what I want. Give me my great moments, even if I have to payfor them. "

He understood perfectly her eager desire for the best life has to offer. What he was proposing for her was a tame second best. But it was safe, and the first rule of the modern marriage mart is to play the game safe. Yet he had a boyish errant impulse to tell her to cut loose and winhappiness if she could. What restrained him, in addition to what heowed Lady Jim in the matter, was his doubt as to this young man'scharacter. 

"There would be another thing to consider. Kilmeny is under a cloud--apretty serious one. All the evidence connects him with this robbery. Grant that you believe him innocent. Still, a nice girl can't let hername be connected with that of a man suspected of a crime. "

"I'm sure he isn't guilty. I don't care what the evidence is. "

"'Fraid that's sentiment. It has a bad look for him. "

"Do we desert our friends when things have a bad look for them?"

"Hm! Friends!"

"I used that word, " she told him stanchly. 

"But you've only talked with the man three times, " he answered with agleam of friendly malice in his eyes. 

"I've talked with Mr. Verinder forty times and I'm less his friend aftereach talk, " she returned with energy. 

"Well, I daresay I've exaggerated the whole matter, my dear. I was justto give you a hint--no more. "

"You've done it, then. "

"Strikes me that I've done my duty in the matter. "

"You have--admirably, " she scoffed. 

"It's up to Di now--if you should take a fancy for entertaining yourhighwayman again while you're fishing. "

"It's not likely that I'll ever see him again. "

"I daresay not. " He rose and looked across the rushing water. "There'sjust one thing I stick out for. Regardless of your interest in him--nomatter what might happen--you wouldn't let things get on another footinguntil he has proved his innocence--absolutely and beyond question. "

"Isn't that rather an unnecessary condition? I'm not in the habit ofthrowing myself at the heads of strangers who are merely casually politeto me. "

He took in her sweet supple slimness, the fine throat line beneath thepiquant lifted chin which mocked his caution, the little imps ofraillery that flashed from the dark live eyes. In spite of a passionatecraving for the adventure of life she had a good deal of reticence andan abundant self-respect. He felt that he had said more than enoughalready. 

"Quite right, my dear. I withdraw my condition. "

"It's one I would insist upon myself--if there were any likelihood ofany need of it--which there isn't. "

An easy-going man, he did not cross bridges till he came to them. Hiswife had persuaded him that Moya needed a talking to, but he was gladto be through with it. 

"Hang the scamp, anyhow!" he laughed. "Maybe he'll break his neck on oneof those outlaw bronchos he's so fond of riding. Maybe they'll put himsafely away in prison, where there is neither marrying nor giving inmarriage. Maybe, as you say, he'll have the bad taste to prefer Joyce tomy little Irish wild rose, in which case he'll be put in his place atthe proper time. "

"It's even possible, " she added with a murmur of half-embarrassedlaughter, "that if he honored one with an offer--which it has neverentered his head to do--one might regretfully decline with thanks. "

"Amen! In the meantime God lead your grace by the hand, as old Baconsays. " He brought his heels together, bowed over her fingers, and kissedthem with exaggerated old-fashioned gallantry. 

"Who's being romantic now?" she wanted to know gayly. 

CHAPTER VII

MOYA'S HIGHWAYMAN

Dinner at the Lodge was just finished. It was the one hour of the daywhen anything like formality obtained. Each one dropped into breakfastwhen he or she pleased. Luncheon rarely found them together. But LadyJim insisted that dinner should be a civilized function. Unless therewas to be night fishing the whole party usually adjourned from thedining-room to the river-front porch, where such members of it asdesired might smoke the postprandial cigar or cigarette. To-night nobodycared to get out rod and line. In an hour or so they would return to theliving-room for bridge. 

Voices drifted up the trail and presently riders came into sight. Theyhalted among the trees, where one dismounted and came forward, histrailing spurs jingling as he walked. 

He bowed to his audience in general, and again and more particularly toLady Farquhar. 

"Evening, ma'am. My name's Gill--sheriff of this county. I hate totrouble you, but my men haven't had a bite to eat since early thismo'ning. Think we could get a snack here? We'll not get to Gunnison tillmost eleven. "

Lady Farquhar rose. "I'll have the cook make something for you. Howmany?"

"Six. Much obliged. Just anything that's handy. "

Sheriff Gill beckoned to the men in the trees, who tied their horses andpresently came forward. All but one of them were heavily armed. That onewalked between a 30-30 and a 32 special carbine. It was observable thatthe men with the rifles did not lift their eyes from him. 

Moya felt her heart flutter like that of a caged bird. The blood ebbedfrom her lips and she swayed in her seat. The prisoner was Jack Kilmeny. Farquhar, sitting beside the girl, let his hand fall upon hers with acomforting little pressure. 

"Steady!" his voice murmured so that she alone heard. 

Yet his own pulse stirred with the sheer melodrama of the scene. For asthe man came forward it chanced that the luminous moonbeams haloed likea spotlight the blond head and splendid shoulders of the prisoner. Neverin his gusty lifetime had he looked more the vagabond enthroned. He wascoatless, and the strong muscles sloped beautifully from the brownthroat. A sardonic smile was on the devil-may-care face, and those whosaw that smile labeled it impudent, debonair, or whimsical, as fancypleased. 

"By Jove, the fellow's a natural-born aristocrat, " thought Farquhar, themost democratic of men. 

Jack Kilmeny nodded with cool equality toward Farquhar and the captain, ignored Verinder, and smiled genially at India. For Moya his look had aspecial meaning. It charged her with the duty of faith in him. Somehowtoo it poured courage into her sinking heart. 

"Afraid an engagement at Gunnison with Sheriff Gill won't let me stopfor any poker to-night, " he told his host. 

Farquhar was on the spot to meet him in the same spirit. "Verinder willbe glad of that. I fancy my pocketbook too will be fatter to-morrowmorning. "

Biggs appeared to take the newly arrived party in charge. As theystarted to follow him the prisoner came face to face with Joyce, who wasjust coming out of the house. She looked at the young miner and at therifles, and her eyes dilated. Under the lowered lights of evening sheseemed to swim in a tide of beauty rich and mellow. The young man caughthis breath at the sheer pagan loveliness of her. 

"What is it?" she asked in a low, sweet, tremulous voice. 

His assurance fled. The bravado was sponged from his face instantly. Hestared at her in silence from fascinated eyes until he moved forward atthe spur of an insistent arm at his elbow. 

India wondered how Lady Jim would dispose of the party. Jack Kilmenymight be a criminal, but he happened to be their cousin. It would hardlydo to send him to the servants' quarters to eat. And where he ate thesheriff and his posse would likewise have to dine. 

The young woman need not have concerned herself. Lady Farquhar knewenough of the West and its ways not to make a mistake. Such food ascould be prepared at short notice was served in the dining-room. 

Having washed the dust of travel from himself, the sheriff returned tothe porch to apologize once more for having made so much trouble. 

Farquhar diverted him from his regrets by asking him how they had madethe capture. 

"I ain't claiming much credit for getting him, " Gill admitted. "Thishere was the way of it. A kid had been lost from Lander's ranch--strayedaway in the hills, y'understand. She was gone for forty-eight hours, andeverybody in the district was on the hunt for her. Up there themountains are full of pockets. Looked like they weren't going to gither. Soon it would be too late, even if they did find her. Besides, there are a heap of mountain lions up in that country. I tell you herfolks were plumb worried. "

Moya, listening to every word as she leaned forward, spoke vividly. "AndMr. Kilmeny found her. "

The sheriff's surprised eyes turned to her. "That's right, ma'am. Hedid. I dunno how you guessed it, but you've rung the bell. He found herand brought her down to the ranch. It just happened we had drapped inthere ten minutes before. So we gathered him in handy as the pocket inyour shirt. Before he could move we had the crawl on him. "

The sheriff retired to the dining-room, whence came presently snatchesof cheerful talk between the prisoner and his captors. In their companyJack Kilmeny was frankly a Western frontiersman. 

"You passed close to me Wednesday night at the fork of Rainbow above theJ K ranch. I was lying on a ledge close to the trail. You discussedwhether to try Deer Creek or follow Rainbow to its headwaters, " theminer said. 

"That was sure one on us. Hadn't been for the kid, I don't reckon weever would have took you, " a deputy confessed. 

"What beats me is why you weren't a hundred miles away in Routt Countyover in yore old stamping ground, " another submitted. 

"I had my reasons. I wasn't looking to be caught anyhow. Now you've gotme you want to watch me close, " the prisoner advised. 

"We're watching you. Don't make any mistake about that and try any foolbreak, " Gill answered, quite undisturbed. 

"He's the coolest hand I ever heard, " Farquhar said to the party on theporch. "If I were a highwayman I'd like to have him for a partner. "

"He's not a highwayman, I tell you, " corrected Moya. 

"I hope he isn't, but I'm afraid he is, " India confided in a whisper. "For whatever else he is, Jack Kilmeny is a man. "

"Very much so, " the captain nodded, between troubled puffs of his pipe. 

"And I'm going to stand by him, " announced his sister with a determinedtoss of her pretty head. 

Moya slipped an arm quickly around her waist. She was more grateful forthis support than she could say. It meant that India at least haddefinitely accepted the American as a relative with the obligation thatimplied. Both girls waited for Ned Kilmeny to declare himself, for, after all, he was the head of the family. He smoked in silence for aminute, considering the facts in his stolid deliberate fashion. 

The excitement of the girl he loved showed itself in the dusky eyessparkling beneath the soft mass of blue-black hair, in the glow ofunderlying blood that swept into her cheeks. She hoped--oh, how shehoped!--that the officer would stand by his cousin. In her heart sheknew that if he did not--no matter how right his choice might be inprinciple--she never would like him so well again. He was a man whocarried in his face and in his bearing the note of fineness, of personaldistinction, but if he were to prove a formalist at heart, if he weregoing to stickle for an assurance of his kinsman's innocence before hecame to the prisoner's aid, Moya would have no further use for him. 

When the sheriff presently came out Captain Kilmeny asked him if hemight have a word with the prisoner. 

"Sure. Anything you want to say to him. "

The English officer drew his cousin aside and with some embarrassmenttendered to his cousin the use of his purse in the event it might beneeded for the defense. 

Jack looked at him steadily with hard unflinching eyes. "Why are youoffering this, captain?"

"I don't quite take you. "

"I mean, what's your reason? Don't like it to get out that you have acousin in the pen, is that it? Anxious to avoid a family scandal?" heasked, almost with a sneer. 

The captain flushed, but before he could answer India flamed out. "Youmight have the decency to be ashamed of that, Jack Kilmeny. "

Her cousin looked at the girl gravely, then back at her lean, clean-faced brother. "I am. Beg your pardon, captain. As for your offer, I would accept it if there were any need. But there isn't. The chargesagainst me will fall flat. "

"Deuced glad to hear it. Miss Dwight has just been telling us it wouldbe all right. "

India looked straight at Jack out of the steel-blue eyes that were solike his own. "I wasn't so sure of it myself, but Moya was. Nothingcould shake her. She's a good friend. "

"I had it sized up about that way, " the miner replied. "But I've anotion Miss Kilmeny will stand the acid too. Anyhow, I'm much obliged toher. "

The prisoner shook hands with both of his cousins, lifted abroad-brimmed gray felt hat from the rack, and delivered himself to thesheriff. 

"All right, Gill. "

India gave a little exclamation and moved toward the hatrack. Her handfell upon a second hat, similar in appearance to the first, but muchmore worn and dust-stained. She opened her lips to speak and closed themwithout saying a word. For her eyes had met those of Moya and read therea warning. 

Jack Kilmeny nodded a brisk farewell to Farquhar, smiled at Miss Dwight, and moved with his guards to the clump of trees where the horses hadbeen left. His eyes had looked for Joyce, but she was not at that momentin sight. 

The last faint beat of the retreating hoofs died away. An awkwardconstraint settled upon the party left at the Lodge. It was impossibleto discuss the situation openly, yet it was embarrassing to ignore thesubject in the thoughts of all. After a decent interval they began todrop away, one by one, from the group. India followed Moya, and foundthat young woman in her room. 

"What are you hiding?" Miss Kilmeny asked quickly. 

Moya produced from her hatbox a gray sombrero and put it on the table. "I didn't know it was you--thought it might be Lady Jim, " she explained. 

"Why wasn't I to tell Jack Kilmeny that he had taken Ned's hat bymistake?" India wanted to know. 

"Because it wasn't by mistake. "

"Not by mistake! What would he want with another man's hat?"

"I'm not sure about that. Perhaps he _didn't want his own_. You see, Ihad started myself to tell him about the mistake, but his eyes asked meplain as words not to speak. "

"But why--why?" India frowned at the hat, her active brain busy. "Itwould be absurd for him to want Ned's hat. He must have had some reason, though. "

"Don't they search prisoners before they lock them up?" Moya askedabruptly. 

India shook her head. "I don't know. Do they?"

"Of course they do. " Moya's eyes began to shine. "Now suppose there issomething about that hat he didn't want them to see. "

"How do you mean?" India picked up the hat and turned it round slowly. "It's worn and a bit disreputable, but he wouldn't care for that. "

Moya found a pair of scissors in her work basket. With these she rippedoff the outer ribbon. This told her nothing. Next she examined theinside. Under the sweat pad was a folded slip of paper. She waved it inexcitement. 

"What did I tell you?"

"But--if he is innocent--what could there be he wanted to hide?"

"I don't know. " Moya unfolded the paper enough to see that there waswriting in it. "Do you think we ought to read this?"

"I don't know, " India repeated in her turn. "Perhaps it may be a messageto you. "

Moya's face lighted. "Of course that's it. He wanted to tell ussomething when the rest were not there, so he used this method. "

Three cramped lines were penciled on the torn fragment of paper. 

 At wharf above camp. Twelve steps below big rock. In gunny sack three yards from shore. 

Two pairs of puzzled eyes looked into each other. 

"What can it mean?" India asked. 

"I don't know, unless----"

"Unless what?"

"Can it be a direction for finding something?"

"But what? And why should it be hidden in his hat? Besides, he wouldhave no chance to put it in there after he was captured. "

"Then perhaps it isn't a message to me at all. "

"That's what we must find out. 'At wharf above camp. ' That probablymeans his fishing camp. "

"What are you going to do, India?"

"I'm going to get Ned to help me find that gunny sack. "

Moya found herself trembling. She did not know why. It was not doubt ofher reckless friend, but none the less she was in a panic. 

"Do you think we'd better?"

Miss Kilmeny looked at her in surprise. In general nobody came todecision more quickly than Moya. 

"Of course. How else can we tell whether it is something he wants us todo for him?"

"When shall we look?"

"The sooner the better--to-night, " answered the other girl immediately. "The wharf above the camp. It's not a quarter of an hour from here. I'llnot sleep till I know what he means. "

"Lady Jim, " Moya reminded her. 

"She needn't know. She can't object if we take Ned and go fishing for anhour. "

Moya consulted her watch. "They'll be gathering for bridge pretty soon. Let's go now. We can be back in time for supper. "

"Get into your fishing togs. I'll get Ned and we'll meet you on the westporch in a quarter of an hour. "

Within the appointed time the three slipped away down the river banktrail as silently as conspirators. The captain was rather inclined topooh-pooh the whole thing, but he was not at all sorry to share anadventure that brought him into a closer relationship with Moya Dwight. 

"Must be this wharf, " India said presently, as a bulky shadow loomed outof the darkness. 

"Shouldn't wonder. Here's a big rock just below it. Didn't the paper saysomething about a rock?" asked the captain. 

"Twelve steps below big rock, it says. "

The soldier paced off the distance. "What now?"

"Three yards from the shore, " called his sister. "There should be agunny sack, whatever that is. "

"Afraid he's spoofing us, " Kilmeny said with a laugh as he moved out inhis waders against the current. "Here I am. What's the next direction?"

India giggled. She was Irish enough to get the humorous side of thingsand could not help being frivolous even when she was greatly interested. "Now you look over your left shoulder at the moon and wish. "

Her brother's high voice cut in. "I say. My foot's kicking something. Wait a jiff. "

He braced his feet, dived suddenly down with one arm till his facetouched the water, and grappled with his fingers for a hold on somethinglying between two rocks at the bottom. When he straightened again it waswith an effort. He did not attempt to raise his burden from the stream, but waded ashore with it. Using both hands, he dragged his find to land. 

"It's a sack, " India cried excitedly. 

The captain's eyes met those of Moya. His face was grave, but she waswhite to the lips. Both of them felt sure of what they would find in thesack. 

"Open it, " she told him tensely. 

With his pocketknife Kilmeny cut the string that tied the sack. He drewout a heavy valise so full that it gaped. Silver and gold coins, as wellas bills, filled it to the mouth. They had found the money stolen fromthe treasurer of the Gunnison County Fair association. 

All three of them were sick at heart. Jack Kilmeny then was guilty, after all. The message in the hat had not been intended for them, buthad been merely a note of identification of the spot. He had taken thecaptain's hat merely because he did not want the officers to find thedirections under the sweat pad. He had in essence lied to Moya and tothe cousins who had offered to stand shoulder to shoulder with him inhis trouble. 

To Moya the next hour was a nightmare. They returned to the Lodge andslipped into the house by way of a French window opening upon thedeserted north porch. Kilmeny hid the sack of treasure in his trunk anddivested himself of his fishing clothes. Presently he joined Moya andhis sister on the front porch, where shortly they were discovered byVerinder in search of a fourth at bridge. 

India, knowing how greatly her friend was shaken, volunteered to fillthe table and maneuvered Verinder back into the living-room with her. The millionaire had vaguely the sense of a conspiracy against him andresented it, even though of late he had been veering from Moya to Joycein his attentions. 

Captain Kilmeny, left alone with the girl of his dreams, wisely saidnothing. He was himself indignant, his family pride stung to the quick. His cousin was not only a thief but a liar. Born of a race of soldiers, with the traditions of family and of the army back of him forgenerations, the latter offense was the greater of the two. Heunderstood something of how Miss Dwight felt. She had let herself becomegreatly interested in this vagabond cousin of his. Openly she hadchampioned his cause. Now her feelings were wounded, her pride hurt, andher anger ablaze. The fellow's offense against her had been flagrant. 

So far the captain had guessed correctly. Moya writhed like a bruisedwoodland creature. Her friendship had been abused. She had been ascredulous as a simple country wench, while he no doubt had been laughingup his sleeve at her all the time. No longer had she any doubt as to hisguilt. She visualized the hurried run for safety to camp, the swiftdisposal of the treasure in the river because of the close pursuit. Whenshe lived over again that scene on Sunbeam the girl flogged her soullike a penitent. As one grinds defiantly on an ulcerated tooth, so shecrushed her pride and dragged it in the dust. 

But the wound was deeper even than this. To give herself in friendshipimpulsively was her temperament, though not many were judged worthy ofsuch giving. This blue-eyed scamp had won her as no man ever had before. She had seen him through a glamour. Now his character stood stripped inits meanness. Her sweet trust was crushed. In the reaction that was uponher she craved rest and safety. No longer had she any confidence in herown judgment. Against the advice of her friends she had been wayward andheadstrong, so sure that she knew best. 

Kilmeny, sitting beside her in the deep shadows cast by the wildcucumber vines, became aware that she was weeping silently. His heartbled for her. He had known her always buoyant, gallant as Galahad, vibrant of joy to the finger tips. 

"I say, don't, " he pleaded. It was impossible for him to voiceadequately his feelings. Greatly daring, he let an arm rest across theshoulders that were being racked by suppressed _pianissimo_ sobs. 

"You mustn't, you know. I can't stand it. " And, again, "Please don't. "

She gulped down the lump in her throat and turned upon him filmy eyes, the lashes of which were tangled with tears. This fine strong soldierrepresented the haven of rest toward which she was being driven. Had shenever met his American cousin she knew that she would probably haveaccepted him in the end. The swift impulse swept her to anchor her craftfor life in a safe harbor. She had tried rebellion, and that had lefther spent and beaten. What she wanted now was safety, a rest from theturmoil of emotion. 

"Do you still ... Want me?" she asked lifelessly. 

He could not on the instant take her meaning. Then, "Want you!" hecried in a low voice no words could have expressed fully. "Want you? Oh, my dear!"

"You know I don't love you ... Not in one way, " she told him naïvely. "Lady Jim says that will come. I don't know. Perhaps you won't want totake the risk. "

She could see the desire of her leap to his honest eyes. "By God, I'lltake my chance, " he cried. 

"You'll give me all the time I want--not push me too hard?"

"You shall set your own time. "

Her dusky head was leaning wearily against the back of a wicker porchchair. From sheer fatigue her eyes fluttered shut. Her lover could seethe round bird-like throat swell as she swallowed the lump that hadgathered. Pity for her and love of her rose in him like a flood. Hewould have given anything to wrap her in his arms and fight away hertroubles. But he knew it would be months before he could win the rightto do this. 

"Would you mind if ... If we didn't tell the others just yet?"

"It shall be as you say, Moya, dear. "

She nodded languid thanks. "You're good. I ... I think I'll go to bed. I'm so tired. "

He kissed the tips of her fingers and she vanished round the corner ofthe house. 

Kilmeny sat down again and looked for long across the moonlit river. His sweetheart had promised to marry him, but in how strange a fashion. He was to be her husband some day, but he was not yet her lover by agood deal. His imagination fitted another man to that rôle, and thererose before him the strong brown face of his cousin with its mockingeyes and devil-may-care smile. 

His promised wife! He had despaired of winning her, and she had crept tohim as a hurt child does to its mother. There was no exultation in hisheart. Poor child! How sad and tired her eyes had been. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE BAD PENNY AGAIN

Verinder strolled down to the river bank, where Joyce was fishing fromthe shore in a tentative fashion. 

"I say, Miss Seldon, aren't you breaking the Sabbath?" he asked from thebank above, smiling down upon her with an attempt at archness. 

She flashed at him over her shoulder a smile that had all the allure oflovely youth. "I'm only bending it. I haven't caught a single fish. "

"Bending it! Oh, I say, that's rather rippin', you know. "

She nodded her golden head. "Thanks. "

"Casting is a horrid bore. You should be a fisher of men, " he told herfatuously. 

"If I could be sure I wouldn't catch one. But if I happened to, whatwould I do with him?"

"Do with him! Why, it depends on who you catch. If he's undersize unhookhim gently and throw him back into the river. What!"

The gay smile, flashed sideways at him, was a challenge. "But it isn'talways so easy to unhook them, I'm told. "

"Not if one doesn't want to. "

"You're telling me that I'm a flirt, aren't you?" she said suspiciously. 

"I can't tell you anything along that line you don't know already. "

"I've a good mind to get angry, " she flung back, laughing. 

"Don't do that. If it would help I can tell you a lot of nice things Ithink about you. My word, yes!"

Joyce shot one swift glance at him and saw that he was on the verge ofwaxing sentimental. That would never do. It was on the cards that shemight have to marry Dobyans Verinder but she did not want him makinglove to her. 

"Please don't take the trouble. It's really a matter of no moment. "

The young woman made another cast. 

"To you. "

"I was thinking about me. "

"You usually are, aren't you?"

She looked up with surprised amusement. Resentment had made him bold. This was the first spark of spirit she had shaken out of him and she hadmade him the victim of many moods. 

"But I don't blame you for thinking about the most interesting personyou know. I think about you a lot myself. You're really rippin', youknow. "

Joyce groaned in spirit. He did that sort of thing as gracefully as abear danced. To create a diversion she whipped back her line for a castso that the flies snapped close to his ear. 

"I say, be a bit careful, " Verinder suggested. 

"Oh, did I hook you?" she asked carelessly. 

"I've been on your line for weeks. "

"You'd better whisper it. Moya might hear, " she advised roguishly. 

Verinder flushed. The transfer of his attentions was still a soresubject with him. He hoped it would be generally understood that he hadgiven up Miss Dwight of his own choice. He did not want it to get outthat he had been jilted. 

"The whole world is welcome to hear it. I'd advertise it in the _Times_if it would do any good. "

"I believe you are impudent, " laughed the beauty. 

"I know I'm imprudent. "

"Oh!" She carefully dropped her leader in the riffles. "There's no lawkeeping you in this neighborhood, you know. Try India for a change. "

"There's nothing to keep the trout on the line--except the hook. "

Her smile told of lazy but amiable derision. "It's a great pity aboutyou. "

"Awf'ly glad you feel so. Some poet chap said that pity is akin tolove. "

"I think it would do you good to take a long walk, Mr. Verinder. "

"With Miss Seldon?" he wanted to know cautiously. 

"Alone, " she told him severely. "It would be a rest. "

"A rest for me--or for you?"

The dimples flashed into her soft cheeks again. "For both of us, perhaps. "

"Thanks. It's rather jolly here. " He put his hands in his trouserspockets and leaned against a tree. 

"Hope you'll enjoy it. I'm going to find Moya. " Miss Seldon reeled up, put her rod against the tree, and sauntered off with the lissom gracethat was hers. 

Verinder woke up. "Let me come too. On second thoughts I find I do needa walk. "

She looked back at him saucily over her shoulder. "You may come if youwon't talk until you're spoken to. "

"Done, by Jove!"

They followed the trail a stone's throw in silence. 

"Miss Dwight's always going off by herself. Seems to me she's a bit offher feed, " Verinder suggested. 

Joyce was amused. For a man who wanted it understood that only one girlin the world mattered to him he still appeared to take a good deal ofinterest in Moya. 

"Seems dreamy and--er--depressed. What!" he continued. 

"Perhaps she is in love, " Joyce let herself suggest wickedly. 

"I've thought of that, but 'pon my word! I can't think of a man. "

"Why not Mr. Verinder?"

His eyeglass ogled her to make sure he was not being made game of, butthe lovely face was very innocent. 

"Can't be, " he demurred with conventional denial. 

"Captain Kilmeny, then. "

"Hardly. I don't think he's quite her style of man. "

"Perhaps with his cousin, the highwayman. "

"Good heavens, no!"

She took on a look of horrified suspicion. "You don't think--surely itcouldn't be--Oh, I do hope it isn't Lord Farquhar. "

He stared at her through his monocle with his mouth open, thendiscovered that he had been sold as the laughter rippled into her face. 

"Oh, I say! Jolly good one, that. Lord Farquhar, by Jove!" Yet hislaughter rang flat. It always made him angry to find that they were"spoofing" him. He didn't like to be "got" in the beastly traps thesegirls were always laying for him. 

"There's Moya now--and there's a man with her, " Joyce announced. 

"By Gad, it's the highwayman!" Verinder gasped. 

It was, though strictly speaking Jack Kilmeny was not yet with her, since she was still unaware of his presence. Moya was sitting on a mossyrock with a magazine in her hand, but she was not reading. By the lookof her she was daydreaming, perhaps of the man who was movingnoiselessly toward her over the bowlders. 

Before she heard him he was close upon her. She looked around, and witha little cry got to her feet and stared at him, her hand on her fastbeating heart. 

Joyce waited to see no more. 

"No business of ours, " she announced to Verinder, and, without regard tohis curiosity or her own, turned heel and marshaled him from the field. 

"You!" Moya cried. 

Kilmeny bowed. "The bad penny turned up again, Miss Dwight. "

Scorn of him flashed in her dark eyes. She stood straight and rigid, butin spite of herself she breathed fast. 

"You've forgotten your promise. You've lost faith again, " he charged. 

His impudence stirred contemptuous anger. "I know you now, sir, " shetold him with fine contempt. 

"And you promised to believe in me. " He said it quietly, with just atouch of bitterness in the reproach of his wistful voice. 

The first hint of startled doubt came into her eyes. It was as if he hadbreathed into a marble statue the pulse of life. He had known her vividas a thrush in song, a dainty creature of fire and dew. She stood nowpoised as it were on the edge of hope. 

"How could I believe when I found your guilt on you? What right have youto ask it?"

"So you found the paper in the hat, did you?"

"Yes. "

"Certain about my guilt this time, are you?"

He said it almost with a sneer, but nothing could crush the resurgentglow in her heart. Against the perilous and emotional climax which wasgrowing on her she set her will in vain. Why was it that the merepresence of this man called to her so potently and shook her confidencein his guilt?

"We found the money, " she explained, thinking to confound him. 

"I guessed that. It was gone when I went to look for it this morning. I've come for it now. "

His assurance amazed her. "Come for it!" she repeated. "It isn't here. "

"No, I didn't expect to find it in your purse. But it is at the Lodge. "

"No. "

"Where, then?"

"I shan't tell you. The money will be returned to those from whom it wasstolen. "

He looked at her with hard, narrowed eyes. "It will be returned, willit? When?"

"To-day. Within a few hours. "

"Who is going to return it?"

Moya had it on the tip of her tongue to tell, but pulled up in time. "Ithink we'll not go into that. "

The American looked at his watch. The hands showed the hour to be 2:30. If the money was to be returned that day someone must already be on theway with it. He had seen his cousin, Captain Kilmeny, take the Gunnisonroad in a trap not half an hour earlier. 

"So the captain is taking it back to-day?" he mused aloud, wary eyes onMoya's face. 

A startled expression leaped to her countenance. She had told more thanshe had intended. "I didn't say so. "

"I say so. "

Beneath his steady gaze her lashes fell. He nodded, sure that he hadguessed correctly. 

"I intended to have a talk with you and straighten out some things, " hewent on. "But I find I haven't time now. We'll postpone it tillto-morrow. I'll meet you here at ten o'clock in the morning. "

"No, " she told him. 

The wave of hope had ebbed in her. Given the opportunity to explain theevidence against him, he had cared more to find out what they were doingwith the stolen money. He had no time to save his good name. 

"Ten in the morning. Remember. It's important. I want to see you alone. If I'm not on time wait for me. "

That was his last word. He bowed, turned away almost at a run, and waslost in the small willows. Presently she heard the sound of a gallopinghorse. A minute later she caught a glimpse of it disappearing up RedRock cañon. He was following the cutoff trail that led to Gunnison. 

She wondered what was taking him away so abruptly. He had meant to stop, then had changed his mind. He had told her calmly she must meet him hereto-morrow, and if he were late for the appointment she must wait. Hisimpudence was enough to stagger belief. She would show him about that. If he wanted to see her he must come to the Lodge and face Lady Jim. Even then she would not see him. Why should she, since he was what hewas?

Ah, but that was the crux of the whole matter! To look at him was tofeel that whatever his faults they were not despicable ones. He wasalive, so very much alive, and the look of him was that which an honestman should have. Had he proved his innocence and been released? Or hadhe broken prison, an alternative of which he was quite capable? And, guilty or innocent, what could be the explanation of his extraordinarydemand that she should turn over to him the stolen money?

He had found her dumb and stricken with many hours of brooding over hisguilt. At least he left her quick with questionings. She divined againthe hint of a mystery. Something deeper than reason told her that theunraveling of it would prove him no villain. 

One immediate duty alone confronted her. She must confess to LadyFarquhar that she had met and talked with him again. It was likely thatshe would be well scolded, but it was characteristic of her that shepreferred to walk straight to punishment and get it over with. No doubtshe had been too free with this engaging scamp. The rules of her setprescribed a straight and narrow road in which she must walk. The openfields beyond the hedges might blossom with flowers, but there could beno dalliance in them for her. She was to know only such people as hadthe password, only those trimmed and trained till there was noindividuality left in them. From birth she had been a rebel, but animpotent one. Each revolt had ended in submission to the silken chainsof her environment. Fret as she might, none the less she was as much acaged creature as Lady Jim's canary. 

CHAPTER IX

"AN OUT AND OUT ROTTER"

Jack strode through the young alders to his horse, swung to the saddlewithout touching the stirrups, and was off instantly at a canter. Herode fast, evidently with a direct driving purpose to reach a particulardestination. The trail was a rough and rocky one, but he took itrecklessly. His surefooted broncho scrambled catlike up steep inclinesand slid in clouds of dust down breakneck hillsides of loose rubble. Inand out he wound, across gulches and over passes, following always asnearly a bee line as was possible. 

