The Project Gutenberg EBook of The LookoutMan, by B. M. Bower

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Title: The Lookout Man

Author: B. M. Bower

Release Date: April 15, 2005 [EBook#15625]

Language: English

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Book Cover.

By B. M. Bower

GOOD INDIANTHE UPHILL CLIMB

THE GRINGOSTHE RANCH AT THE WOLVERINE

THE FLYING U'S LAST STANDJEAN OF THE LAZY ATHE PHANTOM HERD

THE HERITAGE OF THE SIOUXSTARR, OF THE DESERT

THE LOOKOUT MAN

She was, after all, the goddess she looked,he thought whimsically.

THE LOOKOUT

MAN

By B. M. Bower

WITH FRONTISPIECE BYH. WESTON TAYLOR

BOSTON

LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY1917

Published, August, 1917

VAIL-BALLOU COMPANYBINGHAMTON AND NEW YORK

U. S. A.

CONTENTS

I "SOME TIME!"

II "THANKS FOR THE CAR"

III TO THE FEATHER RIVERCOUNTRY AND FREEDOM

IV JACK FINDS HIMSELF INPOSSESSION OF A JOB

V "IT'S A LONG WAY TOTIPPERARY," SANG JACK

VI MISS ROSE FORWARD

VII GUARDIAN OF THE FORESTS

VIII IN WHICH A GIRL PLAYSBILLIARDS ON THE MOUNTAIN TOP

IX LIKE THE BOY HE WAS

X WHEN FORESTS ARE ABLAZE

XI SYMPATHY AND ADVICE

XII KATE FINDS SOMETHING TOWORRY OVER

XIII JACK SHOULD HAVE A HIDE-OUT

XIV MURPHY HAS A HUMOROUSMOOD

XV A CAVE DWELLER JACKWOULD BE

XVI MIKE GOES SPYING ON THESPIES

XVII PENITENCE, REAL ANDUNREAL

XVIII HANK BROWN PROVES THATHE CAN READ TRACKS

XIX TROUBLE ROCKS THE PAN,LOOKING FOR GRAINS OF GOLD

XX IGNORANCE TAKES THE TRAIL

OF DANGER

XXI GOLD OF REPENTANCE,SUNLIGHT OF LOVE AND A MANGONE MAD

XXII THE MISERERE OFMOTHERHOOD

XXIII GRIEF, AND HOPE THAT DIEDHARD

XXIV TROUBLE FINDS THE GOLDTHAT WAS IN THEM

CHAPTER ONESOME TIME!

From the obscurity of vast, unquietdistance the surf came booming in with theheavy impetus of high tide, flinging longstreamers of kelp and bits of driftwoodover the narrowing stretch of sand wheregarishly costumed bathers had latelyshrieked hilariously at their gambols.Before the chill wind that had risen withthe turn of the tide the bathers retreated indripping, shivering groups, to appear laterin fluffs and furs and woollen sweaters;

still inclined to hilarity, still undeniablyboth to leave off their pleasuring atVenice, dedicated to cheap pleasures.

But when the wind blew stronger and thesurf boomed louder and nearer, and thefaint moon-path stretched farther andfarther toward the smudgy sky-line, city-going street-cars began to fill withsunburned passengers, and motors beganto purr out of the narrow side streets linedwith shoddy buildings which housed thesummer sojourners. One more Sundaynight's revelry was tapering off intoshouted farewells, clanging gongs,honking horns and the shuffling of tiredfeet hurrying homeward.

In cafes and grills and private diningrooms groups of revelers, whose

pleasures were not halted by the nickelalarm-clocks ticking inexorably all overthe city and its suburbs, still lingered longafter the masses had gone home yawningand counting the fullness of past joys bythe present extent of smarting sunblisters.

Automobiles loaded with singingpassengers scurried after their own beamsof silver light down the boulevards. Atfirst a continuous line of speeding cars;then thinning with long gaps between; thenlonger gaps with only an occasional car;then the quiet, lasting for minutesunbroken, so that the wind could be heardin the eucalyptus trees that here and therelined the boulevard.

After the last street-car had clanged awayfrom the deserted bunting-draped joy zone

that now was stark and joyless, a belatedseven-passenger car, painted a rich plumcolor and splendid in upholstering andsilver trim, swept a long row of darkenedwindows with a brush of light as it swungout from a narrow alley and went purringdown to where the asphalt shone black inthe night.

Full throated laughter and a medley ofshouted jibes and current witticisms wentwith it. The tonneau squirmed withuproarious youth. The revolving extraseats swung erratically, propelled byenergetic hands, while some one barkedthe stereotyped invitation to the desertedscenic swing, and some one else shoutedto the revolving occupants to keep theirheads level, and all the others laughed

foolishly.

The revolving ones rebelled, and in thescuffle some one lurched forward againstthe driver at a critical turn in the road,throwing him against the wheel. The bigcar swerved almost into the ditch, wasbrought back just in the nick of time andsped on, while Death, who had lookedinto that tonneau, turned away with ashrug.

The driver, bareheaded and with the windblowing his thick mop of wavy hairstraight back from his forehead, glancedback with swift disfavor at the scufflingbunch.

"Hey—you want to go in the ditch?" heexpostulated, chewing vigorously upon

gum that still tasted sweet and full-flavored. "You wanta cut out that roughstuff over this way!"

"All right, Jackie, old boy, anything toplease!" chanted the offender, cuffing thecap off the fellow next him. "Some time,"he added with vague relish. "S-o-m-etime! What?"

"Some time is right!" came the exuberantchorus. "Hey, Jack! You had some time,all right—you and that brown-eyed queenthat danced like Mrs. Castle. Um-um!Floatin' round with your arms full ofsunshine—oh, you thought you was puttin'something over on the rest of us—what?"

"Cut it out!" Jack retorted, flinging thewords over his shoulder. "Don't talk to

me. Road's flopping around like a snakewith its head cut off—" He laughedapologetically, his eyes staring straightahead over the lowered windshield.

"Aw, step on her, Jack! Show some class,boy—show some class! Good old boat! Ifyou're too stewed to drive 'er, she knowsthe way home. Say, Jackie, if this old carcould talk, wouldn't momma get an ear-full on Monday, hey? What if she—"

"Cut it out—or I'll throw you out!" cameback over Jack's shirt-clad shoulder. He atleast had the wit to use what little sense hehad in driving the car, and he had plenty ofreason to believe that he could carry outhis threat, even if the boulevard did heaveitself up at him like the writhings of agreat snake. If his head was not fit for the

job, his trained muscles would still drivewith automatic precision. Only his visionwas clouded; not the mechanical skillnecessary to pilot his mother's big carsafely into the garage.

Whim held the five in the rear seatsabsorbed in their own maudlincomicalities. The fellow beside Jack didnot seem to take any interest in hissurroundings, and the five gave the frontseat no further attention. Jack drovecircumspectly, leaning a little forward, hisbare arms laid up across the wheel andgrasping the top of it. Brown as bronze,those arms, as were his face and neck andchest down to where the open V of hissport shirt was held closed with the looseknot of a crimson tie that whipped his

shoulder as he drove. A fine lookingfellow he was, sitting there like theincarnation of strength and youth andfullblooded optimism. It was a pity that hewas drunk—he would have been a perfectspecimen of young manhood, else.

The young man on the front seat besidehim turned suddenly on those behind. Thelower half of his face was covered with ablack muffler. He had a gun, and he "cutdown" on the group with disconcertingrealism.

"Hands up!" he intoned fearsomely. "I amthe mysterious lone bandit of theboulevards. Your jewels are the price ofyour lives!" The six-shooter wavered,looking bleakly at one and then another.

After the first stunned interval, a shout oflaughter went up from those behind."Good! Good idea!" one approved. Andanother, having some familiarity with themechanics of screen melodrama, shouted,"Camera!"

"Lone bandit nothing! We're allmysterious auto bandits out seeking whomwe may devour!" cried a young man witha naturally attractive face and beautifulteeth, hastily folding his handkerchiefcornerwise for a mask, and tying it behindhis head—to the great discomfort of hisneighbors, who complained bitterly athaving their eyes jabbed out with hiselbows.

The bandit play caught the crowd. For afew tumultuous minutes elbows were up,

mufflers and handkerchiefs flapping.There emerged from the confusion sixmasked bandits, and three of themflourished six-shooters with arecklessness that would have given aTexas man cold chills down his spine.Jack, not daring to take his eyes off theheaving asphalt, or his hands off thewheel, retained his natural appearanceuntil some generous soul behind himproceeded, in spite of his impatient "Cut itout, fellows!" to confiscate his flapping,red tie and bind it across his nose; whichtransformed Jack Corey into a speedingfiend, if looks meant anything. Thereafterthey threw themselves back upon thesuffering upholstery and commentedgleefully upon their banditishqualifications.

That grew tame, of course. They thirstedfor mock horrors, and two glaring moonsrising swiftly over a hill gave thepsychological fillip to their imaginations.

"Come on-let's hold 'em up!" cried theyoung man on the front seat. "Naw-I'll tellyou! Slow down, Jack, and everybodykeep your faces shut. When we're just pastI'll shoot down at the ground by a hindwheel. Make 'em think they've got ablowout—get the idea?"

"Some idea!" promptly came approval,and the six subsided immediately.

The coming car neared swiftly, the drivershaving as close to the speed limit as hedared. Unsuspectingly he swerved to giveplenty of space in passing, and as he did

so a loud bang startled him. The brakesquealed as he made an emergency stop."Blowout, by thunder!" they heard himcall to his companions, as he piled out andran to the wheel he thought had sufferedthe accident.

Jack obligingly slowed down so that thesix, leaning far out and craning back attheir victims, got the full benefit of theirjoke. When he sped on they fell back intotheir seats and howled with glee.

It was funny. They laughed and slappedone another on the backs, and the morethey laughed the funnier it seemed. Theyrocked with mirth, they bounced up anddown on the cushions and whooped.

All but Jack. He kept his eyes on the still-

heaving asphalt, and chewed gum andgrinned while he drove, with thepersistent sensation that he was driving ahydro-aeroplane across a heaving ocean.Still, he knew what the fellows were upto, and he was perfectly willing to letthem have all the fun they wanted, so longas they didn't interfere with his driving.

In the back of his mind was a large,looming sense of responsibility for thecar. It was his mother's car, and it wasnew and shiny, and his mother liked todrive flocks of fluttery, middle-agedladies to benefit teas and the like. It hadtaken a full hour of coaxing to get the carfor the day, and Jack knew what would bethe penalty if anything happened to mar itscostly beauty. A scratch would be almost

as much as his life was worth. He hopeddazedly that the fellows would keep theirfeet off the cushions, and that they wouldrefrain from kicking the back seat.

Mrs. Singleton Corey was a large, firmwoman who wore her white hair in amarcelled pompadour, and frequentlymanaged to have a flattering picture ofherself in the Sunday papers—on theSociety-and-Club-Doings page, of course.She figured prominently in civicbetterment movements, and was loud inher denunciation of Sunday dances andcabarets and the frivolities of Venice andlesser beach resorts. She did a lot ofworrying over immodest bathing suits, andnever went near the beach except as amember of a purity committee, to see how

awfully young girls behaved in thosepublic places.

She let Jack have the car only because shebelieved that he was going to take a partyof young Christian Endeavorers up MountWilson to view the city after dark. Shecould readily apprehend that such a sightmight be inspiring, and that it would act asa spur upon the worthy ambitions of theyoung men, urging them to greatachievements. Mrs. Singleton Corey hadplenty of enthusiasm for the betterment ofyoung lives, but she had a humanly selfishregard for the immaculateness of her newautomobile, and she feared that the roadson the mountain might be very dusty andrough, and that overhanging branchesmight snag the top. Jack had to promise

that he would be very careful ofoverhanging branches.

Poor lady, she never dreamed that her sonwas out at Venice gamboling on the beachwith bold hussies in striped bathing trunksand no skirts; fox-trotting with a brown-eyed imp from the telephone office, anddrinking various bottled refreshments—carousing shamelessly, as she would havesaid of a neighbor's son—or that, at one-thirty in the morning, he was chewing astrong-flavored gum to kill the odor ofalcohol.

She was not sitting up waiting for him andwondering why he did not come. Jack hadbeen careful to impress upon her that theparty might want to view the stars untilvery late, and that he, of course, could not

hurry them down from the mountain top.

You will see then why Jack was burdenedwith a sense of deep responsibility for thecar, and why he drove almost ascircumspectly as if he were sober, andwhy he would not join in the hilarity of theparty.

"Hist! Here comes a flivver!" warned theyoung man on the front seat, waving hisrevolver backward to impress silence onthe others. "Let's all shoot! Make 'em thinkthey've run into a mess of tacks!"

"Aw, take a wheel off their tin wagon!" alaughter-hoarse voice bettered the plan.

"Hold 'em up and take a nickel off 'em—ifthey carry that much on their persons after

dark," another suggested.

"You're on, bo! This is a hold-up. Hist!"

A hold-up they proceeded to make it. Theyhalted the little car with a series ofexplosions as it passed. The driver wasalone, and as he climbed out to inspect histires, he confronted what looked to hisstartled eyes like a dozen masked men.Solemnly they went through his pocketswhile he stood with his hands high abovehim. They took his half-plug of chewingtobacco and a ten-cent stick-pin from histie, and afterwards made him crank his carand climb back into the seat and go on. Hewent—with the throttle wide open and thelittle car loping down the boulevard like ascared pup.

"Watch him went!" shrieked one theycalled Hen, doubling himself together in aspasm of laughter.

"'He was—here—when we started, b-buthe was—gone—when we got th'ough!'"chanted another, crudely imitating afavorite black-faced comedian.

Jack, one arm thrown across the wheel,leaned out and looked back, grinningunder the red band stretched across themiddle of his face. "Ah, pile in!" he cried,squeezing his gum between his teeth andstarting the engine. "He might come backwith a cop."

That tickled them more than ever. Theycould hardly get back into the car forlaughing. "S-o-m-e little bandits!—what?"

they asked one another over and overagain.

"S-o-m-e little bandits is—right!" theapproving answer came promptly.

"S-o-m-e time, bo, s-o-m-e time!" a drink-solemn voice croaked in a corner of thebig seat.

Thus did the party of ChristianEndeavorers return sedately from theirtrip to Mount Wilson.

CHAPTER TWO

"THANKS FOR THE CAR"

They held up another car with two men init, and robbed them of insignificant triflesin what they believed to be a mostludicrous manner. Afterward they enjoyedprolonged spasms of mirth, theircachinnations carrying far out over the flatlands disturbing inoffensive truckgardeners in their sleep. They cried "S-o-m-e time!" so often that the phrase struckeven their fuddled brains as being silly.

They met another car—a large car withthree women in the tonneau. These,evidently, were home-going theatrepatrons who had indulged themselves in asupper afterwards. They were talkingquietly as they came unsuspectingly up tothe big, shiny machine that was travelingslowly townward, and they gave it nomore than a glance as they passed.

Then came the explosion, that soundedsurprisingly like a blowout. The driverstopped and got out to look for trouble, hiscompanion at his heels. They confrontedsix masked men, three of them displayingsix-shooters.

"Throw up your hands!" commanded acarefully disguised voice.

The driver obeyed—but his right handcame up with an automatic pistol in it. Hefired straight into the bunch—foolishly,perhaps; at any rate harmlessly, thoughthey heard the bullet sing as it went by.Startled, one of the six fired backimpulsively, and the other two followedhis example. Had they tried to kill, in thenight and drunk as they were, theyprobably would have failed; but firing atrandom, one bullet struck flesh. The manwith the automatic flinched backward,reeled forward drunkenly and went downslowly, his companion grasping futilely athis slipping body.

"Hey, you darn mutts, whatcha shootin'for? Hell of a josh, that is!" Jack shoutedangrily and unguardedly. "Cut that out and

pile in here!"

While the last man was clawing in throughthe door, Jack let in the clutch, slammingthe gear-lever from low to high andskipping altogether the intermediate. Thebig car leaped forward and Hen bit histongue so that it bled. Behind them wasconfused shouting.

"Better go back and help—what? You hitone," Jack suggested over his shoulder,slowing down as reason cooled his firsthot impulse for flight.

"Go back nothing! And let 'em get ournumber? Nothing doing!"

"Aw, that mark that was with him took it. Isaw him give it the once-over when he

came back."

"He did not!" some one contradicted hotly."He was too scared."

"Well, do we go back?" Jack was alreadyedging the car to the right so that he wouldhave room for a turn.

"No! Step on 'er! Let 'er out, why don'tyuh? Damn it, what yuh killin' time for?Yuh trying to throw us down? Want thatguy to call a cop and pinch the outfit? Finepal you are! We've got to beat it while thebeatin's good. Go on, Jack—that's a goodboy. Step on 'er!"

With all that tumult of urging, Jack wenton, panic again growing within him as thecar picked up speed. The faster he went

the faster he wanted to go. His footpressed harder and harder on theaccelerator. He glanced at thespeedometer, saw it flirting with thefigures forty-five, and sent that number offthe dial and forced fifty and then sixty intosight. He rode the wheel, holding the greatcar true as a bullet down the black streakof boulevard that came sliding to meet himlike a wide belt between whirring wheels.

The solemn voice that had croaked "S-o-m-e time!" so frequently, took tomonotonous, recriminating speech. "No-body home! No-body home! Had to spillthe beans, you simps! Nobody home a-tall!Had to shoot a man—got us all in wrong,you simps! Nobody home!" He waggledhis head and flapped his hands in drunken

self-righteousness, because he had notpossessed a gun and therefore could nothave committed the blunder of shootingthe man.

"Aw, can that stuff! You're as much toblame as anybody," snapped the mannearest him, and gave the croaker avicious jab with his elbow.

"Don't believe that guy got hep to ournumber! Didn't have time," an optimistfound courage to declare.

"What darn fool was it that shot first?Oughta be crowned for that!"

"Aw, the boob started it himself! He firedon us—and we were only joshing!"

"He got his, all right!"

"Don't believe we killed him—sure, hewas more scared than hurt," put in theoptimist dubiously.

"No-body home," croaked the solemn oneagain, having recovered his breath.

They wrangled dismally andunconvincingly together, but no one putinto speech the fear that rode them hard.Fast as Jack drove, they kept urging him to"Step on 'er!" A bottle that had beencirculating intermittently among the crowdwas drained and thrown out on theboulevard, there to menace the tires ofother travelers. The keen wind whippedtheir hot faces and cleared a little theirfuddled senses, now that the bottle wasempty. A glimmer of caution promptedJack to drive around through Beverly

Hills and into Sunset Boulevard, when hemight have taken a shorter course home. Itwould be better, he thought, to come intotown from another direction, even if ittook them longer to reach home. He wascareful to keep on a quiet residence streetwhen he passed through. Hollywood, andhe turned at Vermont Avenue and droveout into Griffith Park, swung into acrossroad and came out on a road fromGlendale. He made another turn or two,and finally slid into Los Angeles on themain road from Pasadena, well within thespeed limit and with his heart beating alittle nearer to normal.

"We've been to Mount Wilson, fellows.Don't forget that," he warned hispassengers. "Stick to it. If they got our

number back there we can bluff them intothinking they got it wrong. I'll let yuh outhere and you can walk home. Mum's theword—get that?"

He had taken only a passive part in theegregious folly of their play, but theyclimbed out now without protest, subduedand willing to own his leadership.Perhaps they realized suddenly that hewas the soberest man of the lot. Only oncehad he drunk on the way home, and thatsparingly, when the bottle had made therounds. Like whipped schoolboys the sixslunk off to their homes, and as theydisappeared, Jack felt as though the fullburden of the senseless crime had beendropped crushingly upon his shoulders.

He drove the big car quietly up the palm-

shaded street to where his mother's wide-porched bungalow sprawled across twolots. He was sober now, for the tragedyhad shocked him into clear thinking. Heshivered when he turned in across thecement walk and slid slowly down thedriveway to the garage. He climbed stifflyout, rolled the big doors shut, turned onthe electric lights and then methodicallyswitched off the lights of the car. Helooked at the clock imbedded in theinstrument board and saw that it lackedtwenty minutes of three. It would soon bedaylight. It seemed to him that there was agood deal to be done before daylight.

Preoccupiedly he took a big handful ofwaste and began to polish the hood andfenders of the car. His mother would want

to drive, and she always made a fuss if heleft any dust to dim its glossy splendor. Hewalked around behind and contemplatedthe number plate, wondering if the manwho was said to be "hep" wouldremember that there were three cipherstogether. He might see only two—being ina hurry and excited. He rubbed the platethoughtfully, trying to guess just how thatnumber, 170007, would look to a strangerwho was excited by being shot at.

No use doctoring the number now. If theman had it, he had it—and it was easyenough to find the car that carried it. Easyenough, too, to prove who was in the car.Jack had named every one of the fellowswho were to make up the party. He had to,before his mother would let him take the

car. The names were just names to her—since she believed that they wereChristian young men!—but she hadinsisted upon knowing who was going,and she would remember them. She had amemory like glue. She would also give thenames to any officer that asked. Jack knewthat well enough. For, besides having amemory that would never let go, Mrs.Singleton Corey had a conscience that wasinexorable toward the faults of others. Shewould consider it her duty as a Christianwoman and the president of the PurityLeague to hand those six young men overto the law. That she had been deceived asto their morals would add fire to herfervor.

Whether she would hand Jack over with

them was a detail which did not greatlyconcern her son. He believed she woulddo it, if thereby she might win the plauditsof her world as a mother martyred to herfine sense of duty. Jack had lived with hismother for twenty-two years, and althoughhe was very much afraid of her, he felt thathe had no illusions concerning Mrs.Singleton Corey. He felt that she wouldsacrifice nearly everything to her greedfor public approbation. Whether shewould sacrifice her pride of family—twistit into a lofty pride of duty—he did notknow. There are queer psychologicalquirks which may not be foreseen byyouth.

Looking back on the whole sickeningaffair while he sat on the running board

and smoked a cigarette, Jack could not seehow his mother could consistently avoidlaying him on the altar of justice. He haddriven the party, and he had stopped thecar for them to play their damnable joke.The law would call him an accomplice, hesupposed. His mother could not save him,unless she pleaded well the excuse that hehad been led astray by evil companions. Inlesser crises, Jack remembered that shehad played successfully that card. Shemight try it now....

On the other hand, she might make a virtueof necessity and volunteer the informationthat he had in the first place lied abouttheir destination. That, he supposed,would imply a premeditated plan ofholding up automobiles. She might wash

her hands of him altogether. He could seeher doing that, too. He could, in fact, seeMrs. Singleton Corey doing several thingsthat would work him ill and redound toher glory. What he could not see was amother who would cling to him and cryover him and for him, and stick by him,just because she loved him.

"Aw, what's the use? It'll come out—itcan't help it. The cops are out theresmelling around now, I bet!"

He arose and worked over the car until itshone immaculately. A lifetime ofcontinual nagging over little things, whilethe big things had been left to adjustthemselves, had fixed upon Jack the habitof attending first to his mother's whims.Mrs. Singleton Corey made it a point to

drive her own car. She liked the feeling ofpower that it gave her, and she loved theflattery of her friends. Therefore, even amurder problem must wait until herautomobile was beautifully ready to backout of the garage into a critical world.

Jack gave a sigh of relief when he wipedhis hands on the bunch of waste and tossedit into a tin can kept for that purpose. Timewas precious to him just now. Any minutemight bring the police. Jack did not feelthat he was to blame for what hadhappened, but he realized keenly that hewas "in wrong" just the same, and he hadno intention of languishing heroically injail if he could possibly keep out of it.

He hesitated, and finally he went to thehouse and let himself in through a window

whose lock he had "doctored" months ago.His mother would not let him have a key.She believed that being compelled to ringthe bell and awaken her put the needfulcheck upon Jack's habits; that, in trailingdownstairs in a silk kimono to receive himand his explanation of his lateness, shewas fulfilling her duty as a mother.