An hour of rapid travel brought him to the Gunnison road. He swung tothe ground and examined the dusty roadbed. Apparently he was satisfied, for he took his sweat-stained horse back into the brush and tied it to acottonwood. From its case beside the saddle he drew a rifle. He retracedhis own steps and selected carefully a place among the thick bushes bythe roadside. With his pocketknife he cut eye-holes in the bandannahandkerchief that had been round his neck and tied it over his face insuch a way as to conceal his features entirely. Then he carefullyemptied from the rifle all the cartridges it contained and dropped theminto his pocket. 

These preparations made, he sat down and waited. There came to him verysoon the rumble of wheels. Presently a one-horse trap appeared at acurve of the road. Captain Kilmeny was the driver. 

Jack rose noiselessly and thrust the barrel of his rifle through thebushes. He was within six feet of the road and he waited until hiscousin was almost abreast of him. 

"Throw up your hands!"

The captain knew in an instant what he was up against. A masked man witha rifle in his hands could mean only one thing. Ned Kilmeny was no fool. He knew when to fight and when to surrender. His hands went into theair. 

"Kick that rifle into the road--with your foot, not with your hands. "

The Englishman did as he was told. 

"What do you want?" he demanded, looking sharply at the masked bandit. 

"I want that satchel beside you. Drop it out. "

Again the officer obeyed orders. He asked no questions and made nocomment. 

"There's room to turn here by backing. Hit the grit for the Lodge. "

After he had faced about, Ned Kilmeny had one word to say beforeleaving. 

"I know who you are, and there's just one name for your kind--you're anout and out rotter. "

"It's a difference of opinion that makes horse races, captain, " answeredthe masked man promptly. 

Ned Kilmeny, as he drove back to the Lodge, was sick at heart. He cameof a family of clean, honest gentlemen. Most of them had been soldiers. Occasionally one had gone to the devil as this young cousin of his haddone. But there was something in this whole affair so contemptible thatit hurt his pride. The theft itself was not the worst thing. The minerhad traded on their faith in him. He had lied to them, had made a mockof their friendly offers to help him. Even the elements of decencyseemed to be lacking in him. 

India and Moya were on the veranda when the captain drove up. One glanceat his grim face told them something had gone wrong. 

"I've been held up, " he said simply. 

"Held up!"

"Robbed--with a rifle within reach of my hand all the time. "

"But--how?" gasped India. 

Moya, white to the lips, said nothing. A premonition of the truthclutched icily at her heart. 

"A masked man stopped me just as I swung round a bend about three milesfrom Gunnison. He ordered me to throw out the satchel with the money. Idid as I was told. "

"He had you covered with a weapon?" asked India. 

"With a rifle--yes. "

"Did you--recognize him?" Moya's throat was dry, so that her questioncame almost in a whisper. 

The captain's eyes met hers steadily. "He stayed in the bushes, so thatI didn't see his body well. He was masked. "

"But you know who it was. Tell me. "

Ned Kilmeny was morally certain of the identity of the robber. He couldall but swear to the voice, and surely there were not two men in thecounty with such a free and gallant poise of the head. 

"I couldn't take oath to the man. "

"It was your cousin. " Moya was pale to the lips. 

The officer hesitated. "I'm not prepared to say who the man was. "

The pulse in her throat beat fast. Her hand was clutching the arm of achair so tightly that the knuckles stood out white and bloodless. 

"You know better. It was Jack Kilmeny, " she charged. 

"I could tell you only my opinion, " he insisted. 

"And I know all about it. " Moya came to time with her confessionpromptly, in the fearless fashion characteristic of her. "It was I thatsent him to you. It was I that betrayed you to him. "

India set her lips to a soundless whistle. Her brother could not keepout of his brown face the amazement he felt. 

"I don't wonder you look like that, " Moya nodded, gulping down herdistress. "You can't think any worse of me than I do of myself. "

"Nonsense! If you told him you had a reason. What was it?" India asked, a little sharply. 

"No reason that justifies me. He took me by surprise. He had come to getthe stolen money and I told him we were returning it to the Fairassociation. He guessed the rest. Almost at once he left. I saw him takethe cañon road for Gunnison. "

"You weren't to blame at all, " the captain assured her, adding with arueful smile: "He didn't take you any more by surprise than he did me. Ihadn't time to reach for the rifle. "

India's Irish eyes glowed with contemptuous indignation. She used thesame expression that Ned had. "He must be an out and out rotter. Tothink he'd rob Ned after what he offered to do for him. I'm through withhim. "

Her brother said nothing, but in his heart he agreed. There was nothingto be done for a fellow whose sense of decency was as far gone as that. 

Moya too kept silence. Her heart was seething with scorn for thishandsome scamp who had put this outrage upon them all. It was bad enoughto be a thief, but to this he had added deception, falsehood, and grossingratitude. Nor did the girl's contempt spare herself. Neither warningnor advice--and Lady Jim had been prodigal of both--had availed to openher eyes about the Westerner. She had been as foolish over him as aschoolgirl in the matter of a matinée idol. That she would have to lashherself for her folly through many sleepless hours of the night was acertainty. 

Meanwhile she went through the part required of her. At dinner shetossed the conversational ball back and forth as deftly as usual, andafterward she played her accustomed game of bridge. Fortunately, Kilmenywas her partner. Sometimes when her thoughts wandered the game suffered, but the captain covered her mistakes without comment. She could almosthave loved him for the gentle consideration he showed. Why must sheneeds be so willful? Why couldn't she have given her heart to thisgallant gentleman instead of to the reckless young scoundrel whom shehardly knew?

Before the party broke up a ride was arranged for next morning to theDevil's Slide, a great slab of rock some miles away. The young peoplewere to have an early breakfast and get started before the sun was hot. For this reason the sitting at auction was short. 

But though Moya reached her room before midnight, it was not until daywas beginning to break that she fell into a troubled sleep. She tossedthrough the long hours and lived over every scene that had passedbetween her and Jack Kilmeny. It was at an end. She would never see himagain. She would ride with the others to the Devil's Slide and he wouldcome to the appointment he had made to find her not there. He would goaway, and next day she would leave with the rest of her party for theBig Bend mining country, where Verinder and Lord Farquhar were heavilyinterested in some large gold producers. That chapter of her life wouldbe closed. She told herself that it was best so. Her love for a man ofthis stamp could bring no happiness to her. Moreover, she had taken anirretrievable step in betrothing herself to Captain Kilmeny. Over andover again she went over the arguments that marshaled themselves sostrongly in favor of the loyal lover who had waited years to win her. Some day she would be glad of the course she had chosen. She persuadedherself of this while she sobbed softly into the hot pillows. 

When Fisher wakened her to dress in time for the early breakfast Moyafelt very reluctant to join the others. She would have to laugh and talkand make merry, and all the time she would be miserably unhappy. Itwould be impossible for her to stand Verinder to-day without screaming. A sheer physical lassitude weighted her limbs. In the end she went backto bed and sent for India. 

"I'm not feeling fit, dear. Would you mind if I beg off?" she asked witha wan smile. 

Her friend took in keenly the big deep-pupiled eyes ringed withweariness. "I don't believe you've slept a wink, Moya. Of course youneedn't go. Shall I stay with you? I don't really care about going. I'mabout fed up with Dobyans Verinder. "

But Moya would not hear of this. She protested so much that India saw itwould be a greater kindness to leave her alone. 

"You must try to sleep again, dear. " India moved about, darkening thewindows and shaking up the pillows. 

"Yes, I will. I'm all right, you know. "

Left to herself, Moya tried to sleep. It was no use. She was wide awake, beyond hope of another nap. No sooner had the voices of the riders diedin the distance than she was dressing feverishly. She told herself thatshe would go outdoors somewhere with a book and rest. Otherwise LadyFarquhar would be asking questions. 

Fisher brought her some fruit, a cup of coffee, and a roll. Moya drankthe coffee and ate the fruit, after which she went out into the crispColorado sunlight. By her watch it was now 9:50. 

She made an elaborate pretense with herself of hesitating which way togo. Her thoughts, her eyes, and at last her footsteps turned toward thegrove where yesterday Jack Kilmeny had surprised her. But she was tooused to being honest with herself to keep up the farce. Stopping on thetrail, she brought herself to time. 

"You're going to meet that outlaw, Moya Dwight. You said you wouldn't, but you are going. That's why you got out of that ride. No use fibbingto yourself. You've no more will power than a moth buzzing around acandle flame. "

So she put it to herself, frankly and contemptuously. But no matter howshe scorned herself for it there was not in her the strength to turn herback on her temptation. She had always prided herself on knowing her ownmind and following it, but the longing in her to hear this man'sjustification was more potent than pride. Slowly her reluctant stepsmoved toward the grove. 

Long slants of morning sunlight filtered through the leaves of thecottonwoods so that her figure was flaked with a shifting checkerboardof shadow and shine. She sauntered forward, looking neither to the rightnor the left, expecting every instant to hear his cheery impudentgreeting. 

It did not come. She stole sidelong looks here and there through thedappled woods. They were empty of life save for the chipmunk sitting onits hind legs and watching her light approach. A breeze swept acrossthe river, caught her filmy skirts, and blew them about her ankles. Shefrowned, brushing down the wind-swept draperies with that instinct formodesty all women share. Shy and supple, elastic-heeled, in thatdiaphanous half light her slim long body might have been taken for thatof a wood nymph had there been eyes to follow her through the umbrageousglade. 

Of human eyes there were none. She reached her flat rock and sank uponits moss ungreeted. Her disappointment was keen, even though reason hadtold her he dared not show himself here after adding a second crime tothe first, and this time against her friend, the man who had offered tostand by him in his trouble. An instinct deeper than logic--some sureunderstanding of the man's reckless courage--had made her feel certainthat he would be on the spot. 

Mingled with her disappointment was a sharp sense of shame. He had toldher to come here and wait for him, as if she had been a countrymilk-maid--and here she was meekly waiting. Could degradation take herlower than this, that she should slip out alone to keep an assignationwith a thief and a liar who had not taken the trouble to come? At anyrate, she was spared one humiliation. He would never know she had goneto meet him. 

CHAPTER X

OLD FRIENDS

Into the depths of her scorching self-contempt came his blithe"Good-morning, neighbor. "

Her heart leaped, but before she looked around Moya made sure no talescould be read in her face. Her eyes met his with quiet scorn. 

"I was wondering if you would dare come. " The young woman's voice camecool and aloof as the splash of a mountain rivulet. 

"Why shouldn't I come, since I wanted to?"

"You can ask me that--now. "

Her manner told him that judgment had been passed, but it did not shakethe cheerful good humor of the man. 

"I reckon I can. "

"Of course you can. I might have known you could. You will probably havethe effrontery to deny that you are the man who robbed Captain Kilmeny. "

"Did he say I was the man?" There was amusement and a touch of interestin his voice. 

"He didn't deny it. I knew it must be you. I told him everything--howyou found out from me that he was going to Gunnison with the money andhurried away to rob him of it. Because you are his cousin he wouldn'taccuse you. But I did. I do now. You stole the money a second time. " Herwords were low, but in them was an extraordinary vehemence, thetenseness of repressed feeling. 

"So he wouldn't accuse me, nor yet wouldn't deny that I was the man. Well, I'll not deny it either, since you're so sure. "

"You are wise, sir. You can't delude me a second time. Your denial wouldcount for nothing. And now I think there is nothing more to be said. "

She had risen and was about to turn away. A gesture of his hand stoppedher. 

"If you were so sure about me why didn't you have the officers here toarrest me?"

"Because--because you are a relative of my friends. "

"That was the only reason, was it?"

"What other reason could there be?" she asked, a flash of warning in hereyes. 

"There might be this reason--that at the bottom of your heart you know Ididn't do it. "

"Can you tell me you didn't hold up Captain Kilmeny? Dare you tell methat?"

He shrugged his broad shoulders. "No, I held him up. "

"And robbed him. "

"If you like to put it that way. I had to do it. "

"Had to rob your friend, the man who had offered to stand by you. Oh, Idon't want to hear any of your excuses. "

"Yes, you do, " he told her quietly. "What's more, you are going to hearthem--and right now. You're entitled to an explanation, and it's myright to make you listen. "

"Can you talk away facts? You robbed your cousin when he was trying tobe your friend. That may mean nothing to you. It means a great deal tome, " she cried passionately. 

"Sho! An opera bouffe hold-up. I'll make it right with him when I seeCaptain Kilmeny. "

"You admit you took the money?"

"Sure I took it. Had to have it in my business. If you'll sit down againand listen, neighbor, I'll tell you the whole story. "

The amused assurance in his manner stirred resentment. 

"No. "

"Yes. "

The clash of battle was in the meeting of their eyes. She had courage, just as he had, but she was fighting against her own desire. 

"I have listened too often already, " she protested. 

"It hasn't hurt you any, has it?"

"Lady Farquhar thinks it has. " The words slipped out before she couldstop them, but as their import came home to her the girl's face flamed. "I mean that--that----"

"I know what you mean, " he told her easily, a smile in his shrewd eyes. "You're a young woman--and I'm an ineligible man. So Lady Farquharthinks we oughtn't to meet. That's all bosh. I'm not intending to makelove to you, even though I think you're a mighty nice girl. But say Iwas. What then? Your friends can't shut you up in a glass cage if you'regoing to keep on growing. Life was made to be lived. "

"Yes.... Yes.... That's what I think, " she cried eagerly. "But it isn'tarranged for girls that way--not if they belong to the class I do. We'reshut in--chaperoned from everything that's natural. You don't know how Ihate it. "

"Of course you do. You're a live wire. That's why you're going to sitdown and listen to me. "

She looked him straight between the eyes. "But I don't think morality isonly a convention, Mr. Kilmeny. 'Thou shalt not steal, ' for instance. "

"Depends what you steal. If you take from a man what doesn't belong tohim you're doing the community a service. But we won't go into that now, though I'll just say this. What is right for me wouldn't be for CaptainKilmeny. As I told you before, our standards are different. "

"Yes, you explained that to me just after you--while you were hidingfrom the officers after the first robbery, " she assented dryly. 

He looked at her and laughed. "You're prosecuting attorney and judge andjury all in one, aren't you?"

She held her little head uncompromisingly erect. Not again was she goingto let her sympathy for him warp her judgment. 

"I'm ready to hear what you have to say, Mr. Kilmeny. "

"Not guilty, ma'am. "

His jaunty insouciance struck a spark from her. "That is what you toldus before, and within half an hour we found out that you knew where thebooty was hidden. Before that discrepancy was cleared up you convincedus of your innocence by stealing the money a second time. "

"What did I do with it?" he asked. 

"How should I know?"

From his pocket he drew a note book. Between two of its leaves was aslip of paper which he handed to Moya. It was a receipt in full from thetreasurer of the Gunnison County Fair association to John Kilmeny forthe sum previously taken from him by parties unknown. 

The girl looked at him with shining eyes. "You repented and took themoney back?"

"No. I didn't repent, but I took it back. "

"Why?"

"That's a long tale. It's tied up with the story of my life--goes backthirty-one years, before I was born, in fact. Want to hear it?"

"Yes. "

"My father was a young man when he came to this country. The West wasn'tvery civilized then. My father was fearless and outspoken. This made himenemies among the gang of cattle thieves operating in the country wherehis ranch lay. He lost calves. One day he caught a brand blotter atwork. The fellow refused to surrender. There was a fight, and my fatherkilled him. "

"Oh!" cried the girl softly in fascinated horror. 

"Such things had to be in those days. Any man that was a man hadsometimes to fight or else go to the wall. "

"I can see that. I wasn't blaming your father. Only ... It must havebeen horrible to have to do. "

"The fellow thieves of the man swore vengeance. One night they caughtthe chief--that's what I used to call my father--caught him alone in agambling hell in the cow town where the stockmen came to buy provisions. My father had gone there by appointment to meet a man--lured to hisdeath by a forged note. He knew he had probably come to the end of thepassage as soon as he had stepped into the place. His one chance was toturn and run. He wouldn't do that. "

"I love him for it, " the girl cried impetuously. 

"The story goes that he looked them over contemptuously, the whole halfdozen of them, and laughed in a slow irritating way that must have gotunder their hides. "

Moya, looking at the son, could believe easily this story of the father. "Go on, " she nodded tensely. 

"The quarrel came, as of course it would. Just before the guns flashed astranger rose from a corner and told the rustlers they would have tocount him in the scrap, that he wouldn't stand for a six to one row. "

"Wasn't that fine? I suppose he was a friend of your father he hadhelped some time. "

"No. He had never seen him before. But he happened to be a man. "

The eyes of the girl were shining. For the moment she was almostbeautiful. A flame seemed to run over her dusky face, the glow of hergenerous heart finding expression externally. It was a part of her charmthat her delight in life bubbled out in little spasms of laughter, inimpetuous movements wholly unpremeditated. 

"I'm glad there are such men, " she cried softly. 

"The story of that fight is a classic to-day in the hills. When it endedtwo of the rustlers were dead, two badly wounded, and the othersgalloping away for their lives. The chief and his unknown friend werelying on the floor shot to pieces. "

"But they lived--surely they didn't die?"

"Yes, they lived and became close friends. A few years later they werepartners. Both of them are dead now. Sam Lundy--that was the name of myfather's rescuer--left two children, a boy and a girl. We call the boyCurly. He was down at the camp fishing with me. "

She saw the truth then--knew in a flash that the man beside her had runthe risk of prison to save his friend. And her heart went out to him insuch a rush of feeling that she had to turn her face away. 

"You paid back the debt to the son that your father owed his. Oh, I'mglad--so glad. "

"Guessed it, have you?"

"Your friend was the thief. "

"He took the money, but he's no thief--not in his heart. In England onlya criminal would do such a thing, but it's different here. A hold-up maybe a decent fellow gone wrong through drink and bad company. That's howit was this time. My friend is a range rider. His heart is as open andclean as the plains. But he's young yet--just turned twenty--and he'seasily led. This thing was sprung on him by an older man with whom hehad been drinking. Before they were sober he and Mosby had taken themoney. "

"I am sorry, " the girl said, almost under her breath. 

There was still some hint of the child in the naïve nobility of heryouth. Joyce Seldon would have had no doubts about what to think of thisalien society where an honest man could be a thief and his friend standready to excuse him. Moya found it fresh and stimulating. 

He explained more fully. "Colter by chance got a line on what the kidand Mosby were planning to pull off. Knowing I had some influence withCurly, he came straight to me. That was just after the finals in theriding. "

"I remember seeing him with you. We all thought you should have come upfor a few words with us. "

"I intended to, but there wasn't any time. We hurried out to find Curly. Well, we were too late. Our horses were gone by the time we had reachedthe corral where we were stabling, but those of the other boys werewaiting in the stalls already saddled. We guessed the hold-up would beclose to the bank, because the treasurer of the association might takeany one of three streets to drive in from the fair grounds. That's wherewe went wrong. The boys were just drunk enough not to remember this. Well, while we were looking for our friends so as to stop this crazyplay they were going to pull off, Colter and I met the president of thebank. We had known him in the mining country and he held us theretalking. While we were still there news comes of the robbery. "

"And then?"

"We struck straight back to the corral. Our horses were there. The boyshad ridden back, swapped them for their own, and hit the trail. Mosby'sidea had been to throw suspicion on us for an hour or two until theycould make their getaway. We rode back to the crowd, learned theparticulars, and followed the boys. My thought was that if we could getthe money from them we might make terms with the association. "

"That's why you were in a hurry when you passed us. "

"That's why. "

"And of course the sheriff thought you were running away from him. "

"He couldn't think anything else, could he?"

"How blind I was--how lacking in faith! And all the time I knew in myheart you couldn't have done it, " she reproached herself. 

His masterful eyes fastened on her. "Did your friends know it? Did MissJoyce think I couldn't have done it?"

"You'll have to ask her what she thought. I didn't hear Joyce give anopinion. "

"Is she going to marry that fellow Verinder?"

"I don't know. "

"He'll ask her, won't he?"

She smiled at his blunt question a little wanly. "You'll have to askMr. Verinder that. I'm not in his confidence. "

"You're quibbling. You know well enough. "

"I think he will. "

"Will she take him?"

"It's hard to tell what Joyce will do. I'd rather not discuss thesubject, please. Tell me, did you find your friends?"

"We ran them down in the hills at last. I knew pretty well about wherethey would be and one morning I dropped in on them. We talked it allover and I put it up to them that if they would turn the loot over to meI'd try to call off the officers. Curly was sick and ashamed of thewhole business and was willing to do whatever I thought best. Mosby haddifferent notions, but I persuaded him to see the light. They told mewhere they had hidden the money in the river. I was on my way back toget it when I found little Bess Landor lost in the hills. Gill nabbed meas I took her to the ranch. "

"And after you were taken back to Gunnison--Did you break prison?"

"I proved an alibi--one the sheriff couldn't get away from. We hadgilt-edged proof we weren't near the scene of the robbery. The presidentof the bank had been talking to us about ten minutes when the treasurerof the association drove up at a gallop to say he had just beenrobbed. "

"So they freed you. "

"I made a proposition to the district attorney and the directors of theassociation--that if I got the money back all prosecutions would bedropped. They agreed. I came back for the money and found it gone. "

"If you had only told me that then. "

"I had no time. My first thought was to tell my cousin the truth, but Iwas afraid to take a chance on him. The only way to save Curly was totake back the money myself. I couldn't be sure that Captain Kilmenywould believe my story. So I played it safe and helped myself. "

"You must think a lot of your friend to go so far for him. "

"His mother turned him over to me to make a man of him, and if shehadn't I owed it to his father's son. "

Her eyes poured upon him their warm approving light. "Yes, you wouldhave to help him, no matter what it cost. "

He protested against heroics with a face crinkled to humor. "It wasn'tcosting me a cent. "

"It might have cost you a great deal. Suppose that Captain Kilmeny hadpicked up his gun. You couldn't have shot him. "

"I'd have told him who I was and why I must have the money. No, MissDwight, I don't fit the specifications of a hero. "

Moya's lips curved to the sweet little derisive twist that was a smilein embryo. "I know about you, sir. "

Kilmeny took his eyes from her to let them rest upon a man and a womanwalking the river trail below. The man bowed and the Westerner answeredthe greeting by lifting his hat. When he looked back at his companion hewas smiling impishly. For the two by the river bank were Lord and LadyFarquhar. 

"Caught! You naughty little baggage! I wonder whether you'll be smackedthis time. "

Her eyes met his in a quick surprise that was on the verge of hauteur. 

"Sir. "

"Yes, I think you'll be smacked. You know you've been told time andagain not to take up with strange boys--and Americans, at that. MithLupton warned you on the _Victorian_--and Lady Farquhar has warned youaplenty. "

Her lips parted to speak, but no sound came from them. She was on theverge of a discovery, and he knew it. 

"Hope you won't mind the smacking much. Besides, it would be somefingelse if it wasn't this, " he continued, mimicking a childish lisp he hadnever forgotten. 

"Miss Lupton!"

A fugitive memory flashed across her mind. What she saw was this: aglassy sea after sunset, the cheerful life on the deck of an oceanliner, a little girl playing at--at--why, at selling stars of her ownmanufacture. The picture began to take form. A boy came into it, andvaguely other figures. She recalled impending punishment, intervention, two children snuggled beneath a steamer rug, and last the impulsive kissof a little girl determined to exact the last morsel of joy beforeretribution fell. 

"Are you that boy?" she asked, eyes wide open and burning. 

"It's harder to believe you're that long-legged little fairy in whitesocks. "

"So you knew me ... All the time ... And I didn't know you at all. "

Her voice trembled. The look she flung toward him was shy and diffident. She had loved him then. She loved him now. Somehow he was infinitelynearer to her than he had been. 

"Yes, I knew you. I've always known you. That's because you're a dreamfriend of mine. In the daytime I've had other things to think about, butat night you're a great pal of mine. "

"You mean ... Before ... We met again?"

"That's what I mean. "

The pink surged into her cheeks. "I've dreamed about you too, " sheconfessed with an adorable shyness. "How strange it is--to meet againafter all these years. "

"Not strange to me. Somehow I expected to meet you. Wasn't that in yourdreams too--that some day we should meet again?"

"I was always meeting you. But--why didn't I know you?"

"I'll confess that I wouldn't have known you if it hadn't been for yourname. "

"You think I've changed, then?"

"No, you haven't changed. You've only grown up. You're still a littlerebel. Sometimes you still think it's howwid to be a dirl. "

"Only when they won't let me do things, " she smiled. "And you reallyremember even my lisp. "

"You have a faint hint of it yet sometimes when you are excited. "

"I'm excited now--tremendously. " She laughed to belie her words, but thenote of agitation was not to be concealed. Her mouth was strangely dryand her heart had a queer uncertain beat. "Why shouldn't I be--with mybaby days popping out at me like this when I thought they were dead andburied? It's ... It's the strangest thing.... "

His blood too responded to a quickened beat. He could not understand thereason for it. Since he had no intention of being sentimental he wasdistinctly annoyed at himself. If it had been Joyce Seldon now--well, that would have been another tale. 

Over the brow of a hillock appeared Lord and Lady Farquhar walkingtoward them. One glance told Moya that her chaperone had made up hermind to drive Jack Kilmeny from the field. The girl ran forward quickly. 

"We've just found out the oddest thing, Lady Farquhar. Mr. Kilmeny and Iare old friends. We met when we were children, " she cried quickly. 

Lady Jim looked at her husband. He cleared his throat in someembarrassment. 

"Mornin', Mr. Kilmeny. If you have time I'd like to have you look oversome ore samples sent from our mine. "

The American smiled. He understood perfectly. "I've got all the timethere is. "

Moya intervened again. "First let me tell you the news. Mr. Kilmeny hasbeen freed of all suspicion in connection with the robbery. The moneyhas been returned and the whole thing dropped. "

Farquhar's face cleared. "Glad to hear it. " He emphasized his words, byadding a moment later: "By Jove, I _am_ glad. Congratulations, Mr. Kilmeny. "

His wife added hers, but there was a note of reserve in her manner. Plainly she was not fully satisfied. 

Eagerly Moya turned to the young man. "May I tell all about it?"

He hesitated, then nodded shortly. "If you like. "

Her voice vibrant with sympathy, Moya told the story in her ardent way. Kilmeny said nothing, but the corners of his mouth suggested amusement. Something of humorous derision in his blue eyes told Farquhar that theColoradoan did not take the girl's admiration as his due. Rather, heseemed to regard it merely as an evidence of her young enthusiasm. 

Lord Farquhar shook hands frankly with Kilmeny. "We've done you aninjustice. If I had a son I would want him to have played the part youdid under the same circumstances. "

His wife backed him up loyally but with misgivings. The character ofthis young man might be cleared but that did not make him any moreeligible. Her smile had in it some suggestion of the reserve of thechaperone. 

"I'm glad to know the truth, Mr. Kilmeny. It does you credit. Yourcousins won't be back to lunch but if you can stay----"

"I can't, Lady Farquhar. Thanks just the same. I've got to ride up intothe hills to let the boys know it's all right. We'll be leavingto-morrow to go back to work. "

"We go to-morrow too. I suppose this will be good-by, then. " LadyFarquhar offered her hand. 

Kilmeny turned last to Moya. "Good-by, neighbor. "

Her eyes did not shrink as the small hand was buried for an instant inhis brown palm, but the youth in her face was quenched. 

"Good-by, " she repeated in a colorless voice. 

"Sorry I wasn't able to say good-by to my cousins and Miss Seldon. Iunderstand you're all going up to the mines. Tell Captain Kilmeny I'lltry to see him at Goldbanks and make all proper apologies for my badmanners yesterday. "

Moya's face lit up. "Do you live at Goldbanks?"

"Sometimes. "

He bowed and turned away. 

The girl was left wondering. There had been a note of reservation in hismanner when she had spoken of Goldbanks. Was there after all somemystery about him or his occupation, something he did not want them toknow? Her interest was incredibly aroused. 

CHAPTER XI

A BLIZZARD

Moya found in Goldbanks much to interest her. Its helter-skelter streetsfollowing the line of least resistance, its slapdash buildings, thescarred hillsides dotted with red shaft-houses beneath which straggledslate-colored dumps like long beards, were all indigenous to a life themanner of which she could only guess. Judged by her Bret Harte, theplace ought to be picturesque. Perhaps it was, but Moya was given littlechance to find out. At least it was interesting. Even from an outsidepoint of view she could see that existence was reduced to the elemental. Men fought for gold against danger and privation and toil. No doubt ifshe could have seen their hearts they fought too for love. 

Miss Seldon was frankly bored by the crude rawness of the place. Onephase of it alone interested her. Of all this turbid activity DobyansVerinder was the chief profiter. Other capitalists had an interest inthe camp. Lord Farquhar held stock in the Mollie Gibson and Moya's smallinheritance was invested mostly in the mine. The Kilmenys owned sharesin two or three paying companies. But Verinder was far and away thelargest single owner. His holdings were scattered all over the camp. Inthe Mollie Gibson and the Never Quit, the two biggest properties atGoldbanks, he held a controlling vote. 

It was impossible for Joyce to put her nose out of the hotel withoutbeing confronted with the wealth of her suitor. This made a tremendousappeal to the imagination of the young woman. All these thousands of menwere toiling to make him richer. If Verinder could have known it, theenvironment was a potent ally for him. In London he was a socialclimber, in spite of his gold; here he was a sole autocrat of the camp. As the weeks passed he began to look more possible. His wealth wouldgive an amplitude, a spaciousness that would make the relationshiptolerable. As a man of moderate means he would not have done at all, butevery added million would help to reduce the intimacy of the maritaltie. To a certain extent she would go her way and he his. Meanwhile, shekept him guessing. Sometimes her smiles brought him on the run. Again hewas made to understand that it would be better to keep his distance. 

The days grew shorter and the mornings colder. As the weeks passed theapproach of winter began to push autumn back. Once or twice there was aninch of snow in the night that melted within a few hours. The Farquharparty began to talk of getting back to London, but there was animpending consolidation of properties that held the men at Goldbanks. For a month it had been understood that they would be leaving in a fewdays now, but the deal on hand was of such importance that it was feltbest to stay until it was effected. 

One afternoon Moya and Joyce rode out from the cañon where the uglylittle town lay huddled and followed the road down into the foothills. It was a day of sunshine, but back of the mountains hung a cloud thathad been pushing slowly forward. In it the peaks were already lost. Thegreat hills looked as if the knife of a Titan had sheered off theirsummits. 

The young women came to a bit of level and cantered across the mesa in arace. They had left the road to find wild flowers for Lady Jim. 

Joyce, in a flush of physical well-being, drew up from the gallop andcalled back in gay derision to her friend. 

"Oh, you slow-pokes! We win. Don't we, Two Step?" And she patted theneck of her pony with a little gloved hand. 

Moya halted beside the dainty beauty and laughed slowly, showing in twoeven rows the tips of small strong teeth. 

"Of course you win. You're always off with a hurrah before one knowswhat's on. Nobody else has a chance. "

The victor flashed a saucy glance at her. "I like to win. It's morefun. "

"Yes, it's more fun, but----"

"But what?"

"I was thinking that it's no fun for the loser. "

"That's his lookout, " came the swift retort. "Nobody makes him play. "

Moya did not answer. She was thinking how Joyce charged the batteries ofmen's emotions by the slow look of her deep eyes, by the languorous turnof her head, by the enthralment of her grace. 

"I wouldn't have your conscience for worlds, Moya. I don't want to be sodreadfully proper until I'm old and ugly, " Joyce continued, pouting. 

"Lady Jim is always complaining because I'm not proper enough, " laughedMoya. "She's forever holding you up to me as an example. "

"So I am. Of course I flirt. I always shall. But I'll not come acropper. I'll never let my flirtations interfere with business. Lady Jimknows that. "

Moya looked straight at her. "Were you ever in love in your life?"

Her friend laughed to cover a faint blush. "What an _enfant terrible_you are, my dear! Of course I've been--hundreds of times. "

"No, but--really?"

"If you mean the way they are in novels, a desperatefollow-to-the-end-of-the-world, love-in-a-cottage kind--no. My emotionsare quite under control, thank you. What is it you're driving at?"

"I just wondered. Look how cloudy the sky is getting. It's going tostorm. We'd better be going home. "

"Let's get our flowers first. "

They wandered among the hills, searching for the gorgeous blossoms offall. Not for half an hour did they remount. 

"Which way for home?" Joyce asked briskly, smoothing her skirt. 

Moya looked around before she answered. "I don't know. Must be over thatway, don't you think?"

Joyce answered with a laugh, using a bit of American slang she had heardthe day before. "Search me! Wouldn't it be jolly if we were lost?"

"How dark the sky is getting. I believe a flake of snow fell on myhand. "

"Yes. There's one on my face. The road must be just around this hill. "

"I daresay you're right. These hills are like peas in a pod. I can'ttell one from another. "

They rode around the base of the hill into a little valley formed byother hills. No sign of the road appeared. 

"We're lost, Moya, They'll have to send out search parties for us. We'll get in the dreadful Sunday papers again, " Joyce laughed. 

An anxious little frown showed on Moya's forehead. She was notfrightened, but she was beginning to get worried. A rising wind and afalling temperature were not good omens. Moreover, one of those swiftchanges common to the Rockies had come over the country. Out of a leadensky snow was falling fast. Banked clouds were driving the wintrysunshine toward the horizon. It would soon be night, and if the signswere true a bitter one of storm. 

"It's getting cold. We must find the road and hurry home, " Joyce said. 

"Yes. " Moya's voice was cheerful, but her heart had sunk. An icy handseemed to have clutched it and tightened. She had heard the dreadfulthings that happened during Rocky Mountain blizzards. They must find theroad. They _must_ find it. 

She set herself searching for it, conscious all the time that they mightbe going in the wrong direction. For this unfeatured roll of hillsoffered no guide, no landmark that stood out from the surroundingcountry. 

Moya covered her anxiety with laughter and small jokes, but there came atime when these did not avail, when Joyce faced the truth too--that theywere lost in the desert, two helpless girls, with night upon them and astorm driving up. Somewhere, not many miles from them, lay Goldbanks. There were safety, snug electric-lighted rooms with great fires blazingfrom open chimneys, a thousand men who would gladly have gone into thenight to look for them. But all of these might as well be a hundredleagues away, since they did not know the way home. 

The big deep eyes of Joyce shone with fear. Never before in hersheltered life had she been brought close to Nature in one of herterrible moods. 

From her soft round throat sobbing words leaped. "We're lost, Moya. We're going to die. "

"Nonsense. Don't be a goosie, " her downright friend answered sharply. 

"But--what shall we do?"

Scudding clouds had leaped across the sky and wiped out the last narrowline of sunlight along the eastern horizon. Every minute it was gettingcolder. The wind had a bitter sting to it. 

"We must find the trail, " Moya replied. 

"And if we don't?"

"But we shall, " the Irish girl assured with a finality that lackedconviction. "You wait here. Don't move from the spot. I'm going to rideround you at a little distance. There must be a trail here somewhere. "

Moya gave her pony the quirt and cantered off. Swiftly she circled, butbefore she had completed the circumference the snow, now fallingheavily, had covered the ground and obliterated any path there might be. With a heavy heart she started to return to her friend. 

Owing both to the lie of the ground and the increasing density she couldnot see Joyce. Thrice she called before a faint answer reached her ears. Moya rode toward the voice, stopping now and again to call and wait fora reply. Her horizon was now just beyond the nose of her pony, so thatit was not until they were only a few yards apart that she saw Two Stepand its rider. Both broncho and girl were sheeted with snow. 

"Oh, I thought you were gone. I thought you were never coming, " Joycereproached in a wail of despair. "Did you find the road?"

"No, but I've thought of something. They say horses will find their ownway home if you let them. Loosen the reins, dear. "

Moya spoke with a business-like cheerfulness meant to deceive herfriend. She knew it must be her part to lead. Joyce was as soft andabout as competent as a kitten to face a crisis like this. She was acreature all curves and dimples, sparkling with the sunshine of lifelike the wavelets of a glassy sea. But there was in her an instinctiveshrinking from all pain and harshness. When her little world refused tosmile, as very rarely it did for her, she shut her eyes, stopped herears, and pouted. Against the implacable condition that confronted themnow she could only whimper her despair. 

They waited with loose reins for the ponies to move. The storm beat uponthem, confining their vision to a space within reach of theiroutstretched arms. Only the frightened wails of Joyce and the comfortingwords of her friend could be heard in the shriek of the wind. Theponies, feeling themselves free, stirred restlessly. Moya clucked to herroan and patted his neck encouragingly. 

"Good old Billy. Take us home, old fellow, " she urged. 

Presently the horse began to move, aimlessly at first, but soon with asteadiness that suggested purpose. Moya unloosed with her chill fingersthe rope coiled to her saddle, and threw one end to her friend. 

"Tie it tight to the saddle horn, Joyce--with a double knot, " sheordered. "And keep your hand on it to see that it doesn't come undone. "

"I can't tie it. My hands are frozen ... I'm freezing to death. "

Moya made fast one end of the rope and then slipped from the saddle. Theother end she tied securely to the saddle horn of her friend. Shestripped from her hands the heavy riding gauntlets she wore and gavethem to Joyce. 

"Pull these on and your hands will be warmer. Don't give up. Sit tightand buck up. If you do we'll be all right. "

"But I can't.... It's awful.... How far do we have to go?"

"We'll soon hit the road. Then we can go faster. "

Moya swung to her saddle again stiffly, and Billy took up the march inthe driving storm, which was growing every minute more fierce andbitter. The girl did not dare give way to her own terror, for she feltif she should become panic-stricken all would be lost. She tried toremember how long people could live in a blizzard. Had she not read ofsome men who had been out two days in one and yet reached safety?

The icy blast bit into her, searched through to her bones and sapped herstrength. More than once she drew up the rope with her icy hands to makesure that Joyce was still in the saddle. She found her there blue fromexposure, almost helpless, but still faintly responsive to the call oflife. 

The horses moved faster, with more certainty, so that Moya felt they hadstruck a familiar trail. But in her heart she doubted whether either ofthe riders would come to shelter alive. The ponies traveled upward intothe hills. 

Joyce, lying forward helpless across the saddle horn, slid gently to theground. Her friend stopped. What could she do? Once she had descended, it would be impossible to get back into the saddle. 

Searching the hillside, the girl's glance was arrested by a light. Shecould not at first believe her good fortune. From the saddle she slippedto the ground in a huddle, stiffly found her feet again, and began toclamber up the stiff incline. Presently she made out a hut. Stumblingly, she staggered up till she reached the door and fell heavily against it, clutching at the latch so that it gave to her hand and sent her lurchinginto the room. Her knees doubled under her and she sank at the feet ofone of two men who sat beside a table playing cards. 

The man leaped up as if he had seen a ghost. "Goddlemighty, it's awoman!"

"My friend ... She's outside ... At the foot of the hill ... Save her, "the girl's white lips framed. 

They slipped on mackinaw coats and disappeared into the white swirlingnight. Moya crouched beside the red-hot stove, and life slowly tingledthrough her frozen veins, filling her with sharp pain. To keep back thegroans she had to set her teeth. It seemed to her that she had neverendured such agony. 

After a time the men returned, carrying Joyce between them. They put heron the bed at the far corner of the room, and one of the men poured froma bottle on the table some whisky. This they forced between herunconscious lips. With a shivering sigh she came back to hersurroundings. 

Moya moved across to the group by the bed. 

"I'll take care of her if you'll look after the horses, " she told themen. 

One of them answered roughly. "The horses will have to rough it. Thisain't any night for humans to be hunting horses. "

"They can't be far, " Moya pleaded. 

Grudgingly the second man spoke. "Guess we better get them, Dave. Theywere down where we found the girl. We can stable them in the tunnel. "

Left to herself, Moya unlaced the shoes of Miss Seldon. Vigorously sherubbed the feet and limbs till the circulation began to be restored. Joyce cried and writhed with the pain, while the other young womanmassaged and cuddled her in turn. The worst of the suffering was pastbefore the men returned, stamping snow from their feet and shaking itfrom their garments over the floor. 

"A hell of a night to be out in, " the one called Dave growled to hisfellow. 

"Did you get the horses?" Moya asked timidly. 

"They're in the tunnel. " The ungracious answer was given without aglance in her direction. 

They were a black-a-vised, ill-favored pair, these miners upon whosehospitality fate had thrown them. Foreigners of some sort they were, Cornishmen, Moya guessed. But whatever their nationality they wereprimeval savages untouched by the fourteen centuries of civilizinginfluences since their forbears ravaged England. To the super-nervousminds of these exhausted young women there was a suggestion of apes inthe huge musclebound shoulders and the great rough hands at the ends oflong gnarled arms. Small shifty black eyes, rimmed with red from drink, suggested cunning, while the loose-lipped heavy mouths added more than ahint of bestiality. It lent no comfort to the study of them that thelarge whisky bottle was two-thirds empty. 

They slouched back to their cards and their bottle. It had been badenough to find them sullen and inhospitable, but as the liquorstimulated their unhealthy imaginations it was worse to feel the covertlooks stealing now and again toward them. Joyce, sleeping fitfully inthe arms of Moya, woke with a start to see them drinking together at thetable. 

"I don't like them. I'm afraid of them, " she whispered. 

"We mustn't let them know it, " Moya whispered in her ear. 

For an hour she had been racked by fears, had faced unflinchingly theirlow laughs and furtive glances. 

Now one of the men spoke. "From Goldbanks?"

"Yes. "

"You don't live there. "

"No. We belong to the English party--Mr. Verinder's friends. "

"Oh, Verinder's friends. And which of you is his particular friend?" Thesneer was unmistakable. 

"We started out this afternoon for wild flowers and the storm caughtus, " Moya hurried on. 

"So you're Verinder's friends, are you? Well, we don't think a whole lotof Mr. Verinder out here. "

Moya knew now that the mention of Verinder's name had been a mistake. The relations between the mine owners and the workmen in the camp werestrained, and as a foreign non-resident capitalist the Englishmillionaire was especially obnoxious. Moreover, his supercilious mannershad not helped to endear him since his arrival. 

The man called Dave got to his feet with a reckless laugh. "No freelodgings here for Mr. Verinder's friends. You'n got to pay for yourkeep, my dears. "

Miss Dwight looked at him with unflinching eyes which refused tounderstand his meaning. "We'll pay whatever you ask and double theamount after we reach camp. "

"Don't want your dirty money. Gi' us a kiss, lass. That's fair pay. Weain't above kissing Verinder's friends if he is a rotten slave driver. "

Moya rose to her slender height, and the flash of courage blazed in hereyes. 

"Sit down, " she ordered. 

The man stopped in his tracks, amazed at the resolution of the slim tallgirl. 

"Go on, Dave. Don't let her bluff you, " his companion urged. 

The miner laughed and moved forward. 

"You coward, to take advantage of two girls driven to you by the storm. I didn't think the man lived that would do it, " panted Moya. 

"You'n got a bit to learn, miss. Whad's the use of gettin' your Dutchup. I ain't good enough for 'ee, like enough. "

The girl held up a hand. "Listen!"

They could hear only the wild roar of the storm outside and the low sobsof Joyce as she lay crouched on the bed. 

"Well?" he growled. "I'm listenin'. What, then?"

"I'd rather go out into that white death than stay here with suchcreatures as you are. "

"Doan't be a fool, lass. Us'n won't hurt 'ee any, " the second manreassured roughly. 

"You'll stay here where it's warm. But you'll remember that we're bossin this shack. You'n came without being asked. I'm domned if you'llride your high horse over me. "

"Go on, Dave. Tak' your kiss, man. "

Then the miracle happened. The door opened, and out of the swirlingwind-tossed snow came a Man. 

CHAPTER XII

OUT OF THE STORM A MAN

He stood blinking in the doorway, white-sheeted with snow from head toheel. As his eyes became accustomed to the light they passed withsurprise from the men to the young women. A flash of recognition lit inthem, but he offered no word of greeting. 

Plainly he had interrupted a scene of some sort. The leer on the flushedface of Dave, the look of undaunted spirit in that of the girl facinghim, the sheer panic-stricken terror of her crouching companion, alltold him as much. Nor was it hard to guess the meaning of that dramaticmoment he had by chance chosen for his entrance. His alert eyes took inevery detail, asked questions but answered none, and in the end ignoredmuch. 

"What are you doing here?" demanded one of the miners. 

"Been out to the Jack Pot and was on my way back to town. Got caught inthe storm and struck for the nearest shelter. A bad night out, Trefoyle. " He closed the door, moved forward into the room, and threwoff his heavy overcoat. 

Moya had recognized him from the first instant. Now Joyce too saw who hewas. She twisted lithely from the bed, slipped past Moya, past theminers, and with the sob of a frightened child caught at his hand andarm. 

"Oh, Mr. Kilmeny, save us ... Save us!"

Jack nodded reassuringly. "It's all right. Don't worry. "

She clung to him, shivering back to self-control. This man's presencespelled safety. In the high-laced boots of a mining man, he showed afigure well-knit and graceful, springy with youth, but carrying thepoise of power. His clean-cut bronzed face backed the promise; so toodid the ease of his bearing. 

Moya gave a deep sigh of relief and sat down on the edge of the bed, grown suddenly faint. At last her burden was lifted to strongershoulders. 

"You ain't wanted here, Jack Kilmeny, " the standing miner said sourly. He was undecided what to do, perplexed and angry at this unexpectedhindrance. 

"Seems to be a difference of opinion about that, Peale, " retorted thenewcomer lightly, kicking snow from the spurs and the heels of hisboots. 

"Trefoyle and me own this cabin. You'll sing small, by Goad, or you'llget out. "

"You wouldn't put a dog out on a night like this, let alone a man. Itwould be murder, " Kilmeny answered mildly. 

"There's horses in the tunnel. You can bed wi' them. "

Jack glanced around, took in the whisky bottle and their red-rimmedeyes. He nodded agreement. 

"Right you are, boys. We three will move over to the tunnel and leavethe house to the women. "

"You ain't got the say here, not by a domned sight, Jack Kilmeny. This'll be the way of it. You'll git out. We'll stay. Understand?" Pealeground out between set teeth. 

Jack smiled, but his eyes were like steel. "Suppose we go over to theshaft-house and talk it over, boys. We'll all understand it betterthen. "

Kilmeny still stood close to the red-hot stove. He was opening andclosing his fingers to take the stiffness of the frost out of them. 

"By Goad, no! You go--we stay. See?"

The young man was now rubbing industriously the thumb and forefinger ofhis right hand with the palm of his left. 

"No, I don't see that, Peale. Doesn't sound reasonable to me. But I'lltalk it over with you both--in the shaft-house. "

Jack's eyes were fastened steadily on Peale. The man was standing closeto a shelf in a corner of the cabin. The shelf was in the shadow, butKilmeny guessed what lay upon it. He was glad that though his legs werestill stiff and cold the fingers of his right hand had been massaged toa supple warmth. 

"You be warm now, lad. Clear out, " warned the big Cornishman. 

"Build 'ee a fire in the tunnel, mon, " suggested Trefoyle. 

"We'll all go or we'll all stay. Drop that, Peale. "

The last words rang out in sharp command. Quicker than the eye couldfollow Kilmeny's hand had brushed up past his hip and brought with it ashining thirty-eight. 

Taken by surprise, Peale stood stupidly, his hand still on the shelf. His fingers had closed on a revolver, but they had found the barrelinstead of the butt. 

"Step forward to the table, Peale--_with your hand empty_. That's right. Now listen. These young women have got to sleep. They're fagged toexhaustion. We three are going over to the shaft-house. Anything you'vegot to say to me can be said there. Understand?"

The man stood in a stubborn sullen silence, but his partner spoke up. 

"No guns along, Kilmeny, eh?"

"No. We'll leave them here. "

"Good enough, eh, Peale?"

Trefoyle's small eyes glittered. Slyly he winked to his partner toagree, then got a lantern, lit it clumsily, and shuffled out with Pealeat his heels. 

Joyce clung to Jack's arm, bewitchingly helpless and dependent. A queerthrill went through him at the touch of her soft finger tips. 

"You won't leave us, " she implored. "You wouldn't, would you?"

"Only for a little while. Bolt the door. Don't open it unless I give theword. " He stepped across to Moya and handed her his revolver. In a verylow voice he spoke to her. "Remember. You're not to open unless I tellyou to let me in. If they try to break the door shoot through it at themwaist high. _Shoot to kill. _ Promise me that. "

Her dark eyes met and searched his. The faintest quiver of the lipshowed that she knew what was before him. "I promise, " she said in thesame low voice. 

Moya bolted the door after him and sat down trembling by the table, therevolver in her shaking hand. She knew he had gone to fight for them andthat he had left his weapon behind according to agreement. He was goingagainst odds just as his father had done before him in that memorablefight years ago. If they beat him they would probably kill him. And whatchance had one slender man against two such giants. She shuddered. 

"What are they going to do, Moya?" whispered Joyce. 

Her friend looked at her steadily. "Didn't you hear? They said theywanted to talk over the arrangements. "

"Yes, but--didn't it seem to you----? Why did he give you that pistol?"

"Oh, just so that we wouldn't be afraid. "

Hand in hand they sat. Their hearts beat like those of frightenedrabbits. The wail of the wind screaming outside seemed the cry of lostsouls. Was murder being done out there while they waited?

Kilmeny strode after the Cornishmen with the light-footed step of anight nurse. Beside the huge miners he looked slight, but the flow ofhis rippling muscles was smooth and hard as steel. He had been in many arough and tumble fray. The saying went in Goldbanks that he "had theguts" and could whip his weight in wildcats. There was in him thefighting edge, that stark courage which shakes the nerve of a man oflesser mettle. He knew that to-night he needed it if ever he did. Forthese men were strong as bears and had as little remorse. 

Inside the shaft-house, his quick glance swept the dimly lighted roomand took in every detail. 

Trefoyle put the lantern down on a shelf and turned to the man who hadinterfered with them. "Is't a fight ye want, mon?"

Kilmeny knew the folly of attempting argument or appeal to their senseof right. Straight to business he cut. "I'm not hunting one. But Ireckon this is up to me. I'll take you one at a time--unless you'drather try it two to one and make sure. "

His sneer stung. Peale tore off his coat with an angry roar. 

"By Goad, I'm good enough for you. "

Head down like a bull, he rushed at his foe. Jack sidestepped and lashedout at him as he shot past. Peale went down heavily, but scrambledawkwardly to his feet and flung himself forward again. This time Kilmenymet him fairly with a straight left, tilted back the shaggy head, andcrossed with the right to the point of the jaw. 

As the fellow went to the floor the second time Jack was struck heavilyon the side of his face and knocked from his feet upon the body of theCornishman. Even as he fell Kilmeny knew that Trefoyle had broken faith. He rolled over quickly, so that the latter, throwing himself heavily ontop of him, kneed his partner instead of Jack. 

His great hands gripped the young man as he wriggled away. By sheerstrength they dragged him back. Kilmeny wrapped his legs around Trefoyleto turn over. He heard a groan and guessed the reason. The muscular legsclenched tighter the man above him, moved slowly up and down those ofhis foe. With a cry of pain the Cornishman flung himself to one side andtore loose. His trouser legs were ripped from thigh to calf and bloodstreamed down the limb. The sharp rowels of Kilmeny's spurs had sunkinto the flesh and saved their owner. 

Jack staggered to his feet half dazed. Peale was slowly rising, hismurderous eyes fixed on the young man. The instinct of self-preservationsent the latter across the room to a pile of steel drills. As the twomen followed he stooped, caught up one of the heavy bars, and thrustwith a short-arm movement for Trefoyle's head. The man threw out hishands and keeled over like a stuck pig. 

Kilmeny threw away his drill and fought it out with Peale. They mighthave been compared to a rapier and a two-handed broadsword. Jack wasmore than a skilled boxer. He was a cool punishing fighter, one whocould give as well as take. Once Peale cornered him, bent evidently onclosing and crushing his ribs with a terrific bear hug. It would havebeen worth a dozen lessons from a boxing master to see how the young manfought him back with jabs and uppercuts long enough to duck under thegiant's arm to safety. 

The wild swinging blows of the Cornishman landed heavily from time totime, but his opponent's elbow or forearm often broke the force. Thelighter man was slippery as an eel, as hard to hit as a Corbett. Meanwhile, he was cutting his foe to ribbons, slashing at him with swiftdrives that carried the full force of one hundred seventy-five pounds, sending home damaging blows to the body that played the mischief withhis wind. The big miner's face was a projection map with wheals formountains and with rivers represented by red trickles of blood. 

Quartering round the room they came again to the drills. Peale, pantingand desperate, stooped for one of them. As he rose unsteadily Kilmenyclosed, threw him hard, and fell on top. Jack beat savagely the swollenupturned face with short arm jolts until the fellow relaxed his holdwith a moan. 

"Doan't 'ee kill me, mon. I've had enough, " he grunted. 

Kilmeny sprang to his feet, caught up the bar of steel, and poked theprostrate man in the ribs with it. 

"Get up, " he ordered. "You're a pair of cowardly brutes. Can't be decentto a couple of helpless women in your power. Can't play fair in a fightwith a man half the size of one of you. Get up, I say, and throw adipperful of water in Trefoyle's face. He's not dead by a long shot, though he deserves to be. "

Peale clambered to his feet in sulky submission and did as he was told. Slowly Trefoyle's eyelids flickered open. 

"What be wrong wi' un?" he asked, trying to sit up. 

"You got what was coming to you. Is it enough, or do you want more?"

"Did 'ee hit me, lad. Fegs, it's enough. I give you best. "

"Then get up. We'll go back to the house for blankets and fuel. You'llsleep to-night with the horses in the tunnel. "

The two girls shivering in the hot room heard the footsteps of thereturning men as they crunched the snow. Moya sat opposite the door, white to the lips, her hand resting on the table and holding therevolver. Joyce had sunk down on the bed and had covered her face withher hands. 

A cheerful voice called to them from outside. 

"All right. Everything settled. Let us in, please. "

Moya flew to the door and unbolted it. The Cornishmen came in first, andafter them Kilmeny. At sight of the ravages of war Joyce gave a littlecry of amazement. The big miners were covered with blood. They had thecowed hangdog look of thoroughly beaten men. Jack's face too was asight, but he still walked springily. 

He gave curt commands and the others obeyed him without a word. Almostthe first thing he did was to step to the table and fling the whiskybottle through the door into the storm. 

"We'll not need that, " he said. 

One of the miners gathered up their extra blankets while the other tooka load of firewood. 

As soon as they had gone Joyce cried breathlessly, "You fought them. "

Jack looked at her and his eyes softened. All men answered to the appealof her beauty. "We had a little argument. They couldn't see it my way. But they're satisfied now. "

Moya bit her lower lip. Her eyes were shining with tears. A queeremotion welled up in her heart. But it was Joyce who put their thanksinto words. 

"You saved us. You're the bravest man I ever saw, " she cried. 

A deeper color rose to the embarrassed face of the young man. "I expectyou didn't need any saving to speak of. The boys got too ambitious. That's about all. " He was thinking that she was the most beautifulcreature he had ever set eyes upon and thanking his lucky stars that hehad come along in the nick of time. 

"You can _say_ that, Mr. Kilmeny, but we know, " she answered softly. 

"All right. Have it your own way, Miss Seldon, " he returned with asmile. 

"You'll let us doctor your wounds, won't you?" Moya asked shyly. 

He laughed like a boy. "You're making me ashamed. I haven't any wounds. I ought to have washed the blood off before I came in, but I didn'thave a chance. All I need is a basin of water and a towel. "

The girl ran to get them for him. He protested, laughing, but was nonethe less pleased while they hovered about him. 

"Such a dirty towel. Don't you suppose there's a clean one somewhere, "Joyce said with a little _moue_ of disgust as she handed it to him. 

He shook his head. "It's like the one in 'The Virginian'--been toopopular. "

Moya gave him the scarf that had been around her head while she wasriding. "Take this. No.... I want you to use it ... Please. "

After he had dried his face Jack explained their disposition for thenight. 

"We'll stay in the tunnel. You'll be alone here--and quite safe. No needto be in the least nervous. Make yourselves comfortable till morning ifyou can. "

"And you--do you mean that you're going back ... To those men?" Moyaasked. 

"They're quite tame--ready to eat out of my hand. Don't worry about me. "

"But I don't want you to go. I'm afraid to be alone. Stay here with us, Mr. Kilmeny. I don't care about sleeping, " Joyce begged. 

"There's nothing to be afraid of--and you need your sleep. I'll not befar away. You couldn't be safer in Goldbanks. I'll be on guard allnight, you know, " he reassured. 

It escaped him for the moment that Joyce was thinking about her ownsafety, while Moya was anxious about his, but later he was to rememberit. 

He had not been gone ten minutes before Joyce was sound asleep. Shetrusted him and she trusted Moya, and for her that was enough. All herlife she had relied on somebody else to bear the brunt of her troubles. But the girl with the powdered freckles beneath the dusky eyes carriedher own burdens. She too had implicit confidence in the champion who hadcome out of the storm to help them and had taken his life in hand to doit. Her heart went out to him with all the passionate ardor of generousyouth. She had never met such a man, so strong, so masterful, and yet soboyish. 

Her brain was far too active for slumber. She sat before the stove andwent over the adventures of the past two hours. How strange that theyhad met him again in this dramatic fashion. Perhaps he lived atGoldbanks now and they would see more of him. She hoped so mightily, even though there persisted in her mind a picture of his blue-gray eyespaying homage to Joyce. 

CHAPTER XIII

SHOT TO THE CORE WITH SUNLIGHT

The storm had blown itself out before morning. A white world sparkledwith flashes of sunlight when Moya opened the door of the cabin andgazed out. Looking down into the peaceful valley below, it was hard tobelieve that death had called to them so loudly only a few hoursearlier. 

Kilmeny emerged from the shaft-house and called a cheerful good-morningacross to her. 

"How did you sleep?" he shouted as he crunched across the snow towardher. 

"Not so very well. Joyce slept for both of us. "

Their smiles met. They had been comrades in the determination to shieldher from whatever difficulties the situation might hold. 

"I'm glad. Is she quite herself this morning? Last night she was verytired and a good deal alarmed. "

"Yes. After you came Joyce did not worry any more. She knew you wouldsee that everything came right. "

The color crept into his bronzed face. "Did she say so?"

"Yes. But it was not what she said. I could tell. "

"I'm glad I could do what I did. "

The eyes that looked at him were luminous. Something sweet and mockingglowed in them inscrutably. He knew her gallant soul approved him, andhis heart lifted with gladness. The beauty of her companion fascinatedhim, but he divined in this Irish girl the fine thread of loyalty thatlifted her character out of the commonplace. Her slender, vividpersonality breathed a vigor of the spirit wholly engaging. 

Joyce joined her friend in the doorway. With her cheeks still flushedfrom sleep and her hair a little disheveled, she reminded Jack of abeautiful crumpled rose leaf. Since her charm was less an expression ofan inner quality, she needed more than Moya the adventitious aids ofdress. 

The young woman's smile came out warmly at sight of Kilmeny. It was hercustom always to appropriate the available man. Toward this bronzedyoung fellow with the splendid throat sloping into muscular shouldersshe felt very kindly this morning. He had stood between her and trouble. He was so patently an admirer of Joyce Seldon. And on his own merits thevirility and good looks of him drew her admiration. At sight of thebruises on his face her heart beat a little fast with pleasurableexcitement. He had fought for her like a man. She did not care if he wasa workingman. His name was Kilmeny. He was a gentleman by birth, worth adozen Verinders. 

"Mr. Kilmeny, how can we ever thank you?"

He looked at her and nodded gayly. "Forget it, Miss Seldon. I couldn'thave done less. "

"Or more, " she added softly, her lovely eyes in his. 

No change showed in the lean brown face of the man, but his blood movedfaster. It was impossible to miss the appeal of sex that escaped atevery graceful movement of the soft sensuous body, that glowed from thedeep still eyes in an electric current flashing straight to his veins. He would have loved to touch the soft flushed cheek, the crisp amberhair clouding the convolutions of the little ears. His eyes were anindex of the man, bold and possessive and unwavering. They announced hima dynamic American, one who walked the way of the strong and fought forhis share of the spoils. But when she looked at him they softened. Something fine and tender transfigured the face and wiped out itssardonic recklessness. 

"The pressing question before the house is breakfast. There are baconand flour and coffee here. Shall I make a batch of biscuits and offeryou pot luck? Or do you prefer to wait till we can get to Goldbanks?"

"What do you think?" Moya asked. 

"I think whatever you think. We'll not reach town much before noon. Ifyou can rough it for a meal I should advise trying out the new cook. Itreally depends on how hungry you are. "

"I'm hungry enough to eat my boots, " the Irish girl announced promptly. 

"So am I. Let's stay--if our hosts won't object, " Joyce added. 

"I'm quite sure they won't, " Kilmeny replied dryly. "All right. A campbreakfast it is. "

"I'm going to help you, " Moya told him. 

"Of course. You'd better wash the dishes as soon as we get hot water. They're probably pretty grimy. "

He stepped into the cabin and took off his coat. Moya rolled up hersleeves to the elbows of her plump dimpled arms. Miss Seldon hoveredabout helplessly and wanted to know what she could do. 

The miner had not "batched" in the hills for years without havinglearned how to cook. His biscuits came to the table hot and flaky, hisbacon was done to a turn. Even the chicory coffee tasted delicious tothe hungry guests. 

With her milk-white skin, her vivid crimson lips so exquisitely turned, and the superb vitality of her youth, Joyce bloomed in the sordid hutlike a flower in a rubbage heap. To her bronzed _vis-a-vis_ it seemedthat the world this morning was shimmering romance. Never before had heenjoyed a breakfast half as much. He and Miss Seldon did most of thetalking, while Moya listened, the star flash in her eyes and thewhimsical little smile on her lips. 

Joyce was as gay as a lark. She chattered with the childish artlessnessthat at times veiled her sophistication. Jack was given to understandthat she loved to be natural and simple, that she detested the shams ofsocial convention to which she was made to conform. Her big lovely eyeswere wistful in their earnestness as they met his. It was not wholly apose with her. For the moment she meant all she said. A delightfulexcitement fluttered her pulses. She was playing the game she likedbest, moving forward to the first skirmishes of that sex war which wasmeat and drink to her vanity. The man attracted her as few men ever had. That nothing could come of it beyond the satisfaction of the hour didnot mitigate her zest for the battle. 

They were still at breakfast when one of the Cornishmen pushed open thedoor and looked in. He stood looking down on them sullenly withoutspeaking. 

"Want to see me, Peale?" asked Kilmeny. 

"Did I say I wanted to see 'ee?" demanded the other roughly. 

"Better come in and shut the door. The air's chilly. "

The battered face of his companion loomed over the shoulder of Peale. ToKilmeny it was plain that they had come with the idea of makingthemselves disagreeable. Very likely they had agreed to force theircompany upon the young women for breakfast. But the sight of theirdainty grace, together with Jack's cheerful invitation, was too much fortheir audacity. Peale grumbled something inaudible and turned away, slamming the door as he went. 

The young miner laughed softly. If he had shown any unwillingness theywould have pushed their way in. His urbanity had disarmed them. 

"They're not really bad men, you know--just think they are, " heexplained casually. 

"I'm afraid of them. I don't trust them, " Joyce shuddered. 

"Well, I trust them while they're under my eye. The trouble with men ofthat stripe is that they're yellow. A game man gives you a fightingchance, but fellows of this sort hit while you're not looking. But youneedn't worry. They're real tame citizens this morning. "

"Yes, they looked tame, " Moya answered dryly. "So tame I'm sure they'dlike to crucify you. "

"I daresay they would, but in this world a man can't get everything hewould like. I've wanted two or three pleasures myself that I didn'tget. "

His gaze happened to turn toward Joyce as he was speaking. He had beenthinking of nothing definite, but at the meeting of their eyes somethingflashed into birth and passed from one to the other like an electriccurrent. Jack knew now something that he wanted, but he did not admitthat he could not get it. If she cared for him--and what else had hereyes told him in the golden glow of that electric moment?--a hundredVerinders and Lady Farquhar could not keep them apart. 