Jack nearly always humored her in thisdelusion, and his explanations werealways convincing. But he was notprepared to make any just now. Hecrawled into the sun parlor, took off hisshoes and slipped down the hall and upthe stairs to his room. There he rummagedthrough his closet and got out a khakiouting suit and hurried his person into it.In ten minutes he looked more like an

overgrown boy scout than anything else.He took a cased trout rod and fly book,stuffed an extra shirt and all the socks hecould find into his canvas creel, slung apair of wading boots over his shoulderand tiptoed to the door.

There it occurred to him that it wouldn'tbe a bad idea to have some money. Hewent back to his discarded trousers, thatlay in a heap on the floor, and by diligentsearch he collected two silver dollars anda few nickels and dimes and quarters—enough to total two dollars and eighty-fivecents. He looked at the meagre fundruefully, rubbed his free hand over hishair and was reminded of something else.His hair, wavy and trained to lie backfrom his forehead, made him easily

remembered by strangers. He took hiscomb and dragged the whole heavy mopdown over his eyebrows, and parted it inthe middle and plastered it down upon histemples, trying to keep the wave out of it.

He looked different when he was through;and when he had pulled a prim, stiff-brimmed, leather-banded sombrero welldown toward his nose, he could find theheart to grin at his reflection.

The money problem returned to tormenthim. Of what use was this preparation,unless he had some real money to use withit? He took off his shoes again, and hishat; pulled on his bathrobe over the khakiand went out and across to his mother'sroom.

Mrs. Singleton Corey had another illusionamong her collection of illusions aboutherself. She believed that she was a verylight sleeper; that the slightest noise wokeher, and that she would then lie for hourswide-eyed. Indeed she frequently declaredthat she did her best mental work during"the sleepless hours of the night."

However that might be, she certainly wasasleep when Jack pushed open her door.She lay on her back with her mouth halfopen, and she was snoring rhythmically,emphatically—as one would hardlybelieve it possible for a Mrs. SingletonCorey to snore. Jack looked at her oddly,but his eyes went immediately to herdresser and the purse lying where she hadcarelessly laid it down on coming home

from one of her quests for impurity whichshe might purify.

She had a little more than forty-twodollars in her purse, and Jack took all of itand went back to his room. There, heissued a check to her for that amount—unwittingly overdrawing his balance at thebank to do so—and wrote this note to hismother:

"Dear Mother:

"I borrowed some money from you, andI am leaving this check to coverthe amount. I am going on a fishing trip.Maybe to Mexico where dad made hisstake. Thanks for the car today.

son,

He took check and note to her room andplaced them on her purse to the tune of hersnoring, looked at her with a certainwistfulness for the mothering he had neverreceived from her, and went away.

He climbed out of the house as he hadclimbed in, and cut across lots until he hadreached a street some distance from hisown neighborhood. Then keepingcarefully in the shadows, he took theshortest route to the S.P. depot. An earlycar clanged toward him, but he waited in adark spot until it had passed and thenhurried on. He passed an all-night taxistand in front of a hotel, but he did notdisturb the sleepy drivers. So by walkingevery step of the way, he believed that he

had reached the depot unnoticed, justwhen daylight was upon him with graywreaths of fog.

By the depot clock it was five minutes tofive. A train was being called, and thesing-song chant informed him that it wasbound for "Sa-anta Bar-bra—Sa-an LouisOh-bispo—Sa-linas—Sa-an 'Osay—Sa-an Fransisco, and a-a-ll points north!"

Jack, with his rubber boots flapping on hisback, took a run and a slide to the ticketwindow and bought a ticket for SanFrancisco, thinking rather feverishly of thevarious points north.

CHAPTER THREE

TO THE FEATHER RIVERCOUNTRY AND FREEDOM

In the chair car, where he plumped himselfinto a seat just as the train began to creepforward, Jack pulled his hat down overhis eyebrows and wondered if any onehad recognized him while he was gettingon the train. He could not tell, because hehad not dared to seem anxious about it,and so had not looked around him. At anyrate he had not been stopped, though the

police could wire ahead and have himdragged off the train at any station theypleased. Panic once more caught him andhe did not dare look up when theconductor came for his ticket, but held hisbreath until the gloomy, haggard-facedman had tagged him and passed on. Untilthe train had passed Newhall and wasrattling across the flat country to the coast,he shivered when any one passed downthe aisle.

Beyond San Francisco lay the fog bank ofthe unknown. With his fishing outfit hecould pass unquestioned to any part of thatmysterious, vague region known asNorthern California. The Russian Rivercountry, Tahoe, Shasta Springs, FeatherRiver—the names revolved teasingly

through Jack's mind. He did not knowanything about them, beyond the fact thatthey were places where fellows went forsport, and that he hoped people wouldthink he went for sport also. His wadingboots and his rod and creel would, hehoped, account for any haste he mightbetray in losing himself somewhere.

Lose himself he must. If he did not, if hismother got the chance to put him throughthe tearful third-degree system that womenemploy with such deadly certainty ofsuccess, Jack knew that he would tell allthat he knew—perhaps more. The veryleast he could hope to reveal was thedamning fact that he had not been to MountWilson that day. After that the rest wouldnot need to be told. They could patch up

the evidence easily enough.

He tried to forget that man slipping downin the embrace of his friend. It was toohorrible to be true. It must have been atrick just to scare the boys. The world wasfull of joshers—Jack knew half a dozenmen capable of playing that trick, just toturn the joke. For a few minutes he wasoptimistic, almost making himself believethat the man had not been shot, after all.The fading effect of the wines he haddrunk sent his mood swinging from thedepths of panicky anguish over thehorrible affair, to a senseless optimismthat refused to see disaster when it stoodby his side.

He tried again to decide where he shouldgo from San Francisco. He tried to

remember all that he had ever heard aboutthe various paradises for sportsmen, andhe discovered that he could not rememberanything except that they were all in themountains, and that Tahoe was a big lake,and lots of people went there in thesummer. He crossed Tahoe off the list,because he did not want to land in somefashionable resort and bump into someone he knew. Besides, thirty-one dollarswould not last long at a summer resort—and he remembered he would not havethirty-one dollars when he landed; hewould have what was left after he hadpaid his fare from San Francisco, and hadeaten once or twice.

Straightway he became hungry, perhapsbecause a porter came down the aisle

announcing the interesting fact thatbreakfast was now being served in thediner—fourth car rear. Jack felt as thoughhe could eat about five dollars' worth ofbreakfast. He was only a month or so pasttwenty-two, remember, and he himself hadnot committed any crime save the crime offoolishness.

He slid farther down upon his spine,pulled his nice new sombrero lower onthe bridge of his tanned nose, and tried toforget that back there in the diner theywould give him grapefruit on ice, andafter that rolled oats with thick yellowcream, and after that ham and eggs or atenderloin steak or broiled squab on toast;and tried to remember only that the checkwould make five dollars look sick. He

wished he knew how much the fare wouldbe to some of those places where he meantto lose himself. With all that classy-looking paraphernalia he would not dareattempt to beat his way on a freight. Hehad a keen sense of relative values;dressed as he was he must keep "in thepart." He must be able to show that he hadmoney. He sighed heavily and turned hisback definitely upon a dining-carbreakfast. After that he went to sleep.

At noon he was awake and too ravenousto worry so much over the possibility ofbeing arrested for complicity in a murder.He collided violently with the porter whocame down the aisle announcing luncheon.He raced back through two chair cars anda tourist sleeper, and he entered the dining

car with an emphasis that kept the screendoor swinging for a full half minute. Hetipped the waiter who came to fill hiswater glass, and told him to wake up andshow some speed. Any waiter will wakeup for half a dollar, these hard times. Thisone stood looking down over Jack'sshoulder while he wrote, so that he wasback with the boullion before Jack hadreached the bottom of the order blank—which is the reason why you have not readanything about a certain young man dyingof starvation while seated at table numberfive in a diner, somewhere in theneighborhood of Paso Robles.

When he returned to his place in the chaircar he knew he must try to find out whatisolated fishing country was closest. So he

fraternized with the "peanut butcher," ifyou know who he is: the fellow who is puton trains to pester passengers to deathwith all sorts of readable and eatableindigestibles.

He bought two packages of gum andthereby won favor. Then, nonchalantlypicking up his wading boots and placingthem in a different position, he casuallyasked the boy how the fishing was, up thisway. The peanut butcher balanced his trayof chewing gum and candy on the arm of avacant chair beside Jack, and observedtentatively that it was fine, and that Jackmust be going fishing. Jack confessed thatsuch was his intention, and the vender ofthings-you-never-want made a shrewdguess at his destination.

"Going up into the Feather River country, Ibet. Fellow I know just come back. Caughtthe limit, he claims. They say LakeAlmanor has got the best fishing in theState, right now. Fellow I know seen aten-pounder pulled outa there. He broughtback one himself that tipped the scales atseven-and-a-half. He says a pound isabout as small as they run up there. I'mgoing to try to get on the W.P. that runs upthe canyon. Then some day I'll drop offand try my luck—"

"Don't run to Lake Almanor, does it? FirstI ever heard—"

"No, sure it don't! The lake's away off therailroad—thirty or forty miles. I don't lookfor a chance to go there fishing. I meanFeather River—anywhere along up the

canyon. They say it's great. You can surecatch fish! Lots of little creeks comingdown outa the canyon, and all of them fullof trout. You'll have all kinds of sport."

"Aw, Russian River's the place to go,"Jack dissented craftily, and got the replythat he was waiting for.

"Aw, what's the use of going away upthere? And not get half the fish? Why, youcan take the train at the ferry and in themorning you are right in the middle of thebest fishing in the State. Buh-lieve me, it'llbe Feather River for mine, if I can makethe change I want to! Them that have gotthe money to travel on, can take the far-offplaces—me for the fish, bo, every day inthe week." He took up his tray and wentdown the car, offering his wares to the

bored, frowsy passengers who wantedonly to reach journey's end.

The next round he made, he stopped againbeside Jack. They talked of fishing—Jacksaw to that!—and Jack learned that LakeAlmanor was nothing more nor less thanan immense reservoir behind a great damput in by a certain power company at acost that seemed impossible. Thereservoir had been made by the simpleprocess of backing up the water over alarge mountain valley. You could lookacross the lake and see Mount Lassen asplain as the nose on your face, the peanutbutcher declared relishfully. And the troutin that artificial lake passed all belief.

Every time the boy passed, he stopped fora few remarks. Pound by pound the trout

in Lake Almanor grew larger. Sentence bysentence Jack learned much that wasuseful, a little that was needful. Therewere several routes to Lake Almanor, forinstance. One could get in by way ofChico, but the winter snow had not left thehigh summits, so that route was unfeasiblefor the time being. The best way just nowwas by the way of Quincy, a little town upnear the head of Feather River Canyon.The fare was only seven or eight dollars,and since the season had opened onecould get reduced rates for the round trip.That was the way the friend of the peanutbutcher had gone in—only he had stoppedoff at Keddie and had gone up to the damwith a fellow he knew that worked there.And he had brought back a trout thatweighed practically eight pounds,

dressed. The peanut butcher knew; he hadseen it with his own eyes. They had ithanging in the window of the CaliforniaMarket, and there was a crowd around thewindow all the time. He knew; he hadseen the crowd, and he had seen the fish;and he knew the fellow who had caught it.

Unless he could go with a crowd, Jack didnot care much about fishing. He liked thefun the gang could have together in thewilds, but that was all; like last summerwhen Hen had run into the hornet's nesthanging on a bush and thought it was anoriole's basket! Alone and weighed downwith horror as he was, Jack could not stirup any enthusiasm for the sport. But hefound out that it would not cost much toreach the little town called Quincy, of

which he had never before heard.

No one, surely, would ever think oflooking there for him. He could take theevening train out of San Francisco, and inthe morning he would be there. And if hewere not sufficiently lost in Quincy, hecould take to the mountains all around.There were mountains, he guessed fromwhat the boy had told him; and canyonsand heavy timber. The thought of havingsome definite, attainable goal cheered himso much that he went to sleep again, sittinghunched down in the seat with his hat overhis eyes, so that no one could see his face;and since no one but the man who sold ithad ever seen him in that sport suit, he feltalmost safe.

He left the train reluctantly at the big, new

station in San Francisco, and took a streetcar to the ferry depot. There he kept out ofsight behind a newspaper in the entranceto the waiting room until he was permittedto pass through the iron gate to the big,resounding room where passengers for thetrain ferry were herded together likecorralled sheep. It seemed very quietthere, to be the terminal station in a largecity.

Jack judged nervously that people did notflock to the best fishing in the State, inspite of all the peanut butcher had toldhim. He was glad of that, so long as hewas not so alone as to be conspicuous.Aside from the thin sprinkling ofpassengers, everything was just as the boyhad told him. He was ferried in a big,

empty boat across the darkling bay to thetrain that stood backed down on the molewaiting for him and the half dozen otherpassengers. He chose the rear seat inanother chair car very much like the onehe had left, gave up his ticket and wastagged, pulled his hat down over his noseand slept again, stirring now and thenbecause of his cramped legs.

When he awoke finally it was daylight,and the train was puffing into a tunnel. Hecould see the engine dive into the blackhole, dragging the coaches after it like thetail of a snake. When they emerged, Jacklooked down upon a green-and-white-scurrying river; away down—so far that itstartled him a little. And he looked upsteep pine-clad slopes to the rugged peaks

of the mountains. He heaved a sigh ofrelief. Surely no one could possibly findhim in a place like this.

After a while he was told to change forQuincy, and descended into a fresh, green-and-blue world edged with white clouds.There was no town—nothing but greenhills and a deep-set, unbelievable valleyfloor marked off with fences, and a littleyellow station with a red roof, and a toyengine panting importantly in front of itsone tiny baggage-and-passenger coach,with a freight car for ballast.

Jack threw back his shoulders and took along, deep, satisfying breath. He lookedaround him gloatingly and climbed into thelittle make-believe train, and smiled as hesettled back in a seat. There was not

another soul going to Quincy that morning,save the conductor and engineer. Theconductor looked at his passenger asboredly as the wife of a professionalhumorist looks at her husband, took histicket and left him.

Jack lighted a cigarette and blew thesmoke out of the open window while thelittle train bore him down through thegreen forest into the valley. He was in anew world. He was safe here—he waslost.

CHAPTER FOUR

JACK FINDS HIMSELF INPOSSESSION OF A JOB

Writing his name on the hotel register wasan embarrassing ceremony that had notoccurred to Jack until he walked up thesteps and into the bare little office. Someinstinct of pride made him shrink fromtaking a name that did not belong to him,and he was afraid to write his own in sopublic a place. So he ducked into thedining room whence came the muffled

clatter of dishes and an odor of friedbeefsteak, as a perfectly plausible meansof dodging the issue for a while.

He ate as slowly as he dared and as longas he could swallow, and when he leftwas lucky enough to find the officeoccupied only by a big yellow cat curledup on the desk with the pen between itspaws. It seemed a shame to disturb the cat.He went by it on his toes and passed ondown the steps and into the full face of thetown lying there cupped in green hills andwith a sunshiny quiet that made the worldseem farther away than ever.

A couple of men were walking down thestreet and stopping now and then to talk tothose they met. Jack followed aimlessly,his hands in his pockets, his new Stetson

—that did not look so unusual here inQuincy—pulled well down over hiseyebrows and giving his face anunaccustomed look of purposefulness.Those he met carried letters and papers intheir hands; those he followed went emptyhanded, so Jack guessed that he wasobserving the regular morning pilgrimageto the postoffice—which, had he onlyknown it, really begins the day in Quincy.

He did not expect any mail, of course; butthere seemed nothing else for him to do,no other place for him to go; and he wasafraid that if he stayed around the hotelsome one might ask him to register. Hewent, therefore, to the postoffice andstood just outside the door with his handsstill in his pockets and the purposeful look

on his face; whereas no man was evermore completely adrift and purposelessthan was Jack Corey. Now that he had losthimself from the world—buried himselfup here in these wonderfully greenmountains where no one would ever thinkof looking for him—there seemed nothingat all to do. He did not even want to gofishing. And as for journeying on to thatlake which the peanut butcher had talkedso much about, Jack had never for oneminute intended going there.

A tall man with shrewd blue eyestwinkling behind goldrimmed glassescame out and stood in the pleasant warmthof the sun. He had a lot of mail under hisarm and a San Francisco paper spreadbefore him. Jack slanted a glance or two

toward the paper, and at the second glancehe gulped.

"Los Angeles Auto Bandits Trailed"stared out at him accusingly like a pointedfinger. Underneath, in smaller type, thatwas black as the meaning that it bore forhim, were the words: "SensationalDevelopments Expected."

Jack did not dare look again, lest hebetray to the shrewd eyes behind theglasses a guilty interest in the article. Hetook his cigarette from his mouth andmoistened his lips, and tried to hide thetrembling of his fingers by flicking off theash. As soon as he dared he walked ondown the street, and straightway found thathe was walking himself out of townaltogether. He turned his head and looked

back, saw the tall man glancing after him,and went on briskly, with some effortholding himself back from running like afool. He felt that he had blundered incoming down this way, where there wasnothing but a blacksmith shop and a fewsmall cottages set in trim lawns. The tallman would know that he had no businessdown here, and he would wonder who hewas and what he was after. And once thattall man began to wonder....

"Auto Bandits Trailed!" seemed to Jack tobe painted on his back. That headline mustmean him, because he did not believe thatany of the others would think to get out oftown before daylight as he had done.Probably that article had Jack'sdescription in it.

He no longer felt that he had lost himself;instead, he felt trapped by the verymountains that five minutes ago hadseemed so like a sheltering wall betweenhim and his world. He wanted to get intothe deepest forest that clothed their sides;he wanted to hide in some remote canyon.

He turned his head again and looked back.A man was coming behind him down thepathway which served as a pavement. Hethought it was the tall man who had beenreading about him in the paper, and againpanic seized him—only now he had buthis two feet to carry him away into safety,instead of his mother's big new car. Heglanced at the houses like a harried animalseeking desperately for some hole tocrawl into, and he saw that the little,

square cottage that he had judged to be adwelling, was in reality a United StatesForest Service headquarters. He had onlythe haziest idea of what that meant, but atleast it was a public office, and it had adoor which he could close betweenhimself and the man that followed.

He hurried up the walk laid across theneat little grass plot, sent a humblygrateful glance up to the stars-and-stripesthat fluttered lazily from the short flagstaff,and went in as though he had businessthere, and as though that business wasurgent.

A couple of young fellows at wide,document-littered desks looked up at himwith a mild curiosity, said good morningand waited with an air of expectancy for

him to state his errand. Under pretense ofthrowing his cigarette outside, Jack turnedand opened the door six inches or so. Theman who had followed him was goingpast, and he did not look toward thehouse. He was busy reading a newspaperwhile he walked, but he was not the tallman with the shrewd blue eyes and theknowing little smile; which was somecomfort to Jack. He closed the door andturned again toward the two; and becausehe knew he must furnish some plausiblereason for his presence, he said the firstthing that came to his tongue—the thingthat is always permissible and alwaysplausible.

"Fellow told me I might get a job here.How about it?" Then he smiled good-

naturedly and with a secret admiration forhis perfect aplomb in rising to theemergency.

"You'll have to ask Supervisor Ross aboutthat," said one. "He's in there." He turnedhis thumb toward the rear room, the doorof which stood wide open, and bent againover the map he had been studying. So faras these two were concerned, Jack hadevidently ceased to exist. He went,therefore, to the room where thesupervisor was at work filling in a blankof some kind; and because his impromptuspeech had seemed to fill perfectly hisrequirements, he repeated it to Ross inexactly the same tone of careless goodnature, except that this time he reallymeant part of it; because, when he came to

think of it, he really did want a job ofsome sort, and the very atmosphere ofquiet, unhurried efficiency that pervadedthe place made him wish that he mightbecome a part of it.

It was a vagrant wish that might have diedas quickly as it had been born; an impulsethat had no root in any previousconsideration of the matter. But Rossleaned back in his chair and wasregarding him seriously, as a possibleemployee of the government, and Jackinstinctively squared his shoulders to meetthe look.

Followed a few questions, which Jackanswered as truthfully as he dared. Rosslooked him over again and asked him howhe would like to be a fireman. Whereat

Jack looked bewildered.

"What I mean by that in this case," thesupervisor explained, "is that I could putyou up on Mount Hough, in the lookoutstation. That's—do you know anything atall about the Forest Service, youngfellow?"

Jack blushed, gulped down a lie and cameout with the truth. "I got in this morning,"he said. "I don't know a darned thing aboutit, but I want to get to work at something.And I guess I can learn anything that isn'ttoo complicated."

Ross laughed to himself. "About the mostcomplicated thing you'll have to learn," hesaid, "is how to put in your time. It's hardto get a man that will stay at lookout

stations. Lonesome—that's all. It's aboutas bad as being a sheepherder, only youwon't have any sheep for company. Up onMount Hough you'll have to live in a littleglass house about the size of this room,and do your cooking on an oil stove. Yourwork will be watching your district forfires, and reporting them here—by phone.There's a man up there now, but he doesn'twant to stay. He's been hollering for someone to take his place. You're entitled tofour days relief a month—when we sendup a man to take your place. Aside fromthat you'll have to stay right up on thatpeak, and watch for fires. The fellow upthere will show you how to use the chartand locate fires so you can tell us exactlywhere it is that you see smoke. You can'tleave except when you're given

permission and some one comes to takeyour place. We send up your supplies andmail once a week on a pack horse. Yourpay will be seventy dollars a month.

"I don't want you to take it unless you feelpretty sure you can stick. I'm tired ofsending men up there for a week or twoand having them phoning in here a dozentimes a day about how lonesome it is, thenquitting cold. We can't undertake tofurnish you with amusement, and we aretoo busy to spend the day gossiping withyou over the phone just to help you passthe time." He snapped his mouth togetheras though he meant every word of it and agreat deal more. "Do you want the job?"he asked grimly.

Jack heard a chuckle from the next room,

and his own lips came together with asnap.

"Lead me to it," he said cheerfully. "I'dstand on my head and point the wind withmy legs for seventy dollars a month!Sounds to me like a good place to savemoney—what?"

"Don't know how you'd go about spendingmuch as long as you stayed up there,"Ross retorted drily. "It's when a mancomes down that his wages begin to melt."

Jack considered this point, standing withhis feet planted a little apart and his handsin his pockets, which is the accepted poseof the care-free scion of wealth who isabout to distinguish himself. He believedthat he knew best how to ward off

suspicion of his motives in thus exilinghimself to a mountain top. He thereforegrinned amiably at Ross.

"Well, then, I won't come down," he statedcalmly. "What I'm looking for is a chanceto make some money without any chanceof spending it. Lead me to this saidmountain with the seventy-dollar jobholding down the peak."

Ross looked at him dubiously as though hedetected a false note somewhere. Goodlooking young fellows with the tangibleair of the towns and easy living did not, asa rule, take kindly to living alone on somemountain peak. He stared up into Jack'sface unwinkingly, seeking there the realpurpose behind such easy acceptance.

Jack stared back, his eyes widening andsobering a little as he discovered that thisman was not so easily put off withlaughing evasion. He wondered if Rosshad read the papers that morning, and ifhe, like the tall man at the postoffice, wasmentally fitting him into the description ofthe auto bandit that was being trailed.Instinctively he rose to the newemergency.

"On the level, I want work and I want itright away," he said. "Being alone won'tbother me—I always get along pretty wellwith myself. I want to get ahead of thegame about five hundred dollars, and thislooks to me like a good chance to pile upa few iron men. I'm game for thelonesomeness. It's a cold dollars-and-

cents proposition with me." He stoppedand eyed the other a minute. "Does thatanswer what's in your mind?" he askedbluntly.

Forest Supervisor Ross turned away hisglance and reached for his pen. "That's allright," he half apologized. "I want you tounderstand what you're going up against,that is all. What's your name?"

Having the question launched at himsuddenly like that, Jack nearly blurted outhis own name from sheer force of habit.But his tongue was his friend for once andpronounced the last word so that Rosswrote "John Carew" without hesitation.And Jack Corey, glancing down as thesupervisor wrote, stifled a smile ofsatisfaction.