His heart sang jubilantly. He rose abruptly and left the room because hewas afraid he could not veil his feeling. 

Joyce smiled happily. "Where is he going?" she asked innocently. 

Moya looked at her and then turned her eyes away. She had understood thesignificance of what she had seen and a door in her heart that had beenopen for weeks clanged shut. 

"I don't know, unless to get the horses, " she said quietly. 

A few minutes later he returned, leading the animals. From the door ofthe shaft-house the Cornishmen watched them mount and ride away. The mensmoked in sullen silence. 

[Illustration: THEY RODE THROUGH A WORLD SHOT TO THE CORE WITH SUNLIGHT. THE SNOW SPARKLED AND GLEAMED WITH IT. (p. 177)]

Before they had ridden a hundred yards Joyce was in gay talk withKilmeny. She had forgotten the very existence of the miners. But Moyadid not forget. She had seen the expression of their faces as the horseshad passed. If a chance ever offered itself they would have theirrevenge. 

It was a day winnowed from a lifetime of ordinary ones. They rodethrough a world shot to the core with sunlight. The snow sparkled andgleamed with it. The foliage of the cottonwoods, which already hadshaken much of their white coat to the ground, reflected it in greensand golds and russets merged to a note of perfect harmony by the GreatArtist. Though the crispness of early winter was in the air, theirnostrils drew in the fragrance of October, the faint wafted perfume ofdying summer. 

Beneath a sky of perfect blue they pushed along the shoulder of thehill, avoiding the draw into which snow had drifted deep. Life stormedin their veins, glowed in their flushed cheeks, rang in the care-freelaughter of at least two of them. Jack broke trail, turning often in thesaddle with a lithe twist of his lean muscular body, to suggest a wordof caution at the bad places. Always then he discovered the deep violeteyes of Joyce Seldon with their smoldering fire. To let himself dwellupon her loveliness of fine-textured satiny skin, set off by theabundant crown of lustrous bronze hair, was to know again a quickenedpulse of delight. 

When he spoke it was with the languid drawl of the Western plainsman. Inhumor he feigned to conceal his passion, but Joyce knew him to bealertly conscious of her every word, every turn of her pliant body. 

They reached the road, where two could ride abreast. Sometimes he waswith the one, again with the other. Moya, who had not much to say thismorning, made it easy for him to be with Joyce. She did not need to betold that he was under the allure of that young woman's beauty; and notalone of her beauty, but of that provocative stimulating something thatcan be defined only as the drag of sex. All men responded to it whenJoyce chose to exert herself, many when she did not. 

Once he turned to point out to Moya some snow-covered mounds above theroad. 

"Graves of a dozen mule-skinners killed by Indians nearly thirty yearsago. My father was the only one of the party that escaped. "

Half a mile from town they met two men on horseback and exchanged news. All Goldbanks had been searching for them through the night. TheFarquhar party were wild with anxiety about them. 

Kilmeny gave prompt quiet orders. "Get back to town, boys, and tell LadyFarquhar that it's all right. We'll be along in a few minutes. "

The news of their safety spread as by magic. Men and women and childrenpoured into the streets to welcome them. It was as much as Kilmenycould do to keep back the cheering mob long enough to reach the hotel. Verinder, Lady Jim, and India came down the steps to meet them, CaptainKilmeny and Lord Farquhar both being away at the head of search parties. India and Lady Farquhar broke down without shame and cried as theyembraced the returned wanderers. 

"We thought ... We thought.... " India could not finish in words, butMoya knew what she meant. 

"It was very nearly that way, dear, but everything is all right now, "her friend smiled through a film of tears. 

"It was Moya saved us--and afterward Mr. Kilmeny, " Joyce explainedbetween sobs. 

The crowd below cheered again and Moya borrowed India's handkerchief towave. It touched her to see how glad these people were to know they hadbeen rescued. 

Lady Farquhar thanked Kilmeny with a gulp in her throat. "We'll want tohear all about it and to get a chance to thank you properly. Will youcome to dinner this evening? Joyce and Moya should be rested by then. "

Jack accepted promptly. "I'll be very glad to come. "

CHAPTER XIV

"PROVE IT!... PROVE IT!"

Sam Bleyer, superintendent of the big Verinder mines, had been up to seehis chief at the hotel and was passing the private sitting-room of theFarquhar party when a voice hailed him. He bowed inclusively to LadyFarquhar, Miss Seldon, and Miss Dwight. 

"You called me?"

"I did. Are you in a very great hurry?" Joyce flashed her mostcoquettish smile at him. 

"You are never to be in a hurry when Miss Seldon wants you, Bleyer, "announced Verinder, following the superintendent into the room. 

Bleyer flushed. He was not "a lady's man, " as he would have phrased it, but there was an arresting loveliness about Joyce that held the eye. 

"You hear my orders, Miss Seldon, " he said. 

"Awfully good of you, Mr. Verinder, " Joyce acknowledged with a swiftslant smile toward the mine owner. "Just now I want Mr. Bleyer to be aninformation bureau. "

"Anything I can do, " murmured Bleyer. 

He was a thin little man with a face as wrinkled as a contour map ofSouth America. Thick glasses rested on a Roman nose in front ofnearsighted eyes. Frequently he peered over these in an ineffectivemanner that suggested a lost puppy in search of a friend. But in spiteof his appearance Bleyer was a force in Goldbanks. He knew his businessand gave his whole energies to it. 

"We're all so interested in Mr. Kilmeny. Tell us _all_ about him, please. "

"That's a rather large order, isn't it?" The wrinkles in his leatheryface broke into a smile. "What in particular do you want to know?"

"Everything. What does he do? How does he live? How long has he beenhere?"

"He has been around here about five years. He has a lease in a mine. "There was a flinty dryness in the manner of the superintendent thatneither Joyce nor Moya missed. 

"And he makes his living by it?"

Above his spectacles the eyes of Bleyer gleamed resentfully. "You'llhave to ask Mr. Kilmeny how he makes his living. I don't know. "

"You're keeping something from us. I believe you do know, Mr. Bleyer. "With a swift turn of her supple body Joyce appealed to Verinder. "Makehim tell us, please. "

Moya did not lift the starlike eyes that were so troubled from the faceof Bleyer. She knew the man implied something discreditable to Kilmeny. The look that had flashed between him and Verinder told her so much. Redsignals of defiance blazed on both cheeks. Whatever it was, she did notintend to believe him. 

Verinder disclosed a proper reluctance. "Bleyer says he doesn't know. "

"Oh, he _says!_ I want him to tell what he thinks. "

"You won't like it, " the mine owner warned. 

"I'll be the best judge of that. " Joyce swung upon Bleyer. "You hear, sir. You're to tell me what you mean. "

"I don't mean anything. " He paused, then looked straight at Joyce with avisible harshness. "I'll tell you what the common gossip is if you wantto know, Miss Seldon. They say he is a highgrader. "

"And what is a highgrader?" demanded Moya. 

"A highgrader is one who steals rich ore from the mine where he works, "answered Verinder smugly. 

Moya, eyes hot and shining, flashed her challenge at him. "I don'tbelieve it--not a word of it, so far as Mr. Kilmeny is concerned. "

"Afraid that doesn't change the facts, Miss Dwight. It's a matter ofgeneral knowledge. " Beneath Verinder's bland manner there lurked asubstratum of triumph. 

"General fiddlesticks! Don't believe it, Joyce, " cried Moya stormily. "He doesn't even work as a miner. He owns his own lease. "

"He used to work in the mines, even if he doesn't now. There arestories----"

"Ridiculous to think it of Mr. Kilmeny, " exploded Moya. "We've donenothing but insult him ever since we've known him. First he was ahighwayman. Now he is a thief. Anything else, Mr. Verinder?"

"Everybody knows it, " retorted Verinder sulkily. 

"Then prove it. Put him in prison. Aren't there any laws in the state?If everybody knows it, why isn't he arrested?" the Irish girl flamed. 

"Moya, " chided Lady Farquhar gently. 

Her ward turned upon Lady Jim a flushed face stirred by anger to a vividcharm. "Can't you see how absurd it is? He owns his own lease. Mr. Bleyer admits it. Is he robbing himself, then?"

The muscles stood out on the cheeks of the superintendent like cords. Hestuck doggedly to his guns. "I didn't say he stole the ore himself. Thecharge is that he buys it from the men who do take it. His lease is anexcuse. Of course he pretends to get the ore there. "

"It's the common talk of the camp, " snapped Verinder contemptuously. "The man doesn't even keep it under decent cover. "

"Then prove it ... Prove it! That ought to be easy--since everybodyknows it. " Moya's voice was low, but her scornful passion lashed theEnglishman as with a whip. 

"By Jove, that's just what I'm going to do. I'm going to put our friendbehind the bars for a few years, " the smug little man criedtriumphantly. 

The red spots on Moya's cheeks burned. The flashing eyes of the girldefied her discarded lover. 

"If you can, " she amended with quiet anger. 

The soft laugh of Joyce saved for the moment the situation. "Dear me, aren't we getting a little excited? Mr. Bleyer, tell me more. How doesa--a highgrader, didn't you call him?--how does he get a chance to stealthe ore?"

"He picks out the best pieces while he is working--the nuggets that aregoing to run a high per cent. Of gold--and pockets them. At night hecarries them away. "

"But--haven't you any policemen here? Why don't you stop them and searchthem?"

"The miners' union is too strong. There would be a strike if we triedit. But it has got to come to that soon. The companies will have to joinhands for a finish fight. They can't have men hoisted up from their workwith a hundred dollars' worth of ore stowed away on them. "

"Is it as bad as that, Mr. Bleyer?" asked Lady Farquhar in surprise. 

"Sometimes they take two or three hundred dollars' worth at once. "

"They don't all steal, do they?" demanded Moya with an edge of sarcasmin her clear voice. 

Bleyer laughed grimly. "I'd like to know the names of even a few thatdon't. I haven't been introduced to them. "

"One hundred per cent. Dishonest, " murmured Moya without conviction. 

"I don't guarantee the figures, Miss Dwight. " The superintendent addedgrudgingly: "They don't look at it that way. Bits of high-grade ore aretheir perquisite, they pretend to think. "

Verinder broke in. "They say your friend Kilmeny took ore to the valueof two thousand dollars from the Never Quit on one occasion. It ran tothat amount by actual smelter test, the story goes. I've always ratherdoubted it. "

"Why--since he is so dishonest?" Moya flung at him. 

"Don't think a man could carry away so much at one time. What d'yethink, Bleyer?"

"Depends on how high-grade ore the mine carries. At Cripple Creek wefound nearly four thousand on a man once. He was loaded down like afreight car--looked like the fat boy in 'Pickwick Papers. '"

"Should think he'd bulge out with angles where the rock projected, " LadyFarquhar suggested. 

"The men have it down to a system there. We used to search them as theyleft work. They carry the ore in all sorts of unexpected places, such asthe shoulder padding of their coats, their mouths, their ears, and inslings scattered over the body. The ore is pounded so that it does notbulge. "

"Perhaps I'm doing Mr. Kilmeny an injustice, then. Very likely he didget away with two thousand at one time, " Verinder jeered with anunpleasant laugh. 

"Yes, let's think the worst of everybody that we can, Mr. Verinder, "came Moya's quick scornful retort. 

The Croesus of Goldbanks stood warming himself with his back to thegrate, as smug and dapper a little man as could be found within a day'sjourney. 

"Very good, Miss Dwight. Have it your own way. I'm not a bally prophet, you know, but I'll go this far. Your little tin hero is riding for afall. It's all very well for him to do the romantic and that sort ofpiffle, by Jove, but when you scrape the paint off he's just a receiverof stolen property and a common agitator. Don't take my word for it. AskBleyer. " Without looking at him he gave a little jerk of the head towardhis superintendent. "Who is the most undesirable citizen here, Bleyer?Who makes all the trouble for the companies?"

Bleyer shook his head. "I can't back my opinion with proof. "

"You know what people say. Whom do the men rely on to back them wheneverthey have trouble with us? Out with it. "

"Kilmeny is their king pin--the most influential man in camp. "

"Of course he is. Anybody could tell to look at him that he is a leader. Does it follow he must be a criminal?" Moya demanded abruptly. 

The superintendent smiled. He understood what was behind thatirritation. "You're a good friend, Miss Dwight. "

"It's absurd that I am. He did nothing for Joyce and me--except fightfor us and see that we were sheltered and fed and brought home safely. Why shouldn't we sit still and let his reputation be torn to tatters?"

Blücher bore down upon the field of Waterloo. "Of course we're 'for' Mr. Kilmeny, as you Yankees say. I don't care whether he is a highgrader ornot. He's a gentleman--and very interesting. " Joyce nodded decisively, tilting a saucy chin toward Verinder. "We're _for_ him, aren't we, Moya?"

Lady Farquhar smiled and let her embroidery drop to the table as sherose. "I like him myself. There's something about him that's veryattractive. I do hope you are wrong, Mr. Bleyer. He does not look likean anarchist and a thief. "

"That is not the way he would define himself. In this communityhighgrading isn't looked on as theft. Last year our sheriff wassuspected of buying ore from miners and shipping it to the smelters. Public opinion does not greatly condemn the practice. " Bleyer, bowing ashe spoke, excused himself and withdrew. 

Verinder appealed to Lady Farquhar. The indignation of the newly richsat heavily upon him. With all his little soul he disliked Jack Kilmeny. Since the man had done so signal a service for Joyce, jealousy gnawed athis heart. 

"Of course we've got to be decent to the man, I suppose. He had a bigslice of luck in getting the chance to help Miss Seldon and Miss Dwight. And I don't forget that he is a cousin to our friends. If it wasn't forthat I'd say to mail him a check and wipe the slate clean. But ofcourse----"

"You'd never dare, " breathed Moya tensely. "I won't have him insulted. "

"Of course not, under the circumstances. No need to get volcanic, MissDwight. I merely suggested what I'd like to do. Now the burden is off myshoulders. I have given you the facts. "

"You've given us only suspicions, Mr. Verinder. I don't think it wouldbe fair to assume them correct, " the chaperone answered. 

But Moya knew that Verinder had dropped his seed in fruitful soil. LadyFarquhar would not forget. Jack Kilmeny's welcome would be somethingless than cordial henceforth. 

CHAPTER XV

A HIGHGRADER--IN PRINCIPLE

In spite of the warm defense she had made of Kilmeny, the heart of Moyawas troubled. She knew him to be reckless. The boundaries of ethicalconduct were not the same for him as for Lord Farquhar, for instance. Hehad told her as much in those summer days by the Gunnison when they werefirst adventuring forth to friendship. His views on property and on thestruggle between capital and labor were radical. Could it be that theycarried him as far as this, that he would take ore to which others hadtitle?

The strange phase of the situation was that nobody in Goldbanks seemedto give any consideration to the moral issue. If rumor were true, thedistrict attorney and a good many of the business men of the town wereengaged in disposing of this ore for the miners on a percentage basis. Between the miners and the operating companies was war. If a workmancould get the better of the owners by taking ore that was a point to hiscredit. Even Verinder and Bleyer at bottom regarded the matter as aquestion of strength and not as one of equity. 

Moya was still in process of thinking herself and life out. It was toher an amazing thing that a whole community should so lose its sense ofvalues as to encourage even tacitly what was virtually theft. She didnot want to pass judgment upon Goldbanks, for she distrusted her horizonas narrow. But surely right was right and wrong wrong. Without a stab ofpain she could not think of Jack Kilmeny as engaged in this illicittraffic. 

In her heart she was afraid. Bleyer was a man to be trusted, and ineffect he had said that her friend was a highgrader. Even to admit adoubt hurt her conscience as a disloyalty, but her gropings brought nocertainty of his innocence. It would be in keeping with the man'scharacter, as she read it, not to let fear of the consequences hold himfrom any course upon which he was determined. Had he not once warned herin his whimsical smiling way that she would have to make "a heap ofallowances" for him if she were to remain his friend? Was it this towhich he had referred when he had told her he was likely to disappointher, that a man must live by the code of his fellows and judge right andwrong by the circumstances? Explicitly he had given her to understandthat his standards of honesty would not square with hers, since he livedin a rough mining camp where questions had two sides and were not to bedetermined by abstract rule. 

As for Joyce, the charges against Kilmeny did not disturb her in theleast. He might be all they said of him and more; so long as heinterested her that was enough. Just now her head was full of the youngman. In the world of her daydreams many suitors floated nebulously. Pastand present she had been wooed by a sufficient number. But of them allnot one had moved her pulses as this impossible youth of the unmappeddesert West had done. Queer errant impulses tugged at herwell-disciplined mind and stormed the creed of worldliness with whichshe had fenced her heart. 

A stroll to view the sunset had been arranged by the young people upwhat was known as Son-of-a-Gun Hill. Moya walked of course with CaptainKilmeny, her betrothed. Joyce saw to it that Verinder was paired withIndia, Jack Kilmeny falling to her lot. Since India knew that her escortwas eager to get with Miss Seldon, she punished his impatience byloitering far behind the others. 

During the past few days Jack had pushed his tentative suit boldly butlightly. He understood that Joyce was flirting with him, but he divinedthat there had been moments when the tide of her emotion had swept theyoung woman from her feet. She was a coquette, of course, but when hiseyes fell like a plummet into hers they sounded depths beneath thesurface foam. At such times the beat of the surf sounded in his blood. The spell of sex, with all its fire and passion, drew him to this lovelycreature so prodigal of allure. 

The leading couples stood for a moment's breathing space near thesummit. Beneath them the squalid little town huddled in the draw and ransprawling up the hillsides. Shaft-houses and dumps disfigured even thebusiness street. 

Joyce gave a laughing little shudder. "Isn't it a horrid little hole?"

Jack looked at her in surprise, but it was Moya that answered. 

"Oh, I don't think so, Joyce. Of course it's not pretty, but--doesn't itseem to stand for something big and--well, indomitable? Think of all themiles of tunnels and stopes, of all the work that has gone into makingthem. " She stopped to laugh at her own enthusiasm before she added:"Goldbanks stands to me for the hope in the human heart that rises inspite of everything. It is the product of an idea. "

Miss Seldon gave a little lift to her superb shoulders. "You'reincurably romantic, Moya. It's only a scramble for money, after all. "

"Don't know about that, Miss Seldon, " disagreed Captain Kilmeny. "Ofcourse it's gold they all want. But gold stands for any number of goodthings, tangible and abstract--success, you know, and home, and love, and kiddies, the better development of the race--all that sort ofthing. "

"Is that what it means to the highgraders too?" Joyce let her smilingeyes rest with innocent impudence in those of the miner. 

Kilmeny showed no sign of discomfiture. His gaze met hers fully andsteadily. "Something of that sort, I suppose. "

"Just what _is_ a highgrader?"

Moya held her breath. The debonair lightness of the question could notrob it of its significance. Nobody but Joyce would have dared such ahome thrust. 

Jack laughed dryly. "A highgrader is a miner who saves the company forwhich he works the trouble of having valuable ore smelted. "

"But doesn't the ore belong to the company?"

"There's a difference of opinion about that. Legally it does, morally itdoesn't--not all of it. The man who risks his life and the support ofhis family by working underground is entitled to a share of the profit, isn't he?"

"He gets his wages, doesn't he?"

"Enough to live on--if he doesn't want to live too high. But is that allhe is entitled to? Your friend"--he waved a hand toward Verinder, puffing up the trail a hundred yards below--"draws millions of dollarsin dividends from the work of these men. What does he do to earn it?"

"You're a socialist, " charged Joyce gayly. "Or is it an anarchist thatbelieves such dreadful things?"

"Mr. Kilmeny doesn't quite believe all he says, " suggested Moya quietly. 

"Don't I?" Behind Jack's quizzical smile there was a hint ofearnestness. "I believe that Dobyans Verinder is a parasite inGoldbanks. He gobbles up the product of others' toil. "

Joyce flashed at him a swift retort. "Then if you believe that, youought to be a highgrader yourself. "

"Joyce, " reproved Moya, aghast. 

"I mean, of course, in principle, " her friend amended, blushing slightlyat her own audacity. 

Her impudence amused the miner. "Perhaps I am--in principle. "

"But only in principle, " she murmured, tilting a radiant challenge athim. 

"Exactly--in principle, " he agreed. There was humor in his saturnineface. 

Joyce ventured one daring step further. "But of course in practice----"

"You should have been a lawyer, Miss Seldon, " he countered. "If youwere, my reply would be that by advice of counsel I must decline toanswer. "

"Oh, by advice of counsel! Dear me, that sounds dreadfully legal, doesn't it, Moya? Isn't that what criminals say when----?"

"----When they don't want to give themselves away. I believe it is, " hetossed back with the same lightness. "Before I make confession I shallwant to know whether you are on my side--or Verinder's. "

Under the steady look of his bold, possessive eyes the long silkenlashes fell to the soft cheeks. Joyce understood the unvoiced demandthat lay behind the obvious one. He had thrown down the gage of battle. Was she for Verinder or for him? If he could have offered her one-halfthe advantages of his rival, her answer would not have been in doubt. But she knew she dared not marry a poor man, no matter how wildly hispresence could set her pulses flying or how great her longing for him. Not the least intention of any romantic absurdity was in her mind. Whenthe time came for choice she would go to Verinder and his millions. Butshe did not intend to let Jack Kilmeny go yet. 

She lifted to him a face flushed and excited, answering apparently hiswords and not his thoughts. "I haven't decided yet. How can I tell tillI hear what you have to say for yourself?"

"You couldn't find a more charming sister confessor for your sins, " thecaptain told his cousin. 

"I'll do my best, " Joyce promised. Then, with a flash of friendlymalice: "But I haven't had the experience of Moya. She is just perfectin the rôle. I know, because she hears all mine. "

Moya flushed resentfully. She did not intend to set up for a prude, butshe certainly did not mean to treat highgrading as if it were a joke. IfJack Kilmeny was innocent, why did he not indignantly deny the charge?

"Afraid I'll have to be excused, " she said, a little stiffly. 

"Miss Dwight doesn't approve of me, " explained the miner. "If Iconfessed to her she would probably turn me over to the sheriff. "

The girl's quick eyes flashed into his. "I don't approve of taking orethat doesn't belong to one--if that's what you mean, Mr. Kilmeny. "

Jack liked the flare of temper in her. She was very human in herimpulses. At bottom, too, he respected the integrity of mind thatrefused to compromise with what she thought was wrong. 

But no admission of this showed in his strong brown face. His mordanteyes mocked her while he went into a whimsical argument to show thathighgrading was really a virtue, since it tended to keep the rich fromgrowing richer and the poor poorer. He wanted to know by what moralright Verinder owned the Mollie Gibson and the Never Quit any more thanhe did. 

The mine owner, puffing from the exertions of the last bit of ascent, exclaimed indignantly: "Own 'em, by Jove! Doesn't a Johnny own what hebuys and pays for?"

"You don't suppose that when God or Nature or the First Cause createdthat ore vein a million years ago he had Dobyans Verinder in mind as theowner, " derided Kilmeny. 

"That's all anarchistic rot, you know. Those mines are my property, atleast a commanding interest. They're mine because I bought the shares. Government is founded on a respect for property rights. "

"So I've observed, " retorted Jack dryly. "I'd back that opinion, too, ifI owned half of Goldbanks. "

"I suppose Mr. Kilmeny's highgrading friends are superior to law. Itisn't necessary for them to abide by the rules society has found bestfor its protection, " Moya suggested. 

The engaging smile of the accused rested upon Miss Dwight. "I met youand your friends in a motor car yesterday. I'll bet that speedometersaid twenty-five miles, but the town ordinance puts the speed limit atfifteen. What about that?"

"You know that's different. No moral question was involved. But when itcomes to taking what belongs to another--well, a thief is a thief. "

"Right as a rivet, Miss Dwight. But you're begging the question. _Does_that ore belong to Dobyans Verinder any more than it does to--well, toJack Kilmeny, say for the sake of argument? I go down there and risk mylife blasting it out. He----"

"But you don't, " interrupted Moya. 

"Not to-day perhaps--or yesterday. But I did last year and the yearbefore that. I've brought up in my arms the bodies of men torn to piecesand carried them to their wives and kiddies. How about those women andchildren? Haven't they earned an interest in the mine? Isn't their moralclaim greater than that of Mr. Verinder, who sits in London and drawsthe dividends?"

"They are pensioned, aren't they?"

"They are not, " returned Jack curtly. "The mine owners of Goldbanksdon't believe in encouraging negligence. If these workmen hadn't takenchances they probably would not have been killed, you see. But if theydidn't take chances none of the men could earn a living for theirfamilies. It is plain how very much to blame they are. "

Moya looked across the summits of the hills into the brilliant sunsetthat lay like a wonderful canvas in the crotch of the peaks. A troubledlittle frown creased her forehead. For the first time there had comehome to her the injustice of the social system under which she and herfriends thrived. No adequate answer came to her. Verinder and Joycejoined in argument against the young miner, but Moya did not hear whatthey said. 

She was unusually silent on the way home. Once she looked up and askedCaptain Kilmeny a question. 

"After all, two wrongs don't make a right, do they?"

"No, dear girl. Life's full of injustice. I dare say some of the men Ilead are better than Ned Kilmeny, but I've got to forget that and sittight in the seat that's been dealt me by the cards. If Jack is tryingto justify highgrading, he hasn't a leg to stand on. "

She sighed. "You don't think, do you, that----?"

He answered her broken sentence. "Don't know. He doesn't play the gameby the same rules we do, but my judgment is that the gossip about himhas no basis of fact. "

The girl he loved gave him one grateful look and fell again intosilence. She wished she felt more sure. Only that morning she had readan editorial in one of the local papers warning the men that theoperators were determined to suppress highgrading at any cost, even ifsome of the more flagrant offenders had to be sent to the penitentiary. That such a fate could befall Jack Kilmeny was unthinkable. Yet whatmore likely than that the managers should choose him for an example ifthey could prove him guilty?

The dusk had fallen over the hills and the lights were glimmering outfrom the town below through the growing darkness. Captain Kilmeny walkedbeside his slim, tall, worshipful sweetheart with a heavy heart. She washis promised bride. That she would keep faith he did not doubt. But theprogress that he made in winning her love was so little that he seemedto himself to be marking time. The shadow of his vagabond cousin stilllay between them. 

CHAPTER XVI

ONE MAID--TWO MEN

Jack saw to it that he and Joyce followed the others down the trail at avery leisurely pace. The early night of the Rockies was already cuttingthem off from the rest of the world. Captain Kilmeny and his betrothedcould be seen as shadows growing every minute more tenuous. India andher escort were already lost in the descending darkness. 

It was the first time that the Goldbanks miner had ever been alone withMiss Seldon. He meant to make the most of his chance. Her lovelinesssang its way through his alert, masterful eyes into the blood of theman. Where else under heaven could a woman be found with such a glory ofamber extravagance for hair, with such exquisitely turned scarlet lipsin so fine-textured colorless a skin of satin? She moved with thelightness of perfect health, the long, graceful lines of her limbsbreaking into new curves at every step. Sinuous and supple, she wasexquisitely feminine to the finger tips. 

They talked little, and that irrelevantly. In both of them the tide ofemotion ran full. Each was drawn by the subtle irresistible magnet ofsex attraction. When their eyes met it was but for an instant. Ashyness, delirious and delightful, ran like a golden thread through theexcitement which burned their blood. 

"We ... Must hurry. " Joyce breathed deep, as if she had been running. 

"Why must we?" he demanded. "This is my hour. I claim it. "

"But ... They're getting ahead of us. "

"Let them. " He gave her his hand to help her down a steep place in thetrail. Their fingers laced, palm clinging to palm. 

"You ... Mustn't, " she protested. 

"Mustn't I?"

"No-o. "

The note of faintness was in her voice. Courage flooded him intriumphant waves. A moment and his arms were about her, the velvet ofher cheek against his. She lay still for an instant, pulses throbbingwildly. But when his lips found hers the woman in her awoke. In anecstasy of tenderness her arms crept around his neck, and she clung tohim. A distant sea surf roared in her ears. For the first time in herlife passion had drowned coquetry. 

They spoke in kisses, in caresses, in little murmured nothings, aslovers will till the end of time. Something sweet and turbulent swelledin her bosom, an emotion new and inexplicable. For the first time inmany experiences of the sex duel she was afraid of herself, of thestrength of this impassioned feeling that was sweeping her. Shedisengaged herself from his embrace and stood back. 

Beneath the quick probe of his eyes a faint tremor passed through herbody. The long lashes fell to the hot cheeks and curtained lambentwindows of light. 

"What are we doing?" she cried softly. 

"Doing? I'm making love to you, sweetheart, and you're telling me youlove me for it, " he answered, capturing her hands. 

"Yes, but ... I don't want you to ... Make love to me ... That way. "

"You do. " He laughed aloud, and with a swift motion drew her to himagain. "We belong, you witch. "

His ardent kisses smothered her and drew the color into her lovely face. She yearned toward him, faint with a sweet, exquisite longing. Was thislove then? Had it at last trapped her in spite of her cool wariness? Shedid not know. All she was sure of was that she wanted to be in hisstrong arms and to feel forever this champagne leap of the blood. 

 * * * * *

With the excuse that she must dress for dinner, Joyce went at once toher room and locked the door. Discarding the walking suit she waswearing, she slipped into a negligee gown and seated herself before theglass. She liked, while thinking things over, to look at herself in themirror. The picture that she saw always evoked pleasant fugitivememories. It was so now. Never had her beauty seemed so radiant andvital, so much an inspiration of the spirit in her. Joyce could havekissed the parted scarlet lips and the glowing pansy eyes reflected backto her. It was good to be young and lovely, to know that men's heartsleaped because of her, especially that of the untamed desert son who hadmade love to her so masterfully. 

How had he dared? She was a rare imperious queen of hearts. No manbefore had ever ravished kisses from her in such turbulent fashion. Whenshe thought of the abandon with which she had given herself to his lipsand his embrace, the dye deepened on her cheeks. What was this shamelesslonging that had carried her to him as one looking down from a hightower is drawn to throw himself over the edge? He had trampled underfoot the defenses that had availed against many who had a hundred timeshis advantages to offer. 

It was of herself, not him, that she was afraid. She had _wanted_ hiskisses. She had rejoiced in that queer, exultant stir of the blood whenhis eyes stabbed fathoms deep into hers. What was the matter with her?Always she had felt a good-natured contempt for girls who threw awaysubstantial advantages for what they called love. After steering acourse as steady as a mariner's compass for years was she going to playthe fool at last? Was she going to marry a pauper, a workingman, oneaccused of crime, merely because of the ridiculous emotion he excited inher?

The idea was of course absurd. The most obvious point of the situationto her was that she dared not marry him. In her sober senses she wouldnot want to do such a ruinous thing. Already she was beginning to escapefrom the thrill of his physical presence. He had taken the future forgranted, and during that mad quarter of an hour she had let him. Carriedaway by his impetuosity and her own desire, she had consented to hispreposterous hopes. But of a certainty the idea was absurd. Joyce Seldonwas the last woman in the world to make a poor man's wife. 

To-morrow she must have a serious talk with him and set the matter on aproper footing. She must not let herself be swept away by any quixoticsentiment. The trouble was that she liked him so well. When they met, her good resolutions would be likely to melt in the air. She wouldsafeguard herself from her weakness by telling him during a ride thathad been planned. With her friends a few yards in front of them therecould be no danger of yielding to her febrile foolishness. 

Or perhaps it would be better to wait. It was now only ten days till thetime set for leaving. She might write him her decision. It would besweet to hold him as long as she could.... 

A knock at the door aroused her from revery. She let Fisher in and madepreparations to have her hair dressed. This was always one of theimportant duties of the day. India and Moya might scamp such things onthe plea that they were thousands of miles from civilization, but Joyceknew what was due her lovely body and saw that the service was paidrigorously. She chose to wear to-night a black gown that set offwonderfully the soft beauty of her face and the grace of her figure. Jack Kilmeny was to be there later for bridge, and before he came shehad to dazzle and placate Verinder, who had been for several days verysulky at having to play second fiddle. 

When Joyce sailed down the corridor to the parlor which adjoined theprivate dining-room of the party, she caught a glimpse of Verinderturning a corner of the passage toward his room. Lady Farquhar was alonein the parlor. 