"It happens to be the day when we usuallysend up supplies," said Ross when he hadfinished recording the fact of Jack'semployment as fireman. "Our man hasn'tstarted yet, and you can go up with him.Come back here in an hour, can you?There'll be a saddle horse for you. Don'ttry to take too much baggage. Suitcase,maybe. You can phone down for anythingyou need that you haven't got with you, youknow. It will go up next trip. Clothes andgrub and tobacco and such as that—useyour own judgment, and common sense."

"All right. Er—thank you, sir." Jackblushed a bit over the unaccustomedcourtesy of his tone, and turned into theouter office.

"Oh—Carew! Don't fall into the fool habit

of throwing rocks down into the lake justto see them bounce! One fellow did that,and came near getting a tourist. You'llhave to be careful."

"I certainly will, Mr. Ross."

The other two men gave him a friendlynod, and Jack went out of the officefeeling almost as cheerful as he had triedto appear.

CHAPTER FIVE

"IT'S A LONG WAY TOTIPPERARY," SANG JACK

Riding at a steady, climbing walk up awinding road cut into the woodedmountainside; with a pack-horse loadedwith food and new, cheap bedding whichJack had bought; with chipmunks scurryingover the tree trunks that had gone crashingdown in some storm and were gatheringmoss on their rotting bark; with the clear,yellow sunlight of a mountain day in

spring lying soft on the upper branches,Jack had a queer sense of riding up into anew, untroubled life that could hold noshred of that from which he had fled. Hismother, stately in her silks and a serenelyunapproachable manner, which seemedalways to say to her son that she waspreoccupied with her own affairs, and thather affairs were vastly more importantthan his youthful interests and problems,swam vaguely before his consciousness,veiled by the swift passing of events andthe abrupt change from city to unspoiledwilderness.

When his companion stopped to let thehorses "get their wind," Jack would turn inthe saddle and look back over the networkof gulches and deep canyons to where the

valley peeped up at him shyly through thetrees, and would think that every stepmade him that much safer. He did not facecalmly the terror from which he had fled.Still mentally breathless from the veryunexpectedness of the catastrophe, heshrank from the thought of it as if thinkingwould betray him. He had not so farconcerned himself with his future, exceptas it held the possibility of discovery. Sohe quizzed his companion and got himtalking about the mountains over which hewas to play guardian angel.

He heard a good deal about hunting andfishing; and when they climbed a littlehigher, Hank Brown pointed out to himwhere a bear and two half grown cubs hadbeen killed the fall before. He ought to

have a rifle, said Hank. There was alwaysthe chance that he might get a shot at abear; and as for deer, the woods were fullof them. Then he told more stories andpointed out the very localities where theincidents had occurred.

"See that rocky peak over there? That'swhere the bears hole up in the winter.Network of caves, up there. KingSolomon's the name the people that livehere call it—but it's down on the map asGrizzly Peak. Ain't any grizzlies, though—black bear mostly. They're smaller andthey ain't so fighty."

It was on the tip of Jack's tongue toobserve that a man might hide out here formonths and months and never be seen,much less caught; but he checked himself,

and remarked only that he would certainlyhave to get a gun. He would like, hedeclared, to take home some good heads,and maybe a bear skin or two. He forcedhimself to speak of home in the carelesstone of one who has nothing to hide, butthe words left an ache in his throat and adull heaviness in his chest.

Hank Brown went on talking and sawnothing wrong with his mood. Indeed, henever saw anything wrong with a man whowould listen to Hank's hunting and fishingstories and not bore him with stories ofhis own prowess. Wherefore, Jack wasleft alone in peace to fight the sudden,nauseating wave of homesickness, and in alittle while found himself listening to thesteady monotone of Hank Brown's voice.

So, they came to a tiny, sunken meadow,one side of which was fenced with poles,rimmed round with hills set thick withheavy timber. On the farther side of themeadow, almost hidden from sight, was asquare log cabin, solid, gloomily shadedand staring empty-eyed at a tiny, clearstream where the horses scared an eight-inch trout out of a pool when they loweredeager noses to drink thirstily.

After that they climbed up into a moreopen country, clothed with interlacedmanzanita bushes and buck brush andthickets of young balsam fir. Here, saidHank Brown, was good bear country. Anda little farther on he pulled up and pointeddown to the dust of the trail, where he saida bear had crossed that morning. Jack saw

the imprint of what looked like two ill-shaped short feet of a man walkingbarefooted—or perhaps two crude handspressed into the dirt—and was thrilledinto forgetfulness of his trouble.

Before they had gone another mile, he hadbought Hank's rifle and all the cartridgeshe happened to have with him. He paid asmuch as a new rifle would have cost, buthe did not know that—though he did knowthat he had scarcely enough money left inhis pocket to jingle when the transactionwas completed. He carried the rifleacross the saddle in front of him andfingered the butt pridefully while his eyeswent glancing here and there hopefully,looking for the bear that had crossed thetrail that morning. The mere possession of

the rifle bent his mood toward adventurerather than concealment. He did not thinknow of the lookout station as a refuge somuch as a snug lair in the heart of awonderful hunting ground.

He wanted to hear more about the bearand deer which Hank Brown had shot onthese slopes. But Hank was no longer inthe mood for recounting his adventures.Hank was congratulating himself uponselling that rifle, which had lately shown atendency to jam if he worked the lever toofast; and was trying to decide just whatmake and calibre of rifle he would buywith the money now in his pocket; and hewas grinning in his sleeve at the ease withwhich he had "stung" this youngtenderfoot, who was unsuspectingly going

up against a proposition which Hank, withall his love for the wild, would neverattempt of his own free will.

At first sight, the odd little glassobservatory, perched upon the very tip-topof all the wilderness around, fascinatedJack. He had never credited himself witha streak of idealism, nor even with animagination, yet his pulse quickened whenthey topped the last steep slope and stoodupon the peak of the world—thisimmediate, sunlit world.

The unconcealed joy on the face of thelookout when they arrived did not meananything at all to him. He stood takinggreat breaths of the light, heady air thatseemed to lift him above everything hehad ever known and to place him a close

neighbor of the clouds.

"This is great!" he said over and over,baring his head to the keen breeze thatblew straight out of the violet tinteddistance. "Believe me, fellows, this issimply great!"

Whereupon the fireman who had spent twoweeks there looked at him and grinned.

"You can have it," he said with a queerinflection. "Mount Lassen's blowing offsteam again. Look at her over there! She'ssure on the peck, last day or so—you canhave her for company. I donate her alongwith the sun-parlor and the oil stove andthe telescope and the view. And I wishyou all kinds of luck. How soon you goingback, Hank? I guess I better be showing

this fellow how to use the chart; maybeyou'd like something to eat. I'm all packedand ready to hit the trail, myself."

In the center of the little square room,mounted on a high table, was a detail mapof all the country within sight of the station—and that meant a good many miles of upand down scenery. Over it a slenderpointer was fitted to a pin, in the center ofthe map, that let it move like a compass.And so cunningly was the chart drawn andplaced upon the table that wherever onesighted along the pointer—as whenpointing at a distant smudge of smoke inthe valley or on the mountainside—thereon the chart was the number by which thatparticular spot was designated.

"Now, you see, suppose there's a fire

starts at Massack—or along in there," Ed,the lookout fireman, explained, pointing toa distant wrinkle in the bluish greendistance, "you swing this pointer till it'sdrawing a bead on the smoke, and thenyou phone in the number of the section itpicks up on the chart. The lookout onClaremont, he'll draw a bead on it too,and phone in his number—see? Andwhere them two numbers intersect on thechart, there's your fire, boy."

Jack studied the chart like a boyinvestigating a new mechanical toy. Hewas so interested that he forgot himselfand pushed his hair straight back off hisforehead with the gesture that had becomean unconscious mannerism, spoilingutterly the plastered effect which he had

with so much pains given to his hair. ButHank and the fireman were neithersuspicious nor observing, and onlylaughed at his exuberance, which theybelieved was going to die a violent deathwhen Jack had spent a night or two therealone.

"Is that all I have to do?" he demanded,when he had located a half dozenimaginary fires.

"That's all you get paid for doing, but thatain't all you have to do, by a long shot!"the fireman retorted significantly. But hewould not explain until he had packed hisbed on the horse that had brought up Jack'sbedding and the fresh supplies, and wasready to go down the mountain with Hank.Then he looked at Jack pityingly.

"Well—you sure have got my sympathy,kid. I wouldn't stay here another month fora thousand dollars. You've got your workcut out for you, just to keep from goingcrazy. So long."

Jack stood on a little jutting pinnacle ofrock and watched them out of sight. Hethought the great crater behind the stationlooked like a crude, unfinished cup of clayand rocks; and that Crystal Lake,reflecting the craggy slope from the deepsbelow, was like blueing in the bottom ofthe cup. He picked up a rock the size ofhis fist and drew back his arm for thethrow, remembered what the supervisorhad told him about throwing stones intothe lake, and dropped the rock guiltily. Itwas queer how a fellow wanted to roll a

rock down and shatter that unearthly bluemirror into a million ripples.

He looked away to the northwest, whereMount Lassen sent a lazy column of thin,grayish vapor trailing high into the air, andthought how little he had expected to seethis much-talked-of volcano; howcompletely and irrevocably the past twodays had changed his life. Why, this wasonly Tuesday! Day before yesterday hehad been whooping along the beach atVenice, wading out and diving under thebreakers just as they combed for thebooming lunge against the sand clutteredwith humanity at play. He had blandlyexpected to go on playing there wheneverthe mood and the bunch invited. Nightbefore last he had danced—and he had

drunk much wine, and had made impulsivelove to a girl he had never seen in his lifeuntil just before he had held her in hisarms as they went swaying and gliding anddipping together across the polished floor,carefree as the gulls outside on the sand.Night before last he had driven home—buthe winced there, and pulled his thoughtsback from that drive.

Here were no girls to listen to foolishspeeches; no wine, no music, no boom ofbreakers, no gulls. There never would beany. He was as far from all that as thoughhe had taken flight to the moon. There wasno sound save the whispering rush of thewind that blew over the bare mountaintop. He was above the pines and he couldonly faintly hear the murmur of their

branches. Below him the world layhushed, silent with the silence of fardistances. The shadows that lay on theslope and far canyons moved like ghostsacross the tumbled wilderness.

For a minute the immensity of silence andblue distance lulled his thoughts againwith the feeling of security and peace. Hebreathed deep, his nostrils flared like athoroughbred horse, his face turned thisway and that, his eyes drinking deep,satisfying draughts of a beauty such as hehad never before known. His lips wereparted a little, half smiling at thewonderful kindness of fate, that hadpicked him up and set him away up here atthe top o' the world.

He glanced downward, to his right. There

went two objects—three, he counted thema moment later. He stepped inside,snatched up the telescope and focussed iteagerly on the slow-moving, black specks.Why, there went Hank Brown and thefireman, Ed somebody, and the pack horsewith Ed's bedding lashed on its back. Forperhaps a mile he watched them goingdown through the manzanita and buckbrush toward the massed line of balsamfirs that marked the nearest edge of theheavy timber line.

So that was the trail that led up to hiseyrie! He marked it well, thinking that itmight be a good plan to keep an eye onthat trail, in case an officer came lookingfor him here.

He watched Hank and Ed go down into the

balsam firs. Dark shadows crept afterthem down the slope to the edge of thethicket where they had disappeared.

He watched the shadows until they gavehim a vague feeling of discomfort andloneliness. He turned away and lookeddown into the bottom of the mountain'scup. The lake lay darkling there, hoodedwith shadows like a nun, the snow banksat the edge indicating the band of whiteagainst the calm face. It looked cold andlonesome down there; terribly cold andlonesome.

Mount Lassen, when he sent a comfort-seeking glance that way, sent up a spurt ofgrayish black smoke with a vicioussuddenness that made him jump. Withbulging eyes he watched it mount higher

and higher until he held his breath in fearthat it would never stop. He saw thecolumn halt and spread and fall....

When it was over he became conscious ofitching palms where his nails had dug intothem and left little red marks. Hediscovered that he was shaking as with anervous chill, and that his knees werebending under him. He sent a wild-eyedglance to the still, purple lake down therewhere the snowbanks lingered, though itwas the middle of May; to the far hills thatwere purpling already with the droppingof the sun behind the high peaks; to themanzanita slope where the trail lay inshadow now. It was terribly still andempty—this piled wilderness.

He turned and hurried into his little glass-

sided house and shut the door behind him.A red beam of the sinking sun shone in andlaid a bar of light across the chart like agrin.

The silence was terrible. The emptinesspressed upon him like a weight thatcrushed from him his youth and hisstrength and all his youthful optimism, andleft him old and weak and faded, ashadow of humanity like those shadowsdown there in the canyon.

Stealthily, as if he were afraid of sometangible shape reaching out of the silence,his hand went to the telephone receiver.He clutched it as drowning fingers clutchat seaweed. He leaned and jerked thereceiver to his ear, and waited for thehuman voice that would bring him once

more into the world of men. He did notknow then that the telephone was the kindthat must be rung by the user; or if he hadbeen told that he had forgotten. So hewaited, his ears strained to catch theheavenly sound of a human voice.

Shame crept in on the panic of his soul;shame and something that stiffened it intothe courage of a man. He felt his cheeksburn with the flush that stained them, andhe slowly lowered the receiver into itshook.

With his hands thrust deep into his pocketsand his mouth pulled down at the corners,he stood leaning back against the deskshelf and forced himself to look downacross the wooded slopes to the valley,where a light twinkled now like a fallen

star. After a while he found that he couldsee once more the beauty, and not so muchthe loneliness. Then, just to prove tohimself that he was not going to be bluffedby the silence, he began to whistle. Andthe tune carried with it an impish streak ofthat grim humor in which, so they tell us,the song was born. It is completely out ofdate now, that song, but then it was beingsung around the world. And sometimes itwas whistled just as Jack was whistling itnow, to brace a man's courage against thepress of circumstances.

"It's a long way to Tipperary," sang Jack,when he had whistled the chorus twice;and grinned at the joke upon himself. Afterthat he began to fuss with the oil stove andto experiment with the food they had left

him, and whistled deliberately all thewhile.

In this wise Jack Corey lost himself fromhis world and entered into his exile on amountain top.

CHAPTER SIX

MISS ROSE FORWARD

Times were none too prosperous with theMartha Washington Beauty Shop, upon thesixth floor of a Broadway building. In thehairdressing parlor half the long rows ofchairs reached out empty arms exceptduring the rush hours of afternoon; eventhen impatient patrons merely sprinkledthe room with little oases of activity whilethe girls busied themselves with tidyingshelves already immaculate, and prinking

before the mirrors whenever they dared.An air of uncertainty pervaded the place,swept in by the rumor that the shop wasgoing to cut down its force of operators.No one knew, of course, the exact truth ofthe matter, but that made it all the worse.

"'For one shall be taken and the otherleft,'" a blonde girl quoted into a dismallittle group at the window that looked outover the city. "Has any one heard anymore about it?"

"Rumley has been checking up theappointment lists, all morning," a short, fatgirl with henna-auburn hair piled high onher head reported cheerfully. "Of course,you could never get a word out of her—but I know what she is up to. The girls thathave the most steady patrons will stay, of

course. I'm certainly glad I kidded that oldwidow into thinking she's puhfectlystunning with her hair hennaed. She don'ttrust anybody but me to touch it up. Andshe's good for a scalp and facial andmanicure every week of her life, besidesgetting her hair dressed every Saturdayanyway, and sometimes oftener when she'sgoing out. And she always has a marcelleafter a shampoo. She'd quit coming if I left—she told me so last week. She thinks I'mthere on massages. And then I've gotsevrul others that ask for me regular asthey come in. You know that big, fat—"

"Miss Rose forward," the foreman's crisp,businesslike voice interrupted.

Miss Rose began nervously pulling hercorn-colored hair into the latest plastered

effect on her temples. "This isn't anyappointment. I wonder if somebody askedfor me, or if Rumley—"

"Well, kid her along, whoever she is, andtalk a lot about her good points. You nevercan tell when some old girl is going topull a lot of patronage your way," the fatgirl advised practically. "Tell 'em yourname and suggest that they call for younext time. You've got to get wise to thetrick of holding what you get. Beat it,kiddo—being slow won't help you nonewith Rumley, and she's got the axe,remember."

Thus adjured, Miss Rose beat it, arrivingrather breathlessly at her chair, which wasoccupied by a rather sprightly lookingwoman with pretty hands and a square jaw

and hair just beginning to gray over thetemples. She had her hat off and wasregarding herself seriously in the mirror,wondering whether she should touch upthe gray, as some of her intimate friendsadvised, or let it alone as her brother Fredinsisted.

Miss Rose was too busy countingcustomers to notice who was in her chairuntil she had come close.

"Why, hello, Kate," she said then. "I wasjust wondering what had become of you."

"Oh, I've been so busy, Marion. I just hadt o steal the time today to come. Youweren't out to my reading last night, and Iwas afraid you might not be well. Do youthink that I ought to touch up my hair,

Marion? Of course, I don't mind it turning,so much—but you know appearancecounts everything with an audience untilone begins to speak. Fred says to leave italone—"

"Well, you do it." Miss Rose leaned overthe chair with a handful of hairpins toplace in the little box on the dressingshelf, and spoke confidentially in the earof her patron. "It's not my business toknock the trade, Kate—but honestly, thatsign up there, that says 'Hair Dyed at YourOwn Risk' ought to say, 'to your ownsorrow.' If you start, you've got to keep itup or it looks simply frightful. And if youkeep it up it just ruins your hair. You havesuch nice hair, Kate!" She picked up asterilized brush and began stroking Kate's

hair soothingly. It was not such nice hair.It was very ordinary hair of a somewhatnondescript color; but Kate was herdearest friend, and praise is a part of theprofession. "What do you want?—a scalp,shampoo, or just dressed, or a curl, orwhat?"

"What," Kate retorted pertly. "Just fussaround while I talk to you, Marion. I—"

"Rumley won't stand for fussing. I've gotto do something she can recognize acrossthe room. How about a scalp? You cantalk while I massage, and then I'll showyou a perfectly stunning way to do yourhair—it's new, and awfully good for yourtype of face. How do you like minetoday?"

"Why, I like it tremendously!" Kate gaveher an appraising glance in the mirror."It's something new, isn't it? Use plenty oftonic, won't you, Marion? They chargeawful prices here—but their tonic hasdone my hair so much good! Listen, couldyou get off early today? I simply must talkto you. A perfectly tremendousopportunity has literally fallen our way,and I want you to benefit by it also. Afriend of Douglas'—of ProfessorHarrison's, I should say—called ourattention to it. This friend wants to go inon it, but he can't leave his business; sothe idea is to have just Fred and theprofessor—and you, if you'll go—and meto go and attend to the assessments. All theother names will be dummy names—well,silent partners is a better word—and we

can control a tremendously valuable tractthat way. How about a henna rinse,Marion? Would it be worth while?"

"Why, a henna rinse would brighten yourhair, Kate—and lots of nice women havethem. But you'll have to have a shampoo,you know. The henna rinse is used with ashampoo. I believe I'd have one if I wereyou, Kate. You never could tell it in theworld. And it's good for the hair, too. It—"

"Fred is so disagreeable about suchthings. But if it couldn't be told—" Katebegan to doubt again. "Does it cost extra?"

"Fifty cents—but it does brighten the hair.It brings out the natural color—there is anauburn tint—"

"But I really meant to have a manicuretoday. And we can't talk in the manicureparlor—those tables are crowded togetherso! I've a tremendous lot to tell you, too.Which would you have, Marion?"

Miss Rose dutifully considered the matterwhile she continued the scalp massage.Before they had decided definitely uponthe extravagance of a henna rinse, whichwas only a timid sort of experiment and atbest a mere compromise art and nature,Marion had applied the tonic. It seemed ashame to waste that now with a shampoo,and she did not dare to go for another dishof the tonic; so Kate sighed and consoledherself with a dollar saved, and wentwithout the manicure also.

Rather incoherently she returned to her

subject, but she did not succeed in givingMiss Rose anything more than a confusedidea of a trip somewhere that would reallybe an outing, and a tremendousopportunity to make thousands of dollarswith very little effort. This soundedalluring. Marion mentally cancelled a datewith a party going to Venice that evening,and agreed to meet Kate at six o'clock,and hear more about it.

In the candy shop where they ate, her mindwas even more receptive to tremendousopportunities for acquiring comparativewealth with practically no initial expenseand no effort whatever. Not beingsubjected to the distraction of a beautyparlor, Kate forgot to use her carefullymodulated, elocutionary voice, and buzzed

with details.

"It's away up in the northern part of theState somewhere, in the mountains. Youknow timber land is going to betremendously valuable—it is now, in fact.And this tract of beautiful big trees can begotten and flumed—or something—downto a railroad that taps the country. It's inForest Reserve, you see, and can't bebought by the lumber companies. I had theprofessor explain it all to me again, after Ileft the Martha, so I could tell you.

"A few of us can club together and takemining claims on the land—twenty acresapiece. All we have to do is a hundreddollars' worth of work—just digging holesaround on it, or something—every year tillfive hundred dollars' worth is done. Then

we can get our deed—or whatever it is—and sell the timber."

"Well, what do you know about that!"Marion exclaimed ecstatically, leaningforward across the little table with herhands clasped. Nature had given her amuch nicer voice than Kate's, and the tritephrase acquired a pretty distinctivenessjust from the way she said it. "But—wouldyou have to stay five years, Kate?" sheadded dubiously.

"No, that's the beauty of it, you can do allthe five hundred dollars' worth in oneyear, Marion."

"Five hundred dollars' worth of diggingholes in the ground!" Marion gasped,giggling a little. "Good night!"

"Now please wait until you hear the restof it!" Kate's tone sharpened a little withimpatience. She moved a petulant elbowwhile a tired waitress placed two glassesof water and a tiny plate of white andbrown bread upon the table. The minutethe girl's back was turned upon them shecast a cautious eye around the clatteringthrong and leaned forward.

"Four men—men with a little capital—aregoing into it, and pay Fred and theprofessor for doing their assessment work.Four five-hundreds will make twothousand dollars that we'll get out of them,just for looking after their interests. Andwe'll have our twenty acres apiece oftimber—and you've no idea what atremendous lot of money that will bring,

considering the investment. Fred's workedso hard lately that he's all run down andlooks miserable. The doctor told him themountains would do him a world of good.And the professor wants to do somethingdefinite and practical—they are filling upthe college with student-teachers, willingto teach some certain subject for theinstruction they'll get in some other—andthey're talking about cutting the professor'ssalary. He says he will not endure anothercut—he simply cannot, and—"

"And support an elocutionist?"

"Now, hush! It isn't—"

"Do I draw any salary as chaperone,Kate?"

"Now, if you don't stop, I'll not tell youanother thing!" Kate took a sip of water tohelp hide a little confusion, clutchingmentally at the practical details of thescheme. "Where was I?"

"Cutting Doug's salary. Is it up on amountain, or up in the State, that you saidthe place was? I'd like being on amountain, I believe—did you ever seesuch hot nights as we're having?"

"It's up both," Kate stated briefly. "You'dlove it, Marion. There's a log house, andright beside it is a trout stream. And it'sonly six miles from the railroad, and goodroad up past the place. A man who hasbeen up there told Doug—the professor.Tourists just flock in there. And right upon top of the mountain, within walking

distance of our claims, is a lake, Marion!And great trout in it, that long!—you cansee them swimming all around in schools,the water is so clear. And there is no inletor outlet, and no bottom. The water is justas clear and as blue as the sky, the mantold the professor. It's so clear that theyactually call it Crystal Lake!"

"Well, what do you know about that!"breathlessly murmured Marion in hercrooning voice. "A lake like that on top ofa mountain—in weather like this, doesn'tit sound like heaven?" She began to pickthe pineapple out of her fruit salad,dabbing each morsel in the tiny mound ofwhipped cream.