"Didn't I see Mr. Verinder going out?" asked Joyce, sinking indolentlyinto the easiest chair and reaching for a magazine. 

"Yes. At least he was here. " After a moment Lady Farquhar addedquietly, "He leaves to-morrow. "

Joyce looked up quickly. "Leaves where?"

"Goldbanks. He is starting for London. "

"But.... What about the reorganization of the companies? I thought.... "

"He has changed his plans. James is to have his proxies and to arrangethe consolidation. Mr. Verinder is anxious to get away at once. "

After an instant's consideration Joyce laughed scornfully. She wasdismayed by this sudden move, but did not intend to show it. "Isn't thisrather ... Precipitous? We're all going in a few days. Why can't hewait?"

Her chaperone looked at Joyce as she answered. "Urgent business, hesays. "

"Urgent fiddlesticks!" Joyce stifled a manufactured yawn. "I dare say webore him as much as he does us. Wish we were all back in grimy oldLondon. "

"It won't be long now. " Lady Jim answered with a smile at the othersuggestion. "No, I don't think business calls him, and I don't think heis bored. "

Joyce understood the significance of the retort. Verinder at last hadrevolted against being played with fast and loose. He was going becauseof her violent flirtation with Jack Kilmeny. This was his declaration ofindependence. 

Miss Seldon was alarmed. She had not for a minute intended to let themillionaire escape. The very possibility of it frightened her. It hadnot occurred to her that the little man had spirit enough to resent hercourse so effectively. With the prospect of losing it in sight, hisgreat wealth loomed up to dwarf the desire of the hour. She blamedherself because in the excitement of her affair with Kilmeny she had forthe first time in her life let herself forget real values. 

But Joyce was too cool a hand to waste time in repining so long as therewas a chance to repair the damage. Was the lost prize beyond recovery?Two points were in her favor. Verinder had not yet gone, and he was verymuch infatuated with her. No doubt his vanity was in arms. He would beshy of any advances. His intention was to beat a retreat in sulkydignity, and he would not respond to any of the signals which in thepast had always brought him to heel. It all rested on the fortuity ofher getting five minutes alone with him. Granted this, she would have achance. There are ways given to women whereby men of his type can beplacated. She would have to flatter him by abasing herself, by throwingherself upon his mercy. But since this must be done, she was prepared topay the price. 

It appeared that Dobyans Verinder did not intend to give her anopportunity. From the soup to the walnuts the topic of conversation hadto do with the impending departure of the mine owner. Joyce was preparedto be very kind to him, but he did not for an instant let his eyes dwellin hers. Behind the curtain of her dark silken lashes she was alertlyconscious of the man without appearing to be so. He meant to snub her, to leave without seeing her alone. That was to be her punishment forhaving cut too deep into his self-esteem. He was going to jilt her. 

During dinner and during that subsequent half hour while the ladieswaited for the men to rejoin them, Joyce was in a tremor of anxiety. Butshe carried herself with an indifference that was superb. She had takena chair at the far end of the long parlor close to a French windowopening upon a porch. Apparently she was idly interested in a new novel, but never had she been more watchful. If she had a chance to play herhand she would win; if the luck broke against her she would lose. 

Most of her friends had mothers to maneuver for them. Joyce had none, but she was not one to let that stand in her way. Already she had madeher first move by asking Lord Farquhar in a whisper not to linger longover the cigars. He had nodded silently, and she knew he would keep hisword. If Jack would only stay away until she could see Verinder.... 

She called the mine owner to her the instant that the men reappeared. Helooked across the room sullenly and appeared for one dubious moment tohesitate. But before he could frame an excuse she had spoken again. 

"I want you to see this ridiculous illustration. It is the mostamusing.... "

Without any hesitation she had summoned him before them all. He couldnot rudely refuse her the ordinary civilities that pass current insociety. Sulkily he moved to her side. 

She held up the book to him. No illustration met the eyes of thesurprised man. Joyce was pointing to a sentence in the story heavilyunderscored by a pencil. 

"_Why are you so cruel to me?_"

His chin dropped with amazement. Then slowly an angry flush rose to hisface. His jaw set firmly as he looked at her. 

"Yes, it's certainly ridiculous ... And amusing, " he said aloud. 

"There's another, too, " she went on quickly, recovering the book. 

Her fingers turned a page or two swiftly. On the margin was a pencilednote. 

"I must see you alone, Dobyans. I must. "

She lifted to him a face flushed and eager, from which wounded eyesfilmy with tears appealed to him. Her shyness, her diffidence, thechildlike call upon his chivalry were wholly charming. She was adistractingly pretty woman, and she had thrown herself upon his mercy. Verinder began insensibly to soften, but he would not give up hisgrievance. 

"It's amusing, too--and unnecessary, I think, " he said. 

The long lashes fluttered tremulously to her cheeks. It seemed to himthat she was on the verge of unconsciousness, that the pent emotion wasgoing to prove too much for her. 

"I--I think the story calls for it, " she answered, a little brokenly. 

He retorted, still carrying on the conversation that was to mean onething to the others in case they heard and another to them. "Depends onthe point of view, I suppose. The story is plain enough--doesn't needany more to carry its meaning. "

He was standing between her and the rest of the party. Joyce laid anappealing hand on his coat sleeve. Tears brimmed over from the softeyes. She bit her lip and turned her head away. If ever a womanconfessed love without words Joyce was doing it now. Verinder'sinflammable heart began to quicken. 

"Where?" he asked grudgingly, lowering his voice. 

A glow of triumphant relief swept through her. She had won. But the verynearness of her defeat tempered pride to an emotion still related togratitude. The warm eyes that met his were alive with thanks. She movedher head slightly toward the window. 

In another moment they stood outside, alone in the darkness. The nightwas chill and she shivered at the change from the warm room. Verinderstepped back into the parlor, stripped from the piano the small Navajorug that draped it, and rejoined Joyce on the porch. He wrapped it abouther shoulders. 

She nodded thanks and led him to the end of the porch. For a few momentsshe leaned on the railing and watched the street lights. Then, abruptly, she shot her question at him. 

"Why are you going away?"

Stiff as a poker, he made answer. "Business in London, Miss Seldon. Sorry to leave and all that, but----"

She cut him off sharply. "I want the truth. What have I done that youshould ... Treat me so?"

Anger stirred in him again. "Did I say you had done anything?"

"But you think I'm to blame. You know you do. "

"Do I?" His vanity and suspicion made him wary, though he knew she wastrying to win him back. He told himself that he had been made a fool oflong enough. 

"Yes, you do ... And it's all your fault. " She broke down and turnedhalf from him. Deep sobs began to rack her body. 

"I'd like to know how it's my fault, " he demanded resentfully. "Am I toblame because you broke your engagement to walk with me and went withthat thief Kilmeny?"

"Yes. " The word fell from her lips so low that he almost doubted hisears. 

"What? By Jove, that's rich!"

Her luminous eyes fell full into his, then dropped. "If ... If you can'tsee----"

"See what? I see you threw me overboard for him. I see you've beenflirting a mile a minute with the beggar and playing fast and loose withme. I'm hanged if I stand it. "

"Oh, Dobyans! Don't you see? I ... I ... You made me. "

"Made you?"

She was standing in profile toward him. He could see the quiver of herlip and the shadows beneath her eyes. Already he felt the lift of thebig wave that was to float him to success. 

"I ... Have no mother. "

"Don't take the point. "

She spoke as a troubled child, as if to the breezes of the night. "Ihave to be careful. You know how people talk. Could I let them say thatI ... Ran after you?" The last words were almost in a whisper. 

"Do you mean... ?"

"Oh, couldn't you see? How blind men are!"

The little man, moved to his soul because this proud beauty was sodeeply in love with him, took her in his arms and kissed her. 

A little shudder went through her blood. It had not been two hours sinceJack Kilmeny's kisses had sent a song electrically into her veins. Butshe trod down the momentary nausea with the resolute will that hadalways been hers. Verinder had paid for the right to caress her. He hadoffered his millions for the privilege. She too must pay the price forwhat she received. 

"We must go in, " she told him presently. "They will wonder. "

"They won't wonder long, by Jove, " he replied, a surge of triumph in hisvoice. 

Joyce looked at him quickly. "You're not going to tell them to-night?"

He nodded. "To-night, my beauty. "

"Oh, no. Please not to-night. Let's ... Keep it to ourselves for a fewdays, dear. " The last word was a trifle belated, but that might bebecause she was not used to it. 

Verinder shot a look of quick suspicion at her. "I'm going to tell themto-night--as soon as we get back into the room. "

"But ... Surely it's for me to say that, Dobyans. I want to keep ourlittle secret for awhile. " She caught with her hands the lapels of hisdinner jacket and looked pleadingly at him. 

"No--to-night. " He had a good deal of the obstinacy characteristic ofmany stupid men, but this decision was based on shrewd sense. He heldthe upper hand. So long as they were in the neighborhood of Jack Kilmenyhe intended to keep it. 

"Even though I want to wait?"

"Why do you want to wait?" he demanded sullenly. "Because of that fellowKilmeny?"

She knew that she had gone as far as she dared. "How absurd. Of coursenot. Tell them if you like, but--it's the first favor I've asked of yousince----"

Her voice faltered and broke. It held a note of exquisite pathos. Verinder felt like a brute, but he did not intend to give way. 

"You haven't any real reason, Joyce. "

"Isn't it a reason that ... I want to keep our engagement just toourselves for a few days? It's our secret--yours and mine--and I don'twant everybody staring at us just yet, Dobyans. Don't you understand?"

"Different here, " he answered jauntily. "I want to shout it from thehouse-top. " He interrupted himself to caress her again and to kiss thelittle pink ear that alone was within reach. "I'll make it up to you ahundred times, but I'm jolly well set on telling them to-night, dear. "

She gave up with a shrug, not because she wanted to yield but becauseshe must. Her face was turned away from him, so that he did not see thesteely look in her eyes and the hard set of the mouth. She was thinkingof Jack Kilmeny. What would he say or do when he was told? Surely hewould protect her. He would not give her away. If he were a gentleman, he couldn't betray a woman. But how far would the code of her worldgovern him? He was primeval man. Would the savagery in him break bounds?

Within five minutes she found out. Jack Kilmeny, in evening dress, wasjesting in animated talk with India when the engaged couple reënteredthe room. He turned, the smile still on his face, to greet Joyce as shecame forward beside Verinder. The little man was strutting pompouslytoward Lady Farquhar, the arm of the young woman tucked under his. 

The eyes of Joyce went straight to Kilmeny in appeal for charity. Inthem he read both fear and shame, as well as a hint of defiantjustification. 

Even before the mine owner spoke everybody in the room knew what hadhappened on the veranda. 

"Congratulate me, Lady Farquhar. Miss Seldon has promised to be mywife, " Verinder sang out chirpily. 

There was a chorus of ejaculations, of excited voices. Joyce disappearedinto the arms of her friends, while Farquhar and Captain Kilmeny shookhands with the beaming millionaire and congratulated him. Jack's handswere filled with sheet music, but he nodded across to his successfulrival. 

"You're a lucky man to have won so true a heart, Mr. Verinder, " he saidcomposedly. 

Joyce heard the words and caught the hidden irony. Her heart was in herthroat. Did he mean to tell more?

Presently it came his turn to wish her joy. Jack looked straight at her. There was a hard smile on his sardonic face. 

"I believe the right man has won you, Miss Seldon. All marriages aren'tmade in Heaven, but---- I've been hoping Mr. Verinder would lose outbecause he wasn't good enough for you. But I've changed my mind. He'sjust the man for you. Hope you'll always love him as much as you donow. "

Joyce felt the color beat into her cheeks. She knew now that Kilmeny wasnot going to betray her, but she knew too that he understood anddespised her. 

CHAPTER XVII

A WARNING

Joyce, a lover of luxury, usually had a roll and coffee in bed as asubstitute for breakfast. Sometimes she varied this by appearing late atthe table and putting the attendants to unnecessary trouble. This shealways paid for with murmurs of apology and sweet smiles of thanks. 

On the second morning after the announcement of her engagement toDobyans Verinder she came down to find the dining-room empty except forthe omnibus. 

She opened wide eyes of surprise. "Dear me! Am I late?"

"Yes'm. "

She glanced at the watch on her wrist. "How inconsiderate of me! Ididn't realize the time. Would you mind calling a waiter?"

Meanwhile Joyce began on her grape fruit. Almost simultaneously a soundof voices reached her. Men were coming into the parlor that adjoined thebreakfast room. 

The high-pitched voice of her affianced lover was the first sherecognized. "----to-night! Sure he said to-night?"

Joyce judged that the rough tones of the answer came from a workingman. "That's right. To-night, Bell said. He was to bring his wagon round toKilmeny's at eleven and they were going to haul the ore to UtahJunction. "

A third speaker, evidently Bleyer, the superintendent, cut in quietly. "Bell said it was to be a big shipment, didn't he?"

"Yep. Worth sixty or seventy thousand, he figured. "

"Was Bell drunk?"

"I wouldn't say drunk. He had been drinking a good deal. Talkative like. He let it out as a secret, y'understand. "

"Anyone there beside you?"

"A miner by the name of Peale. "

"Know the man?"

It was Verinder that asked the question and Bleyer that answered. 

"Yes. A bad lot. One of those that insulted the young ladies. "

"Anyhow, he won't warn Kilmeny. "

"Not after the mauling that young man gave him. He's still carrying thescars, " Bleyer replied with a low laugh. He added briskly, after amoment, "What do you expect to get out of this, Rollins?"

The workman seemed to answer with some embarrassment. "Thought you mightgive me that lease in the Mollie Gibson I spoke to you about, Mr. Bleyer. "

"It's yours--if this comes out as you say, my man. I'd give more thanthat to call the turn on Mr. Highgrader Kilmeny, " Verinder promised. 

"And, o' course, you won't give it away that I told. "

"Certainly not. "

The arrival of a waiter eliminated Joyce as a listener, for the firstthing the man did was to close the door between the parlor and thedining-room. 

But she had heard enough to know that Jack Kilmeny was in danger offalling into a trap that was being set for him. Verinder had him atlast, just as he had promised that he would get him. No doubt they wouldhave witnesses and would send him to prison as they had threatened. 

No more than forty-eight hours earlier Joyce would have been onKilmeny's side instantly. Now her feelings were mixed. It was stillimpossible for her to think of him without a flare of passion. She wasjealous and resentful because she had lost him, but deeper than theselay the anger born of his scornful surrender of her. It was as if hiseyes for the first time had seen the real woman stripped of the glamourlent by her beauty. His contemptuous withdrawal from the field had cutlike a knife thrust. She wanted to pay him with usury for his cool, harddisdain. And she had the chance. All she had to do was to be silent andhe would fall a victim to his own folly. 

There was a hard glitter in the eyes of the young woman. Perhaps Mr. Highgrader Kilmeny, as Verinder had called him, would not be so prodigalof contempt for other people when he stood in the criminal dock. He hadbeen brutally unkind to her. Was she to blame because he was too poor tosupport her properly? He ought to thank her for having the good sensenot to tie herself like a millstone about his neck. They could not liveon love just because for the moment passion had swept them from theirfeet. Instead of being angry at her, he should sympathize with her forbeing the victim of a pressure which had driven her to a disagreeableduty. 

Her simmering anger received a fillip from an accidental meeting withKilmeny, the first since the night of her engagement. Joyce and Moyawere coming out of a stationer's when they came face to face with theminer. 

The eyes of the young man visibly hardened. He shook hands with themboth and exchanged the usual inane greetings as to the weather. It wasjust as they were parting that he sent his barbed shot into Joyce. 

"I mustn't keep you longer, Miss Seldon. One can guess how keen youmust be to get back to Verinder. Love's young dream, and that sort ofthing, eh?"

The jeer that ran through his masked insolence brought the angry colorto the cheeks of Joyce. She bit her lip to keep back tears of vexation, but it was not until she was in her room with Moya that the need for aconfidant overflowed into speech. 

"Did you ever hear anything so hateful? He made love to me on thehill.... I let him.... He knows I ... Am fond of him. I told him that Iloved him. And now.... "

Moya stared at her in amaze. "Do you mean that you let Mr. Kilmeny makelove to you an hour or two before you became engaged to Mr. Verinder?"

"For Heaven's sake, don't be a prude, Moya, " Joyce snapped irritably. "Itold you I was fond of him, didn't I? How could I help his kissingme ... Or help liking to have him? He ought to be glad. Instead, heinsults me. " Miss Seldon's self-pity reached the acute stage of sobs. "I was in love with him. Why is he so hard?"

"Perhaps he thinks that since he is in love with you and you with himthat gives him some claim, " Moya suggested dryly. 

"Of course that's what he thinks. But it's absurd. I'm not going tomarry Dobyans Verinder because I want to. He knows that as well as youdo. Why does he blame me, then? Goodness knows, it's hard enough tomarry the man without having my friends misunderstand. "

Moya asked an unnecessary question. "Why do you marry him, then?"

"You know perfectly well, " flashed Joyce petulantly. "I'm taking himbecause I must. "

"Like a bad-tasting dose of medicine?"

Her friend nodded. "I _can't_ let him go. I just _can't_. Jack Kilmenyought to see that. "

"Oh, he sees it, but you can't blame him for being bitter. "

At the recollection of his impudence anger flared up in Joyce. 

"Let him be as bitter as he pleases, then. I happen to know something hewould give a good deal to learn. Mr. Jack Kilmeny is going to get intotrouble this very night. They've laid a plot----"

She stopped, warned by the tense stillness of Moya. 

"Yes?" asked the Irish girl. 

"Oh, well! It doesn't matter. "

"Who has laid a plot?"

"I've no business to tell. I just happened to overhear something. "

"What did you overhear?"

"Nothing much. "

"I want to know just what you heard. "

Against the quiet steadfast determination of this girl Joyce had nochance. A spirit that did not know defeat inhabited the slender body. 

Bit by bit Moya forced out of her the snatch of conversation she hadoverheard while at breakfast. 

"It's a secret. You're not to tell anyone, " Joyce protested. 

Her friend drummed on the arm of the chair with the tips of her fingers. She was greatly troubled at what she had learned. She was a young woman, singularly stanch to her friends, and certainly she owed something toVerinder. The whole party were his guests at Goldbanks. He had broughtthem in a private car and taken care of them munificently. There weretimes when Moya disliked him a good deal, but that would not justify anact of treachery. If she warned Jack Kilmeny--and Moya did not pretendto herself for an instant that she was not going to do this--she wouldhave to make confession to Verinder later. This would be humiliating, doubly so because she knew the man believed she was in love with theGoldbanks miner. 

In her heart the Irish girl did not doubt that Jack was guilty, but thiswould not prevent her from saving him if she could. There came to her aswift vision of two helpless girls in a cabin with drinking ruffians, ofthe entry of a man into the picture, of his fight against odds to saveher and Joyce from insult. Beside this abstract justice became a paleand misty virtue. 

"Of course you'll not tell anyone, " Joyce repeated. 

Moya brought her gaze back from the window. "I shall tell Mr. Kilmeny. "

"But it isn't your secret. You have no right to. "

"Have you forgotten that night in the cabin?" asked Moya in a low, clearvoice. "If you have, I haven't. "

"I don't care, " Joyce answered petulantly. "He's so hard. Why can't hebe nice about this? Why can't he understand--instead of sneering at me?It's a good deal harder for me than for him. Think of fifty years ofDobyans Verinder. "

"Would you care to write Mr. Kilmeny a note? I'll take it to him if youlike, " Moya suggested gently. 

Joyce considered. "No, I couldn't put it on paper. But--you might tellhim. "

"I don't think I could quite do that. "

"If it came up right; just show him how I'm placed. "

"Perhaps. Shall I tell him that you asked me to warn him?"

Joyce nodded, eyes shining. She was a young woman capable of changingher mind in the snap of a finger. Dainty and exquisite as appleblossoms, she was like a young plant with delicate tendrils foreverreaching out. Love she must have and ever more of it. To admiration shewas sensitive in every fiber. Whenever she thought of Jack Kilmeny'scontempt tears scorched her eyes. 

It was like Moya that she carried her warning immediately and directly. Kilmeny was not easy to find. He had been seen entering the office of alawyer, but had left before she arrived. The attorney understood Jack tosay that he was going to an assayer's office, and the young womanlearned there that he had not been seen yet by the assayer. From hereshe walked toward his boarding house, thinking that she might catch himat lunch. 

A quick step on the boardwalk behind her caught the girl's attention. Almost at the same moment a voice hailed her. 

"Whither away, Miss Dwight?"

She turned, heart beating fast. "I was looking for you, Mr. Kilmeny. "

"And you've found me. What luck--for Jack Kilmeny!" His friendlysmile--the same one that had claimed comradeship on the Gunnison--beamedupon her with its hint of irony. 

A miner with a dinner bucket was coming toward them. Moya spoke quickly. 

"I want to see you ... Alone. I've something important to tell you. "

His cool eyes searched her face alertly. "Come up with me to the oldPandora dump. "

They took a side street that ran up the hill, presently came to the endof it, and stopped at the foot of a trail leading to the abandonedshaft-house. 

The girl fired her news at him point blank. "Mr. Verinder has found outwhat you mean to do to-night and you are to be trapped. "

"What I mean to do?" he repeated. 

"About the ore--shipping it or something. I don't know exactly--somebodywas drinking and talked, I think. "

Moya, watching Kilmeny's face, saw only the slightest change. The eyesseemed to harden and narrow the least in the world. 

"Tell me all you know about it. "

She repeated what Joyce had overheard, adding that her friend had askedher to tell him. 

The faintest ironic smile touched his face. "Will you thank Miss Seldonfor me, both for this and many other favors?"

"You don't understand Joyce. You're not fair to her, " Moya saidimpulsively. 

"Perhaps not. " A sudden warmth kindled in his eyes. "But I know who myreal friends are. I'm fair to them, neighbor. "

The color beat into her face, but she continued loyally. "MayI ... Assume you have a kindly interest in Joyce?"

"I'll listen to anything you care to tell me. I owe my friend, MissDwight, that much. "

"She told me ... A little about you and her. Be fair to her. Rememberhow she has been brought up. All her life it has been drilled into herthat she must make a good match. It's a shameful thing. I hate it. But ... What can a girl like Joyce do?"

"You justify her?"

"I understand her. A decision was forced on her. She had no time tochoose. And--if you'll forgive my saying so--I think Joyce did wisely, since she is what she is. "

"Of course she did, " he answered bitterly. 

"Think of her. She doesn't love him, but she sacrifices her feeling towhat she considers her duty. "

"Shall we substitute ambition for duty?"

"If you like. Her position is not a happy one, but she must smile and begay and hide her heartache. You can afford to be generous, Mr. Kilmeny. "

"I've been a fool, " he admitted dryly. "The turn that things have takenis the best possible one for me. But I'm not quite prepared to thankMiss Seldon yet for having awakened me. "

She saw that his vanity was stung more than his heart. His infatuationfor her had been of the senses. The young woman shifted to anotherissue. 

"You'll be careful to-night, won't you?"

"Very. Mr. Verinder will have to wait for his coup, thanks to you. "

"You mean... ?" The question hung fire on her lips. 

"Go on, neighbor. "

"No. It was something I had no business to ask. " The cheeks beneath thedusky eyes held each a patch of color burning through the tan. 

"Then I'll say it for you. You were going to ask if they would reallyhave caught me with the goods. Wasn't that it?"

She nodded, looking straight at him with the poise of lithe, slim youthhe knew so well. Her very breathing seemed for the moment suspendedwhile she waited, tremulous lips apart, for his answer. 

"Yes. "

"You mean that ... You are a highgrader?"

"Yes. "

"I ... Was afraid so. "

His eyes would not release her. "You made excuses for Miss Seldon. Canyou find any for me?"

"You are a man. You are strong. It is different with you. "

"My sin is beyond the pale, I suppose?"

"How do I know? I'm only a girl. I've never seen anything of real life. Can I judge you?"

"But you do. "

The troubled virginal sweetness of the girl went to his soul. She washis friend, and her heart ached because of his wrongdoing. 

"I can't make myself think wrong is right. "

"You think the profits from these mines should all go to Verinder andhis friends, that none should belong to the men who do the work?"

"I don't know.... That doesn't seem fair.... But I'm not wise enough toknow how to make that right. The law is the law. I can't go back ofthat. "

"Can't you? I can. Who makes the laws?" He asked it almost harshly. 

"The people, I suppose. "

"Nothing of the kind. The operators control the legislatures and putthrough whatever bills they please. I went to the legislative assemblyonce and we forced through an eight hour law for underground workers. The state Supreme Court, puppets of capital, declared the statuteunconstitutional. The whole machinery of government is owned by ourmasters. What can we do?"

"I don't know. "

"Neither do I--except what I am doing. It is against the law, all right, but I try to see that the workmen get some of the profits they earn. "

"Would the operators--what would they do if they proved you guilty ofhighgrading?"

"It is hard to prove. Ore can't easily be identified. "

"But if they did?" she persisted. 

"I'd go over the road quick as their courts could send me. " A sardonicflicker of amusement moved him to add: "Would you obey the Scripturalinjunction and visit me in prison, Miss Dwight?"

"I wouldn't be here. We're going back to England next week. "

"But if you were. Would your friendship stand the test?"

Once again she answered, "I don't know, " her heart beating wildly as herglance fell away from his. 

"I shan't have to try you out this time, neighbor. I'm not going to thepen if I can help it. "

"Are you sure of that? The mine owners are quite determined to punishsome of the highgraders. Suppose I hadn't come to you to-day. Whatthen?"

He smiled down upon her with the easy recklessness that distinguishedhim. "I don't think it would have run quite to a prison sentence. Theburden of proof lies on the accuser. Because I am in possession of richore, it does not follow that I did not come by it legitimately. Orecan't be sworn to like bric-a-brac. I may have shipped this in fromSouth Africa, so far as the law knows. Bleyer knows that. I figure hewould have played his hand in the Goldbanks way. "

"And how would that be?"

"He would forget the law too, just as we've done on our side. A posseof men would have fallen on me maybe after I had got out of town, andthey would have taken that ore from me. They would have been masked sothat I could not swear to them. "

"Why, that is highway robbery. "

He laughed. "We don't use such big words out here, ma'am. Just ahold-up--a perfectly legitimate one, from Bleyer's viewpoint--and itwould have left me broke. "

"Broke!"

He nodded. "Dead broke. I've got twenty thousand dollars invested inthat ore--every cent I've got in the world. "

"You paid that to the miners for it?"

"We pay fifty per cent. Of what is coming to the men as soon as a roughassay is made, the other fifty after we get the smelter returns. Thatwagon load of ore is worth--unless I miss my guess badly--about sixtythousand dollars. "

"Dear me. So much as that?" She could not quite keep a note of sarcasmout of her voice. "And have you it in a safety deposit vault?"

His cool gaze took her in quietly. He was willing to bet his last dollaron her loyalty, and it was like him to back his judgment in one wildthrow. "Not exactly. It is lying in a pile of hay in my barn, all sackedup ready for shipment. "

"Waiting there for anybody that wants it, " she suggested. 

"For anybody that wants it worse than I do, " he corrected, the fightinggleam in his eyes. 

"I've a right to ask one thing of you--that there will be no bloodshedto-night because of what I have told you. "

"There will be none of my seeking, " he replied grimly. 

"No. That's not enough. You must find a way to avoid it. "

"By handing over my hard-earned dishonest profits to the virtuousVerinder?" he asked dryly. 

"I don't care how. But I won't have on my shoulders ... Murder. "

"That's a right hard word, neighbor, " he said, falling again into theWestern drawl he sometimes used as a mark of his friendship for her. "But have it your own way. I'll not even tote a gat. "

"Thank you. " She gave him a brisk little nod, suddenly choked up in herthroat, and turned to go. 

Jack fell into step beside her. "Have I lost my little friend--the onewho used to come to me in my dreams and whisper with a lisp that Iwasn't a 'stwanger'?" he asked, very gently. 

She swallowed twice and walked on without looking at him. But everynerve of her was conscious of his stimulating presence. Since the innerman found expression in that lithe body with the undulating flow ofwell-packed muscles, in the spare head set so finely on the perfectshoulders, in the steady eyes so frank and self-reliant, surely he wasnot unworthy the friendship of any woman. But he had just confessedhimself a thief. What right had he to ask or she to give so much?

Her hand went out in an impetuous little gesture of despair. "How do Iknow? You are doing wrong, but ... Oh, why do you do such things?"

"It's in my blood not to let prudence stop me when I've made up my mindto a thing. My father was that way. I'm trying in a rough way to rightan injustice--and I like the excitement--and I daresay I like the loottoo, " he finished with a reckless laugh. 

"I wish I could show you how wrong you are, " she cried in a low voice. 

"You can't. I'll go my own way. But you are still going to let me comeand visit you in your dreams, aren't you?"

The glow in her quick live eyes was not a reflection of the sun. Shefelt the color flood her cheeks in waves. She dared not look at him, butshe was poignantly aware that his gaze was fixed on her, that it seemedto bore to the soul and read the hidden secret there. A queerlightheadedness affected her. It was as if her body might float awayinto space. She loved him. Whatever he was, the man held her heart inthe hollow of his careless, reckless hand. To him she would always denyit--or would have if he had thought enough of her to ask--but she knewthe truth about herself from many a passionate hour of despair. 

Dry as a whisper came her answer, in a voice which lacked thenonchalance she tried to give it. "I daresay I'll be as friendly ... Asyou deserve. "

"You've got to be a heap more friendly than that, partner. "

They had come back to the boardwalk which marked the parting of the waysfor them. She had won control of herself again and offered him a steadyhand. 

"I suppose we'll not see each other again.... Good-by. "

He was suddenly conscious that he desired very greatly her regard andher approval. 

"Is that all you have to say? Are you going to leave me like this?"

"What more is there to be said?" She asked it quietly, with the calmcourage that had its birth in hopelessness. 

"This much, at least. I don't release you from ... The old tie that usedto bind us. We're still going to be dream friends. I haven't forgottenlittle Moya, who kissed me one night on the deck of the _Victorian_. "

"She was a baby at the time, " answered the girl. 

He had not released her hand. Now, as he looked straight into the sweetface with eyes like troubled stars, it came to him on a flood of lightthat he had made a fatal mistake. 

He dropped her fingers abruptly. "Good-by. "

His crisp footfalls seemed to print themselves on a heart of lead. Howcould she know that he carried away with him a vision of sweet youththat was to endure!

CHAPTER XVIII

TWO AMBUSHES

The clock at the new Verinder Building showed ten minutes past eleven asJack Kilmeny took the Utah Junction road out of Goldbanks with hisloaded ore wagon. It was a night of scudding clouds, through whichgleamed occasionally a fugitive moon. The mountain road was steep andnarrow, but both the driver and the mules were used to its every turnand curve. In early days the highgrader had driven a stage along it manya night when he could not have seen the ears of the bronchos. 

His destination was the Jack Pot, a mine three miles from town, whereintermittently for months he had been raising worthless rock in the hopeof striking the extension of the Mollie Gibson vein. It was not quitetrue, as Bleyer had intimated, that his lease was merely a blind tocover ore thefts, though undoubtedly he used it for that purposeincidentally. 

Bleyer had guessed shrewdly that Kilmeny would drive out to the JackPot, put up in the deserted bunk-house till morning, and then haul theore down to the junction to ship to the smelter on the presumption thatit had been taken from the leased property. This was exactly what Jackhad intended to do. Apparently his purpose was unchanged. He woundsteadily up the hill trail, keeping the animals at a steady pull, exceptfor breathing spells. The miner had been a mule skinner in his time, just as he had tried his hand at a dozen other occupations. In the stillnight the crack of his whip sounded clear as a shot when it hissed abovethe flanks of the leaders without touching them. 

He ran into the expected ambush a half mile from the mine, at a pointwhere the road dipped down a wooded slope to a sandy wash. 

"Hands up!" ordered a sharp voice. 

A horseman loomed up in the darkness beside the wagon. A second appearedfrom the brush. Other figures emerged dimly from the void. 

Jack gave his mules the whip and the heavy wagon plowed into the deepsand. Before the wheels had made two revolutions the leaders werestopped. Other men swarmed up the side of the wagon, dragged the driverfrom his seat, and flung him to the ground. 

Even though his face was buried in the sand and two men were spread overhis body, the captive was enjoying himself. 

"This is no way to treat a man's anatomy--most unladylike conduct I eversaw, " he protested. 

He was sharply advised to shut up. 

After the pressure on his neck was a little relieved, Jack twisted roundenough to see that his captors were all masked. 

"What is this game, boys--a hold-up?" he asked. 

"Yes. A hold-up of a hold-up, " answered one. 

Three of the men busied themselves moving the ore sacks from his wagonto another that had been driven out of the brush. A fourth, whom hejudged to be Bleyer, was directing operations, while the fifth menacedhim with a revolver shoved against the small of his back. 

The situation would have been a serious one--if it had not happened tobe amusing instead. Kilmeny wanted to laugh at the bustling energy ofthe men, but restrained himself out of respect for what was expected ofhim. 

"I'll have the law on you fellows, " he threatened, living up to thesituation. "You'd look fine behind the bars, Bleyer. "

"All those sacks transferred yet, Tim?" barked the superintendent. 

"Yep. "

"Good. Hit the trail. "

The wagon passed out of the draw toward Goldbanks. For some minutes thesound of the wheels grinding against the disintegrated granite of theroadbed came back to Jack and the two guards who remained with him. 

"Hope this will be a lesson to you, " said the superintendent presently. "Better take warning. Next time you'll go to the pen sure. "

"Wait till I get you into court, Bleyer. "

"What'll you do there?" jeered the other man. "You'd have a heluvatimeswearing to him and making it stick. You're sewed up tight this time, Jack. "

"Am I? Bet you a new hat that by this time to-morrow night you fellowswon't be cracking your lips laughing. "

"Take you. Just order the hat left at Goldstein's for the man who callsfor it. "

For an hour by the superintendent's watch Kilmeny was held under guard. Then, after warning the highgrader not to return to town beforedaybreak, the two men mounted and rode swiftly away. Jack was alone withhis mules and his empty wagon. 

He restrained himself no longer. Mirth pealed in rich laughter from histhroat, doubled him up, shook him until he had to hang on to a wagonwheel for support. At last he wiped tears from his eyes, climbed intothe wagon, and continued on the way to the Jack Pot. At intervals hiswhoop of gayety rang out boyishly on the night breeze. Again he whistledcheerfully. He was in the best of humor with himself and the world. Forhe had played a pretty good joke on Bleyer and Verinder, one they wouldappreciate at its full within a day or two. He would have given a gooddeal to be present when they made a certain discovery. Would Moya smilewhen Verinder told her how the tables had been turned? Or would shethink it merely another instance of his depravity?

The road wound up and down over scarred hillsides and through gorgeswhich cut into the range like sword clefts. From one of these it creptup a stiff slope toward the Jack Pot. One hundred and fifty yards fromthe mine Jack drew up to give the mules a rest. 

His lips framed themselves to whistle the first bars of a popular song, but the sound died stillborn. Sharply through the clear night air rang arifle shot. 

Jack did not hear it. A bolt of jagged lightning seared through hisbrain. The limp hands of the driver fell away from the reins and he fellto the ground, crumpling as a dry leaf that is crushed in the palm. 

From the shadow of the bunk-house two men stole into the moonlightheavily like awkward beasts of prey. They crept stealthily forward, rifles in hand, never once lifting their eyes from the huddled massbeside the wagon. 

The first looked stolidly down upon the white face and kicked the bodywith his heavy boot. 

"By Goad, Dave, us be quits wi' Jack Kilmeny. "

The other--it was Peale, the Cornish miner--had stepped on a spoke ofthe wheel and pulled himself up so that he could look down into the bedof the wagon. Now he broke out with an oath. 

"The wagon's empty. "

"What!" Trefoyle straightened instantly, then ran to see for himself. For a moment he could not speak for the rage that surged up in him. "Thedommed robber has made fool of us'n, " he cried savagely. 

In their fury they were like barbarians, cursing impotently the manlying with a white face shining in the moonlight. They had expected topay a debt of vengeance and to win a fortune at the same stroke. Thelatter they had missed. The disappointment of their loss stripped themto stark primeval savagery. It was some time before they could exult intheir revenge. 

"He'll interfere wi' us no more--not this side o' hell anyway, " Pealecried. 

"Not he. An' we'll put him in a fine grave where he'll lie safe. "

They threw the body into the wagon and climbed to the seat. Peale drovealong an unused road that deflected from the one running to the JackPot. 

CHAPTER XIX

MR. VERINDER IS TREATED TO A SURPRISE

The morning after the seizing of the ore Verinder came to breakfast in amood so jubilant that he could not long keep to himself the cause of hisexultation. Kilmeny and Farquhar were away on a hunting trip, and noneof the ladies except Moya was yet up. He was especially eager to tellhis news to her, because she had always been such an open defender ofthe highgrader. She gave him his opening very promptly, for she wasanxious to know what had occurred. 

"Has some distant connection passed away and left you a fortune, Mr. Verinder? Or have you merely found a new gold mine since I saw youlast?" she asked. 

"By Jove, you're a good guesser, Miss Dwight. I found a gold mine lastnight. Wonder if you could think where. "

Her heart beat faster. "You're so pleased about it I fancy the quartzmust have been sacked up for you ready for the smelter, " she saidcarelessly. 

Verinder flashed a quick look at her. "Eh, what? How's that?"

Moya opened her lips to confess what she had done, but the arrival of awaiter delayed this. Before he had left, Lady Farquhar entered and thegirl's chance was temporarily gone. 

"I was just telling Miss Dwight that we've found another gold mine, LadyFarquhar--and of all places in the world located in the bed of a wagon. "

"In the bed of a wagon! How could that be?"

"Fact, 'pon my word! High-grade ore too, we fancy; but we'll know moreabout that when we hear from the assayer. "

The matron intercepted the look of triumph--it was almost a jeer--thatthe mine owner flung toward Miss Dwight. She did not understand what hewas talking about, but she saw that Moya did. 

"If you'd tell us just what happened we'd be able to congratulate youmore intelligently, " the latter suggested, masking her anxiety. 

"Jove, I wish I could--like to tell you the whole story. We pulled off aripping surprise on one of your friends. But--the deuce of it is I'msworn to secrecy. We played the highgraders' game and stepped a bitoutside the law for once. Let it go at this, that the fellow had toswallow a big dose of his own medicine. "

Moya pushed one more question home. "Nobody hurt, I suppose?"

"Only his feelings and his pocketbook. But I fancy one highgrader haslearned that Dobyans Verinder knows his way about a bit, you know. "

The subject filled Moya's thoughts all day. Had Kilmeny after all failedto take advantage of her warning? Or had his opponents proved too shrewdfor him? From what Verinder had told her she surmised that Jack hadtried to reach the railroad with his ore and been intercepted. But whyhad he not changed his plans after her talk with him? Surely he was notthe kind of man to walk like a lamb into a trap baited for him. 

Late in the afternoon Moya, dressed in riding costume, was waiting onthe hotel porch for India and her brother when she saw Verinder comingdown the street. That he was in a sulky ill humor was apparent. 

"Lord Farquhar and Captain Kilmeny came back a couple of hours ago, " shesaid by way of engaging him in talk. 

"Any luck?" he asked morosely and with obvious indifference. 

"A deer apiece and a bear for the captain. "

"That fellow Kilmeny outwitted us, after all, " he broke out abruptly. "We've been had, by Jove! Must have been what Bleyer calls a plant. "

"I don't understand. "

"The rock we took from him was refuse stuff--not worth a dollar. "

The girl's eyes gleamed. "Your gold mine was salted, then. "

"Not even salted. He had gathered the stuff from some old dump. "

"He must have profited by my warning, after all, " Moya said quietly. 

The little man's eyes narrowed. "Eh? How's that? Did you say yourwarning?"

In spite of herself she felt a sense of error at having played thetraitor to her host. "Sorry. I didn't like to do it, but----"

"What is it you did?" he asked bluntly. 

"I told Mr. Kilmeny that his plan was discovered. "

"You--told him. " He subdued his anger for the moment. "If it isn'tasking too much--how did you know anything about it?"

She felt herself flushing with shame, but she answered lightly enough. "You shouldn't discuss secrets so near the breakfast-room, Mr. Verinder. "

"I see. You listened ... And then you ran to your friend, thehighgrader, with the news. That was good of you, Miss Dwight. Iappreciate it--under the circumstances. "

She knew he referred to the fact that she was his guest. To hear him putinto words his interpretation of the thing she had done, withimplications of voice and manner that were hateful, moved her to adisgust that included both him and herself. 

"Thank you, Mr. Verinder--for all the kind things you mean and can'tsay. "

She turned on her heel and walked to the end of the veranda. After amoment's thought he followed her. 

"Have I said a word too much, Miss Dwight? You did listen to a privateconversation you weren't meant to hear, didn't you? And you ran to yourfriend with it? If I'm wrong, please correct me. "

"I daresay you're right. We'll let it go at that, if you please. "

Verinder was irritated. Clearly in the right, he had allowed her to puthim in the wrong. 

"I'll withdraw listened, Miss Dwight. Shall we substitute overheard?"

Her angry eyes flashed into his cold, hard ones. "What would you expectme to do? You know what he did for Joyce and me. And he is CaptainKilmeny's cousin. Could I let him go to prison without giving even awarning?"

"Evidently not. So you sacrifice me for him. "

"You think I wasn't justified?"

"You'll have to settle that with your conscience, " he said coldly. "Don't think _I_ would have been justified in your place. "

"You would have let him go to prison--the man who had fought for youagainst odds?"

"Does that alter the fact that he is a thief?" Verinder demandedangrily. 

"It alters my relation to the fact--and it ought to alter yours. He dida great service to the woman you are engaged to marry. Does that meannothing to you?"

"The fellow was playing off his own bat, wasn't he? I don't see I owehim anything, " the mine owner sulkily answered. "Truth is, I'm about fedup with him. He's a bad lot. That's the long and short of him. I don'tdeny he's a well-plucked daredevil. What of it? This town is full ofthem. There was no question of his going to prison. I intended only toget back some of the ore he and his friends have stolen from me. "

"I didn't know that. "

"Would it have made any difference if you had?"

She considered. "I'm not sure. "

Captain Kilmeny and India emerged from the hotel and bore down uponthem. 

"All ready, Moya, " cried India. 

"Ready here. " Moya knew that it must be plain to both Captain Kilmenyand his sister that they had interrupted a disagreement of some sort. Characteristically, she took the bull by the horns. "Mr. Verinder and Iare through quarreling. At least I'm through. Are you?" she asked themine owner with a laugh. 

"Didn't know I'd been quarreling, Miss Dwight, " Verinder repliedstiffly. 

"You haven't. I've been doing it all. " She turned lightly to herbetrothed. "They didn't send up the pinto, Ned. Hope he hasn't reallygone lame. "

Verinder had been put out of the picture. He turned and walked into thelobby of the hotel, suddenly resolved to make a complaint to LadyFarquhar about the way Moya Dwight had interfered with his plans. Hewould show that young lady whether she could treat him so outrageouslywithout getting the wigging she deserved. 

Lady Farquhar listened with a contempt she was careful to veil. It wasnot according to the code that a man should run with the tale of hisinjuries to a young woman's chaperon. Yet she sympathized with him evenwhile she defended Moya. No doubt if Captain Kilmeny had been at handhis fiancée would have taken the matter to him for decision. In hisabsence she had probably felt that it was incumbent on her to save hiscousin from trouble. 

The mine owner received Lady Farquhar's explanations in skepticalsilence. In his opinion, Moya's interest in Jack Kilmeny had nothing todo with the relationship between that scamp and the captain. He wouldhave liked to say so flatly, but he felt it safer to let his mannerconvey the innuendo. In her heart Lady Farquhar was of the same belief. She resolved to have a serious talk with Moya before night. 

CHAPTER XX

COLTER TAKES A HAND

Moya combed her long rippling hair while Lady Farquhar laid down the lawthat hedges a young woman from the satisfaction of her generousimpulses. For the most part the girl listened in silence, a flushburning through each of her dusky cheeks. There was nothing to be saidthat would avail. She might defend the thing she had done, but not thefeelings that had inspired her action. 

"It is all very well to be independent within limits, my dear, but youngwomen of our class are subject to the penalties that go with ourprivileges. When I was a girl I rebelled but had to obey. So must you. "Lady Farquhar interrupted herself to admire the vivid rebel she wasadmonishing. "What wonderful hair you have--so long and thick and wavy. It must take a great deal of care. "

"Yes, " Moya admitted absently. 

She did not resent the rebuke Lady Jim had come to give her while shewas undressing. No doubt she deserved it. She had been unmaidenly, andall for love of this light-hearted vagabond who did not care the turnof a hand for her. All day her thoughts had been in chaotic ferment. Attimes she lashed herself with the whip of her own scorn because shecared for a self-confessed thief, for a man who lived outside the lawand was not ashamed of it. Again it was the knowledge of her unwantedlove that flayed her, or of the injustice to her betrothed in sopassionate a feeling for another man. With all her strong young will shefought against this devouring flame that possessed her--and she knewthat she fought in vain. 

In the shipwreck of her self-respect she clung to one spar. Soon theywould be on their way back to that well-ordered world where she would beentirely in the groove of convention. Her engagement to Captain Kilmenywould be announced. Surely among the many distractions of London shewould forget this debonair scamp who had bewitched her. 

"You should have come to me--or to India for that matter. She is hiscousin and is in a different position from you. Don't you see that, mydear?" Lady Farquhar asked gently. 

And again Moya said "Yes" wearily. 

"James and I understand you--how impulsive you are--and how generous. But Mr. Kilmeny--and Mr. Verinder--what do you suppose they think?"

"I don't care what Mr. Verinder thinks. " And Moya began to coil herhair loosely for the night. 

"But that's just it--a girl _must_ care. She can't afford to allowanyone an opportunity to think unpleasant things about her. She has toguard her reputation very jealously. "

"And I suppose I've been playing ducks and drakes with mine, " Moya said, pushing home a hairpin. 

"I don't say that, dear. What I say is that Mr. Kilmeny maymisunderstand your interest in him. "

"He may think I'm in love with him. Is that it?" flashed the girl. 

"He might. Give a man's vanity the least chance and----"

A reckless impulse to hurt herself--the same which leads a man to grindon an aching tooth in heady rage--swept Moya like a flame. 

"Then he would think the truth, " she interrupted. "What's the use ofdenying it? I ... I'm in love with him. "

"Moya. " Lady Farquhar's protest came in a horrified gasp. 

The young woman turned her slim body in the chair with supple grace soas to face her chaperon. Beneath the dark eyes spots of color burnedthrough the tan. 

"It's true. I've cared ... Ever since we met him. "

"And he--has he ever made love to you?"

"Never. He's thought only of Joyce. That's what makes it moreshameless. "

Lady Farquhar took a moment to absorb the unwelcome news. "I neverdreamed it was as bad as this. Of course I knew he interested you a gooddeal, but----"

Moya could not keep scorn of herself out of her voice. "But you didn'tthink I was so lost to decency as to throw myself at his head. You see Iam. "

"Nonsense, " cut in her chaperon with sharp common sense. "You're not thefirst girl that has fancied a man who won't do. It's imagination--a gooddeal of it. Make yourself forget him. That's all you can do. "

"I can't do that. I've tried, " confessed Moya miserably. 

"Then try again--and again--and still again. Remember that you areengaged to a man worth a dozen of him. Call your pride to help you. "

"It seems that I have none. I've told myself forty times that he's ahighgrader and that doesn't help. "

Her friend was alarmed. "You don't mean that you would marry a man whois a--a man who steals ore. "

"No. I wouldn't marry him ... Even if he wanted me--which he doesn't. Ihaven't fallen that far. "

"Glad to hear you say that, " answered Lady Farquhar with a sigh ofrelief. She took the girl in her arms and patted one of the shouldersover which the hair cascaded. "My dear, it's hard. You're intense andemotional. But you've got to--to buck up, as James says. You'rebrave--and you're strong-willed. Make a winning fight. "

"What about ... Ned?"

"Does he suspect?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I think he does. But you know how generous heis. He never says anything, or avoids the subject of his cousin in anyway. " She added, after an instant: "Ned knows that I don't ... Lovehim--that is, in one way. He says he is ready to wait till that comes. "

"Ned Kilmeny is a man out of a million. "

Moya nodded. "Yes. That's why this is so unfair to him. What ought I todo? Shall I break the engagement? That's what I want to do, but it willhurt him a good deal. "

"Wait. Give yourself and him a chance. In a few days we'll be startedhome. "

"That's what I've been telling myself. Everything here reminds meof--_him_. It will be different then, I try to think. But--down in myheart I don't think it will. "

"And I know it will, " the matron told her promptly. "Time, my dear, heals all our woes. Youth has great recuperative power. In a year youwill wonder how he ever cast such a spell over you. "

Moya heard the last belated reveler pass down the corridor to his roombefore she fell asleep. When she awoke it was to see a long shaft ofearly sunshine across the bed. 

She rose, took her bath, and dressed for walking. Her desire drew thesteps of the young woman away from the busy street toward the suburb. She walked, as always, with the elastic resilience of unfettered youth. But the weight that had been at her heart for two days--since she hadlearned from Jack Kilmeny's lips that he was a highgrader--was stilltied there too securely to be shaken away by the wonder of the gloriousnewborn day. 

Returning to the hotel, she met a man on the porch whose face stirredinstantly a fugitive memory. He came to her at once, a bigleather-skinned man with the weatherbeaten look of the West. 

"Aren't you the Miss Dwight I've heard Jack Kilmeny mention?"

"Yes. This is Mr. Colter, isn't it?"

He nodded, watching her with hard narrowed eyes. "Something's wrong. Canyou tell me what it is? Jack's mules--two of them, anyhow--came back tothe barn during the night with bits of broken harness still attached tothem. Looks like there had been a runaway and the wagon had come togrief. The keeper of the livery stable says Bell took the wagon aroundto Jack's place and left it with him. He was seen driving out of townsoon after. He has not been seen since. "

Her heart flew to alarm. "You mean ... You think he has been hurt?"

"Don't know. He's not in town. That's a cinch. I've raked Goldbanks witha toothcomb. Where is he?"

"Couldn't he be at his mine?"

"I sent a boy out there. He's not at the Jack Pot. "

"What is it that you think? Tell me, " she cried softly. 

"You're his friend, aren't you?"

"Yes. "

"There's some talk around town that he was held up by Bleyer. I came uphere to see him or Verinder. Foul play of some kind, that's my guess. "

"But--you surely don't think that Mr. Bleyer or Mr. Verinder would ... Hurt him. "

The look of dogged resolution on the man's granite face did not soften. "They'll have to show me--and by God! if they did----"

Her mind flew with consternation to the attack upon Kilmeny that hadbeen made by Bleyer. But Verinder had told her nobody had been hurt. Could they have taken the highgrader prisoner? Were they holding him forsome purpose?

"Mr. Verinder gets up about this time usually, " she said. 

"I'm waiting for him. He said he would be down at once. "

"Will you tell me anything you find out, please? I'll be on the verandaupstairs. "

Colter joined her a quarter of an hour later. "I saw both Bleyer andVerinder. They've got something up their sleeve, but I don't think theyknow where Jack is or what has become of him. They pretended to think Iwas trying to put one over on them. "

"What will you do now?"

"I'll go out to the Jack Pot myself. I've reason to believe he intendedto go there. "

"If you find out anything----"

"Yes, I'll let you know. "

Moya went directly from Colter to Bleyer. The superintendent entered acurt denial to her implied charge. 

"Miss Dwight, I don't know what you do or do not know. I see someone hasbeen blabbing. But I'll just say this. When I last saw Jack Kilmeny hewas as sound as I am this minute. I haven't the least idea where he is. You don't need to worry about him at all. When he wants to turn up he'llbe on deck right side up. Don't ask me what his play is, for I don'tknow. It may be to get me and Verinder in bad with the miners. Just besure of one thing: he's grandstanding. "

She was amazingly relieved. "I'm so glad. I thought perhaps----"

"----that Mr. Verinder and I had murdered him. Thanks for your goodopinion of us, but really we didn't, " he retorted in his dryest manner. 

She laughed. "I did think perhaps you knew where he was. "

"Well, I don't--and I don't want to, " he snapped. "The less I see of himthe better I'll be satisfied. "

The superintendent of the Verinder properties had found a note addressedto him in one of the sacks of quartz taken from Kilmeny. The message, genial to the point of impudence, had hoped he had enjoyed his littleexperience as a hold-up. To Bleyer, always a serious-minded man, thislevity had added insult to injury. Just now the very mention of thehighgrader's name was a red rag to his temper. It was bad enough to bebested without being jeered at by the man who had set a trap for him. 

It was well on toward evening before Colter paid his promised visit toMiss Dwight. She found him waiting for her upon her return from a ridewith Captain Kilmeny, Verinder, and Joyce. 

Moya, as soon as she had dismounted, walked straight to him. 

"What have you found out, Mr. Colter?"

"Not much. It rained during the night and wiped out the tracks of wagonwheels. Don't know how far Jack got or where he went, but the remains ofthe wagon are lying at the bottom of a gulch about two miles from theJack Pot. "

"How did it get there?"

"I wish you could tell me that. Couldn't have been a runaway or themules would have gone over the edge of the road too. " He stepped forwardquickly as Verinder was about to pass into the hotel. "I want to have atalk with you. "

The little man adjusted his monocle. "Ye-es. What about, my man?"

"About Jack Kilmeny. Where is he? What do you know? I'm going to findout if I have to tear it from your throat. "

Verinder was no coward, but he was a product of our modernsuper-civilization. He glanced around hastily. The captain had followedJoyce into the lobby. Moya and he were alone on the piazza, with thisbig savage who looked quite capable of carrying out his threat. 

"Don't talk demned nonsense, " the mine owner retorted, flushing angrily. 

Colter did not answer in words. The strong muscular fingers of his lefthand closed on the right arm of Verinder just below the shoulder with apressure excruciatingly painful. Dobyans found himself movingautomatically toward the end of the porch. He had to clench his teethto keep from crying out. 

"Let me alone, you brute, " he gasped. 

Colter paid no attention until his victim was backed against the rail ina corner. Then he released the millionaire he was manhandling. 

"You're going to tell me everything you know. Get that into your head. Or, by God, I'll wring your neck for you. "

The Englishman had never before been confronted with such a situation. He was a citizen of a country where wealth hedges a man from suchassaults. The color ebbed from his face, then came back with a rush. 

"Go to the devil, you big bully, " he flung out sharply. 

Moya, taken by surprise at Colter's abrupt desertion of her, had watchedwith amazement the subsequent flare-up. Now she crossed the porch towardthem. 

"What are you doing, Mr. Colter?"

"None of your funeral, ma'am, " the miner answered bluntly, not for amoment lifting his hard eyes from Verinder. "Better unload what youknow. I've had a talk with Quint Saladay. I know all he knows, thatBleyer and you and him with two other lads held up Jack and took his oreaway. The three of them left you and Bleyer guarding Jack. What did youdo with him?"

"It's a bally lie. I didn't stay with Bleyer to guard him. "

"That's right. You didn't. You came back with the others. But you knowwhat Bleyer did. Out with it. "

"I don't admit a word of what you say, " said Verinder doggedly. 

Colter had trapped him into a half admission, but he did not intend tosay any more. 

Moya spoke, a little timidly. "Wait a minute please, Mr. Colter. Let metalk with Mr. Verinder alone. I think he'll tell me what you want toknow. "

Jack's friend looked at her with sharp suspicion. Was she trying to makea dupe of him? Her candid glance denied it. 

"All right. Talk to him all you like, but you'll do your talking here, "he agreed curtly before he turned on his heel and walked away a fewsteps. 

"You must tell him what he wants to know, Mr. Verinder, " urged the youngwoman in a low voice. "Something has happened to his friend. We musthelp clear it up. "

"I'm not responsible for what has happened to his friend. What do youwant me to do? Peach on Bleyer, is that it?"

"No. Send for him and tell Mr. Colter the truth. "

"I'll see him hanged and quartered first, " he replied angrily. 

"If you don't, I'll tell what I know. There's a life at stake, " Moyacried, a trace of agitation in her voice. 

"Fiddlesticks!" he shrugged. "The fellow's full of tricks. He worked oneon us the other night. I'm hanged if I let him play me again. "

"You must. I'll tell Captain Kilmeny and Lord Farquhar. I'll not let itrest this way. The matter is serious. "

"I'm not going to be bullied into saying a word. That's the long andshort of it, " he repeated in disgust. "Let Bleyer tell the fellow if hewants to. I'll have nothing to do with it. We're not responsible forwhat has happened--if anything has. "

"Then I'll go and get Mr. Bleyer. "

"Just as you please. I'd see this ruffian at Halifax first, if you ask_me_. " The angry color flushed his face again as he thought of theinsult to which he had been subjected. 

To Colter Moya explained her purpose. He nodded agreement without words. 

After two or three attempts she got the superintendent on the telephoneat the Mollie Gibson mine and arranged with him that he was to come tothe hotel at once. A few minutes later he drove up in his car. 

Moya put the case to him. 

Bleyer turned to his employer. "You want me to tell Colter what I know?"

"I don't care a turn of my hand whether you tell the fellow or not, "drawled Verinder, ignoring the presence of Colter. 

The superintendent peered at Moya in his nearsighted fashion over theglasses on his nose. "Can't see that it matters much, Miss Dwight. I'mnot worrying a bit about Jack Kilmeny, but, if Colter and you are, I'mwilling to tell what I know on condition that you keep the facts toyourselves. "

"I'll keep quiet if you haven't injured Jack in any way, " Colteramended. 

"We haven't. He was sound as a new dollar when I left him Tuesday night. Want to hear the particulars?"

"That's what I'm here for, " snapped Colter. 

Bleyer told the whole story so far as he knew it. 

CHAPTER XXI

SPIRIT RAPPING?

Farquhar and Captain Kilmeny left next day for another short huntingtrip. The captain had offered to give it up, but Moya had urged upon himthat it would not be fair to disappoint his companion. He had gonereluctantly, because he saw that his fiancée was worried. His ownopinion was that his cousin Jack had disappeared for reasons of his own. 

Colter did not relax in his search. But as the days passed hope almostdied within him. Jack had plenty of enemies, as an aggressive fighter ina new country always must have. His friend's fear was that some of themhad decoyed Kilmeny to his death. The suspicions of the miner centeredupon Peale and Trefoyle, both because Jack had so recently had troublewith them and because they knew beforehand of his intention to removethe ore. But he could find no evidence upon which to base his feeling, though he and Curly, in company with a deputy sheriff, had put theCornishmen through a grilling examination. 

It had been understood that the young women should take a trip throughthe Never Quit before they left Goldbanks, but for one reason or anotherthis had been postponed until after the captain and Farquhar had startedon their final hunting expedition. The second afternoon after theirdeparture was the one decided upon for the little adventure. 

Verinder, with the extravagance that went hand in hand with anoccasional astonishing parsimony, had ordered oilskin suits andwaterproof boots made especially for his guests. A room was reserved forthe young ladies at the mine, equipped for this one occasion to serve asa boudoir where they might dress in comfort. 

The mine owner's guests donned, with a good deal of hilarious merriment, the short skirts, the boots, and the rubber helmets. The costumes couldnot have been called becoming, but they were eminently suited for thewet damp tunnels of the Never Quit. 

After they had entered the cage it was a little terrifying to be shot sorapidly down into the blackness of the mine. 

"Don't be afraid. It's quite safe, " Bleyer told them cheerfully. 

At the tenth level the elevator stopped and they emerged into an openspace. 

"We're going to follow this drift, " explained the superintendent. 

They seated themselves in ore cars and were wheeled into a cavernlighted at intervals by electric bulbs. Presently the cars slowed downand the occupants descended. 

"This way, " ordered Bleyer. 

They followed in single file into a hot, damp tunnel, which drippedmoisture in big drops from the roof upon a rough, uneven floor of stoneand dirt where pools of water had occasionally gathered. The darknessincreased as they moved forward, driven back by the candles of the menfor a space scarce farther than they could reach with outstretchedhands. 

Moya, bringing up the rear, could hear Bleyer explain the workings tothose at his heel. He talked of stopes, drifts, tunnels, wage scales, shifts, high-grade ore, and other subjects that were as Greek to Joyceand India. The atmosphere was oppressively close and warm, and theoilskins that Moya wore seemed to weigh heavily upon her. She becameaware with some annoyance at herself that a faintness was stealing overher brain and a mistiness over her eyes. To steady herself she stopped, catching at the rough wall for support. The others, unaware that she wasnot following, moved on. With a half articulate little cry she sank tothe ground. 

When she came to herself the lights had disappeared. She was alone inthe most profound darkness she had ever known. It seemed to press uponher so ponderably as almost to be tangible. The girl was frightened. Herimagination began to conjure all sorts of dangers. Of cave-ins andexplosions she had heard and read a good deal. Anything was possible inthis thousand-foot deep grave. In a frightened, ineffective little voiceshe cried out to her friends. 

Instantly there came an answer--a faint tapping on the wall almost ather ear. She listened breathlessly, and caught again that faint fartap--tap--tap--tap--tap--tap--tap. Instinctively her hand went out, groping along the wall until it fell upon a pipe. Even as she touchedthis the sound came again, and along with it the faintest of vibrations. She knew that somebody at a distance was hitting the pipe with a pieceof quartz or metal. 

Stooping, she found a bit of broken rock. Three times she tapped thepipe. An answer came at once. 

Tap--tap--tap--tap--tap--tap--tap!

She tried two knocks. Again the response of seven taps sounded. Fourblows brought still seven. Why always seven? She did not know, but shewas greatly comforted to know that her friends were in communicationwith her. After all she was not alone. 

A light glimmered at the end of the tunnel and moved slowly toward her. Bleyer's voice called her name. Presently the whole party was about herwith sympathetic questions and explanations. 

She made light of her fainting attack, but Verinder insisted on gettingher back to the upper air in spite of her protests. He had discoveredthat Joyce was quite ready to return to the sunlight, now that hercuriosity was satisfied. A very little of anything that was unpleasantwent a long way with Miss Seldon, and there was something about thisunderground tomb that reminded her strongly of an immense grave. 

At dinner Verinder referred to the attack of vertigo. "Feel quite fitagain, Miss Dwight?"

"Quite, thank you. " Moya was a little irritated at the reference, because she was ashamed of having given way to physical weakness. "Itwas nothing. I was a goose. That's all. "

Bleyer, a guest for the evening, defended the young woman from her ownscorn. "It often takes people that way the first time, what with theheat and the closeness. I once knew a champion pugilist to keel overwhile he was going through a mine. "

"Were you afraid when you found yourself alone?" Joyce asked. 

"I was until you tapped. "

India looked puzzled. "Tapped. What do you mean?"

"On the pipe. "

"What pipe?"

"The one that ran through the tunnel. "

Miss Kilmeny shook her head. "I didn't see anybody tap. Perhaps one ofus touched it by chance. "

"No. That couldn't be. The tap came seven times together, and after Ihad answered it seven times more. "

"Seven times?" asked Bleyer quickly. 

"Yes--seven. But, if you didn't tap, who did?"

"Sure it wasn't imagination?" Verinder suggested. 

"Imagination! I tell you it was repeated again and again, " Moya saidimpatiently. 

"Spirit rapping, " surmised Joyce lightly. "It doesn't matter, anyhow, since it served its work of comforting Moya. "

"It might have been some of the workmen, " Lady Farquhar guessed. 

"Must have been, " agreed Bleyer. "And yet--we're not working that end ofthe mine now. The men had no business there. Odd that it was seven raps. That is a call for help. It means danger. "

A bell of warning began to toll in Moya's heart. It rang as yet no clearmessage to her brain, but the premonition of something sinister anddeadly sent a sinking sensation through her. 