"We'd need some outing clothes, ofcourse. I've been thinking that a couple of

plain khaki suits—you know—and theseleggings that lace down the side, would beall we'd really need. I wish you'd go outhome with me instead of going to a show.Fred will be home, and he can explain thedetails of this thing better than I can. If itwere a difficult stanza of Browning, now—but I haven't much talent for business.And seriously, Marion, you must know allabout this before you really say yes or no.And it's time you had some real object inlife—time you settled down to regard yourlife seriously. I love you just the way youare, dear, but for your own sake you mustlearn to think for yourself and not act somuch upon impulse. I couldn't bear to gooff without you, and stay a whole year,maybe—but if you should go, not knowingjust what it was going to be like, and then

be disappointed—you see, dear, you mightcome to blaming poor Kate."

"Why, I wouldn't do anything of the kind!Even if it did turn out to be something Ididn't care for, it would be so much betterthan staying here with you gone, that Idon't see how I could mind very much.You know, Kate, I'm just crazy about thecountry. I'd like to sleep right outside!And I think a log cabin is the dearest wayto live—don't you? And we'd hike,wouldn't we?—up to the lake and allaround. I've got enough money to buy agun, and if there's any hunting aroundthere, we'll hunt! Kate, down in my heartI'm sick of massaging old ladies' doublechins and kidding them into thinking theylook young! And anyway," she added

straightforwardly, "I don't suppose I'll beat the Martha much longer. They're goingto let a lot of us girls out, and I'm almostsure to be one of them. There's enough ofthe older girls to do all the work there isnow, till the tourist season begins again inthe fall. I couldn't get in anywhere else,this time of the year, so I'd just about haveto go out to one of the beaches and get alittle tent house or something with some ofthe girls, and fool around until somethingopened up in the fall. And even if you livein your bathing suit all day, Kate, you justcan't get by without spending a littlemoney."

"Well, of course, you'd stay with me if Iwere here. I wouldn't hear to anythingelse. And even—why don't you come on

out anyway, till we get ready to start? Wecould plan so much better. And don't youthink, Marion, it would be much better foryou if you didn't wait for the Martha to letyou go but gave them notice instead?"

"Quit before I'm invited to leave? Ibelieve I'd better do that, Kate. It won't behalf bad to spring it on the girls that I'mgoing up in the mountains for the summer.I'll talk about that lake till—say, I'm justwild to start. How soon do you think itwill be? Fred will have to teach me howto trout-fish—or whatever you call it.Only think of stepping out of our log cabinand catching trout, just any time you wantto! And, Kate, I really am going to buy agun. Down on Spring, in that sporting-goods house—you know, the one on the

corner—they have got the cutest rifles!And by the way, they had some of the bestlooking outing suits in the window theother day. I'm going in there when I comedown in the morning."

"Let Fred advise you about the rifle beforeyou buy. Fred's tremendously clever aboutnature stuff, Marion. He'll know just whatyou want. I think a gun will maybe benecessary. You know there are bear—"

"Oh, good night!" cried Marion. But in thenext breath she added, "I wonder if thereare any nice hunters after the bears!"

CHAPTER SEVEN

GUARDIAN OF THE FORESTS

In mid July the pines and spruces and firshave lost their pale green fingertips whichthey wave to the world in spring, and havesettled down to the placid business ofgrowing new cones that shall bear theseed of future forests as stately as these.On the shadowed, needle-carpeted slopesthere is always a whispery kind of calm;the calm of Nature moving quietly abouther appointed tasks, without haste and

without uncertainty, untorn by doubts orfears or futile questioning; like a broad-souled, deep-bosomed mother contentedlyrearing her young in a sheltered homewhere love abides in the peace whichpasseth understanding.

Gray squirrels, sleek and bright-eyed andgraceful always, lope over the brownneedles, intent upon some urgent businessof their own. Noisy little chipmunks sit upand nibble nervously at dainties they havefound, and flirt their tails and gossip, andscold the carping bluejays that peer downfrom overhanging branches. Perhaps ahoot owl in the hollow trees overheadopens amber eyes and blinks irritatedly atthe chattering, then wriggles his headfarther down into his feathers, stretches a

leg and a wing and settles himself foranother nap.

Little streams go sliding down betweenbanks of bright green grass, and fuss overthe mossy rocks that lie in their beds. Deerlift heads often to listen and look and sniffthe breeze between mouthfuls of the tendertwigs they love. Shambling, slack-jointedbears move shuffling through the thickets,like the deer, lifting suspicious noses totest frequently the wind, lest some enemysteal upon them unaware.

From his glass-walled eyrie, Jack Coreygazed down upon the wooded slopes anddreamed of what they hid of beauty andmenace and calm and of loneliness. Hesaw them once drenched with rain; butmostly they lay warm under the hot

sunshine of summer. He saw them darklingwith night shadows, he saw them silveredwith morning fogs which turned rosetinted with the first rays of sunrise, he sawthem lie soft-shaded in the sunset's afterglow, saw them held in the unearthlybeauty of the full moonlight.

Like the deer and the bear down there, hishead was lifted often to look and to sniffthe wind that blew strongly over the peak.For now the winds came too often taintedwith the smoke of burning pines. The bluehaze of the far distance deepened with thethickening air. Four times in the last tendays he had swung the pointer over themapped table and sighted it upon brownpuffballs that rose over the treetops—thefirst betraying marks of the licking flames

below. He had watched the puff ballsgrow until they exploded into rollingclouds of smoke, yellow where the flamesmounted high in some dead pine or into acedar, black where a pitch stump tookfire.

After he had telephoned the alarm toheadquarters he would watch anxiouslythe spreading pall. To stand up therehelpless while great trees that had been ahundred years or more in the growing diedthe death of fire, gave him a tragic feelingof having somehow betrayed his trust.Every pine that fell, whether by old age,fire or the woodmen's axe, touched himwith a sense of personal loss. It was asthough he himself had made the hills andclothed them with the majestic trees, and

now stood godlike above, watching lestevil come upon them. But he did not feelgodlike when through the telescope hewatched great leaping flames go climbingup some giant pine, eating away its verylife as they climbed; he was filled thenwith a blind, helpless rage at his ownineffectiveness, and he would stand andwonder why God refused to send the rainthat would save these wonderful, livingthings, the trees.

At night, when the forests drew back intothe darkness, he would watch the starsslide across the terrible depth of purpleinfinity that seemed to deepen hypnoticallyas he stared out into it. Venus, Mars,Jupiter—at first he could not tell one fromanother, though he watched them all. He

had studied astronomy among other thingsin school, but then it had been merely ahated task to be shirked and slighted andforgotten as one's palate forgets the tasteof bitter medicine. Up here, with the starsall around him and above him for manynights, he was ashamed because he couldnot call them all by name. He would trainhis telescope upon some particularlybright star and watch it and wonder—Jackdid a great deal of wondering in thosedays, after his first panicky fight againstthe loneliness and silence had spent itself.

First of all, he awoke to the fact that hewas about as important to the world asone of those little brown birds that hoppedamong the rocks and perked its head athim so knowingly, and preened its feathers

with such a funny air of consequence. Hecould not even believe that his suddendisappearance had caused his mother anygrief beyond her humiliation over themanner and the cause of his going. Shewould hire some one to take care of thecar, and she would go to her teas and herclub meetings and her formal receptionsand to church just the same as though hewere there—or had never been there. If heever went back.... But he never could goback. He never could face his motheragain, and listen to her calmly-condemnatory lectures that had no love towarm them or to give them the sweet tangof motherly scolding.

It sounds a strange thing to say of JackCorey, that scattered-brained young

fellow addicted to beach dancing and joyrides and all that goes with theseessentially frothy pastimes; a strange thingto say of him that he was falling into amore affectionate attitude of personalnearness to the stars and to the mountainsspread out below him than he had ever felttoward Mrs. Singleton Corey. Yet that ishow he managed to live through the lonelydays he spent up there in the lookoutstation.

When Hank was about to start withanother load of supplies up the mountain,Jack had phoned down for all of thenewspapers, magazines and novels whichForest Supervisor Ross could buy orborrow; also a double supply of smokingtobacco and a box of gum. When his

tongue smarted from too much smoking, hewould chew gum for comfort And he readand read, until his eyes prickled and theprint blurred. But the next week hediffidently asked Ross if he thought hecould get him a book on astronomy,explaining rather shame-facedly that therewas something he wanted to look up. Onhis third trip Hank carried severalgovernment pamphlets on forestry. Whichgoes to prove how Jack was slowlyadapting himself to his changedcircumstances, and fitting himself into hissurroundings.

He had to do that or go all warped andwrong, for he had no intention of leavingthe peak, which was at once a refuge and aplace where he could accumulate money;

not much money, according to Jack'sstandard of reckoning—his mother hadoften spent as much for a gown or a ringas he could earn if he stayed all summer—but enough to help him out of the country ifhe saved it all.

When his first four days vacation wasoffered him, Jack thought a long whileover the manner of spending it. Quincy didnot offer much in the way of diversion,though it did offer something in the way ofrisk. So he cut Quincy out of hiscalculations and decided that he wouldphone down for a camp outfit and grub,and visit one or two of the places that hehad been looking at for so long. For onething, he could climb down to the lake hehad been staring into for nearly a month,

and see if he could catch any trout.Occasionally he had seen fishermen downthere casting their lines in, but none ofthem had seemed to have much luck. Forall that the lake lured him, it was so blueand clear, set away down there in thecupped mountain top. Hank had advisedhim to bait with a salmon-roe on aCoachman fly. Jack had never heard ofthat combination, and he wanted to try it.

But after all, the lake was too near toappeal to him except by way of passing.Away on the next ridge was the black,rocky hump called Grizzly Peak on themap. Hank spoke of it casually as TaylorRock, and sometimes called it KingSolomon. That was where the bears hadtheir winter quarters, and that was where

Jack wanted to go and camp. He wanted tosee a bear's den, and if the bears were allgone—Hank assured him that they neverhung out up there in the summer, butranged all over the mountains—he wantedto go inside a den and see what it waslike. And for a particular, definiteambition, without which all effort ispurposeless, he wanted to kill a bear.

Hank brought him all the things he needed,talked incessantly of what Jack should doand what he shouldn't do, and even offeredto pack his outfit over to the Peak for him.So Jack went, and got his first taste of realcamping out in a real wilderness, andgained a more intimate knowledge of thecountry he had to guard.

By the time his second relief was at hand,

he was tempted to take what money he hadearned and go as far as it would take him.He did not believe he could stand anothermonth of that terrible isolation, even withhis new friendliness toward the stars andthe forest to lighten a little of hisloneliness. Youth hungers for a warmer,more personal companionship thanNature, and Jack was never meant for ahermit. He grew sullen. He would standupon his pinnacle where he could lookdown at Crystal Lake, and hate the touristswho came with lunches and their fishingtackle, and scrambled over the rocks, andcalled shrilly to one another, and laughed,and tried to invent new ways of stringingtogether adjectives that seemed to expresstheir enthusiasm. He would make bitingremarks to them which the distance

prevented their hearing, and he wouldwish savagely that they would fall in thelake, or break a leg on some of theboulders.

When those with a surplus of energystarted up the steep climb to the peak, hewould hurry into his little glass room,hastily part and plaster his hair down as aprecaution against possible recognition,and lock his door and retire to a certainniche in a certain pile of rocks, where hewould be out of sight and yet be closeenough to hear the telephone, and wouldchew gum furiously and mutter savagethings under his breath. Much as hehungered for companionship he had aperverse dread of meeting thoseexclamatory sightseers. It seemed to Jack

that they cheapened the beauty ofeverything they exclaimed over.

He could hear them gabble about MountLassen, and his lip would curl with scornover the weakness of their metaphors. Hewould grind his teeth when they called hisglass prison "cute," and wondered ifanybody really lived there. He would hearsome man trying to explain what he didnot know anything at all about, and hewould grin pityingly at the ignorance ofthe human male, forgetting that he hadbeen just as ignorant, before fate pickedhim up and shoved him head-foremost intoa place where he had to learn.

Sometimes he was not forewarned of theirvisits, and would be trapped fairly; andthen he would have to answer their foolish

questions and show them what the mapwas for, and what the pointer was for, andadmit that it did get lonesome sometimes,and agree with them that it was a fineview, and point out where Quincy lay, andall the rest of it. It amazed him how everyone who came said practically the samethings, asked the same questions, linkedthe same adjectives together.

Thus passed his second month, whichmight be called his pessimistic month. Buthe did not take his money and go. Hedecided that he would wait until he hadgrown a beard before he ventured. Herealized bitterly that he was a fugitive, andthat it would go hard with him now if hewere caught. From the papers whichSupervisor Ross had sent him every week

he had learned that the police wereactually and definitely looking for him. Atleast they had been a month ago, and hesupposed that they had not given up thesearch, even though later events hadpushed his disgrace out of print. The manthey had shot was hovering close to deathin a hospital, the last Jack read of thecase. It certainly would be wiser to wait awhile. So he took his camp outfit toTaylor Rock again and stayed there untilhis four days were gone.

That time he killed a deer and got a shot ata young bear, and came back to his post ina fairly good humor. The little glass roomhad a homey look, with the late afternoonsunlight lying warm upon the map and hispiles of magazines and papers stacked

neatly on their shelf. Since he could not bewhere he wanted to be, Jack felt that hewould rather be here than anywhere else.So his third month began with a bleak kindof content.

CHAPTER EIGHT

IN WHICH A GIRL PLAYSBILLIARDS ON THE MOUNTAIN

TOP

Jack heard some one coming, snatched upa magazine and his pipe and promptlyretired to his pet crevice in the rocks.Usually he locked the door before hewent, but the climber sounded close—justover the peak of the last little knob, infact. He pulled the door shut and ran,muttering something about darned tourists.

Drive a man crazy, they would, if he werefool enough to stay and listen to their fooltalk.

He crawled well back into the niche,settled himself comfortably and lighted hispipe. They never came over his way—andthe wind blew from the station. He did notbelieve they would smell the smoke.

Darn it all, he had the wrong magazine!He half rose, meaning to scurry back andget the one he wanted; but it was too latenow. He heard the pebbles knocked loosewhere the faint trail dipped down over theknob directly behind the station. So hesettled back with his pipe for solace, andscowled down at the world, and waitedfor the darn tourists to go.

But this particular darn tourist had tworeasons for lingering up there. Her firstand greatest reason was a sheer delight inthe panorama spread below and all aroundher, and the desire to saturate her soulwith the beauty of it, her lungs with thekeen elixir of the wind, heady with theeight thousand feet of altitude. Her secondreason was a perverse desire to showKate that she was not to be bossed aroundlike a kid, and dictated to and advised andlectured whenever she wanted to dosomething which Kate did not want to do.Why, for instance, should she miss thepleasure of climbing to the very top of thepeak just because Kate began to puffbefore they were half way up, and wantedto turn back?

Of course, she would do anything in theworld for Kate; but that was no reasonwhy Kate should be selfish about littlethings. If she didn't want to wait untilMarion came down, she could walk homealone. There was a good road, and Marioncertainly would never think of objecting.She believed in absolute personal libertyin little things. Therefore she meant to stayup on the peak just exactly as long as shewanted to stay, regardless of what Katewanted to do. She had not tried to forceKate to come up with her—if Kate wouldjust stop to think a minute. When Kate satdown on that rock and said she wouldn'tclimb another step, Marion had not urgedher at all. She had waited until she wassure that Kate would not change her mind,and then she had come on up without any

fuss or argument. And she would stay untilshe was ready to go down. It would besilly to spoil her pleasure now byworrying. She would like to see a sunsetfrom up here. She had her gun with her,and anyway, she could get home easilybefore dark. She believed she would stay,just this once. Really, it would do Kategood to discover that Marion liked toplease herself once in a while.

Which was all very well for Marion Rose,but rather hard on Jack, who was not in amood for company. He smoked hopefullyfor a half hour or so. Most tourists gotenough of it in a half hour. They began tofeel the altitude then, or found the winddisagreeable, or they were in a hurry toclimb down to the lake and fish, or they

had to think about the trip home. Besides,their vocabularies were generallyexhausted in half an hour, and withoutsuperlatives they could not gaze upon the"view"; not with any satisfaction, that is.But this tourist could be heard movinghere and there among the rocks, with longlapses of silence when she just stood andgazed. Jack listened and waited, and grewmore peevish as the lagging minutespassed. If he went out now, he would haveto go through the whole performance.

The telephone rang. And while Jack wassulkily getting to his feet, he heard a girl'svoice answering the phone. The nerve ofher! What business had she inside,anyway? Must a fellow padlock that doorevery time he went out, to keep folks from

going where they had no business to be?He went angrily to the station; much moreangrily than was reasonable, consideringthe offense committed against him.

He saw a girl in a short khaki skirt andhigh laced boots and a pongee blousebelted trimly with leather, bending herhead over the mouthpiece of the telephone.She had on a beach hat that carried the fullflavor of Venice in texture and tilt, and herhair was a ripe corn color, slicked backfrom her temples in the fashion of themonth. Graceful and young she was,groomed as though thousands were to lookupon her. Normally Jack's eyes wouldhave brightened at this sight, his lipswould have curved enticingly, his voicewould have taken the tone of incipient

philandering. But in his present mood hesnapped at her.

"I beg your pardon. This is not a publictelephone booth. It's a private office."

She glanced inattentively his way, hersmile directed mentally toward the personon the other end of the wire. With her freehand she waved him to silence and spoke,still smiling, into the mouthpiece.

"You're sure I won't do? I believe I couldqualify, and I want—"

"If you please, this is not a public—"

But she waved her hand again impatientlyand listened, engrossed and smiling. "Oh,just because I wanted to hear a humanvoice, I guess. I'd forgotten what a phone

looks like, and so when I heard ... No, Iam not a tourist. I'm a neighbor, and I'mthe lonesomest neighbor in thesemountains.... What?... Oh, down the roadin a spooky little valley where there's alog cabin and a trout stream—only Ihaven't caught any yet. They bite, but theysimply won't stay hooked. What?... Oh,just worms, and those fuzzy flies madewith a hook on them—you know.... Oh,thanks! I surely do wish you could.... Thewhat?... Oh! well, I don't know, I'm sure.There's an excited young man here whokeeps telling me this is not a publictelephone booth—do you mean him, Iwonder?... He does look something like afireman, now you mention it. What do youuse him for? a signal fire, or something?...Oh! You do? Why, forevermore! Is he

nice to talk to?... No, I haven't. He justkeeps telling me this is not a public ... Oh,I don't! I don't see how anybody couldmind him—do you?... Well, of course, aperson doesn't look for politeness awayup ... Ha-ha—why, does the altitude makea difference? Maybe that's what ails me,then— That's awfully nice of you, man ...No, never mind what my name is. Don'tlet's be ordinary. I'm just a voice from themountain top, and you're just a voice fromthe valley. So be it.... Without aninvitation? I only thanked you ..."

"Keep on," interjected Jack savagely, "andyou'll have his wife trailing you up with agun!"

"Well—we'll see.... But do comesometime when you can—and bring your

wife! I'd love to meet some woman.... Oh,all right. Good-by."

With a gloved palm pressed hard over themouthpiece she turned reproachfully uponJack. "Now you did fix things, didn't you?Of course, you knew I couldn't be nice to aman with a wife, so you had to go andspoil everything. And I was just beginningto have a lovely time!"

"Help yourself," Jack offered with heavysarcasm. "Don't mind me at all."

"Well, he wants to talk to you," she said.She put her lips again to the mouthpieceand added a postscript. "Pardon me, but Iheld the line a minute while I quarreledwith your fireman. You're wrong—I don'tfind him so nice to talk to. You may talk to

him if you want to—I'm sure you'rewelcome!" Whereupon she surrenderedthe receiver and walked around the high,map-covered table, and amused herself byplaying an imaginary game of billiardswith the pointer for a cue and two littlespruce cones which she took from herpocket for balls.

When Jack had finished talking and hadhung up the receiver, he leaned backagainst the shelf and watched her, hishands thrust deep into his trouserspockets. He still scowled—but one got theimpression that he was holding that frownconsciously and stubbornly and notbecause his mood matched it.

Marion placed a cone at a point on thechart which was marked Greenville,

aimed for Spring Garden and landed thecone neatly in the middle of Jack's belt.

"Missed the pocket a mile," he tauntedgrudgingly, hating to be pleasant and yethelpless against the girl's perfectcomposure and good humor.

"Give it back, and I'll try it again. There'sa place called the Pocket. I'll try that, forluck." Then she added carelessly—"Whatwould have happened, if you hadn'tanswered that man at all?"

"I'd have been canned, maybe."

"Forevermore." She pretended to chalkher cue with a tiny powder puff which shetook from a ridiculous vanity bag thatswung from her belt. "Wouldn't you kind

of like to be canned—under thecircumstances?"

"No, I wouldn't. I need the money." Jackbit his lips to keep from grinning at thepowder-puff play.

"Oh, I see." She tried another shot. "Whydon't you cut the legs off this table? Iwould. It's miles too high."

"I don't monkey with government property,myself." He placed a peculiar accent onthe last word, thus pointing his meaningvery clearly.

"Now, what do you know about that?Missed it—with a government cone, shotby a government stick on a governmenttable, while a government scowl fairly

shrieks: 'Cut out this desecration!'" Shechalked her cue gravely, powdered hernose afterward, using a round scrap of amirror not much bigger than a silverdollar. "Do you stay up here all the timeand scowl, all by yourself?"

"All the time and scowl, all by myself."Jack took his hands from his pockets thathe might light his pipe; which was a signthat he was nearly ready to treat the girlkindly. "If you object to smoke—" and hewaved one hand significantly toward theopen door.

"All the time—all by yourself. And youdon't want to be canned, either." With thepointer Marion drew aimless littleinvisible volutes upon the map, connectingthe two spruce cones with an imaginary

scroll design. "How touching!" she saidenigmatically.

"Sure, you're heart-broken over the pathosof it. I can see that. You ought to put inabout a week here—that's all I've got tosay."

"Think I couldn't?" She looked across athim queerly.

"You wouldn't dare go any farther awaythan the spring. You'd have to stay righthere on this peak every minute of thetwenty-four hours. They call up at allkinds of ungodly times, just to see if you'reon the job, if they think you're snitching.They'd catch you gone sometime—youcouldn't get by with it—and then—"

"The can," finished Miss Marion gravely."But what I want to know is, what haveyou done?"

"Done?" Jack's jaw dropped slack awayfrom the pipestem. "What yuh mean,done?"

"Yes. What have you done that they shouldput you up here and make you stay uphere? It sounds—"

"Now, even a tourist knows that this is aForest Service lookout station, and thatI'm here to watch out for fires downbelow! I'm your guardian angel, younglady. Treat me with respect, if not withkindness."

"I'm a member of the no-treat reform club.

Honestly, don't they let you leave here atall?"

"Four days a month." He heaved a heavysigh and waved his pipe toward the greatoutdoors. "'S big world, when it's allspread out in sight," he volunteered.

"Can't you—can't you even go down to thelake and fish, when you want to?"

"Nope. Four days a month—and if theydidn't happen to have a spare man lyinground handy, to send up here to take myplace, I couldn't go then even."

Marion regarded him meditatively. "Youcan have an hour's recess now, if youlike," she offered generously after aminute. "I'll stay and answer the phone,

and stand them off if they want to talk toyou. I'm good at that. You can go andclimb down to the lake and fish, and havefun."

"Tell me to go and jump in the lake and Imight do it," Jack returned gloomily. Hefound it rather pleasant to be sympathizedwith and pitied. "What if a fire broke outwhile I was gone?"

"Well, what if? I could do what youwould do, couldn't I? What do you dowhen a fire breaks out?"

That gave Jack a fair excuse for leavinghis place by the shelf, and coming aroundto her side of the table, and for taking thepointer from her and standing close besideher while he explained the chart. Needless

to say, he made use of the excuseimmediately.

"First off," he instructed, "you don't wantto be a boob and go reporting train smoke,like I did the first day I was here. Pickedup a black smoke down below, here—right down there! I got the number on thechart and phoned it in, and the lookout onClaremont didn't yeep about it. So theycalled up and asked him to come alive andreport. By that time the smoke had movedfrom where I saw it, and the whole trainwas in sight from his station, cominground the hill into Marston. He neverthought of that being it, he said afterward.They got busy in the office and called meup again, and I located her again—only ina different place. Fellow on Claremont—

that's it away over there; see that whitespeck? That's the station, just like this one.He's an old crab, Hank tells me. He said Imust be bugs. Had him squinting aroundsome, I bet! Then they got wise that I wasreporting a through freight, and they kidme about it yet. But they fell for it at firstall right!"