Verinder sat up with renewed interest. "I say, you know--spirit rapping. Weren't you telling me, Bleyer, that there was a big accident there someyears ago? Perhaps the ghosts of some of the lost miners were sending amessage to their wives. Eh, what?"

"The accident was in the Golden Nugget, an adjoining mine. The propertywas pretty well worked out and has never been opened since thedisaster. "

The color had ebbed from Moya's lips. She was a sane young woman notgiven to nerves. But she had worried a great deal over the disappearanceof Jack Kilmeny. This, coming on top of it, shook her composure. For shewas fighting with the dread that the spirit of the man she loved hadbeen trying to talk with her. 

Joyce chattered gayly. "How weird! Moya, you must write an account ofyour experience for the Society for Psychical Research. Put me in it, please. "

"Of course, it must have been some of the men, but I don't see----"

Moya interrupted the superintendent sharply. An intuition, like a flashof light, had illumined her brain. "Where does that pipe run, Mr. Bleyer?"

"Don't know. Maps of the workings at the office would show. "

"Will you please find out?"

"Glad to look it up for you, Miss Dwight. I'm a little curious myself. "

"I mean now--at once. "

He glanced at her in quick surprise. Was she asking him to leave thedinner table to do it? Lady Farquhar saw how colorless Moya was and cameto the rescue. 

"My dear, you are a little unstrung, aren't you?" she said gently. "Ithink we might find something more cheerful to talk about. We alwayshave the weather. "

Moya rose, trembling. "No. I know now who called for help. It was JackKilmeny. "

Verinder was the first to break the strained silence. "But that'snonsense, you know. "

"It's the truth. He was calling for help. "

"Where from? What would he be doing down in a mine?"

"I don't know.... Yes, I do, too, " Moya corrected herself, voicebreaking under the stress of her emotion. "He has been put down there todie. "

"To die. " Joyce echoed the words in a frightened whisper. 

Dobyans laughed. "This is absurd. Who under heaven would put him there?"

A second flash of light burned in upon the girl. "That man, Peale--andthe other ruffian. They knew about the shipment just as you did. Theywaylaid him ... And buried him in some old mine. " Moya faced themtensely, a slim wraith of a girl with dark eyes that blazed. She hadforgotten all about conventions, all about what they would think of her. The one thing she saw was Jack Kilmeny in peril, calling for help. 

But Lady Farquhar remembered what Moya did not. It was her duty todefend her charge against the errant impulses of the heart, to screenthem from the callous eyes of an unsympathetic world. 

"You jump to conclusions, my dear. Sit down and we'll talk it over. "

"No. He called for help. I'm going to take it to him. "

Again Verinder laughed unpleasantly. Moya did not at that moment knowthe man was in existence. One sure purpose flooded her whole being. Shewas going to save her lover. 

India wavered. She, too, had lost color. "But--you're only guessing, dear. "

"You'll find it's true. We must follow that pipe and rescue him. To-night. "

"Didn't know you were subject to nerve attacks, Miss Dwight, " deridedVerinder uneasily. 

Moya put her hands in front of her eyes as if to shut out the picture ofwhat she saw. "He's been there for five days ... Starving, maybe. " Sheshuddered. 

"You're only guessing, Miss Dwight. What facts have you to back it?"Bleyer asked. 

"We must start at once--this very hour. " Moya had recovered herself andspoke with quiet decision. "But first we must find where the pipeleads. "

Bleyer answered the appeal in Lady Farquhar's eyes by rising. Hebelieved it to be a piece of hysterical folly, just as she did. But someinstinct of chivalry in him responded to the call made upon him. He wasgoing, not to save Kilmeny from an imaginary death, but to protect thegirl that loved him from showing all the world where her heart was. 

"I'll be back inside of an hour--just as soon as I can trace that pipefor you, Miss Dwight, " he said. 

"After all, Moya may be right, " India added, to back her friend. 

"It's just possible, " Bleyer conceded. 

CHAPTER XXII

THE ACID TEST

Jack Kilmeny opened his eyes to find himself in darkness utter andcomplete except for a pinpoint of light gleaming from far above. Hishead was whirling and throbbing painfully. Something warm and moistdropped into his eyes, and when he put his hand up to investigate thecause he knew it must be blood from a wound. 

Faintly the sound of voices and of harsh laughter drifted down to him. Presently this died away. The stillness was almost uncanny. 

"Something laid me out, I reckon. Must have been a bad whack. " Hisfinger found a ridge above the temple which had been plowed through thethick curly hair. "Looks as though a glancing bullet hit me. Golden luckit didn't finish the job. "

He moved. A sharp pain shot through his lower right leg. Trying to rise, he slipped down at once from a badly sprained ankle. Every muscle in hisbody ached, as if he had been jarred by a hard fall. 

"Better have a look around first, " he told himself. 

Groping in his pocket, he found a match case and struck a light. What hesaw made him shudder. From the ledge upon which he lay fell away a gulf, the bottom of which could be only guessed. His eyes, becoming accustomedto the darkness, made out that he was in some sort of shaft, thirty feetor more below the surface. Rotten from age, the timberings had slippedand become jammed. Upon some of these he was resting. The sprainedankle, by preventing him from moving, had saved him from plunging downthe well. 

He held out a silver dollar and dropped it. From the time the coin tookto strike Jack judged he was a hundred feet from the bottom. 

The flare of a second match showed him a wall ladder leading down, butunfortunately it did not extend above him except in rotting fragments. What had happened he could guess. Supposing him to be dead, his enemieshad dropped the body down this deserted shaft. Not for a moment did hedoubt who they were. The voices had been unmistakably Cornish, and evenwithout that evidence he would have guessed Peale and his partner as theguilty ones. 

Since he could not go up he went down, moving warily so as not to jarloose the timbers upon which he lay. Every rung of the ladder he testedwith great care before he put his weight upon it. Each step of thejourney down sent a throb of pain from the ricked ankle, even though herested his weight on his hands while he lowered himself. From the lastrung--it was by actual count the one hundred forty-third--he stepped tothe ground. 

Another match showed him a drift running from the foot of the shaft. Along this he dragged himself slowly, uncertain of direction butdetermined to find out what possibility of escape his prison offered. For two hundred yards the tunnel led forward and brought him up sharplyat an _impasse_. A cave-in blocked farther advance. 

"Check, " Jack told himself aloud grimly. 

He knew now that his situation was a very serious one, for he had beenflung alive into a grave that offered only a slight prospect of escape. He was without food, effectually cut off from the surface of the earth, and none but those who had assaulted him knew that he was buried. 

The alternatives that lay before him were plain. He might climb theladder again to the timber ledge and keep calling for help, or he mightattempt to dig a way over the cave-in with his hands and hispocketknife, trusting that the tunnel led to another shaft. The formerwas a chance pure and simple, and a slender one at that. It was notlikely that anybody would pass the mouth of a deserted shaft far up inthe hills at this season of the year. But it was quite within theprobabilities that the tunnel led to some of the workings of a liveproperty. Many miles of underground drifts were connected byintercepting stopes of adjoining mines. If he could force a way throughthe cave-in there might be safety beyond. To go moling into such a placewithout timbering would be a dangerous business, but the crisis was onethat justified any risk. 

He took stock of his assets. Fortunately he had bought at a lunchcounter a ham sandwich to stay his appetite during the night trip. Thiswas still in his pocket, badly mashed but still edible. Five cigars werein the case he carried and upon his person all told he found elevenmatches. A little trickle of water ran through the tunnel and gaveassurance that he would not die of thirst. His pocketknife was aserviceable one and he had plenty of physical strength. 

Jack decided that he would eat half of the sandwich that day and reservethe rest for the second one. His cigars were precious luxuries to beindulged in once every twenty-four hours after he had knocked off work. 

He attacked the cave-in with the cool energy that characterized him. Outof a piece of board he fashioned a kind of shovel with his knife. Bitsof broken timbering lay at the foot of the shaft. These he dragged intothe tunnel for fuel to feed a small fire which he built to give lightfor the work. All through the night and till noon the following day hedug among the fallen rocks and dirt, cleaning this _débris_ away afterhe had loosened it with his bare hands. 

The impact of the fall when he had been thrown down the shaft had jarredhim greatly. With the slightest movement of the body his back andshoulders ached, sending shoots of pain in protest to his brain. Thesprained ankle he had bound tightly in a wet handkerchief, but everytime his weight rested on that leg he had to grit his teeth. But it wasnot in him to quit. He stuck to his job till he had done the shift sethimself. 

At noon he crawled back to the foot of the shaft. He was fagged toexhaustion. For half an hour he lay stretched on his back with everymuscle relaxed. 

Presently he cut from his coat the pocket that contained the sandwichand divided the mash of ham and bread into two parts. One of these heate. The other he returned to the coat. 

Favoring his ricked ankle as best he could, Jack climbed the wall ladderto the ledge upon which he had found himself lying the previous night. Five minutes' examination of the walls showed him that there was nochance to reach the top of the shaft unaided. He tested the jammedtimbers to make sure they were secure before he put his weight uponthem. During the next six hours he called aloud every few minutes toattract the attention of anyone who might chance to be passing near. 

Toward evening he treated himself to his first cigar, making the mostof the comfort that it gave him. When the stub grew short he held it onthe small blade of his knife so as not to miss a puff. What was left hewrapped in a pocket handkerchief for later use. 

As the stars began to come out in the little patch of blue sky he couldsee just above his prison Jack lowered himself again to the foot of theshaft. Here he lay down a second time and within five minutes had falleninto a deep sleep. 

About midnight he awakened and was aware at once of a ravenous hunger. He was still resolute to win a way out, though the knowledge pressed onhim that his chances were slender at the best. Till morning he workedwithout a moment's rest. The fever in his ankle and the pain of thesprain had increased, but he could not afford to pay any attention tothem. Blood from his scarred, torn hands ran down his wrists. Everymuscle in his abused body ached. Still he stabbed with his knife intothe earth that filled the tunnel and still he pulled great rocks backwith his shovel. All his life he had fought for his own hand. He wouldnot let himself believe fate had played so scurvy a trick as to lock himalive into a tomb closed so tightly that he could not pry a way out. 

When his watch told him it was eight o'clock he staggered to the shaftagain and lay down on his back to rest. Before climbing to the platformabove he finished the sandwich. He was very hungry and could have eatenenough for two men had he been given the opportunity. Again for hours hecalled every few minutes at the top of his voice. 

In his vest pocket were a pencil and a notebook used for keeping theaccounts of the highgraders with whom he did business. To pass the timehe set down the story of the crime which had brought him here and hisefforts to free himself. 

After darkness fell he let himself down to the foot of the shaft andslept. Either from hunger or from fever in his ankle he slept brokenly. He was conscious of a little delirium in his waking spells, but thecoming of midnight found him master of himself, though a triflelightheaded. 

It was impossible to work as steadily as he had done during the twoprevious nights. Hunger and pain and toil were doing their best to wearout his strength. His limbs moved laggardly. Once he fell asleep in themidst of his labor. He dreamed of Moya, and after he awakened--as hepresently did with a start--she seemed so near that it would scarce havesurprised him if in the darkness his hands had come in contact with thesoft flesh of her vivid face. Nor did it strike him as at all odd thatit was Moya and not Joyce who was visiting him when he was in prison. Sometimes she came to him as the little girl of the _Victorian_, butmore often the face he saw was the mocking one of the young woman, inwhich gayety overran the tender sadness of the big, dusky eyes beneathwhich tiny freckles had been sprinkled. More than once he clearly heardher whisper courage to him. 

Next day the notes in his diary were more fragmentary. 

 "Broke my rule and smoked two cigars to-day. Just finished my fourth. Leaves one more. I drink a great deal. It helps me to forget I'm hungry. Find a cigar goes farther if I smoke it in sections. I chew the stubs while I'm working. 

 "Have tunneled in about seventeen feet. No sign that I'm near the end of the cave-in. There's a lot of hell in being buried alive. 

 "Think I'm losing my voice from shouting so much when I'm in the shaft. Gave it up to-day and let little Moya call for me. She's a trump. Wish she'd stay here all the time and not keep coming and going. "

The jottings on the fourth day show the increase of the delirium. Sometimes his mind appears to be quite clear, then it wanders to queerfancies. 

 "Last cigar gone. Got sick from eating the stub. Violent retchings. Kept falling asleep while working. Twenty-nine feet done--surely reach the end to-morrow.... Another cave-in just after I crawled out from my tunnel. All my work wiped out. Moya, the little devil, laughed and said it served a highgrader right.... 

 "Have telegraphed for help. Can't manage alone. Couldn't make it up the shaft and had to give up the climb. Ordered a big breakfast at the Silver Dollar--steak and mushrooms and hot cakes. The telegraph wires run through pipe along floor of tunnel. Why don't the operator stay on his job? I tap my signals and get no answer. "

He began to talk to himself in a rambling sort of way. Sometimes hewould try to justify himself for highgrading in jerky half-coherentphrases, sometimes he argued with Peale that he had better let him out. But even in his delirious condition he stuck to his work in the tunnel, though he was scarce able to drag himself about. 

As the sickness grew on him, the lightheaded intervals became morefrequent. In one of these it occurred to him that he had struck highgrade ore and he filled his pockets with samples taken from the cave-in. He spent a good deal of time explaining to Moya patiently over and overagain that the business of highgrading was justified by the conditionsunder which the miners lived. There was no sequence to his thoughts. They came in flashes without logical connection. It became, forinstance, a firm obsession that the pipe running through the tunnel wasa telegraph wire by means of which he could communicate with the outsideworld if the operator would only stay on duty. But his interest in thematter was intermittent. 

It is suggestive of his condition that when Moya's answer came to hisseven taps he took it quite as a matter of course. 

"The son of a Greaser is back on the job at last, " he said aloud withoutthe least excitement. "Now, I'll get that breakfast I ordered. "

He crawled back to the foot of the shaft in a childish, absurdconfidence that the food he craved would soon be sent down to him. Whilehe waited, Jack fell into light sleep where he lost himself in fanciesthat voiced themselves in incoherent snatches of talk. 

CHAPTER XXIII

CAPTAIN KILMENY RETIRES

A voice calling his name from the top of the shaft brought Jack Kilmenyback to consciousness. He answered. 

A shout of joy boomed down to him in Colter's heavy bass. He could hear, too, the sweet troubled tones of a woman. 

"Hurry, please, hurry.... Thank God, we're in time. "

"Got that breakfast with you, little neighbor, " Jack called up weakly. He did not need to be told that Moya Dwight was above, and, since shewas there, of course she had brought him the breakfast that he hadordered from the Silver Dollar. 

"Get back into the tunnel, Jack, " Colter presently shouted. 

"What for?"

"We're lowering someone to you. The timberings are rotten and they mightfall on you. Get back. "

"All right. "

Five minutes later the rescuer reached the foot of the shaft. He stoodfor a moment with a miner's lamp lifted above his head and peered intothe gloom. 

"Where away, Jack?"

The man was Ned Kilmeny. He and Lord Farquhar had returned to the hoteljust after dinner. The captain had insisted--all the more because therewas some danger in it--that he should be the man lowered to the aid ofhis cousin. 

"Bring that breakfast?" Jack snapped, testily. 

"Yes, old man. It's waiting up above. Brought some soup down with me. "

"I ordered it two hours ago. What's been keeping you? I'm going tocomplain of the service. "

The captain saw at once that Jack was lightheaded and he humored him. 

"Yes, I would. Now drink this soup. "

The imprisoned man drained the bucket to the last drop. 

Ned loosened the rope from his own body and fastened it about that ofhis cousin. He gave the signal and Jack was hauled very carefully to thesurface in such a way as not to collide with the jammed timbers near thetop. Colter and Bleyer lifted the highgrader over the edge of the well, where he collapsed at once into the arms of his friend. 

Moya, a flask in her hand, stooped over the sick man where he lay onthe grass. Her fine face was full of poignant sympathy. 

Kilmeny's mind was quite clear now. The man was gaunt as a famishedwolf. Bitten deep into his face were the lines that showed how closelyhe had shaved death. But in his eye was the gay inextinguishable gleamof the thoroughbred. 

"Ain't I the quitter, Miss Dwight? Keeling over just like a sick baby. "

The young woman choked over her answer. "You mustn't talk yet. Drinkthis, please. "

He drank, and later he ate sparingly of the food she had hastilygathered from the dinner table and brought with her. In jerky littlesentences he sketched his adventure, mingling fiction with fact as thefever grew on him again. 

Bleyer, himself a game man, could not withhold his admiration after hehad heard Captain Kilmeny's story of what he had found below. The two, with Moya, were riding behind the wagon in which the rescued man lay. 

"Think of the pluck of the fellow--boring away at that cave-in when anyminute a million tons of rock and dirt might tumble down and crush thelife out of him. That's a big enough thing. But add to it his game legand his wound and starvation on top of that. I'll give it to him for thegamest fellow that ever went down into a mine. "

"That's not all, " the captain added quietly. "He must have tunneled inabout twenty-five feet when the roof caved again. Clean bowled out as hewas, Jack tackled the job a second time. "

Moya could not think of what had taken place without a film coming overher eyes and a sob choking her throat. A vagabond and worse he might be, but Jack Kilmeny held her love beyond recall. It was useless to remindherself that he was unworthy. None the less, she gloried in the splendidcourage of the man. It flooded her veins joyously even while her heartwas full to overflowing with tender pity for his sufferings. Whateverelse he might be, Jack Kilmeny was every inch a man. He had in him thedynamic spark that brought him smiling in his weakness from the presenceof the tragedy that had almost engulfed him. 

There was a little discussion between Colter and Captain Kilmeny as towhich of them should take care of the invalid. The captain urged that hewould get better care at the hotel, where Lady Farquhar and India couldlook after him. Colter referred the matter to Jack. 

"I'm not going to burden Lady Farquhar or India. Colter can look out forme, " the sick man said. 

"It's no trouble. India won't be satisfied unless you come to thehotel, " Moya said in a low voice. 

He looked at her, was about to decline, and changed his mind. Theappeal in her eyes was too potent. 

"I'm in the hands of my friends. Settle it any way you like, MissDwight. Do whatever you want with me, except put me back in that hell. "

After a doctor had seen Jack and taken care of his ankle, after thetrained nurse had arrived and been put in charge of the sick room, Captain Kilmeny made a report to Moya and his sister. 

"He's gone to sleep already. The doctor says he'll probably be as wellas ever in a week, thanks to you, Moya. "

"Thanks to you, Ned, " she amended. 

"He sent to you this record of how he spent his time down there--said itmight amuse you. "

The Captain looked straight at her as he spoke. 

"I'll read it. "

"Do. You'll find something on the last page that will interest you. Now, I'm going to say good-night. It's time little girls were in bed. "

He kissed his sister and Moya, rather to the surprise of the latter, forCaptain Kilmeny never insisted upon the rights of a lover. There wassomething on his face she did not quite understand. It was as if he weresaying good-by instead of good-night. 

She understood it presently. Ned had written a note and pinned it to thelast page of the little book. She read it twice, and then again intears. It told her that the soldier had read truly the secret heranxiety had flaunted in the face of all her friends. 

 "It's no go, dear girl. You've done your best, but you don't love me. You never will. Afraid there's no way left but for me to release you. So you're free again, little sweetheart. 

 "I know you won't misunderstand. Never in my life have I cared for you so much as I do to-night. But caring isn't enough. I've had my chance and couldn't win out. May you have good hunting wherever you go. "

The note was signed "Ned. "

Her betrothed had played the game like the gentleman he was to a losingfinish. She knew he would not whimper or complain, that he would meether to-morrow cheerfully and easily, hiding even from her the wound inhis heart. He was a better man than his cousin. She could not deny toherself that his gallantry had a finer edge. His sense of right wasbetter developed and his courage quite as steady. Ned Kilmeny had wonhis V. C. Before he was twenty-five. He had carried to a successfulissue one of the most delicate diplomatic missions of recent years. Everybody conceded that he had a future. If Jack had never appeared onher horizon she would have married Ned and been to him a loving wife. But the harum-scarum cousin had made this impossible. 

Why? Why had her roving heart gone out to this attractive scamp who didnot want her love or care for it? She did not know. The thing was asunexplainable as it was inescapable. All the training of her life hadshaped her to other ends. Lady Farquhar would explain it as a glamourcast by a foolish girl's fancy. But Moya knew the tide of feeling whichraced through her was born not of fancy but of the true romance. 

CHAPTER XXIV

TWO IN A BUCKET

Jack heard the story of his rescue from India. He surprised her alone inthe breakfast room by hobbling in one morning after the rest had gone. 

She popped a question directly at him. "Did the doctor say you could getup?"

"Didn't ask him, " he answered with a laugh, and dropped into a seatacross the table. 

Shaven and dressed in a clean freshly pressed suit, he looked adifferent man from the haggard grimy vagabond Captain Kilmeny hadbrought back with him three days earlier. The eyes were still rathersunken and the face a bit drawn, but otherwise he was his very competentand debonair self. His "Good mornin', India, " was as cheery and matterof fact as if those five days of horror had never existed. 

"Don't believe it will hurt you. " Her bright eyes were warm in theirapproval of him. "You look a lot fitter than you did even yesterday. It's awfully jolly to see you around again, Cousin Jack. "

"I'm enjoying it myself, " he conceded. "Anything of importance in thatcovered dish over there?"

"Tell me all about it, " she ordered, handing him the bacon. Then, with ashudder, she added: "Must have been rather awful down there. "

"Bad enough, " he admitted lightly. 

"Tell me. " She leaned forward, chin in hand. 

"What's the use? Those fellows put me down. Your brother took me up. That's all. "

"It isn't all. Ned says it is perfectly marvelous the way you dug thattunnel and escaped from being crushed, and then dug it again after ithad caved. "

"Couldn't lie down and quit, could I? A man in the hole I was can't pickand choose. " He smiled lazily at her and took a muffin from a platehanded him by the waiter. "My turn to ask questions. I want the fullstory of how you guessed I was in the west shaft of the Golden Nugget. "

"Haven't you heard? It was Moya guessed it--from the tapping on thepipe, you know. "

"So I've been told. Now let's have the particulars. " His eyes wentarrow-straight into hers and rested there. 

India told him. She knew that Ned would make a safer husband for Moyathan this forceful adventurer. It was quite likely to be on the cardsthat he cared nothing for her friend. Indeed, his desperate flirtationwith Joyce indicated as much. Moreover, Moya would not marry a man whomshe could not respect, one who made his living by dishonest practices. But in spite of all these objections Miss Kilmeny told her cousin howMoya had fought for his life against ridicule and unbelief, regardlessof what any of them might think of her. 

He made one comment when she had finished. "So I have to thank MoyaDwight for my life. "

"Moya alone. They laughed at her, but she wouldn't give up. I never sawanybody so stubborn. There's something splendid in her. She didn't carewhat any of us thought. The one thing in her mind was that she was goingto save you. So Mr. Bleyer had to get up from dinner and find out fromthe maps where that pipe went. He traced it to the old west shaft of theGolden Nugget. "

"And what _did_ you think?" he asked, watching her steadily. 

"I admired her pluck tremendously. "

"Did Verinder--and Bleyer--and Lady Farquhar?"

"How do I know what they thought?" flamed the girl. "If Mr. Verinder iscad enough----" She stopped, recalling certain obligations she was underto that gentleman. 

"Why did she do it?"

She flashed a look of feminine scorn at him. "You'll have to ask Moyathat--if you want to know. "

He nodded his head slowly. "That's just what I'm going to do. "

"You'll have more time to talk with her--now that Joyce is engaged anddaren't flirt with you, " his cousin suggested maliciously. 

Though he tried to carry this off with a laugh, the color mounted to hisface. "I've been several kinds of an idiot in my time. "

"Don't you dare try any nonsense with Moya, " her friend cried, a littlefiercely. 

"No, " he agreed. 

"She's not Joyce. "

He had an answer for that. "I'd marry her to-morrow if she'd take me. "

"You mean you... ?"

"Yes. From the first day I met her again. And I didn't know it till Iwas down in that hell hole. Shall I tell you something?" He put his armson the table and leaned toward her with shining eyes. "She was with medown there most of the time. Any time I stopped to listen I could hearher whisper courage in that low, sweet voice of hers. "

"You know about her and Ned?"

"Yes. "

"He's a better man than you are, Jack. "

"Yes. "

"But you won't let him have her. "

"No, by God, not unless she loves him. "

"She would have loved him if it hadn't been for you. "

"You mean she loves me?"

"She won't marry you. She can't. "

"Why not? Because I don't belong to her social set?"

"No. That would be reason enough for Joyce or me, but I don't think itwould stop Moya. "

"You mean--highgrading?"

"Yes. "

Joyce interrupted further confidences by making her usual lateappearance for breakfast. At sight of Kilmeny her eyes brightened. Lifealways became more interesting for her when a possible man was present. Instantly she came forward with a touch of reluctant eagerness that wasvery effective. 

"I'm glad to see you up again--so glad, Mr. Kilmeny. "

In the pretty breakfast gown which displayed her soft curves and theripe roundness of throat and arm she made a picture wholly charming. IfJack was overpowered he gave no sign of it. 

"Glad to meet you, Miss Seldon. "

Her eyes rained sweet pity on him, a tenderness potent enough to disturbthe serenity of any young man not in armor. 

"We--we've been so worried about you. "

He laughed, genially and without resentment. "Awfully good of you. Shall I ring for the waiter?"

India rose. "I'm going riding with Ned and Moya, " she explained. 

Alone with the Westerner, Joyce felt her blood begin to quicken. 

"Are you quite ... Recovered?" she asked. 

Their eyes met. In his there was a faint cynical smile of amusement. 

"Quite. "

She understood the double meaning in his words. Her lashes fell to thesoft cheeks, then lifted again. "I thought perhaps there might be ... That you might still be.... "

He shook his head vigorously. "It was only a dream. I can laugh at itnow--and at myself for taking it seriously. "

Joyce bit her lip with vexation. There was something not quite decent inso prompt a recovery from her charms. He did not appear to hold even anyresentment. 

Nor did he. Kilmeny had been brought too near the grim realities to holdany petty pique. He found this young woman still charming, but hisadmiration was tinctured with amusement. No longer did his imaginationplay upon her personality. He focused it upon the girl who had foughtfor his life against the ridicule and the suspicions of her friends. Itwas impossible for him to escape the allure of her fine sweet courageso gallantly expressed in every look and motion. 

But Moya let him severely alone. Her pride was suffering because she hadshowed to all her little world too keen an interest in him. In heranxiety to repudiate any claim he might think she felt she had upon himthe girl was scornfully indifferent to his advances. Almost rudely sherejected his gratitude. 

"The man does not owe me anything. Can't he see that honors are easy?"she said impatiently to Lady Farquhar. 

Jack Kilmeny was no quitter. He set that lean jaw of his and would notaccept repulse. In four days now the Farquhar party was going to leaveGoldbanks and he made the most of his time. 

Moya never saw him coming toward her without having her pulses stirred, but her look met his always quietly and steadily. Not once did she givehim a chance to see her alone. Even Lady Farquhar, who had been a severecritic of her vagaries, commended now her discretion. Jack rebelledagainst it in vain. He could not find a chance to speak. It wascharacteristic of him that he made one. 

By shrewd maneuvering he arranged an expedition to the Silent Sam mine. The property itself was of no particular interest. The attractivefeature was a descent in ore buckets from the shaft-house, perched farup on the edge of a precipitous cliff, to the mill in the valley below. This was made by means of heavy cables to which the buckets weresuspended. After Jack had explained how the men rode back and forth bythis means between the mill and the mine India was seized with theinspiration he had hoped for. 

"Let's go down in the buckets, dear people. "

Lady Farquhar protested and was overruled by a chorus of votes. Theminer assured her that it was entirely safe. Reluctantly she gavepermission for her flock to make the trip if they desired. 

They rode on horseback to the mill. Jack paired with India, making noattempt to ride beside Moya, who brought up the rear with the captain. The Westerner, answering the questions of his cousin, was at hisdebonair best. Occasionally there drifted back to the couple in the rearfragmentary snatches of his talk. He was telling of the time he had beena mule skinner in New Mexico, of how he had ridden mail near Deming, andof frontier days at Tombstone. Casual anecdotes were sprinkled throughhis explanations to liven them. He spoke in the slurring drawl of theSouthwest, which went so well with the brown lean face beneath thepinched-in felt hat and the well-packed vigor of the man. 

"And what is 'bucking a sample'?" India wanted to know after one of hisstories. 

"You just pound some rock up and mix it to get a sample. Once when I wasdrag-driver of a herd in a round-up.... "

Moya heard no more. She turned her attention resolutely to her companionand tried to detach her mind from the man in front. She might as wellhave tried to keep her heart from beating. 

After they had arrived at the mill Jack quietly took charge of thedisposition of the party. Verinder and Joyce were sent up in the firstbucket. When this was halfway up to the mine the cable stopped to letanother couple enter a bucket. Joyce, fifty feet up in the air, wavedher hand to those below. 

"You next, India, " ordered her cousin. 

The young woman stepped into the bucket. "I'm 'fraid, " she announcedpromptly. 

"No need to be. Captain, your turn. "

The eyes of the two men met. Ned Kilmeny guessed instantly that theother had arranged this so as to get a few minutes alone with Moya. Hetook a place beside his sister immediately. 

The cable did not stop again until the second pair of passengers hadreached the mine. 

Moya, followed by Jack, stepped into the basket, which began to risesteadily as it moved across the valley. 

Kilmeny did not lose a minute. 

"Why don't you let me see you alone? Why do you run away from me?" hedemanded. 

Little patches of color burned beneath the shadows of her eyes. A soundas of a distant surf began to beat in her ears. 

"What nonsense! Why should I run from you?" she asked, meeting withdifficulty the attack of his masterful gaze. 

"Because you're afraid to let me tell you that I love you, " he charged. 

"Thought it was Joyce you ... Fancied, " she retorted quietly, her pulsehammering. 

"So it was. I fancied her. I love you. I'm asking you to marry me. "

"You don't have to ask me to marry you because you exaggerate theservice I did you. "

"I ask you because I love you. "

"Thank you very much for the compliment. Sorry I must decline. " She didnot dare look at him. Her eyes were fixed on the mill far below. 

"Why must you--since you love me?"

The telltale pink stained her cheeks. "You take that for granted, doyou?"

"It's true, I believe. How can I make love to you as other men do? LadyFarquhar won't let me see you alone--even if you were willing to give mea chance. In two days you are going out of my life. I must speak thetruth ... Bluntly. I love you. It has been that way with me ever sinceyou came into my life again, little Moya. But I was blind and didn't seeit till ... Till I was alone in the mine with death. "

"I ... Am sorry. "

"That is not enough. I'm going to have the truth. You saved my life. What for? It is yours ... If you will take it. "

She looked straight at him. "I can't marry you. "

"Why can't you? Can you say that you don't love me?"

In the full-charged silence that followed a stifling emotion racedthrough her blood. The excitement in her set a pulse beating in herthroat. Womanlike, she evaded the issue. 

"The cable has stopped. What has happened?"

"Nothing has happened. It has stopped because I arranged with theengineer at the hoist to have it stop. When I give the signal it willstart again. "

"But.... "

He brushed aside her futile protest. "I'm going to have this out withyou. Dare you tell me that you don't love me, Moya?"

He forced her to meet his eyes, and in that moment she felt weak andfaint. The throb of passion beat tumultuously against her will. 

"Please ... Be generous. What will they think? Let us start, " shebegged. 

"They will think something is wrong with the machinery. But it doesn'tmatter in the least what they think. It's my last chance, and I'll notgive it up. You've got to answer me. "

The point where the bucket had stopped was a hundred feet above theground below. She looked down, and shuddered. 

"It's so far down ... Please. "

"Then don't look down. Look at me, Moya. It won't take you a moment toanswer me. "

"I have. I said I couldn't marry you. "

"Tell me that you don't love me and I'll give the signal. "

"I ... Don't. "

"Look straight at me and say it. "

She tried to look at him and repeat it, but her eyes betrayed the secretshe was fighting to keep from him. The long lashes fell to the hotcheeks an instant too late. 