"What do you know about that!" Marionmelodiously exclaimed, and laughedcompanionably.

She wanted to know all the things that realtourists want to know, and Jack forgot thathe hated to answer foolish questions. Thepiles of empty coal-oil cans, for instance—she should have known that they hadbeen packed up there full, to run the oilstove in the corner. The spring—he had to

take his bucket and go down with her andshow her where the spring was, but he didnot seem to mind that, either. The flag,whipping over the station on its short staff,interested her too, and he helped her guesshow long it would be before the stars andstripes snapped themselves to ribbons.The book on astronomy she dipped into,turning it to look at the full-pageillustrations of certain constellations thatwere to Jack like old friends. The bookson forestry she glanced at, and themagazines she inspected with less interest.

"Oh, I've got the latest movie magazines. Icould bring them up sometime if you like—or send them by the man who bringsyour stuff up, if you'll tell him to stop atthe cabin."

"You bring them yourself," Jack urged, hiseagerness so open and unashamed thatMarion blushed, and suddenlyremembered Kate down the slope therewaiting for her. She must go, she said; andshe went, almost as suddenly as she came,and never mentioned her half-formeddetermination to wait up there for thesunset.

Jack went with her as far as he dared, andstood under a wind-tortured balsam firand watched her out of sight. On the lastledge before the trail dipped down overthe hump that would hide her for good, sheturned and looked up at him. She stoodthere poised—so it seemed—betweenmountain-crest and the sky. The lake layquiet and shadowed, deep below her, as

though God had dropped a tear and themountain was holding it reverentlycupped, sheltering it from the keen windsof the heights. Beyond, painted with thedelicate shadings of distance and yellowsunlight, Indian Valley lay quietly acrossthe lap of the world, its farms and roadsand fences sketched in lightly, as with theswift pencil strokes of an artist; itsmeandering, willowfringed streamsmaking contrast with the yellowed fieldsof early harvest time.

She stood there poised like a bird on therim of the world. Her slimness, her suregrace, her yellow hair shining under thebeach hat she wore tilted back from herface, struck him like a blow in the facefrom that pleasurable past wherein woman

beauty had been so abundant. She was ofthe town; moreover, he felt that she was ofthe town from which he had fled in guiltand terror. She stood for a long minute,taking in the full sweep of the ruggedpeak. She was not looking at himespecially, until she turned to go on. Thenshe waved her hand carelessly—slightingly, he felt in his misery—andwent down the steep slope.

Until he could no longer see the crown ofher hat he looked after her. Then, thesickness of his terrible loneliness uponhim again, he turned and slowly climbedback to his glass-walled prison.

CHAPTER NINE

LIKE THE BOY HE WAS

Down the balsam and manzanita slopetoward the little valley where she lived,Jack stared hungrily during many anempty, dragging hour. Until the darknesshad twice drawn down the black curtainthat shut him away from the world, he hadhoped she would come. She had been sofriendly, so understandingly sympathetic—she must know how long the days wereup there.

On the third day Hank came riding up thetrail that sought the easiest slopes. Hebrought coal-oil and bacon and coffee andsmoking tobacco and the week'saccumulation of newspapers, and threemagazines; but he did not bring any wordfrom Marion Rose, nor the magazines shehad promised. When Hank had unsaddledthe horses to rest their backs, and hadeaten his lunch and had smoked a cigarettein the shade of a rock, his slow thoughtsturned to the gossip of his little world.

He told of the latest encounter with thecrabbed fireman on Claremont, grinningappreciatively because the fireman's illtemper had been directed at a tourist whohad gone up with Hank. He related a smallscandal that was stirring the social pond

of Quincy, and at last he swung nearer tothe four who had taken mining claimsalong Toll Gate Creek.

"Too bad you can't go down to Toll-housean' git acquainted with your neighbors," hedrawled half maliciously. "There's a girlin the bunch that's sure easy to look at.Other one is an old maid—looks too muchlike a schoolma'm to suit me. But say—I'mliable to make a trip up here twice aweek, from now on! I'm liable to eat mydinner 'fore I git here, too. Some class tothat girl, now, believe me! Only trouble is,I'm kinda afraid one of the men has got astring on her. There's two of 'em in theoutfit. One is one of them he schoolma'msthat goes around in a boiled shirt and ahard-boiled hat, buzzin' like a mosquito.

He's sweet on the old maid. It's the otherone I'm leery of. He's the brother of theold maid, and he's the kind that don't saymuch but does a lot uh thinkin'. Big, too.

"They've took up a bunch of minin' claimsaround there and are livin' in that cabin.Goin' to winter there, the old maid wastellin' me. I brought out their mail to 'em.Marion Rose is the girl's name. I guessshe's got a feller or two down in LosAngeles—I brought out a couple letterstoday in men's writin'—different hands, atthat.

"They's somethin' queer about 'em that Ican't see through. They was both settin' outin the sun—on that log right by the trail asyou go in to the cabin—and they'd washedtheir hair and had it all down their backs

dryin' it. And the girl was cleanin' the oldmaid's finger nails for her! I come purtynear astin' the old maid if she had to havesomebody wash her face for her too. Butthey didn't seem to think it was anythingouta the way at all—they went right totalkin' and visitin' like they was fixed forcompany. I kinda s'picion Marionbleaches her hair. Seems to me like it's amite too yeller to be growed that way.Drugstore blonde, I'd call her. You takenotice first time you see her. I'll bet you'llsay—"

"Aw, can that chatter, you poor fish!" Jackexploded unexpectedly, and smote Hankon his lantern jaw with the flat of hispalm. "You hick from hick-town! Youbrainless ape! You ain't a man—you're a

missing link! Give you a four-foot tail, byharry, and you'd go down the mountainswinging from branch to branch like themonkey that you are! What are you, youpoor piece of cheese, to talk about awoman?"

His hand to his jaw, Hank got up fromwhere he had sprawled on his back. Hewas not a fighting man, preferring tosatisfy his grudges by slurring peoplebehind their backs. But Jack smacked himagain and thought of a few other things towhich he might liken Hank, and after thatHank fought like a trapped bobcat, withsnarls and kicks and gouging claws. Hescratched Jack's neck with his grimyfingernails, and he tried to set hisunwashed teeth into Jack's left ear while

the two of them rolled over and over onthe slippery mat of squaw-carpet. And forthat he was pummeled unmercifully beforeJack tore himself loose and got up.

"Now, you beat it!" Jack finished, panting."And after this you keep your tongue offthe subject of women. Don't dare tomention even a squaw to me, or I'll pitchyou clean off the peak!"

Hank mumbled an insult, and Jack wentafter him again. All the misery, all thepent-up bitterness of the past three monthsrose within him in a sudden storm thatclouded his reason. He fought Hank like acrazy man—not so much because Hankwas Hank and had spoken slightingly ofthat slim girl, but because Hank wassomething concrete, something which Jack

could beat with his fists and that couldgive back blow for blow. Too long had hewaged an unequal conflict with his ownthoughts, his aloneness; with regrets andsoul hunger and idleness. When he hadspent his strength and most of his ragetogether, he let Hank go and felt tenderlyhis own bruised knuckles.

He never knew how close he was to deathin the next five minutes, while Hank wassaddling up to go. For Hank's fingers wentseveral times to his rifle and hoveredthere, itching to do murder, while Hank'smind revolved the consequences. Murderwould be madness—suicide, practically.The boy would be missed when he did notanswer the telephone. Some one would besent up from the Forest Service and the

murder would be discovered, unless—unless Hank could hide the body. Therewas the lake—but the lake was so clear!Besides, there was always the chance atthis season of the year that some touristwould be within sight. Some tourist mighteven hear the shot. It would be risky—toorisky. Like Jack's, his rage cooled whilehe busied himself mechanically withsaddling his horse. After all, Hank wasnot criminally inclined, except as angerdrove him. He set the pack-saddle andempty sacks on the pack horse, led hishorse a few feet farther away andmounted, scowling.

In the saddle he turned and looked for thefirst time full at Jack. "You think you'redarn smart!" he snarled wryly because of

a cut lip that had swollen all on one side."You may think you're smart, but they'sanother day comin'. You wait—that's all Igot to say!"

It did not make him feel any better whenJack laughed suddenly and loud. "R-r-r-evenge! By my heart's blood, I shall haver-r-evenge!" he intoned mockingly. "Gwanouta my sight, Hank. You ain't making anyhit with me at all. Scat!"

"All right fer you!" Hank grumbled, in thefutile repartee of the stupid. "You thinkyou're smart, but I don't. You wait!" Thenhe rode away down the trail, glowering atthe world through puffy lids and repeatingto himself many crushing things he wishedhe had thought to say to Jack.

Jack himself had recourse to a small bottleof iodine left there by a predecessor,painting his scratches liberally, andgrinning at himself in the little mirrorbecause Hank had not once landed abruising blow on his face. After that hewashed the dishes and went to the springfor a bucket of fresh water, whistling allthe way. It was amazing how that fight hadcleared his mental atmosphere.

After that, he perched up on the little rockpinnacle just behind the station, and stareddown the mountain toward Toll-Gate Flat,where she lived. He saw Hank ride intothe balsam thicket; and he, too, thought ofseveral things he regretted not having saidto Hank. What rotten luck it was that heshould be held up here on that pinnacle

while Hank Brown could ride at hisleisure down into that tiny valley! Thegovernment ought to gather up all the HankBrowns in the country and put them up onsuch places as these, and let decentfellows do the riding around.

Down there, beyond the trail, on a slopewhere the manzanita was not quite somatted together, he saw something moveslowly. Then it stopped, and he got agleam of light, the reflection, evidently ofsome bright object. He lifted the telescopeand focussed it, and his heart cameleaping up into his throat just as the figurecame leaping into close view through thepowerful lense.

It was Marion Rose, up by the hydrometerthat looked something like a lone beehive

perched on a wild slope by itself. She wassitting on a rock with her feet crossed, andshe was inspecting her chin in the tinymirror of her vanity bag. Some blemish—or more likely an insect bite, from the wayher fingertip pressed carefully a certainpoint of her chin—seemed to hold all herattention. It was the sun flashing on the bitof mirror that had made the gleam.

Jack watched her hungrily; her slim shape,leaning negligently sidewise; her hatpushed back a little; her hair, the color ofripe corn, fluffed where the wind hadblown it; the clear, delicate, creamy tint ofher skin, her mouth curved in soft, redlines that held one's eyes fascinated whenthey moved in speech. He watched her,never thinking of the rudeness of it.

And then he saw her lift her face and lookup to the peak, directly at him, it seemedto him. His face turned hot, and helowered the glass guiltily. But of courseshe could not see him—or if she could, helooked no more than a speck on the rock.He lifted the telescope again, and her facejumped into close view. She was stilllooking up his way, the little mirrorturning idly in her hand. Her face wasthoughtful; almost wistful, he dared tothink. Perhaps she was lonesome, too. Shehad told him that she had spells of beingterribly lonesome.

Jack had an inspiration. He climbedhurriedly down off the rock, got his ownlooking glass and climbed back again. Heturned the glass so that the sun shown on it

aslant and threw a glare toward her. Thenhe lifted the telescope quickly to see if shenoticed the sparkle. After a moment hedecided that she had seen it but did notquite know what had caused it. At anyrate, she was still looking that way, whichwas something.

Like the boy he was, he lay down on hisstomach, balanced the telescope across asplintered notch in the rock so that hecould steady it with one hand, and with theother he tilted the mirror; inadvertentlytilted the telescope also, and came nearsmashing the mirror before he got the twobalanced again. Well, she was stilllooking, at any rate. And now she wasfrowning a little, as though she waspuzzled.

He signalled again, and this time hemanaged to keep her in the field of thetelescope. He saw her smile suddenly andglance down at her vanity mirror. Stillsmiling, she lifted it and turned it to thesun, looking from it to the peak.

"She's on! I'll be John Browned if she ain'ton to it already!" Jack chortled to thebirds, and sent her a signal. She answeredthat with a flash. He managed two flasheswithout losing her in the telescope, andshe immediately sent two flashes in reply.Three he gave, and she answered withthree. He could see her laughing like achild with a new game. He could see theimpish light in her eyes when she glancedup, like a woman engrossed in her favoritepastime of be-deviling some man. He

laughed back at her, as though she was asnear to him as she looked to be. He quiteforgot that she was not, and spoke to heraloud.

"Some little heliographing—what? Comeon up, and we'll make up a code, so wecan talk! Aw, come on—it ain't so far!Husky girl like you can climb it in no timeat all. Aw, come on!"

A couple of tourists, panting up to thepeak with unsightly amber goggles and akodak and a dog, found him addressingempty air and looked at him queerly. Jackcould have murdered them both when heturned his head and saw them gapingopen-mouthed at his performance. But hedid not. He climbed shame-facedly downand answered the usual questions with his

usual patient courtesy, and hoped ferventlythat they would either die at once of heartfailure or go back to the lake and leavehim alone. Instead, they took pictures ofthe station and the rocks and of him—though Jack was keen-witted enough tokeep in the shade and turn his face awayfrom the camera.

They were such bores of tourists! Thewoman was sunburned and frowsy, andher khaki outing suit was tight where itshould be loose, and hung in unsightlywrinkles where it should fit snugly. Herhigh-laced mountain boots were heavy andshapeless, and she climbed here and there,and stood dumpily and stared down atJack's beloved woods through her amberglasses until she nearly drove him frantic.

She kept saying: "Oh, papa, don't you wishyou could get a snap of that?" and "Oh,papa, come and see if you can't snap this!"

Papa was not much better. Papa's khakisuit had come off a pile on the counter ofsome department store—the wrong pile.Papa kept taking off his hat and wiping hisbald spot, and hitching his camera caseinto a different position, so that it made anew set of wrinkles in the middle of hisback. The coat belt strained against itsbuttons over papa's prosperous paunch,and he wheezed when he talked.

And down there on the manzanita slope,little flashes of light kept calling, calling,and Jack dared not answer. One, two—one, two, three—could anything in theworld be more maddening?

Then all at once a puff of smoke cameballooning up through the trees, downbeyond the girl and well to the right of thebalsam thicket. Jack whirled and doveinto the station, his angry eyes flashing atthe tourists.

"There's a forest fire started, down themountain," he told them harshly. "Youbetter beat it for Keddie while you can getthere!" He slammed the door in theirstartled faces and laid the pointer on itspivot and swung it toward the smoke.

The smoke was curling up already in anugly yellowish brown cloud, spreading inlong leaps before the wind. Jack's handshook when he reached for the telephoneto report the fire. The chart and his ownfirst-hand knowledge of the mountainside

told him that the fire was sweeping downnorth of Toll-Gate Creek toward theheavily timbered ridge beyond.

Heedless of the presence or absence of thetourists, he snatched the telescope andclimbed the rock where he could view theslope where the girl had been. The smokewas rolling now over the manzanita slope,and he could not pierce its murkiness. Heknew that the slope was not yet afire, butthe wind was bearing the flames that way,and the manzanita would burn with azipping rush once it started. He knew. Hehad stood up there and watched the flamessweep over patches of the shrub.

He rushed back into the station, seized thetelephone and called again the mainoffice.

"For the Lord sake, hustle up here and dosomething!" he shouted aggressively. "Thewhole blamed mountain's afire!" That, ofcourse, was exaggeration, but Jack wasscared.

Out again on the rock, he swept the slopebeneath him with his telescope. He couldnot see anything of the girl, and theswirling smoke filled him with a horrortoo great for any clear thought. Heclimbed down and began running downthe pack trail like one gone mad, neverstopping to wonder what he could do tosave her; never thinking that he wouldsimply be sharing her fate, if what hefeared was true—if the flames swept overthat slope.

He stumbled over a root and fell

headlong, picked himself up and went onagain, taking great leaps, like a scareddeer. She was down there. And when thefire struck that manzanita it would just goswoosh in every direction at once.... Andso he, brave, impulsive young fool that hewas, rushed down into it as though hewere indeed a god and could hold backthe flames until she was safe away fromthe place.

CHAPTER TEN

WHEN FORESTS ARE ABLAZE

It seemed to Jack that he had been runningfor an hour, though it could not have beenmore than a few minutes at most. Wherethe trail swung out and around a steep,rocky place, he left it and plungedheedlessly straight down the hill. The hotbreath of the fire swept up in gusts,bearing charred flakes that had beenleaves. The smoke billowed up to him,then drove back in the tricky air-currents

that played impishly around the fire. Whenhe could look down to the knoll where thehydrometer stood, he saw that it was notyet afire, but that the flames were workingthat way faster even than he had feared.

Between gasps he shouted her name asHank Brown had repeated it to him. Hestopped on a ledge and stared wildly, in asudden panic, lest he should somehowmiss her. He called again, even whilereason told him that his voice could notcarry any distance, with all that crackleand roar. He forced himself to stand therefor a minute to get his breath and to seejust how far the fire had already swept,and how fast it was spreading.

Even while he stood there, a flaming pinebranch came whirling up and fell avidly

upon a buck bush beside him. The bushcrackled and shriveled, a thin spiral ofsmoke mounting upward into the cloud thatrolled overhead. Jack stood dazed,watching the yellow tongues go licking upthe smaller branches. While he stoodlooking, the ravaging flames had devouredleaves and twigs and a dead branch ortwo, and left the bush a charred, smoking,dead thing that waved its blackened stubsof branches impotently in the wind. Aloneit had stood, alone it had died the death offire.

"Marion Rose!" he shouted abruptly, andbegan running again. "Marion Rose!" Butthe hot wind whipped the words from hislips, and the deep, sullen roar of the firedrowned his voice. Still calling, he

reached the road that led to Crystal Lake.The wind was hotter, the roar was deeperand louder and seemed to fill all theworld. Hot, black ash flakes settled thickaround him.

Then, all at once, he saw her standing inthe middle of the road, a little farther upthe hill. She was staring fascinated at thefire, her eyes wide like a child's, her facewith the rapt look he had seen when shestood looking down from the peak into theheart of the forest. And then, when he sawher, Jack could run no more. His kneesbent under him, as though the bone hadturned suddenly to soft gristle, and hetottered weakly when he tried to hurry toher.

"Isn't it wonderful?" she called out when

she saw him. Her words came faintly tohim in all that rush and crackle of flameand wind together. "I never saw anythinglike it before—did you? It sprung up all atonce, and the first I knew it was sweepingalong."

"Don't stand here!" Jack panted hoarsely."Good Lord, girl! You—"

"Why, you've been running!" she cried, ina surprised tone. "Were you down there init? I thought you had to stay up on top."She had to raise her voice to make himhear her.

Her absolute ignorance of the dangerexasperated him. He took her by the armand swung her up the trail. "We've got tobeat it!" he yelled in her ear. "Can't you

see it's coming this way?"

"It can't come fast enough to catch us," sheanswered impatiently. "It's away backthere down the hill yet. Wait! I want towatch it for a minute."

A bushy cedar tree ten feet away to theirleft suddenly burst into flame and burnedviciously, each branch a sheet of fire.

"Well, what do you know about that?"cried Marion Rose. "It jumped from awaydown there!"

"Come on!" Pulling her by the arm, Jackbegan running again up the hill, leaving theroad where it swung to the east and takinga short cut through the open space in thebrush. "Run!" he urged, still pulling at her

arm. "We've—got to—swing around it—"

She ran with him, a little of their perilforcing itself upon her consciousness andmaking her glance often over her shoulder.And Jack kept pulling at her arm, helpingher to keep her feet when she stumbled,which she did often, because she wouldnot look where she was going.

"Don't look—run!" he urged, when anotherbrand fell in a fir near them and set thewhole tree ablaze. The air around themwas hot, like the breath of a furnace.

She did not answer him, but she let himlead her whither he would. And they camebreathless to the rocky outcroppingthrough which the pack trail wormed itsway farther down the hill. There he let her

stop, for he knew that they had passedaround the upper edge of the fire, andwere safe unless the wind changed. Hehelped her upon a high, flat-toppedboulder that overlooked the balsam thicketand manzanita slope, and together theyfaced the debauchery of the flames.

Even in the few minutes since Jack hadstopped on that rocky knoll the fire hadswept far. It had crossed the Crystal Lakeroad and was now eating its way steadilyup the timbered hillside beyond. Themanzanita slope where the girl had sat andsignalled with her mirror was all charredand stripped bare of live growth, and theflames were licking up the edges beyond.

Jack touched her arm and pointed to theplace. "You said it couldn't travel very

fast," he reminded her. "Look down therewhere you sat fooling with the littlemirror."

Marion looked and turned white. "Oh!"she cried. "It wasn't anywhere near when Istarted up the road. Oh, do you suppose ithas burned down as far as the cabin?Because there's Kate—can't we go andsee?"

"We can't, and when I left the lookout thefire was away up this side of Toll-Gate,and not spreading down that way. Wind'sstrong. Come on—I expect I better beat itback up there. They might phone."

"But I must hunt Kate up! Why, she was allalone there, taking a nap in the hammock!If it should—"

"It won't," Jack reiterated positively. "Iought to know, oughtn't I? It's my businessto watch fires and see how they're acting,isn't it?" He saw her still determined, andtried another argument. "Listen here. Itisn't far up to the station. We'll go upthere, and I'll phone down to the office tohave the firemen stop and see if she's allright. They'll have to come right by there,to get at the fire. And you can't cross thatburning strip now—not on a bet, youcouldn't. And if you could," he addeddeterminedly, "I wouldn't let you try it.Come on—we'll go up and do that littlething, telephone to the office and havethem look after Kate."

Marion, to his great relief, yielded to thepoint of facing up hill with him and taking

a step or two. "But you don't know Kate,"she demurred, turning her face againtoward the welter of burning timber."She'll be worried to death about me, andit would be just like her to start right outto hunt me up. I've simply got to get backand let her know I'm all right."

Jack threw back his head and laughedaloud—think how long it had been sincehe really had laughed! "What's the matterwith phoning that you're all right? I guessthe wire will stand that extra sentence,maybe—and you can phone in yourself, ifyou want to convince them ab-so-lutely.What?"

"Well, who'd ever have thought that Imight phone a message to Kate! Downthere in that hole of a place where we

live, one can scarcely believe that thereare telephones in the world. Let's hurry,then. Kate will be perfectly wild till shehears that I am safe. And then—" shequirked her lips in a little smile, "she'll bewilder still because I'm not there whereshe supposed I'd be when she waked up."

Jack replied with something slangy andyouthful and altogether like the old JackCorey, and led her up the steep trail to thepeak. They took their time, now that theywere beyond the fire zone. They turnedoften to watch the flames while they gottheir breath; and every time Marionstopped, she observed tritely that it was ashame such beautiful timber must burn,and invariably added, "But isn't itbeautiful?" And to both observations Jack

would agree without any scorn of thetriteness. Whereas he would have beenfurious had a mere tourist exclaimed aboutthe beauty of a forest fire, which to himhad always seemed a terrible thing.

They found the telephone ringing like mad,and Jack turned red around the ears andstuttered a good deal before he wasthrough answering the questions of thesupervisor, and explaining why he had notanswered the phone in the last hour.

"Here, let me talk," commanded Marionsuddenly, and took the receiver out ofJack's hand. "I'll tell you where he was,"she called crisply to the accusing voice atthe other end. "I was down the hill, rightin the track of the fire, and I couldn't getback to the cabin at all, and—ah—this

gentleman saw me through the telescopeand ran down there and got me out of it.And right where I had been sitting on arock, the fire has burned just everything!And I wish you would get word somehowto Miss Kate Humphrey, at Toll-Gatecabin, that Marion Rose is all right andwill be home just as soon as she can getdown there without burning her shoes.And—oh, will you please tell her that Itook the bread out of the oven before I left,and that it's under the box the cream camein? I put it there to keep the bluejays awayfrom it till she woke up, and she may notknow where to look.... Yes, thank you, Ithink that will be all.... But listen! Thisman up here saved my life, though ofcourse it is a pity he was not here toanswer the phone, every minute of the day.