His hand found hers. "My little Irish wild rose, all sweetness andthorns, " he murmured. 

Above the tumult of her heart she heard her voice say, as if it werethat of a stranger, "It's no use ... I can't ... Marry you. "

"Because I'm a highgrader?"

She nodded. 

"Do you think I'm worse than other men? Down in the bottom of your heartdo you believe that?"

She smiled wanly. "Other men are not ... Making love to me. "

"Am I nothing but a thief to you?"

"I have told you that you are the man I ... Love. Isn't that a gooddeal?"

The desire of her, pure as a flame, swept through him. "It's thegreatest thing that ever came into my life. Do you think I'm going tolet it end there? I'm going to fight for our happiness. I'm going tobeat down the things that come between us. "

"You can't. It's too late, " she cried wistfully. 

"It's never too late for love so long as we're both alive. "

"Not for love, but.... "

"You've got to see this as I see it, sweetheart. I'm a man--primitive, if you like. I've done wild and evil things--plenty of them. What ofthat? I slough them off and trample them down. The heart of me is clean, isn't it?"

"Yes. "

To look at him was enough to clear away all doubt. He had the faultsthat go with full-blooded elemental life, but at bottom this virileAmerican was sound. 

"Well! Isn't that enough?"

The little movement of her hands toward him seemed to beg for pity. "Jack! I can't help it. Maybe I'm a little prig, but ... Mustn't weguide our lives by principle and not by impulse?"

"Do I guide mine by impulse?"

"Don't you?" She hurried on to contradict, or at least to modify, herreluctant charge. "Oh, I know you are a great influence here. You'reknown all over the state. Men follow you wherever you lead. Why should Icriticize you--I, who have done nothing all my life but lean on others?"

"Go ahead. When I ask you to marry me I invite your criticism. "

"I have to take little steps and to keep in well-worn paths. I can'tmake laws for myself as you do. Those that have been made may be wrong, but I must obey them. "

"Why? Why should you? If they're wrong, fight against them. "

"I can't argue with you ... Dear. But I know what I think right. I_want_ to think as you do. Oh, you don't know how I long to throw myPuritan conscience overboard and just trust your judgment. I ... Admireyou tremendously. But I can't give in ... I can't. "

The muscles stood out on his lean cheeks as he set his teeth. "You'vegot to, Moya. Our love has been foreordained. Do you think it is fornothing that we met again after all these years? You're mine--the onewoman in the world I want and am going to have. "

She shook her head sadly. "No ... No!"

"Is it the money I have made highgrading? Is that what stands betweenus? If I were able to come to you without a dollar but with cleanhands--would you marry me then?"

He leaned toward her, eager, ardent, passionate, the color in his cheeksburning to a dull brick tint beneath the tan. Body and soul she swayedtoward him. All her vital love of life, of things beautiful and good andtrue, fused in a crescendo of emotion. 

"My dear ... My dear, I'm only a girl--and I love you. " Somehow herhands were buried in the strong grip of his. "But ... I can't live onthe profits of what I think is wrong. If it weren't for that ... Jack, I'd marry you if you were a pauper--and thank God for the chance. "

He faced her doggedly. "I'm not a pauper. I've fought for my share ofthe spoils. You've been brought up in a hot-house. Out in the world aman wins because he's strong. Do you think it's all been play with me?By God, no! I've ridden night herd in a blizzard when the temperaturewas below zero. I've done my shift on the twelfth level of the NeverQuit many a month. I've mushed in Alaska and fought against Castro inVenezuela. Do you think I'm going to give up my stake now I've won it atlast?"

She looked at him tremulously. "I don't ask you to give it up. You'llhave to decide that for yourself. "

"Don't you see I _can't_ give it up? If I do, I lose you. How can I takecare of you without money?"

"I'd do my best, Jack. "

"You don't understand. It would be for years--until I had made anotherstart. I wouldn't let you give up everything unless I had something tooffer. I wouldn't consider it. "

"Isn't that putting pride before love, Jack? You know I have a littlemoney of my own. We could live--in very decent poverty. I would love tofeel that we were fighting ... Together. We both know you'll win in theend. Wouldn't it be fine to work out your success in partnership? Dear, I'd _rather_ marry you while you're still a poor man. "

For a moment the vision of it tempted him, but he put the dream away. "No. It won't do. Of course I'm going to win out in the end, but itmight take a dozen years to set me on Easy street. For a woman broughtup as you have been poverty is hell. "

"Then you think I'm only a doll, " she flashed. "You want to put me backin that hot-house you mentioned. I'm just an ornament to dress up andlook at and play with. "

"I think you're a little tinder-box, " he said, smiling ruefully. 

"Don't you see how it is with me, Jack? I've always craved life. I'vewanted to take hold of it with both hands and without gloves. But theywould never let me. I've got my chance now ... If you really love memore than you do your pride and your money. I want to live close to thepeople--as you do. "

"What did that suit cost you?" he asked abruptly. 

"Don't remember. Twenty-five pounds, maybe. Why?"

"One hundred twenty dollars, say. And you need dozens of dresses in aseason. I'll make a guess that it takes five thousand a year to clotheyou. That is nearly twice as much as I'll earn altogether next year if Ithrow away my stake. "

She waved his argument aside. "Stupid boy! I have dresses enough to lastme for five years--if you'll let me be that poor man's wife. I can makethem over myself later and still be the best dressed woman in camp. "

From above came Captain Kilmeny's shout. "We telephoned down. Theengineer has the trouble arranged. "

The cable began to move. 

"When shall I see you alone again, Moya?" Jack demanded. 

"I don't know. "

"I'm going to see you. We've got to fight this out. I'll not let LadyFarquhar keep me from seeing you alone. It's serious business. "

"Yes, " she admitted. "I'll tell Lady Jim. But ... There's no use inletting you think I'll give up. I can't. "

"You've got to give up. That's all there is to it. " His jaw was set likea vise. 

The party above fell upon them as they landed. 

"Were you frightened, Moya?" exclaimed Joyce above the chorus ofquestions. 

"Just for a moment. " Moya did not look at Jack. "Mr. Kilmeny told me itwould be all right. "

Jack's eyes danced. "I told her we would work out of the difficulty ifshe would trust me. "

Moya blushed. It happened that Captain Kilmeny was looking directly ather when his cousin spoke. 

CHAPTER XXV

HOMING HEARTS

Jack Kilmeny had not been brought up in the dry sunbaked West fornothing. The winds of the Rockies had entered into his character as wellas into his physique. He was a willful man, with a good deal of granitein his make-up. A fighter from his youth, he did not find it easy toyield the point upon which he differed from Moya. There was in her somuch of impulsive generosity that he had expected to overpower herscruples. But she stood like a rock planted in the soil. 

It came to him as he walked home after a long fight with her that in hisheart he did not want her to yield. She was the Moya Dwight he lovedbecause she would not compromise with her conviction. Yet, though hewanted her to stand firm, he hated the thought of giving way himself. Itgalled his pride that he must come to her without a penny, knowing thatshe had the means to keep them both modestly. Nor could he, without apang, think of surrendering the twenty-eight thousand dollars he hadfought for and won. He was no visionary. The value of money heunderstood perfectly. It stood for power, place, honor, the things thatwere worth having. Given what he had, Jack knew he could double it inGoldbanks within the year. There were legitimate opportunities forinvestment that were bound to make rich returns. But without a dollar hewould be like Samson shorn of his locks. 

All through the night he was joined in battle with himself, but when atearly dawn he stood on the top of Son-of-a-Gun hill and faced a skyfaintly pink with the warning of a coming sun his decision had beenmade. 

On his way back he met Moya and Miss Seldon. Joyce pounced upon him witha grievance. 

"You haven't told me yet how much you're going to give for the newhospital, Mr. Kilmeny. You know we're leaving to-morrow, and you'll haveto decide at once. Be generous, please. You said yourself it was a goodcause. "

He nodded agreement. "The most worthy charity I know. I've oftenwondered why some Andrew Carnegie didn't set the fashion of endowinghospitals by wholesale. They ought to be free to all poor folks out ofhealth. When a man is losing his wages and his family is scrimping heought not to be facing a thirty-dollar-a-week hospital charge. Yes, I'mfor the new hospital, Miss Seldon. "

"How strong are you for it?" Joyce asked, laughing at her newly acquiredAmerican slang. "Mr. Verinder has promised to give me two dollars forevery one I can raise among my other friends. So don't be a--a----"

"A tightwad, " supplied Moya with a smile. She could do a little in thenative slang herself. 

Jack went into his pocket for a checkbook and a fountain pen. He wrotefor a few seconds, tore the check from the stub, and handed it to Joyce. 

That young woman gasped. 

"Why--you don't really mean--it's for twenty-eight thousand two hundredand fourteen dollars, " she cried. 

"And seventeen cents. Please don't forget that, " he added. 

"But--what on earth do you mean?"

Jack was looking at Moya, and she at him with shining eyes in which joyswam. 

"It's a little thank offering, Miss Seldon. "

"Because you were rescued from the mine, I suppose. Still.... "

"Because I'm engaged to be married to the best woman in the world, " hecorrected. 

Joyce whirled upon Moya with instant divination. "You little wretch, andyou never told me. "

If Miss Dwight had not known it herself till this moment she gave nosign to that effect. "We're telling you now, dear, " she explained. 

"How long have you been engaged? Was it yesterday in the bucket?"

Jack laughed. "Nothing so romantic. We've been engaged a little lessthan half a minute. You get the first chance to wish Moya joy on havingwon so great a catch. She's marrying a pauper, you know. "

"I think we're very rich, " differed his sweetheart shyly. 

Joyce looked from one to the other suspiciously. "I haven't a notionwhat either of you mean, but I know I'm going to hang on to this check, Mr. Millionaire Pauper. "

Imps of mischief sparkled in the highgrader's eyes. "Don't forget thatVerinder has to write one for twice as much. "

Miss Seldon could not help laughing. "I'll see to that. He's not awelcher, but ... I wonder how he'll look when I tell him. "

"You ought to tell him as soon as you can, " Jack hinted boldly. 

"Oh, ought I? Did you say you had been engaged less than a minute, Mr. Kilmeny? How much will you give me to go down now and tell him?"

"I've nothing left to give--except my gratitude. "

"You're the first man who ever was so ungallant as to tell me he wouldbe grateful to have me leave him. "

"I'm the first who ever proposed to another girl in your presence. Thecircumstance is unusual, " he flung back gayly. 

"I didn't hear you propose. All you did was to announce it, " she repliedsaucily. 

"That's true too, " admitted Kilmeny. "Well, I'm going to propose now ifit isn't too late. You may stay if you like. "

"Thanks, no. " Joyce kissed her friend. "I hope you'll be very happy, dear. I ... I believe you will. "

Moya choked on her words. "I know I shall, Joy. "

Miss Seldon looked at Jack with an expression in which embarrassment andaudacity were blended. "I've always rather liked your pauper, " sheconfided aloud to Moya. 

Her confidences had their limits. She omitted to mention what had justpopped into her mind, that within the fortnight he had proposed to hertoo on the same spot. 

Jack bowed with exaggerated deference when she shook hands with him. Hewas just now riding the seventh wave of happiness and felt friendly tothe whole world. 

"Thanks very much. You're a good scout, Joyce. "

"Good gracious! What may that be? Some more of your American slang, Isuppose. " She broke away from persiflage to add seriously: "You'reright about one thing, though. You've got the best girl in the world. Begood to her, Jack Kilmeny. "

With that she turned and walked down the hill. 

The other two walked up. 

"I'm so proud of you, Jack, boy, " whispered one of them. 

He laughed happily. "I'm proud of myself. I've done the best day's workI ever did for myself when I won Moya Dwight. "

"You know what I mean, Jack. What other man would have thrown away asmall fortune--all he had--just for me?"

"I can name one other, " suggested Kilmeny. 

"Ned! But he's a saint. "

"And I'm a sinner, " her lover replied blithely. 

"You're the sinner I love, then. "

They had reached a clump of firs. Without knowing how it happened shefound herself in his arms. There were both tears and laughter in hereyes as her lips turned slowly to meet his. 

"The first time since we were kiddies on the _Victorian_, sweetheart, "he told her. 

"Yes, it's true. I loved you then. I love you now.... Jack, boy, I'mjust the happiest girl alive. "

A mist-like veil of old rose hung above the mountain tops. Hand in handthey watched the rising sun pierce through it and flood the crotches ofthe hills with God's splendid canvases. It was a part of love's egoismthat all this glory of the young day seemed an accompaniment to the songof joy that pulsed through them. 

Later they came to earth and babbled the nonsense that is the highestwisdom of lovers. They built air castles and lived in them, seeing lifethrough a poetic ambient as a long summer day in which they should rideand work and play together. 

At last she remembered Lady Farquhar and began to laugh. 

"We must go down and tell her at once, Jack. "

He agreed. "Yes, let's go back and have it out. If you like you may goto your room and I'll tackle her alone. "

"I'd rather go with you. "

He delighted in her answer. 

Farquhar was taking an early morning stroll, arm in arm with Lady Jim, when he caught sight of them. 

"Look, Di!"

Both of the lovers knew how to walk. Lady Farquhar, watching them, thought she had never seen as fine a pair of untamed human beings. Inhis step was the fine free swing of the hillman, and the young womanbreasted the slope lightly as a faun. 

The Englishman chuckled. "You're beaten, Di. The highwayman wins. "

"Nonsense, " she retorted sharply, but with anxiety manifest in herfrown. 

"Fact, just the same. He's coming to tell us he means to take our littlegirl to his robber den. "

"I believe you'd actually let him, " she said scornfully. 

"Even you can't stop him. It's written in the books. Not sure I'dinterfere if I could. For a middle-aged Pharisee with the gout I'mincurably romantic. It's the child's one great chance for happiness. ButI wish to the deuce he wasn't a highgrader. "

"She shan't sacrifice herself if I can prevent it, " Lady Farquharinsisted stanchly. 

"I 'member a girl who sacrificed herself for a line lieutenant without ashilling to call his own, " he soliloquized aloud. "Would have him, anddid, by Jove! Three deaths made him Lord Farquhar later, but she marriedthe penniless subaltern. "

"I've always been glad I did. " She squeezed his arm fondly. "But this isdifferent, James. "

Kilmeny and Moya stopped. The young man doffed his gray felt hat andbowed. 

"Mornin', Lady Farquhar--Lord Farquhar. We've come to ask yourpermission for our marriage. "

"Mornin', rebels. Fancy I'll have to refuse it, " cut back Farquhar, eyestwinkling. For this bold directness pleased and amused him. 

"That would distress us extremely, " answered Kilmeny with a genialsmile. 

"But would not affect your plans, I understand you to mean. "

"You catch the idea exactly, sir. "

Lady Farquhar entered the conversation. "Are you planning to go toprison with him, Moya, when he is convicted of highgrading?" she askedpleasantly. 

Moya told in three sentences of what her lover had done. The Englishmanwrung Kilmeny's hand cordially. 

"By Jove, you reform thoroughly when you go about it. Don't think I'dhave enjoyed writing that check for Miss Joyce. Leaves you strapped, does it?"

"Dead broke, " came the very cheerful reply. 

"But of course Moya has some money, " said Lady Farquhar quietly. 

The Westerner winced. "Wish she hadn't. It's the only thing I have toforgive her. "

Farquhar lifted his eyebrows. "Di, " he remonstrated. 

His wife came to time with a frank apology. "That was downright nasty ofme, Mr. Kilmeny. I withdraw it. None the less, I think Moya would bethrowing herself away. Do you realize what you are proposing? She's beenused to the best ever since she was born. Have you the means to supplyher needs? Or are you considering a Phyllida and Corydon idyll in acottage?"

"It will have to be something of that sort at first. I've told her allthis too, Lady Farquhar. "

"What does that matter if we love each other?" Moya asked. 

"You'll find it matters a good deal, " said Lady Jim dryly. "When povertycomes in love is likely to wink out any day. Of course I realize thatyours is of a quality quite unusual. It always is, my dear. Every loverhas thought that since time began. "

"We'll have to take our fighting chance of that, " Jack replied. 

Moya, her eyes shining, nodded agreement. No great gain can be wonwithout risk. She knew there was a chance that she might not findhappiness in her love. But where it called her she must follow--to alarger life certainly, to joy and to sorrow, to the fuller experiencesthat must come to every woman who fulfills her destiny. 

A voice hailed Jack. Colter was hurrying up the street, plainly excited. Kilmeny moved a few steps toward him. 

Lady Jim took advantage of his absence to attack Moya from anotherangle. "My dear, I wish I could show you how much depends on asimilarity of tastes, of habits, of standards. Matrimony means more thanlove. It means adjustment. "

"I've thought of that too. But ... When you love enough that doesn'thelp the adjustment?" asked the girl naïvely. 

She had appealed to Farquhar. That gentleman came to her assistance. "Itdoes. "

"This isn't a matter to be decided merely by personal preference, " urgedthe older woman. "There may be--consequences. "

The color beat into the face of the young woman in a wave, but her eyesheld steadily to those of Lady Farquhar. 

"I ... Hope so. "

"Bravo, Moya!" applauded her guardian, clapping his hands softly. 

"Don't you think they--the consequences--deserve a better chance thanyou will give them?"

"I'll answer that, Di, " spoke up Farquhar. "When a girl chooses for thefather of her children a man who is clean and strong and virile, and ontop of that her lover, she is giving them the best possible chance inlife. "

Moya's gratitude shone through the eyes that met those of her guardian. 

Kilmeny swung back to the group he had left. "I've good news, friends. This is my lucky day. You remember that when I was rescued from theGolden Nugget my pockets were full of ore samples I had picked up as Iwas tunneling. "

"Yes ... Picked them up while you were delirious, didn't you?" Farquharreplied. 

"Must have, I reckon. Well, you know how miners are always having piecesof quartz assayed. Colter took these to the man we employ. He's justlearned that it is high-grade stuff. "

"You've made a strike?"

"Looks like it. Colter wasn't taking any chances, anyhow. He hiked rightaround to the owners of the mine and signed up a five-year lease in hisname and mine. "

Farquhar shook hands with him cordially. "Hope you make a fortune, Kilmeny. "

Moya's chaperon, facing the inevitable, capitulated as graceful as shecould. After all, the girl might have done worse. The man she had chosenwas well born, good looking, forceful, and a leader in his community. Ifthis fortunate strike was going to leave him well off, clearly she mustmake the best of him. 

"You're a lucky man. I hope you know you don't deserve a girl likeMoya, " she told him as she shook hands. 

"I know it, all right. Can you tell me who does?" he flung back, with agay insouciant smile. 

At that moment Ned Kilmeny stepped out upon the hotel porch. Lady Jimnodded toward him. 

"Perhaps, " his cousin conceded. "But in this little old world a mandoesn't get what he deserves. "

"I see he doesn't. Ned is a better man than you. "

"Yes, " he admitted. 

Captain Kilmeny, coming down the porch steps, saw in a flash what hadhappened. He came forward with the even stride and impassive face thatseldom deserted him. In two sentences Lady Farquhar told him the facts. 

"You lucky dog, " he said to his cousin as their hands gripped. 

Jack had never liked him better than in this moment when he was givingup so cheerfully the thing he wanted most in the world. 

"It isn't always the best man that wins, captain. I take off my hat tothe better men who have tried and failed. Perhaps it may be a comfort tothem to know that I'm the man that needs her most. "

The captain turned to Moya. "So you've found that good hunting already, "he said to her in a low voice. 

"Yes, I think I have ... I'm sure of it, Ned. " Her eyes were full oftender sympathy for him. She wished she could tell him how much sheadmired his fine spirit. 

"God keep you happy, " he said wistfully. 

Jack joined them and slipped Moya's arm into his. "Amen to that, captain. And since Jack Kilmeny has been appointed deputy on the job I'mgoing to see your wish comes true. "

Moya looked at her lover and smiled. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Nine Splendid Novels byWILLIAM MacLEOD RAINE

THE PIRATE OF PANAMA

 A tale of old-time pirates and of modern love, hate and adventure. The scene is laid in San Francisco on board _The Argus_ and in Panama. A romantic search for the lost pirate gold. An absorbing love-story runs through the book. 

 _12mo, Cloth, Jacket in Colors. Net $1. 25. _

THE VISION SPLENDID

 A powerful story in which a man of big ideas and fine ideals wars against graft and corruption. A most satisfactory love affair terminates the story. 

 _12mo, Cloth, Illustrated. Net $1. 25. _

CROOKED TRAILS AND STRAIGHT

 A story of Arizona; of swift-riding men and daring outlaws; of a bitter feud between cattle-men and sheep-herders. The heroine is a most unusual woman and her love-story reaches a culmination that is fittingly characteristic of the great free West. 

 _12mo, Cloth, Illustrated. Popular Edition 50 cents. _

BRAND BLOTTERS

 A story of the Cattle Range. This story brings out the turbid life of the frontier with all its engaging dash and vigor with a charming love interest running through its 320 pages. 

 _12mo, Cloth, Illustrated. Jacket in Colors. Popular Edition 50 cents. _

"MAVERICKS"

 A tale of the western frontier, where the "rustler, " whose depredations are so keenly resented by the early settlers of the range, abounds. One of the sweetest love stories ever told. 

 _12mo, Cloth, Illustrated. Popular Edition, 50 cents. _

A TEXAS RANGER

 How a member of the most dauntless border police force carried law into the mesquit, saved the life of an innocent man after a series of thrilling adventures, followed a fugitive to Wyoming, and then passed through deadly peril to ultimate happiness. 

 _12mo, Cloth, Illustrated. Popular Edition, 50 cents. _

WYOMING

 In this vivid story of the outdoor West the author has captured the breezy charm of "cattleland, " and brings out the turbid life of the frontier with all its engaging dash and vigor. 

 _12mo, Cloth, Illustrated. Popular Edition, 50 cents. _

RIDGWAY OF MONTANA

 The scene is laid in the mining centers of Montana, where politics and mining industries are the religion of the country. The political contest, the love scene, and the fine character drawing give this story great strength and charm. 

 _12mo, Cloth, Illustrated. Popular Edition, 50 cents. _

BUCKY O'CONNOR

 Every chapter teems with wholesome, stirring adventures, replete with the dashing spirit of the border, told with dramatic dash and absorbing fascination of style and plot. 

 _12mo, Cloth, Illustrated. Popular Edition, 50 cents. _

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THREE SPLENDID BOOKS BY ALFRED HENRY LEWIS

FARO NELL AND HER FRIENDS

 A new story of "Wolfville" days--the best of all. It pictures the fine comradeship, broad understanding and simple loyalty of Faro Nell to her friends. Here we meet again Old Monte, Dave Tutt, Cynthiana, Pet-Named Original Sin, Dead Shot Baker, Doc Peets, Old Man Enright, Dan Boggs, Texas and Black Jack, the rough-actioned, good-hearted men and women who helped to make this author famous as a teller of tales of Western frontier life. 

 _12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Popular Edition. 50 Cents_

THE APACHES OF NEW YORK

 A truthful account of actual happenings in the underworld of vice and crime in the metropolis, that gives an appalling insight into the life of the New York criminal. It contains intimate, inside information concerning the gang fights and the gang tyranny that has since startled the entire world. The book embraces twelve stories of grim, dark facts secured directly from the lips of the police and the gangsters themselves. 

 _12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Popular Edition. 50 Cents_

THE STORY OF PAUL JONES

 A wonderful historical romance. A story of the boyhood and later life of that daring and intrepid sailor whose remains are now in America. Thousands and tens of thousands have read it and admired it. Many consider it one of the best books Mr. Lewis has produced. 

 _12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Popular Edition. 50 Cents_

G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANYPublishers New York

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BOOKS BY EDWARD MARSHALL

BAT--An Idyl of New York

 "The heroine has all the charm of Thackeray's Marchioness in New York surroundings. "--_New York Sun_. "It would be hard to find a more charming, cheerful story. "--_New York Times_. "Altogether delightful. "--_Buffalo Express_. "The comedy is delicious. "-- _Sacramento Union_. "It is as wholesome and fresh as the breath of springtime. "--_New Orleans Picayune_. 12mo, cloth. Illustrated. $1. 00 net. 

THE MIDDLE WALL

 _The Albany Times-Union_ says of this story of the South African diamond mines and adventures in London, on the sea and in America: "As a story teller Mr. Marshall cannot be improved upon, and whether one is looking for humor, philosophy, pathos, wit, excitement, adventure or love, he will find what he seeks, aplenty, in this capital tale. " 12mo, cloth. Illustrated. 50 cents. 

 _BOOKS NOVELIZED FROM GREAT PLAYS_

THE MASTER OF THE HOUSE

 From the successful play of EDGAR JAMES. Embodying a wonderful message to both husbands and wives, it tells how a determined man, of dominating personality and iron will, leaves a faithful wife for another woman. 12mo, cloth. Illustrated from scenes in the play. Net $1. 25. 

THE WRITING ON THE WALL

 _The Rocky Mountain News_: "This novelization of OLGA NETHERSOLE'S play tells of Trinity Church and its tenements. It is a powerful, vital novel. " 12mo, cloth. Illustrated. 50 cents. 

THE OLD FLUTE PLAYER

 Based on CHARLES T. DAZEY'S play, this story won the friendship of the country very quickly. The _Albany Times-Union_: "Charming enough to become a classic. " 12mo, cloth. Illustrated 50 cents. 

THE FAMILY

 Of this book (founded on the play by ROBERT HOBART DAVIS), _The Portland (Oregon) Journal_ said: "Nothing more powerful has recently been put between the covers of a book. " 12mo, cloth. Illustrated. 50 cents. 

THE SPENDTHRIFT

 _The Logansport (Ind. ) Journal_: "A tense story founded on PORTER EMERSON BROWNE'S play, is full of tremendous situations, and preaches a great sermon. " 12mo, cloth bound, with six illustrations from scenes in the play, 50 cents. 

IN OLD KENTUCKY

 Based upon CHARLES T. DAZEY'S well-known play, which has been listened to with thrilling interest by over seven million people. "A new and powerful novel, fascinating in its rapid action. Its teaching story is told more elaborately and even more absorbingly than it was upon the stage. "--_Nashville American_, 12mo, cloth. Illustrated. 50 cents. 

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ALBERT ROSS' ROMANCES

A NEW EDITION AT A POPULAR PRICE

Albert Ross is a brilliant and wonderfully successful writer whose bookshave sold far into the millions. Primarily his novels deal with thesex-problem, but he depicts vice with an artistic touch and never makesit unduly attractive. Gifted with a fine dramatic instinct, hischaracters become living, moving human beings full of the fire andpassion of loving just as they are in real life. His stories contain allthe elements that will continue to keep him at the head of Americannovelists in the number of his admirers. 

Mr. Ross is to be congratulated on the strength as well as the purity ofhis work. It shows that he is not obliged to confine his pen to anysingle theme, and that he has a good a right to be called the "AmericanEugene Sue" or the "American Zola. "

_12mo, cloth. Price per volume, 50 cents. _

 Black Adonis, A Original Sinner, An Garston Bigamy, The Out of Wedlock Her Husband's Friend Speaking of Ellen His Foster Sister Stranger than Fiction His Private Character Sugar Princess, A In Stella's Shadow That Gay Deceiver Love at Seventy Their Marriage Bond Love Gone Astray Thou Shalt Not Moulding a Maiden Thy Neighbor's Wife Naked Truth, The Why I'm Single New Sensation, A Young Fawcett's Mabel Young Miss Giddy

G. W. DILLINGHAM CO. Publishers New York

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"THE ART OF THE PHOTOPLAY" is a condensed textbook of the technicalknowledge necessary for the preparation and sale of motion picturescenarios. More than 35, 000 photoplays are produced annually in theUnited States. The work of staff-writers is insufficient. Free-lancewriters have greater opportunities than ever before, for the producingcompanies can not secure enough good comedies and dramas for theirneeds. The first edition of this book met with unusual success. Itsauthor, now the Director General of Productions for the Beaux Arts FilmCorporation, is the highest paid scenario writer in the world, as wellas being a successful producing manager. Among his successes were thescenarios for the spectacular productions: "Robin Hood, " "The SquawMan, " "The Banker's Daughter, " "The Fire King, " "Checkers, " "The Curseof Cocaine" and "The Kentucky Derby. "

WHAT THOSE WHO KNOW HAVE SAID:

"In my opinion, based upon six years' experience producing motionpictures, Mr. Eustace Hale Ball is the most capable scenario writer inthe business to-day. " (Signed) W. F. Haddock, Producing Director withEdison, Eclair, All Star, and now President, Mirror Film Corporation. 

"Mr. Ball has thoroughly grasped present day and future possibilities ofthe Moving Picture business with relation to the opportunities for realgood work by scenario writers. " (Signed) P. Kimberley, ManagingDirector, Imperial Film Company, Ltd. , London, England. 

"To those who wish to earn some of the money which the moving picturefolk disburse, Eustace Hale Ball proffers expert and valuable advice. "_New York Times Review of Books_. 

"Ball's Art of the Photoplay puts into concrete form, with expertsimplicity, the secrets of writing photoplays which appeal to themillions of Americans who attend the theatres and the producers can notbuy enough of such plays to satisfy the exhibitors. " (Signed) Robert LeeMacnabb, National Vice-President, Motion Picture Exhibitor's League ofAmerica. 

"You have succeeded in producing a clear and helpful exposition of thesubject. " (Signed) Wm. R. Kane, Editor of "The Editor Magazine. "

_12 mo. Cloth bound, $1. 00 Net. _

G. W. DILLINGHAM CO. , Publishers NEW YORK

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By MRS. GEORGE SHELDON DOWNS

KATHERINE'S SHEAVES

A Great Novel With a Great Purpose

 Katherine's Sheaves is altogether delightful, a charming piece of fiction, a beautiful romance. One must admire the book for its characterization, its brilliant pictures of life, and its dramatic situations, but still more for its philosophy and wisdom. 

 The story is a dramatic one, abounding in strong situations. 

 The plot is well conceived and carried out, the style easy and the characters likable. 

 _12mo, Cloth, Illustrated. Popular Edition, 50 cents. _

STEP BY STEP

 Judged as a story pure and simple, "STEP BY STEP" is altogether delightful. But it is not merely a charming piece of fiction. Ethical in its nature, the underlying thought shows throughout the lofty purpose and high ideals of the author, and exhales a wholesome atmosphere, while the element of romance pervading it is both elevated and enriched by its purity and simplicity. 

 _12mo, Cloth, Illustrated. Popular Edition, 50 cents. _

GERTRUDE ELLIOT'S CRUCIBLE

 It is a readable story, clean, wholesome, and high in moral tone--optimistic and constructive. 

 It has an alluring plot, and is well and skillfully worked out. The incidents are dramatic, and therefore always striking, and the entire romance will hold the attention of the reader. 

 _12mo, Cloth Bound, Illustrated. Popular Edition, 50 cents. _

REDEEMED

 Dealing with divorce--the most vital problem in the world to-day--this book tells how a pure-minded woman is divorced from her husband, upon a flimsy pretext, because he wishes to marry again. How he suffers when he learns that he has thrown away the true disinterested love of a noble woman, and how he craves that love again, makes a vivid, forceful story of an intensely modern significance. 

 _12mo, Cloth, Illustrated. Popular Edition, 50 cents. _

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POPULAR MYSTERY DETECTIVE STORIES BY FERGUS HUME

The very name of Fergus Hume means mystery and excitement, and hisdetective stories show that he is a past-master in the art of creatingthrills and unusual situations, of baffling and elusive intricacy. Lovers of mystery stories welcome each announcement of a new book bythis author, who is widely known on both sides of the Atlantic. 

 Claude Duval of '95 Peacock of Jewels, The Coin of Edward VII, A Rainbow Feather, The Disappearing Eye, The Red Money Green Mummy, The Red Window, The Lost Parchment, The Sacred Herb, The Mandarin's Fan, The Sealed Message, The Mystery of a Hansom Cab, The Secret Passage, The Mystery Queen, The Solitary Farm, The Opal Serpent, The Steel Crown, The Pagan's Cup, The Yellow Holly, The

 _12mo, Cloth; Popular Edition; Per volume, 50 cents_