What I want to say is that it was my fault,and I hope you'll please excuse me forhaving a life that needed to be saved justwhen you called! I wouldn't for theworld.... Oh, don't mention it! I just didn'twant you to blame him, is all. Good-by."

She turned to Jack with a little frown."People seem to think, just because youwork for a living, that your whole missionin life is to take orders on the jump. It wasthat way at the Martha Washington, andevery other place I ever worked. That mandown there seems to think that your lifebegins and ends right here in this littleglass box. What made you apologize forkeeping a telephone call waiting whileyou went out and saved a perfectly goodlife? Men are the queerest things!"

She went out and climbed upon the rockwhere Jack had lain watching her, and setherself down as comfortably as possible,and stared at the fire while Jack locatedon the chart the present extent of theblazing area, and sent in his report. Whenhe had finished he did not go out to herimmediately. He stood staring down thehill with his eyebrows pinched together.Now and then he lifted his handunconsciously and pushed his heavy thatchof hair straight back from his forehead,where it began at once to lie wavy as ofold. He was feeling again the personalsense of tragedy and loss in that fire;cursing again his helplessness to check itor turn it aside from that beautiful stretchof timber over toward Genessee.

Now the shadows had crept down theslope again to where the fire glow beatthem back while it crisped the balsamthicket. Behind him the sun, sinking lowover the crest of a far-off ridge, sentflaming banners across the smoke cloud.The sky above was all curdled with goldand crimson, while the smoke cloudbelow was a turgid black shot throughwith sparks and tongues of flame.

Where were the fire-fighters, that they didnot check the mad race of flames beforethey crossed that canyon? It seemed toJack that never had a fire burned with soheadlong a rush. Then his eyes went to theblackened manzanita slope where Marionhad been idling, and he shivered at whatmight have happened down there. To

comfort himself with the sight of her safeand serene, he turned and went out,meaning to go up where she was.

She was still sitting on the rock, gazingdown the mountain, her face sober. Herhat was off, and the wind was blowing theshort strands of her hair around her face.She was leaning back a little, braced by ahand upon the rock. She looked a goddessof the mountain tops, Jack thought. Hestood there staring up at her, just as he hadstared down at her when she had stoodlooking into the lake. Did she feel as hefelt about the woods and mountains? hewondered. She seemed rather fond ofstaring and staring and saying nothing—and yet, he remembered, when she talkedshe gave no hint at all of any deep sense of

the beauty of her surroundings. When shetalked she was just like other town girlshe had known, a bit slangy, more than a bitself-possessed, and frivolous to the pointof being flippant. That type he knew andcould meet fairly on a level. But when shewas looking and saying nothing, sheseemed altogether different. Which, hewondered, was the real Marion Rose?

While he stood gazing, she turned andlooked down at him; a little blankly atfirst, as though she had just waked fromsleep or from abstraction too deep forinstant recovery. Then she smiled andchanged her position, putting up bothhands to pat and pull her hair intoneatness; and with the movement sheceased to be a brooding goddess of the

mountain tops, and became again the girlwho had perversely taken the telephoneaway from him, the girl who had playedmock billiards upon his beloved chart, thegirl who said—she said it now, while hewas thinking of her melodious way ofsaying it.

"Well, what do you know about that?" sheinquired, making a gesture with one armtoward the fire while with the other shefumbled in her absurd little vanity bag. "Itjust burns as if it had a grudge against thecountry, doesn't it? But isn't it perfectlygorgeous, with all that sunset andeverything! It looks like a Bliffen ten-reelpicture. He ought to see it—he could getsome great pointers for his next bigpicture. Wouldn't that be just dandy on the

screen?" She had found her powder puffand her tiny mirror, and she was dabbingat her nose and her cheeks, which no moreneeded powder than did the little birdsthat chirped around her. Between dabs,she was looking down the mountain, withan occasional wave of her puff towardsome particularly "striking effect" of fireand sunset and rolling smoke and tallpines seen dimly in the background.

Jack wanted to climb up there and shakeher out of her frivolity. Which was strangewhen you consider that all his life, untilthree months ago, he had lived in the midstof just such unthinking flippancy, had beena part of it and had considered—as muchas he ever considered anything—that itwas the only life worth living.

He went around the little rock pinnacleand stood looking somberly down at thedevastation that was being wrought, withno greater beginning, probably, than adropped match or cigarette stub. He wasthinking hazily that so his old life had beenswept away in the devastating effect of apassing whim, a foolish bit of play. Thegirl irritated him with her chatter—yetthree months ago he himself would haveconsidered it brilliant conversation, andwould have exerted himself to keep pacewith her.

"Listen!" she cried suddenly, and Jackturned his head quickly before heremembered that the word had come tomean nothing more than a superfluousejaculation hung, like a bangle on a

bracelet, to the sentences of modern youth."Listen, it's going to be dark before thatfire burns itself out of the way. How am Igoing to get home? Which way would bebest to go around it, do you think?"

"No way at all," Jack replied shortly."You can't go home."

"Why, forevermore! I'll have to gosomewhere else, then—to some farmhouse where I can phone. Kate would besimply wild if—"

"Forget the farm house stuff. There aren'tany such trimmings to these mountains.The next farm house is down aroundKeddie, somewhere. Through the woods,and mountain all the way." He said itrather crossly, for his nerves were what

he called edgy, and the girl still irritatedhim.

"Well, what do you know about that?"

He had known she would say that. Crossbetween a peacock and a parrot, she mustbe, he thought vindictively. It wasmaddening that she would not—could not,perhaps?—live up to that goddess-on-the-mountain-top look she had sometimes.

"I don't know anything about it except thatit's hard luck for us both."

"Well, what—?" She paused in the act ofputting away her first-aid-to-the-complexion implements, and looked athim with her wide, purple eyes. "Why,you cross, mean, little stingy boy, you!

You can have your old peak then. I'll godown and jump in the lake." She began toclimb down from the little pinnacle quiteas if she meant to do exactly as she said.

"Aw, come out of it!" Jack tried not to turnand look at her anxiously, but he was ahuman being.

"I'm not in it—yet," Marion retorted withdark meaning, and jumped to the ground.

"Hey! you wanta break a leg?" He swungtoward her.

"Just to spite you, I wouldn't mind. Onlyyou'd throw me down there amongst allthose rocks and trees and make it my neck.Oh, would you look at that!"

"That" happened to be Mount Lassen,

belching forth a stupendous column ofashes and smoke. Up, up, up it went, asthough it meant to go on and on intoinfinity. Jack had seen it too often to beaffected as he had been that first night. Helooked at Marion instead. She wasstanding with her hands clinched by herside, and her breath sucking in. As theblack column mounted higher and higher,she lifted herself to her toes, posing thereabsolutely unconscious of herself. Jacksaw her face grow pale; saw her eyesdarken and glow with inner excitement.She was once more the goddess on themountain top, gazing down at one of thewonders she had wrought. It was asthough she pulled that black column upand up and up with the tensity of herdesire.

The column mushroomed suddenly, rollingout in great, puffy billows before it dippedand went streaming away on the wind. Themountain beneath it spewed sluggishmasses of vapor and ashes up into theblack moil above, until the wholemountain was obscured and only an angry,rolling cloud churning lumpishly there,told what was hidden beneath.

Marion relaxed, took a long, deep breathand settled again to her trim heels. Shewas not filled with terror as Jack hadbeen; though that may have been becauseshe was not cast up here like a piece ofdriftwood out of her world, nor was shealone. But Jack paid her the tribute ofbowing mentally before her splendidcourage. She gazed a while longer, awed

ecstasy in her face. Then slowly sheswung and stared at that other churningcloud behind her—the crimsoned-tintedcloud of destruction. She flung out botharms impulsively.

"Oh, you world!" she cried adoringly,unafraid yet worshipping. "I'd like to bethe wind, so I could touch you and kissyou and beat you, and make you love methe way I love you! I'd rather be a tree andgrow up here and swing my branches inthe wind and then burn, than be a littlepetty, piffling human being—I would! I'mnot afraid of you. You couldn't make meafraid of you. You can storm and ragearound all you like. I only love you for it—you beautiful thing!"

It made Jack feel as though he had

blundered upon a person kneeling inprayer; she was, after all, the goddess shelooked, he thought whimsically. At leastshe had all the makings of a goddess of themountain top. He felt suddenly inferiorand gross, and he turned to leave her alonewith her beautiful, terrible world. Butmanlike he did a frightfully human andearthly thing; he knocked his foot againstan empty coal-oil can, and stood betrayedin his purpose of flight.

She turned her head and looked at him likeone just waking from a too-vivid dream.She frowned, and then she smiled with alittle ironical twist to her soft curving lips.

"You heard what I said about pifflinghuman beings?" she asked him sweetly."That is your catalogue number. Why for

goodness' sake! With your hair done inthat marcelle pompadour, and that grin,you look exactly like Jack Corey, that LosAngeles boy that all the girls were simplycrazy about, till he turned out to be such aperfectly terrible villain!"

CHAPTER ELEVEN

SYMPATHY AND ADVICE

Every bit of color was swept from Jack'sface, save the black of his lashes andeyebrows and the brown of his eyes thatlooked at her in startled self-betrayal. Hesaw the consternation flash into her facewhen she first understood how truly herrandom shot had hit the mark, and hedropped upon the bench by the doorwayand buried his face in his shaking hands.But youth does not suffer without making

some struggle against the pain. Suddenlyhe lifted his head and looked at her withpassionate resentment.

"Well, why don't you run and tell?" hecried harshly. "There's the telephone inthere. Why don't you call up the office andhave them send the sheriff hot-footing it uphere? If Jack Corey's such a villain, whydon't you do something about it? For theLord's sake don't stand there looking at meas if I'm going to swallow you whole! Getsomebody on the phone, and then beat itbefore I cut loose and be the perfectlyawful villain you think I am!"

Marion took a startled step away fromhim, turned and came hesitatingly towardhim. And as she advanced she smiled alittle ostentatiously whimsical smile and

touched the butt of her six-shooter.

"I'm heeled, so I should be agitated," shesaid flippantly. "I always was crazy to getthe inside dope on that affair. Tell me.Were you boys honest-to-goodnessbandits, or what?"

"What, mostly." Jack gave her a sullen,upward glance from under his eyebrows."Go ahead and play at cat-and-mouse, ifyou want to. Nobody'll stop you, I guess.Have all the fun you want—you're gettingit cheap enough; cheaper by a darned sightthan you'll get the inside dope you're crazyfor."

"What do you know about it!—me runningon to Jack Corey, away up here on the topof the world!" But it was hard to be

flippant while she looked down into thatstricken young face of his, and saw thewhite line around his lips that ought to besmiling at life; saw, too, the trembling ofhis bruised hands, that he tried so hard tohold steady. She came still closer; soclose that she could have touched his arm.

"It was the papers called you such awfulthings. I didn't," she said, wistfullydefensive. "I couldn't—not after seeingyou on the beach that day, playing aroundlike a great big kid, and not making eyes atthe girls when they made eyes at you. You—you didn't act like a villain, when I sawyou. You acted like a big boy that likes tohave fun—oh, just oodles of fun, but hasn'tgot a mean hair in his head. I know; Iwatched you and the fellows you were

with. I was up on the pier looking down atyou whooping around in the surf. And nextday, when the girls at the MarthaWashington read about it in the papers, Ijust couldn't believe it was true, what theysaid about you boys being organized intobandits and all that, and leading a doublelife and everything.

"But it did look bad when you beat it—about two jumps ahead of the police, atthat. You see Fred was along with the manthat was shot, and being in the garage andaround automobiles all the time, hethought to read the number of your car, andremembered it; near enough anyway, sothat he knew for sure it was the SingletonCorey car by the make and generalappearance of it, and identified it

positively when he saw it in your garage.And that did make it look bad!"

"What did mother do when they—?" Jackdid not look up while he stammered thequestion that had been three monthsfeeding his imagination with horrors.

"Why, she didn't do anything. She wentright away, that very morning, to asanitarium and would not see anybody buther own private nurse and her own privatedoctor. They gave out bulletins about howshe slept and what she had for breakfast,and all that. But, believe me, brother, theydidn't get any dope from her! She justsimply would not be interviewed!"

Jack let out a long breath and sat up. Atthe corners of his mouth there lurked the

temptation to smile. "That's mother—trueto form," he muttered admiringly.

"Of course, they scouted around and gotmost of the boys that were with you, butthey couldn't get right down to brass tacksand prove anything except that they werewith you at the beach. They're still holdingthem on bail or something, I believe. Youknow how those things kind of drop out ofthe news. There was a big police scandalcame along and crowded all you littlebandits off the front page. But I know thetrial hasn't taken place yet, because Fredwould have to be a witness, so he'd know,of course. And, besides, the man hasn'tdied or got well or anything, yet, andthey're waiting to see what he's going todo."

"Who's Fred?" Jack stood up and leanedtoward her, feeling all at once that he mustknow, and know at once, who Fred mightbe.

"Why, he's Kate's brother. He's down hereat Toll-Gate cabin, working out theassessments—"

Jack sat down again and caressed hisbruised knuckles absently. "Well, then, Iguess this is the finish," he said dully,after a minute.

"Why? He'll never climb up here—and ifhe did he wouldn't know you. He couldn'trecognize your face by the number of yourcar, you know!" Then she added, withbeautiful directness, "It wouldn't be sobad, if you hadn't been the ringleader and

put the other boys up to robbing cars. But Isuppose—"

Jack got up again, but this time he toweredbelligerently above her. "Who says I wasthe ringleader? If it was Fred I'll go downthere and push his face into the back of hisneck for him! Who—"

"Oh, just those nice friends of yours. Theywouldn't own up to anything except beingwith you, but told everybody that it wasyou that did it. But honestly I didn'tbelieve that. Hardly any of us girls at theMartha did. But Fred—"

Just then the telephone rang again, andJack had to go in and report the presentextent of the fire, and tell just where andjust how fast it was spreading, and what

was the direction of the wind. Theinterruption steadied him, gave him timeto think.

Since the girl knew him, and knew thecircumstances of his flight, and since theboys had turned on him, Jack argued withhimself that he might just as well tell herwhat little there was to tell. There wasnothing to be gained by trying to keep thething a secret from her. Besides, he cravedsympathy, though he did not admit it. Hecraved the privilege of talking about thatnight to some one who would understand,and who could be trusted. Marion Rose,he felt, was the only person in the worldhe could tell. He could talk to her—Lord,what a relief that would be! He could tellher all about it, and she would understand.

Her sympathy at that moment seemed themost precious thing in the world.

So he went outside and sat down again onthe bench, and told her the exact truthabout that night; how it had started indrunken foolery, and all the rest of it. Heeven explained the exact route he hadtaken home so as to come into townapparently from Pasadena.

"Well, what do you know about that!"Marion murmured several times during therecital. And Jack found the phrasesoothing whenever she uttered it, andplunged straightway into furtherrevelations of his ebullient past.

"I suppose," he ventured, when he couldthink of nothing more to tell and so came

back to the starting point, "I ought to beatit outa here while the beating's good. Ican't go back—on account of mother. Icould hotfoot it up to Canada, maybe...."

"Don't you do it!" Marion wound the stringof her vanity bag so tightly round andround her index finger that her pink,polished nail turned purple. She nextunwound the string and rubbed the nailsolicitously. "Just because we're downthere at Toll-Gate doesn't mean you aren'tsafe up here. Why, you're safer, really.Because if any one got track of you, we'dhear of it right away—Kate and I walk totown once in a while, and there's hardly aday passes that we don't see somebody totalk to. Everybody talks when they meetyou, in this country, whether they know

you or not. And I could come up rightaway and tell you. Having a bandit treedup here on top would make such a hit thatthey'd all be talking about it. It certainlywould be keen to listen to them and knowmore about it than any of them."

"Oh, would it! I'm glad it strikes you thatway—it don't me." What a fool a fellowwas when he went spilling his troublesinto a girl's ears! He got up and walkedglumly down to the niche in the rockswhere he hid from tourists, and stoodthere with his hands in his pockets,glowering down at the fierce, ember-threaded waves of flame that surgedthrough the forest. Dusk only made the firemore terrible to him. Had this new troublenot launched itself at him, he would be

filled with a sick horror of the destruction,but as it was he only stared at it dully, notcaring much about it one way or the other.

Well, he asked himself, what kind of afool would he make of himself next?Unloading his secret and his heartache to agirl that only thought it would be "keen" tohave a bandit treed up here at the lookoutstation! Why couldn't he have kept histroubles to himself? He'd be hollering itinto the phone, next thing he knew. They'dcare, down there in the office, as much asshe did, anyway. And the secret wouldprobably be safer with them than it wouldbe with her.

He had a mental picture of her hurrying totell Fred: "What do you know about it?Jack Corey, the bandit, is treed up at the

lookout station! He told me all the insidedope—" The thought of her animatedchatter to Fred on the subject of his onereal tragedy, made him clench his hands.

The very presence of her brought it backtoo vividly, though that had not struck himat first, when his hunger for humansympathy had been his keenest emotion.What a fool he had been, to think that shewould care! What a fool he had been tothink that these mountains would shelterhim; to think that he could forget, and beforgotten. And Hen had told them that JackCorey did it! That was about what Henwould do—sneak out of it. And the manwasn't dead yet; not recovered either, forthat matter. There was still the chance thathe might die.

There was his mother hiding herself awayfrom her world in a sanitarium. It was likeher to do that—but it was hard to know hehad broken up all the pleasant, well-ordered little grooves of her life; hard toknow how her pride must suffer becausehe was her son. She would feel now, morethan ever, that Jack was just like hisfather. Being like his father meantreproach because he was not like her, andthat was always galling to Jack. And howshe must hate the thought of him now.

He wished savagely that Marion Rosecould go home. He wanted to be alonewith his loneliness. It seemed to him nowthat being alone meant merely peace andcontentment. It was people, he toldhimself finally, who had brought all this

trouble and bitterness into his life.

He wished she would go and leave himalone, but that was manifestly impossible.Angry and hurt though he was, he couldnot contemplate the thought of letting hergo down there into that blackened wastewith the thick sprinkling of bonfires wherestumps were all ablaze, fallen tangles ofbrush were smoldering, and dead treesflared like giant torches or sent downgreat blazing branches. She might getthrough without disaster, but it would beby a miracle of good luck. Even a manwould hesitate to attempt the feat ofworking his way across the burning strip.

There was no other place where she couldgo. She could not go alone, in the dark,down the mountain to any of the lower

ranches. She would get lost. A man wouldnot try that either, unless forced to it. Aman would rather spend the night under atree than fight through miles of underbrushin the night. And she could not take the oldTaylorville road down to Indian Valley,either. It was too far and too dark, and aslight change of the wind would send thefire sweeping in that direction. She mightget trapped. And none of theseimpossibilities took into account theprowling wild animals that are at the bestuntrustworthy in the dark.

She would have to stay. And he wouldhave to stay, and there did not seem toJack to be any use in making adisagreeable matter still moredisagreeable by sulking. He discovered

that he was hungry. He supposed, now hecame to think of it, that Marion Rosewould be hungry, too. The protectiveinstinct stirred once more within him andpushed back his anger. So he turned andwent back to the little station.

Marion had lighted the little lamp, and shewas cooking supper over the oil stove.She had found where he stored hissupplies in a tightly built box under asmall ledge, and she had helped herself.She had two plates and two cups set outupon his makeshift table, and while hestopped in the door she turned from thestove and began cutting slices of bread offone of the loaves which Hank had broughtthat day. With her head bent toward thelamp, her hair shown like pale gold. Her

face looked very serious—a bit sad, too,Jack thought; though he could not seewhere she had any reason to be sad; shewas not hiding away from the law, oranything like that.

When she became conscious of hispresence she glanced up at him with swiftinquiry. "How's the fire?" she wanted toknow, quite as though that was the onlysubject that interested them both.

"She's all there," he returned briefly,coming in.

"Everything's ready," she announcedcheerfully. "You must be half starved. Doyou see what time it is? nearly eighto'clock already. And I never dreamed it,until a bird or something flew right past

my face and brought me to myself. I waswatching Mount Lassen. Isn't it keen, tohave a volcano spouting off right in yourfront view? And a fire on the other side,so if you get tired looking at one, you canturn your head and look at the other one.And for a change, you can watch the lake,or just gaze at the scenery; and say!—doesthe star spangled banner still wave?"

"She still waves," Jack assentedsomberly, picking up the wash basin. Whycouldn't he enter the girl's foolery? Heused to be full of it himself, and he used toconsider that the natural form ofcompanionship. He must be getting queerlike all other hermits he had ever heard of.It occurred to him that possibly MarionRose was not really feather-brained, but

that the trouble was in himself, because hewas getting a chronic grouch.

He was thinking while he ate. He hadplenty of encouragement for thinking,because Marion herself seemed to beabsorbed in her own thoughts. When shewas filling his coffee cup the second time,she spoke quite abruptly.

"It would be terribly foolish for you toleave here, Jack Corey—or whatever youwould rather be called. I don't believe anyone has the faintest notion that you cameup here into this country. If they had, theywould have come after you before this.But they're still on the watch for you inother places, and I suppose every policestation in the country has your descriptiontacked on the wall or some place.

"I believe you'd better stay right whereyou are, and wait till something turns up toclear you. Maybe that man will get well,and then it won't be so serious; though, ofcourse, being right through his lungs, thedoctors claim it's pretty bad. I'll know ifhe dies or not, because he's a friend ofFred's, and Fred would hear right away.And we can make up a set of signals, andflash them with glasses, like we weredoing just for fun this afternoon. Then Iwon't have to climb clear up here ifsomething happens that you ought to knowabout—don't you see? I can walk out insight of here and signal with my vanitymirror. It will be fun.

"And when you're through here, if I wereyou I'd find some nice place here in the

hills to camp. It isn't half as bad to stayright in the mountains, as it would be tostay in town and imagine that everystrange man you see has come after you.Sometimes I wish I could get right outwhere there's not a soul, and just staythere. Being in the woods with peoplearound is not like being in the woods withjust the woods. I've found that out. Peoplekind of keep your mind tied down to littlethings that part of you hates, don't youknow? Like when I'm with Kate, I thinkabout facial massage and manicuring, andshows that I'd like to see and can't, andplaces where I'd like to go and eat andwatch the people and dance and listen tothe music, and can't; and going to thebeaches when I can't, and takingautomobile trips when I can't, and boys—

and all that sort of thing. But when I'm allby myself in the woods, I never think ofthose things."

"I saw you down there by the hydrometer,all by yourself. And you were using yourpowder puff to beat the band." A twinklelived for a second or two in the somberbrown of Jack's eyes.

"You did? Well, that was second nature. Iwasn't thinking about it, anyway."

"What were you thinking about when youkept staring up here? Not the beauties ofnature, I bet." A perverse spirit made Jacktry to push her back into the frivolous talkhe had so lately and so bitterly deplored.

"Well, I was wondering if you had

gumption enough to appreciate being upwhere you could watch the mountains allthe while, and see them by day and bynight and get really acquainted with them,so that they would tell you things theyremember about the world a thousandyears ago. I wondered if you had it in youto appreciate them, and know every littlewhim of a shadow and every little laughof the sun—or whether you just stayed uphere because they pay you money forstaying. I've been so jealous of you, uphere in your little glass house! I've lainawake the last three nights, peekingthrough the tree-tops at the little speck ofsky I could see with stars in it, andthinking how you had them spread out allaround you—and you asleep, maybe, andnever looking!

"I'm awful sorry you're in trouble, andabout your mother and all. But I thinkyou're the luckiest boy I know, becauseyou just happened to get to this place.Sometimes when I look at you I just wantto take you by the shoulder and shake you!—because you don't half know how luckyyou are. Why, all that makes the worldsuch a rotten place to live in is becausethe people are starved all the while forbeauty. Not beauty you can buy, but beautylike this around us, that you can feast on—"

"And I get pretty well fed up on it, too,sometimes," Jack put in, still perverse.

"And for that I pity you. I was going towash the dishes, but you can do ityourself. I'm going out where I can forget

there are any people in the world. I'llnever have another night like this—itwould be too much luck for one person."

She set down her cup, which she had beentilting back and forth in her fingers whileshe spoke. She got up, pulled Jack's heavysweater off a nail in the corner, and wentout without another word to him or a looktoward him. She seemed to be absolutelysincere in her calm disposal of him assomething superfluous and annoying. Sheseemed also to be just as sincere in herdesire for a close companionship with thesolitude that surrounded them.

Jack looked after her, puzzled. But he haddiscovered too many contradictory moodsand emotions in his own nature to puzzlelong over Marion's sudden changes. Three

months ago he would have called hercrazy, or accused her of posing. Now,however, he understood well enough thespell of that tremendous view. He had feltit too often and too deeply to grudge herone long feast for her imagination. So hetook her at her word and let her go.

He tidied the small room and sent inanother report of the headlong rush of thefire and the direction of the wind thatfanned it. He learned that all Genesseewas out, fighting to keep the flames fromsweeping down across the valley. Threehundred men were fighting it, thesupervisor told him. They would check iton the downhill slope, where it wouldburn more slowly; and if the wind did notchange in the night it would probably be

brought under control by morning. Afterthat the supervisor very discreetlyinquired after the welfare of the younglady who had telephoned. Had she foundany means of getting back to her camp, orof sending any word?

Jack replied she had not, and that therewas no likelihood of her getting awaybefore daylight. There were too manyburning trees and stumps and brush pileson the ground in the burned strip, heexplained. It would bother a man to getdown there now. But he offered to try it, ifhe might be excused from the station for afew hours. He said he would be willing togo down and tell them she was all right,or, a little later, he might even take achance of getting her across. But it would

take some time, he was afraid.

Ross seemed to consider the matter for aminute. Then, "N—o, as long as she's upthere, she'd better stay. We can't spare youto go. You might call her to the phone—"

"I can't. She's off somewhere on the peak,taking in the view," Jack replied. "Shegrabbed my sweater and beat it, an hour orso ago, and I don't know where shewent.... No, I don't think she tried that. Sheknows she couldn't get there. She said shewanted to see all she could of it while shehad the chance.... What?... Oh, sure, she'sgot sense enough to take care of herself,far as that goes. Seems to be one of theindependent kind.... All right. I'll call up ifshe comes back, and she can talk to youherself."

But he did not call up the supervisor, forMarion did not come back. At daybreak,when Jack could no longer fight down hisuneasiness, and went to look for her, hefound her crouched between two bouldersthat offered some shelter from the windwithout obstructing the view. She washuddled in his sweater, shivering a littlewith the dawn chill but scarcely consciousof the fact that she was cold. Her lidswere red-rimmed from staring up too long,at the near stars and down at the remotemountains—as they looked to be thatnight. She seemed rather to resentinterruption, but in a few minutes shebecame human and practical enough toadmit that she was hungry, and that shesupposed it was time to think about gettinghome.

When she got up to follow Jack to thestation, she walked stiffly because of hercramped muscles; but she didn't seem tomind that in the least. She made only onecomment upon her vigil, and that waswhen she stopped in the door of the stationand looked back at the heaving cloud ofsmoke that filled the eastern sky.

"Well, whatever happens to me from nowon, I'll have the comfort of knowing thatfor a few hours I have been absolutelyhappy." Then, with the abruptness thatmarked her changes of mood, she becamethe slangy, pert, feather-headed MarionRose whom Jack had met first; andremained so until she left him afterbreakfast to go home to Kate, who wouldbe perfectly wild.

CHAPTER TWELVE

KATE FINDS SOMETHING TOWORRY OVER

Kate may have been wild, but if so shemanaged to maintain an admirablecomposure when Marion walked up to thedoor of the cabin. She did not greet herbest friend with hysterical rejoicings,probably because she had been told of herbest friend's safety soon after dark thenight before, and had since found much toresent in Marion's predicament and the

worry which she had suffered beforeMarion's message came.

"Well!" she said, and continued brushingher hair. "Have you had any breakfast?"

"Ages ago. Where's everybody?" Marionflung down her hat and made straight forthe hammock.

"Helping put out the forest fire, I suppose.They had to go last night, and I was left allalone. I hope I may never pass as horriblea night again. I did not sleep one minute. Iwas so nervous that I never closed myeyes. I walked the floor practically allnight."

"Forevermore!" Marion murmured fromthe hammock, her cheek dropped upon an

arm. "I simply ruined my shoes, Kate,walking through all those ashes and burntstuff. You've no idea how long it stays hot.I wonder what would soften the leatheragain. Have we any vaseline?"

Kate looked at her a minute and gave asigh of resignation. "Sometimes I reallyenvy you your absolute lack of the finersensibilities, Marion. I should not havesuffered so last night, worrying about you,if I were gifted with your lack oftemperament. Yes, I believe we have a jarof vaseline, if that is what worries youmost. But for my part, I should think otherthings would concern you more."

"Why shouldn't it concern me to spoil apair of nine dollar shoes? I don't suppose Icould get any like them in Quincy, and you

know what a time I had getting fitted inHamburger's. And besides, I couldn'tafford another pair; not till we sell ourtrees anyway."

"How is the fire? Are they getting it putout?" Kate's face was veiled behind herhair.

"I don't know, it is down the other side ofthe mountain now. But three hundred menare fighting it, Jack said, so I suppose—"

"Jack!" With a spread of her two palmslike a swimmer cleaving the water, Kateparted her veil of hair and looked out atthe girl. "Jack who? Is that the man up atthe lookout station, that you—"

"He's not a man. He's just a big,

handsome, sulky kid. When he's cross hepulls his eyebrows together so there's alittle lump between them. You want topinch it. And when he smiles he's got thesweetest expression around his mouth,Kate! As if he was just so full of the oldnick he couldn't behave if he tried. Youknow—little quirky creases at the corners,and a twinkle in his eyes—oh, good night!He's just so good looking, honestly, it's asin. But his disposition is spoiled. He getsawfully grouchy over the least little thing—"

"Marion, how old is he?" Kate had beenholding her hair away from her face andstaring all the while with shocked eyes atMarion.

"Oh, I don't know—old enough to drive a

girl perfectly crazy if he smiled at heroften enough. Do you want to go up andmeet him? He'd like you, Kate—you're sosuperior. He simply can't stand me, I'msuch a mental lightweight. His eyes keepsaying, 'So young and lovely, and—nobody home,' when he looks at me. Yougo, Kate. Take him up a loaf of bread; thathe had brought from town tastes sour."

"Marion, I don't believe a word you'resaying! I can tell by your eyes when you'retrying to throw me off the track. But old oryoung, handsome or ugly, it was adreadful thing for you to spend the night upthere, alone with a strange man. I simplywalked the floor all night, worrying aboutyou! I'd have gone up there in spite of thealtitude, if the fire had not been between. I

only hope Fred and the professor don't getto hear of it. I was so afraid they wouldreach home before you did! But since theydidn't, there's no need of saying anythingabout it. They left right away, before anyof us had gotten anxious about you. If theman who told me doesn't blurt it to everyone he sees—what in the world possessedyou, Marion, to phone down to the ForestService that you were up there and goingto stay?"

"Well, forevermore!" Marion lifted herhead from her arm to stare at Kate. Thenshe laughed and lay back luxuriously. "Iwas afraid you wouldn't know where tolook for the bread," she explained meekly,and turned her face away from the sunlightand took a nap.

Kate finished with her hair ratherabruptly, considering the leisurely mannerin which she had been brushing it. Sheglanced often at Marion sprawledgracefully and unconventionally in thehammock with one cinder-blackened bootsticking boyishly out over the edge. Kate'seyes held an expression of baffledcuriosity. They often held that expressionwhen she looked at Marion.

But presently the professor came, dragginghis feet wearily and mopping his soot-blackened face with a handkerchief asblack. He gave the hammock a longinglook, as though he had been counting oneasing his aching body into it. SeeingMarion there asleep, he dropped to thepine needle carpet under a great tree, and

began to fan himself with his stiff-brimmed straw hat that was grimed withsmoke and torn by branches.

"By George!" he exclaimed, glancingtoward Kate as she came hurrying fromthe cabin. "That was an ordeal!"

"Oh, did you get it put out? And where isFred? Shall I make you some lemonade,Douglas?"

"A glass of lemonade would berefreshing, Kate, after the experience Ihave gone through. By George! A forestfire is a tremendous problem, once theconflagration attains any size. We workedlike galley slaves all night long, withabsolutely no respite. Fred, by the way, isstill working like a demon."

While Kate was hurrying lemons andsugar into a pitcher, the professor reclinedhis work-wearied body upon the pineneedles and cast hungry glances towardthe hammock. He cleared his throat loudlyonce or twice, and soliloquized aloud:"By George! I wish I could stretch outcomfortably somewhere."

But Marion did not hear him—apparentlybeing asleep; though the professorwondered how one could sleep and at thesame time keep a hammock swinging withone's toes, as Marion was doing. Hecleared his throat again, sighed andinquired mildly: "Are you asleep,Marion?" Getting no answer, he sighedagain and hitched himself closer to thetree, so that a certain protruding root

should not gouge him so disagreeably inthe side.

"Shall I fix you something to eat,Douglas?" The voice of Kate croonedover him solicitously. "I can poach you acouple of eggs in just a minute, over theoil stove, and make you a cup of tea. Is thefire out? And, oh, Douglas! Has it burnedany of our timber? I have been so worried,I did not close my eyes once, all night."

"Our timber is safe, I'm happy to say. Itreally is safer, if anything, than it wasbefore the fire started. There will be nofurther possibility of fire creeping upon usfrom that quarter." He quaffed thelemonade with little, restrained sighs ofenjoyment. "It also occurred to me thatevery forest fire must necessarily increase

the value of what timber is left. I shouldsay then, strictly between you and me,Kate, that this fire may be looked uponprivately as an asset."

The hammock gave an extra swing andthen stopped. Kate, being somewhatsensitive to a third presence when she andthe professor were talking together,looked fixedly at the hammock.

"If you are awake, dear, it would betremendously thoughtful to let theprofessor have the hammock for a while.He is utterly exhausted from fighting fireall night," she said with sugar-coatedannoyance in her tone.

"Oh, don't disturb her—I'm doing verywell here for the present," the professor

made feeble protest when Marion showedno sign of having heard the hint. "Let thechild sleep."

"The child certainly needs sleep, if I amany judge," Kate snapped pettishly, andclosed her lips upon further revelations."Shall I poach you some eggs? And then ifthe child continues to sleep, I suppose wecan bring your cot out under the trees. It isterribly stuffy in the tent. You'd roast."

"Please don't put yourself to anyinconvenience at all, Kate. I am really nothungry at all. Provisions were furnishedthose who fought the fire. I had coffee, anda really substantial breakfast before I leftthem. I shall lie here for a while and enjoythe luxury of doing nothing for a while. ByGeorge, Kate! The Forest Service

certainly does make a man work! Think offelling trees all night long! That is the waythey go about it, I find. They cut downtrees and clear away a strip across thefront of the fire where there seems to bethe greatest possibility of keeping theflames from jumping across. They even goso far as to rake back the pine needles anddry cones as thoroughly as possible, andin that manner they prevent the flamesfrom creeping along the ground. It is reallywonderfully effective when they can get towork in the light growth. I was astoundedto see what may be accomplished withaxes and picks and rakes and shovels. Butit is work, though. By George, it is work!"

"Don't try to root in those needles for asoft spot," Kate advised him practically.

"Not when some persons have morecushions than they need or can use."Whereupon she went over and took twopillows from under Marion's feet, andpulled another from under her shoulder.

These made the professor comfortableenough. He lay back smiling gratefully—even affectionately—upon her.

"You certainly do know how to make aman glad that he is alive," he thanked her."Now, if I could lie here and look upthrough these branches and listen while adear little woman I know recites Shelley'sThe Cloud, I could feel that paradiseholds no greater joys than this shelteredlittle vale."

The hammock became suddenly and

violently agitated. Marion was turningover with a movement that, in one lessgracefully slim, might be called a flop.

"Well, good night! I hope you'll excuseme, Kate, for beating it," she said, sittingup. "But I've heard The Cloud till I couldsay it backwards with my tongueparalyzed. I'll go down by the creek andfinish my sleep." She took the threeremaining cushions under her arms anddeparted. At the creek she paused, her earturned toward the shady spot beyond thecabin. She heard Kate's elocutionaryvoice declaiming brightly:

"From my wings are shaken thedews that waken

The sweet buds, every one—"

She went on a little farther, until she couldhear only the higher tones of Kate's voiceabove the happy gurgle of the stream. Shescrambled through a willow tangle,stopped on the farther side to listen, andsmiled when the water talked to her withno interruption of human voices.

"And Doug thinks he's a real naturelover!" she commented, throwing hercushions down into a grassy little hollowunder the bank. "But if he would ratherhear Kate elocute about it than to lie andlisten to the real thing, he's nothing moreor less than a nature pirate." She curledherself down among the cushions and

stared up through the slender willowbranches into the top of an alder thatleaned over the bank and dangled itsfinger-tip branches playfully toward her.

"You pretty thing!" she cooed to it. "Whatdoes ail people, that they sit around andtalk about you and make up rhymes aboutyou, when you just want them to come outand love you! You darling! Words onlymake you cheap. Now whisper to me, allabout when you woke up last spring andfound the sun warm and waiting—Go on—tell me about it, and what you said tothe creek, and all."

Having listened to Kate's dramaticrendition of the poem he liked, theprofessor went over and made himselfcomfortable in the hammock and began

talking again about the fire. It was amagnificent spectacle, he declared,although he was really too close to it toobtain the best view. A lot of fine timberwas ruined, of course; but fortunately not atree on any of their claims had beentouched. The wind had blown the flamesin another direction.

"It would have been terrible to have a firestart in our timber," he went on. "Weshould lose all that we have put into theventure so far—and that would mean agood deal to us all. As it stands now, wehave had a narrow escape. Did you go upwhere you could obtain a view of the fire,Kate?"

"No, I didn't." Kate poured herself out aglass of lemonade. "I was so worried

about Marion I couldn't think of anythingelse. And when the man stopped and toldme where she was, it was dark and I wasafraid to go off alone. Douglas, I neverspent as miserable a night in all my life.The tremendous risk you and Fred weretaking made me fairly wild with anxiety—and then Marion's performance coming upon top of that—"

"What was Marion's performance? Didshe sit by the creek again until after dark,refusing to stir?" He smiled tolerantly. "Iknow how trying Marion's littlepeculiarities can be. But you surelywouldn't take them seriously, Kate."

"Oh, no, I suppose not. But when it comesto getting herself caught on the other sideof the fire, and going up to that lookout

station and staying all night, and nobodyup there except the lookout man—"

"No! By George, did she do that?"

"Yes, she did, and I think it's perfectlyawful! I don't suppose she could get back,after the fire got started," she admittedgrudgingly, "but she might have donesomething, don't you think? She couldhave gone down the other side, it seems tome. I know I'd have gotten back somehow.And what hurts me, Douglas, is the wayshe passed it over, as though it wasnothing! She knew how worried I was,and she didn't seem to care at all. Shemade a joke of it."

"Well! By George, I am surprised. ButMarion is inclined to be a trifle self-

centered, I have noticed. Probably shedoesn't realize your point of view at all. Iam sure she likes you too much to hurt youdeliberately, Kate. And young peoplenowadays have such different standards ofmorals. She may actually feel that it isn'tshocking, and she may be hurt at yourapparent lack of confidence in her."

"She couldn't possibly think that." Katewas too loyal at heart to contemplate thatpossibility for a moment. "Marion knowsbetter than that. But it does hurt me to seeher so careless of her own dignity andgood name. We're strangers in thiscommunity, and people are going to judgeus by appearances. They have nothing elseto go by. I care more for Marion, it seemsto me, than she cares for herself. Why,

Douglas, that girl even telephoned downto the Forest Service that she was up thereand going to stay, and wanted them to sendword to me. And they are men in thatoffice—human beings, that are bound tothink things. What can they think, notknowing Marion at all, and just judging byappearances?"

"I suppose they understood perfectly that itwould be impossible for her to get homeacross the fire, Kate. By George! I can seemyself that she couldn't do it. I shouldn'tblame the girl for that, Kate. And I can seealso that it was a consideration for youthat prompted her to send word in the onlyway she could. Poor girl, you arecompletely worn out. Now be a good girland go in and rest, and don't worry any

more about it. I shall stay here and keep aneye on camp—and I want you to promisethat you will lie down and take a good,long sleep. Go—you need it more than yourealize."

Tears—unreasoning, woman tears—stoodin Kate's eyes at the tender solicitude ofhis tone. Very submissively she picked upthe pitcher and the glasses and went intothe cabin. The professor sighed when shewas gone, kneaded the pillows into amore comfortable position and proceededto keep an eye on camp by falling into sosound a sleep that within five minutes hewas snoring gently. It would be cruel tosuspect him of wanting to be rid of Kateand her troubles so that he could sleep, buthe certainly lost no time in profiting by her

absence. Nature had skimped her materialwhen she fashioned Professor Harrison.He was not much taller than Kate—not sotall as Marion by a full inch—and he wasnarrow shouldered and shallow chested,with thin, bony wrists and a bulgingforehead that seemed to bulge worse thanit really did because of his scanty growthof hair. He was a kind hearted little man,but the forest rangers had worked himhard all night. One cannot blame him forwanting to sleep in peace, with no soundbut the gurgle of the creek two rods away,and the warbling call of a little, yellow-breasted bird in the alders near by.

It was Fred Humphrey tramping wearilyinto camp three hours later, who awokehim. Fred was an altogether different type

of man, and he was not so careful toconceal his own desires. Just now he washungry, and so he called for Kate.Moreover, he had with him two men, andthey were just as hungry as he was, even ifthey did suppress the fact politely.

"Oh, Kate! Can you scare up somethingright away for us to eat? Make a lot ofcoffee, will you? And never mind fancyfixings—real grub is what we want rightnow. Where's Marion? She can help youget it ready, can't she?"

Kate was heard moving inside the cabinwhen Fred first called her. Now shelooked out of the door, and dodged backembarrassed when she saw the twostrangers. She was in a kimono, and hadher hair down; evidently she had obeyed

the professor implicitly in the matter ofgoing to sleep.

"Oh!" she said, "I don't know whereMarion is—as usual; but I can haveluncheon ready in a very short time, I'msure. Is the fire—"

"'Luncheon!'" snorted Fred, laughing alittle. "Don't you palm off any luncheon onus! That sounds like a dab of salad and adab of sauce and two peas in a platter anda prayer for dinner to hurry up and comearound! Cook us some grub, old girl—lotsof it. Coffee and bacon and flour gravyand spuds. We'd rather wait a few minuteslonger and get a square meal, wouldn'twe, boys? Make yourselves at home.There's all the ground there is, to sit downon, and there's the whole creek to wash in,

if the basin down there is too small. I'mgoing to get some clean clothes and godown to the big hole and take a plunge.How long will it be before chuck's ready,Kate?"

Kate told him half an hour, and he went offdown the creek, keeping at the edge of thelittle meadow, with a change of clothingunder his arm and a big bath towel hungover his shoulder. The two men followedhim listlessly, too tired, evidently, to caremuch what they did.

Fred, leading the way, plunged through thewillow fringe and came upon the creekbank three feet from where Marion laycurled up on her cushions. He stood for aminute looking down at her before hispresent, material needs dominated his

admiration of her beauty—for beautifulshe was, lying there in a nest of green,with her yellow hair falling loosely abouther face.

"Hello! Asleep?" he called to her, muchas he had called to Kate. "Afraid we'llhave to ask you to move on, sister. Wewant to take a swim right here. Andanyway, Kate wants you right away,quick. Wake up, like a good girl, and runalong."

"I don't want to wake up. Go away and letme sleep." Marion opened her eyes longenough to make sure that he was standingright there waiting, and closed them again."Go somewhere else and swim. There'slots of creek that isn't in use."

"No sir, by heck, I'm going to take myswim right here. I'm too doggone tired towalk another yard. Suit yourself aboutgoing, though. Don't let me hurry you atall." He sat down and began to unlace hisshoes, grinning back over his shoulder atthe other two who had not ventured downto the creek when they heard the voice of awoman there.

Marion sat up indignantly. "Go on downthe creek, why don't you?"

"Oh, this place suits me fine." Fred,having removed one shoe, turned it upsidedown and shook out the sand, and beganunlacing the other.

Marion waited stubbornly until he waspulling that shoe off, and then she gathered

up her cushions and fled, flushed andangry. She was frequently angry withFred, who never yielded an inch andnever would argue or cajole. She firmlybelieved that Fred would actually havegone in swimming with her sitting there onthe bank; he was just that stubborn. Forthat she sometimes hated him—since noone detests stubbornness so much as anobstinate person.

Fred looked after her, still smiling oddlybecause he had known so well how topersuade her to go back to the house andhelp Kate. Fred almost loved MarionRose. He admitted to himself that healmost loved her—which is going prettyfar for a man like Fred Humphrey. But healso admitted to himself that she could not

make him happy, nor he her. To makeMarion happy he believed that he wouldneed to have about a million dollars tospend. To make him happy, Marion wouldneed to take a little more interest in homemaking and not so much interest in beautymaking. The frivolous vanity bag of hers,and her bland way of using it, like themovie actresses, in public, served tocheck his imagination before it actuallybegan building air-castles wherein shereigned the queen.

He could have loved her so faithfully ifonly she were a little different! Thenearest he came to building an air-castlewas when he was lying luxuriously in ashallow part of the pool, where the waterwas not so cold.

"She'd be different, I believe—I'd makeher different if I could just have her tomyself," he mused. "I'd take a lot of thatfoolishness out of her in a little while, andI wouldn't have to be rough with her,either. All she needs is a man she can'tbluff!"

CHAPTERTHIRTEEN

JACK SHOULD HAVE A HIDE-OUT

Kate, like the rest of the world, pretendedto herself a good deal. For instance, whenshe came into the mountains, she hadhoped that Fred and Marion would fall inlove and get married. She felt that thearrangement would be perfectly ideal inevery way. Marion was such a dear girl,so sweet-tempered and light-hearted; just

the temperament that Fred needed in awife, to save him from becoming mentallyheavy and stolid and too unemotional.Fred was so matter-of-fact! Her eagernessto have Marion come into the mining-claim scheme had not been altogether afriendly desire for companionship, as shepretended. Deep in the back of her mindwas the matchmaker's belief thatpropinquity would prove a mighty factorin bringing these two together in marriage.If they did marry, that would throwMarion's timber land with Fred's and giveFred a good bit more than he would havewith his own claim alone, which wasanother reason why Kate had consideredtheir marriage an ideal arrangement.

Three weeks had changed Kate's desire,

however. Three weeks is a long time fortwo women to spend in one small cabintogether with almost no intercourse withthe outside world. Little by little, Kate'sopinion of Marion had changedconsiderably. To go to shows withMarion, to have her at the house for dinnerand to spend a night now and then, to lierelaxed upon a cot in the MarthaWashington's beauty booth while Marionministered to her with soothing fingertipsand agreeable chatter, was one thing; tolive uncomfortably—albeit picturesquely—with Marion in a log cabin in the woodswas quite another thing.

Kate began to doubt whether Marionwould make a suitable wife for Ered. Shehad discovered that Marion was selfish,

for one thing; being selfish, she was alsomercenary. Kate began to fear that Marionhad designs upon Fred for the sake of histimber claim; which was altogetherdifferent, of course, from Kate's designsupon Marion's timber claim! Besides,Marion was inclined to shirk her share ofthe cooking and dishwashing, and whenshe made their bed and tidied the crudelittle room they called their bedroom, shenever so much as pretended to hang upKate's clothes. She would appropriate thenails on the wall to her own uses, and layKate's clothes on Kate's trunk and let it goat that. Any woman, Kate told herself,would resent such treatment.

Then Marion was always going off aloneand never asking Kate if she would like to

go along. That was inconsiderate, to saythe least. And look how she had actedabout climbing the peak at Mount Hough,the day they had gone to see the lake! Katehad wanted to go down to the lake—butno—Marion had declared that it was morebeautiful from the rim, and had insistedupon climbing clear to the top of the peak,when she knew perfectly well that thealtitude was affecting Kate's heart. Andshe had gone off alone and stayed nearlytwo hours, so that they were almost caughtin the dark on the way home. It was themost selfish thing Kate had ever heard of—until Marion perpetrated worseselfishness which paled the incident.

More than that, Marion was alwaysmaking little, sneering remarks about the

professor, and doing little things to annoyhim. Kate could not see how any onecould do that, kind as Douglas was, andcourteous. And there were times whenMarion seemed actually to be trying tointerest Fred; other times she purposelyirritated him, as though she weredeliberately amusing herself with him. Allthis was not taking into account Marion'spenurious habit of charging Kate for everyfacial massage and every manicure shegave her. When Kate looked ahead to thelong winter they must spend together inthat cabin, she was tempted to feel asthough she, for one, would be paying anexorbitant price for her timber claim.

With all that tucked away in the back ofher mind, Kate still believed—or at least

she successfully pretended to believe—that she liked Marion personally as muchas she ever had liked her. She did not seewhy any one must be absolutely blind tothe faults of a friend. She merelyrecognized Marion's faults. But if she evercriticised, she condoned the criticism bysaying that it was for Marion's own bestinterests.

Just now, while she cleared away thelitter of Fred's dinner, she meditated uponthe proper manner of dealing withMarion's latest defection. Should she warnthe professor to say nothing to Fred? Itmight turn Fred against Marion to knowwhat she had done; Fred was so queer andold-fashioned about women. Still, hewould be sure to hear of it somehow, and

it might be best to tell him herself, astactfully as possible, because she knew sowell just how best to approach Fred. Shetold Fred and was amazed at the result.

"Well, what of it?" Fred demanded withbrotherly bluntness. "It takes a woman, bythunder, to knife her friends in the back.What are you trying to build up anyway?Take it from me, old girl, you want to cutout this picking away at Marion behindher back—or to her face, either, for thatmatter. You two women are going to see agood deal of each other between now andspring, and you'll be ready to claw eachother's eyes out if you don't shut them to alot you don't like."

"Well, upon my word! I was merelytelling you of Marion's adventure. I'm not

saying—"

"No, but you're thinking, and you want toquit it." Whereupon Fred went off to histent and indulged in a much needed siesta.

Kate was angry as well as hurt. Theinjustice of Fred's condemnation stirredher to action. She got hurriedly into herkhaki skirt and tramping shoes, slung acanteen over her shoulder, tied her greenveil over her hat and under her chin, puton her amber sun-glasses, and took herstout walking stick.

She was careful not to wake Fred or theprofessor, though that would have beenmore difficult than she imagined. She didnot want them to know where she wasgoing. If they missed her and were

worried it would serve them both right;for now she remembered that theprofessor had also been veryunsympathetic. Neither of them hadseemed to realize what a terrible night shehad spent there alone, with that terriblefire raging through the forest and withMarion gone, without saying one word toKate about where she was going or whenshe expected to return.

She meant to climb Mount Hough in spiteof the altitude, and find out for herselfwhat sort of a fellow that lookout manwas. Fred and Douglas might make lightof the matter if they wished, but she was ina sense responsible for Marion Rose, andshe considered it her duty to think of thegirl's welfare.

There was a good deal of determination inKate's character, once you roused her outof herself. She climbed Mount Hough, butshe did not find out what sort of a fellowthe lookout man was, for Jack heard herpuffing up the pack trail and retired, withthe precipitateness of a hunted fox, to hisniche between the boulders. She did notstay long. As soon as she had rested alittle and made sure that the station doorwas locked, and had peered in and seenthat everything was in perfect order, shedecided that the lookout man wasprobably off fighting fire with the rest ofthe forest rangers. Convinced of that, shestraightway jumped to the conclusion thathe had not been there at all since the firestarted, and Marion must have stayed upthere alone, and she had simply been

trying to worry Kate over nothing.

Well, at any rate, she couldn't play thattrick the second time. Kate felt wellrepaid for the climb even if she did not geta glimpse of the lookout man. Let Marionpretend, if she wanted to. Let her raveabout the lookout man's mouth and eyesand temper; Kate was armed against allfuture baitings. She could go back nowand be mistress of the situation.

So she went, and Jack listened to herretreating footsteps scrunching down thetrail, and heaved a deep sigh of reliefwhen the silence flowed in behind her andthe mountain top was all his own.Nevertheless he felt uneasy over theincident. Kate, climbing alone to thestation, trying the door, waiting around for

a few minutes and then going back the wayshe had come, did not strike Jack as beinga tourist come to view the scenery. So faras he had been able to judge as he peepedout through a narrow rift in the ledge, shehad paid very little attention to thescenery. She seemed chiefly concernedwith the station, and her concern seemedmostly an impatience over its locked door.

He got his telescope and watched her asshe came down through the rocks intosight. No, she certainly did not strike himas being a tourist, in spite of her tourist'skhaki and amber glasses and heavy tanboots. Women tourists did not climbmountains without an escort of some kind,he had learned.

"By heck, I'll bet that's Kate!" he

exclaimed suddenly, staring at herretreating form. "Now, what does the oldgirl want—?" Straightway he guessedwhat she wanted, and the guess broughthis eyebrows together with the lumpbetween which Marion had described. Ifshe had come up there to see him, it mustbe because she had heard something abouthim that had stirred her up considerably.He remembered how she had refused toclimb the peak with Marion, that firstafternoon.

You know how self-conscious a secretmakes a person. Jack could think of onlyone reason why Kate should climb awayup there to see him. She must know whohe was, and had come up to settle anydoubt in her mind before she did anything.

If she knew who he was, then MarionRose must have told her. And if MarionRose had gone straight and told herfriends—

Jack went so far as to pack everything heowned into his suitcase and carry it to theniche in the ledge. He would not stay andgive her the satisfaction of sending thesheriff up there. He was a headlong youth,much given to hasty judgments. All thatnight he hated Marion Rose worse than hehad ever hated any one in his life. He didnot leave, however. He could not quitebring himself to the point of leaving whilehis beloved mountain was being scarredwith fire. He knew that it was for the sakeof having him there in just such anemergency as this fire that the government

paid him a salary. Headlong as was hisnature, there was in him the quality ofbeing loyal to a trust. He could make allpreparations for leaving—but until the firewas out and the forest safe for the timebeing, he could not go.

Then, quite early the next day, Marionherself came up the trail with three moviemagazines and a loaf of bread that she hadpurloined from Kate's makeshift pantry.On this day she was not so frivolous, buthelpful and full of sympathy. Jack couldnot believe that she had told his secret toKate; and because he could not believe ithe asked her point blank whether Kate hadcome spying up there deliberately, andwas vastly reassured by Marion'svehement denial.

They worked out a heliograph code thatday, and they planned an exploring trip toTaylor Rock the next time Jack wasrelieved. It seemed very important thatJack should have a picturesque hide-outthere; a secret cave, perhaps, with a tiltingrock to cover the doorway.

"It would be great," declared Marion,clasping her hands together with herfavorite ecstatic gesture. "If we could justfind a cave with a spring away back in it,don't you know, and a ledge outside whereyou could watch for enemies—wouldn'tthat be keen? It makes me wish I had donesomething, so I had to hide out in the hills.And every day at a certain time, I cancome up here where that hydrometer thingwas before it burned, and signal to you.

And we'll find a place where I can leavemagazines and things like that, and you cancome and get them. Honestly, I've alwayswished I could be an outlaw—if I couldbe one without doing anything really bad,you know. I'd love having to live in a cavesomewhere. You're lucky, Jack—JohnnyCarew—if you only knew it."

"I do know it. I never found it out tilltoday, though," Jack told her with what hefancied was an enigmatic smile.

"Now listen. If you want me to help youenjoy being an outlaw, Jack Corey, yousimply must cut out the sentimental stuff.Let me tell you how I feel about it. It'snothing new to have men make love—anykind of a man will sit up and say 'bow-wow' if you snap your fingers at him.

That's deadly common. But here you are, abandit and an outlaw without being bad ortough—I don't think you are, anyway. Youdidn't do such awful things to get in badwith the law, you see. But you're hidingout just the same, with the police sleuthingaround after you, and disowned by yourmother and all, just like the real thing.Why, it's a story in real life! And I want tolive in that story, too, and help you justlike a book heroine. I think we can make itawfully interesting, being real enough so itisn't just make-believe. It's keen, I tell you.But for once I want to see if a boy and agirl can't cut out the love interest and bejust good pals, like two boys together."Marion got up and stood before him,plainly as ready to go as to stay. "If you'llagree to that I'll go and help you find your

cave. Otherwise, I'll go back to camp andstay there, and you can look afteryourself."

"Be calm! Be calm!" Jack pushed back hismop of hair and grinned derisively. "Youshould worry about any lovemaking fromme. Take the bunch out at the beach, or ata dance, and I can rattle off the sentimentalpatter to beat the band. But it doesn't seemto fit in up here—unless a fellow meant ithonest-to-goodness. And I ain't going tomean it, my dear girl. Not with you. I likeyou as a friend, but I fear I can never bemore than a step-brother to you." Hepulled off a dead twig from the bushbeside him, snapped it in two and flippedthe pieces down the slope. "I'd look nice,making love to a girl, the fix I'm in!" he

added with a savage bitterness that gavethe lie to his smiling indifference. "Afellow ought to make sure his canoe isgoing to stay right side up before he asks agirl to step into it."

"That's all right then. It's best tounderstand each other. Now, if I were you,I'd have things brought up here, a little at atime, that you'll need for your secret camp.Groceries, you know, and things. You canmake a place to keep them in till you getyour vacation—and listen! When I go totown I can buy you things that would lookqueer if you sent for them. Towels andnapkins and—"

Jack gave a whoop at that, though hisignorance of primitive living did not fallfar short of hers. But in the main, he took

her advice with praiseworthy gratitude.He had never expected to enjoy being anoutlaw. But under the influence of herenthusiasm and his own youthfulness, hebegan to take a certain interest in thedetails of her scheme—to plan with her asthough it was going to be merely acamping out for pleasure. That, of course,was the boy in him rising to the bait of asecret cave in the mountains, andexchanging heliograph signals with theheroine of the adventure, and lying upon aledge before his cave watching forenemies. There would be the bears, too,that Hank Brown had said would beambling up there to their winter quarters.And there would be the scream of themountain lions—Jack had more than onceheard them at night down in the forest

below him, and had thrilled to the sound.He would stalk the shy deer and carrymeat to his cave and broil the flesh overhis tiny campfire—don't tell me that theboy in any normal young man would notrise enthusiastically to that bait!

But there were other times, when Marionwas not there; when Jack was alone withthe stars and the dark bulk of the woodedslopes beneath him; times when theadventure paled and grew bleak before hissoul, so that he shrank from it appalled.Times when he could not shut out thepicture of the proud, stately Mrs.Singleton Corey, hiding humiliated andbroken of spirit in a sanatorium, shamedbefore the world because he was her son.Not all the secret caves the mountains held

could dull the pain of that thought when itassailed him in the dark stillness of thepeak.

For Jack was her true offspring in pride, ifno more. He had been a sensitiveyoungster who had resented passionatelyhis mother's slights upon his vaguememory of the dad who had given him hisadventurous spirit and his rebellionagainst the restraints of mere convention,which was his mother's dearest god.Unknown to Mrs. Singleton Corey, he hadardently espoused the cause of hiswandering dad, and had withdrawn hislove from the arrogant lady-mother, whonever once spoke affectionately of the manJack loved. He had taken what money shegave him. It was his dad's money, for his

dad had suffered hardship to wrest it fromthe earth, in the mines that kept Mrs.Singleton Corey in soft, perfumed luxury.His dad would have wanted Jack to haveit, so Jack took all she would give him anddid not feel particularly grateful to herbecause she was fairly generous in giving.

But now the very pride that he hadinherited from her turned upon him thesavage weapons of memory. He had swiftvisions of his mother mounting the steps ofsome mansion, going graciously to make afashionable ten-minute call upon somefriend, while Jack played chauffeur for theoccasion. She couldn't go calling now onthe Westlake millionaires' wives, tauntedmemory. Neither could she preside at theclub teas; nor invite forty or fifty twittery

women into her big double parlors andqueen it over them as Jack had so oftenseen her do. She could not do any of thethings that had made up her life, and Jackwas the reason why she could not do them.

He tried to shut out the picture of hismother, and there were times when for afew hours he succeeded. Those were thehours he spent with Marion or in watchingfor her to come, or in perfecting thedetails of the plan she had helped him toform. By the time he had his next four daysof freedom, he had also a good-sizedcache of food ready to carry to GrizzlyPeak where his makeshift camping outfitwas hidden. Marion had told him thatwhen the fire-season was over and thelookout station closed for the winter,

which would be when the first snow hadcome to stay, he ought to be ready todisappear altogether from the ken of theForest Service and all of the rest ofQuincy.

"You can say you're going prospecting,"she planned, "and then beat it to your caveand make it snug for the winter. Anythingyou must buy after that, you can tell meabout it, and I'll manage to get it and leaveit for you at our secret meeting place. Idon't know how I'll manage about Kate,but I'll manage somehow—and that'll befun, too. Kate will be perfectly wild if shesees me doing mysterious things—but shewon't find out what it's all about, and I'llhave more fun! I do love to badger her,poor thing. She's a dear, really, you know.

But she wants to know everything a persondoes and says and thinks; and she hasn'tany more imagination than a white rabbit,and so she wouldn't understand if you toldher every little thing.

"So I'll have the time of my life doing it,but I'll get things just the same, and leavethem for you. And I'll bring you reading—oh, have you put down candles, Jack?You'll need a lot of them, so you can readevenings."

"What's the matter with pine knots?" Jackinquired. "Daniel Boone was great onpine-knot torches, if I remember right. Onething I wish you would do, Marion. I'llgive you the money to send for about amillion Araby cigarettes. I'll write downthe address—where I always bought them.

Think you could get by with it?

"You just watch me. Say, I do think this isgoing to be the best kind of a winter! Iwouldn't miss being up here for anything."

Jack looked at her doubtfully, but hefinally nodded his head in assent. "It couldbe worse," he qualified optimistically.

CHAPTERFOURTEEN

MURPHY HAS A HUMOROUSMOOD

Though Fred and the professor shoulderedpick and shovel at sunrise every morningand laid them down thankfully at duskevery night, they could not hope to workout the assessment upon eight miningclaims in a year. The professor was not asuccess as a pick-and-shovel man, though

he did his best. He acquired a row ofcallouses on each hand and a chronic achein his back, but beyond that he did notaccomplish very much. Fred was reallythe brawn of the undertaking, and in apractical way he was the brains also. Fredsaw at once that the task required moremuscle than he and the professor couldfurnish, so he hired a couple of men andset them to work on the claims of thespeculators.

Two little old Irishmen, these were; menwho had dried down to pure muscle andbone as to their bodies, and to pure miningcraft and tenacious memory for the detailsof their narrow lives as to brains. Themountains produce such men. In the barrenplains country they would be called desert

rats, but in the mountains they are calledprospectors.

They set up their own camp half a miledown the creek, so that Kate and Marionseldom saw them. They did their owncooking and divided their work to suitthemselves, and they did not charge asmuch for their labor as Fred charged theclaim-owners for the work, so Fredconsidered that he had done very well inhiring them. He could turn his attention tohis own claim and the claims of Marionand Kate, and let the professor peck awayat a hole in the hillside where he vaguelyhoped to find gold. Why not? People did,in these mountains. Why, nuggets of goldhad been picked up in the main street ofQuincy, so they told him. One man in town

had solemnly assured him that all thesehills were "lousy with gold"; and whilethe professor did not like the phrase, hedid like the heartening assurance it bore tohis wistful heart, and he began examininghis twenty-acre claim with a new interest.Surely the early-day miners had notgleaned all the gold! Why, nearly everytime he talked with any of the natives heheard of fresh strikes. Old prospectorslike Murphy and Mike were alwayscoming in town for supplies and thenhurrying back to far canyons where theyfully expected to become rich.

The professor got a book on mineralogyand read it faithfully. Certain points whichhe was not sure that he understood hememorized and meant to ask Murphy, who

had a memory like a trap and had minedfrom Mexico to Alaska and from Montanato the sea.

Murphy poised his shovel, since hehappened to be working, twinkled his eyesat the professor through thick, silver-rimmed glasses, and demanded: "For whydo ye be readin' a buke about it? For whydon't ye get down wit yer pick, man, andsee what's in the ground? My gorry, I beenminin' now for forty-wan year, ever senceI come from the auld country, an' I neverread no buke t' see what I had in me claim.I got down inty the ground, an' I seen formeself what I got there—an' whin I foundout, my gorry, I didn't need no buke t' tellme was she wort' the powder I'd put inty'er. An' them that made their millions outy

their mines, they didn't go walkin' aroundwit' a buke in their hands! My gorry, theyhired jackasses like me an' Mike here t'dig fer all they wanted t' know about.

"And if ye want to find out what's there inyer claim, I'd advise ye t' throw away yerbuke, young feller, an' git busy wit' yertwo hands, an' ye'll be like t' know a domsight more than wit' all yer readin'. An' ifye like to bring me a sample of what yegit, I'll be the wan t' tell ye by sight whatye have, and I don't need no buke t' tell itby nayther."

Whereat Mike, who was silly from beingstruck on the head with a railroad tiesomewhere down the long trail of yearsbehind him, gulped his lean Adam's appleinto a laugh, and began to gobble a long,

rambling tale about a feller he knew oncein Minnesota who could locate mines witha crooked stick, and wherever he pintedthe stick you could dig....

Murphy sat down upon him then—figuratively speaking—and remindedMike that they were not talking aboutcrooked sticks ner no kind of sticks, nerthey didn't give a dom what happened inMinnesota fifty year ago—if it ever hadhappened, which Murphy doubted. SoMike left his story in the middle and wentoff to the water jug under a stubby cedar,walking bowlegged and swinging his armslimply, palms turned backward, andmuttering to himself as he went.

"A-ah, there goes a liar if ever there wasone—him and his crooked sthick!"

Murphy brought out a plug of tobacco thelength of his hand and pried off a cornerwith his teeth. "Mebby it was a railroadtie, I dunno, that give him the dint in hishead where he should have brains—but Imisdoubt me if iver there was more thanthe prospect of a hole there, and niver acolor to pay fer the diggin'." He looked atthe professor and winked prodigiously,though Mike was out of earshot. "Him an'his crooked sthick!" he snorted, nudgingthe professor with his elbow. "'S fer me,I'd a dom sight ruther go be yer buke,young feller—and more I cannot say thanthot."

The professor went back to his ledge onthe hillside and began to peck away withhis pick, getting a sample for Murphy to

look at. He rather liked Murphy, who hadaddressed him as young feller—a termsweet to the ears of any man when he hadpassed forty-five and was still going. ByGeorge! an old miner like Murphy ought toknow a fair prospect when he saw it! Theprofessor hoped that he might really findgold on his claim. Gold would not lessenthe timber value, and it would magnify theprofits. They expected to makesomewhere near six thousand dollars offeach twenty acres; perhaps more, sincethey were noble trees and good, honestpine that brought the best price from themills. Six thousand dollars was worthwhile, certainly; but think of the fortune ifthey could really find gold. He wouldhave a more honest right to the claim, then.He wondered what Murphy thought of the

shaft he was sinking over there, whereFred had perfunctorily broken through theleaf mold with a "prospect" hole, and hadordered Murphy and Mike to dig to bed-rock, and stop when they had theassessment work finished.

What Murphy thought of it Murphy wassuccinctly expressing just then to Mike,with an upward twinkle of his thick,convex glasses, and a contemptuous flingof his shovelful of dirt up over the rim ofthe hole.

"My gorry, I think this mine we're workin'on was located by the bake," he chuckled."Fer if not that, will ye tell me why elsethey want 'er opened up? There's as muchgold here as I've got in me pocket, an' nota dom bit more."

"Well, that man I knowed in Minnesota, hetuk a crooked sthick," gobbled Mike,whose speech, as well as his mind hadbeen driven askew by the railroad tie; butMurphy impatiently shut him up again.

"A-ah, an' that's about as much as ye iverdid know, I'm thinkin', le's have no moreav yer crooked sthick. Hand me down thatother pick, fer this wan is no sharper thanme foot."

He worked steadily after that, flinging upthe moist soil with an asperated "a-ah"that punctuated regularly each heave of hisshoulder muscles. In a little he climbedout and helped Mike rig a windlass overthe hole. Mike pottered a good deal, andstood often staring vacantly, studying thenext detail of their work. When he was not

using them, his hands drooped helplesslyat his sides, a sign of mental slacknessnever to be mistaken. He was willing, andwhat Murphy told him to do he did. But itwas Murphy who did the hard work, whoplanned for them both.

Presently Mike went bowlegging to campto start their dinner, and Murphy finishedspiking the windlass to the platform onwhich it rested. He still whispered asibilant "a-ah!" with every blow of thehammer, and the perspiration trickleddown his seamed temples in little rivuletsto his chin that looked smaller and weakerthan it should because he had lost so manyof his teeth and had a habit of pinching hislower jaw up against his upper.

The professor came back with his sample

of rock—with a pocketful of samples—just as Murphy had finished and waswiping his thick glasses on a soiled, bluecalico handkerchief with large whitepolka-dots on the border and little whitepolka-dots in the middle. He turnedtoward the professor inquiringly, warnedby the scrunching footsteps that some oneapproached. But he was blind as a bat—so he declared—without his glasses, so hefinished polishing them and placed themagain before his bleared, powder-burnedeyes before he knew who was coming.

"An' it's you back already," he greeted, inhis soft Irish voice, that tilted up at the endof every sentence, so that, withoutknowing what words he spoke, one wouldthink he was asking question after question

and never making a statement at all. "An'what have ye dug outy yer buke now?"

"No, by George, I dug this out of theground," the professor declared, goingforward eagerly. "I want you to tell mefrankly just what you think of it."

"An' I will do that—though it's many thefight I've been in because of speakin' memind," Murphy stated, grinning a little."An' now le's see what ye got there. Mygorry, I've been thinkin' they're all av thimbuke mines that ye have here," hebantered, peering into the professor's face,before he took the largest piece of rockand turned it over critically in his hands.In a minute he handed it back with aquizzical glance.

"They's nawthin' there," he said softly. "Ifthot was gold-bearin' rock, my gorry, we'dall of us be rollin' in wealth, fer themountains is made of such. Young feller,ye're wastin' yer time an' ivery dollarye're sinkin' in these here claims ye'veshowed me—and thot's no lie I'm tellin'ye, but the truth, an' if ye believe it I'llsoon be huntin' another job and ye'll betakin' the train back where ye come from."

The professor eyed him uncertainly. Helooked at the great, singing pines thatlaced their branches together high overtheir heads. Fred, he thought, had made amistake when he hired experienced minersto do this work. It might be better to letMurphy in....

"Still the timber on the claims is worth

proving up, and more," he venturedcautiously, with a sharp glance atMurphy's spectacles.

"A-ah, and there yer right," Murphyassented with the upward tilt to his voice."An' if it's the timber ye be wantin', I'll sayno more about the mine. Four thousandacres minin' claims no better than yer ownhave I seen held fer the trees on thim—an'ain't it the way some of these ole fellersthot goes around now wit' their two handsin their pants pockets an' no more work t'do wit' 'em than to light up their seegars—ain't it wit' the timber on their minin'claims that they made their pile? A-ah—but them was the good times fer them thathad brains. A jackass like me an' Mike,here, we're the fellers thot went on a

lookin' fer gold an' givin' no thought to thetrees that stood above. An' thim that tookthe gold an' the trees, they're the onesthot's payin' wages now to the likes ofMike an' me."

He straightened his back and sent aspeculative glance at the forest aroundhim. "'Tis long sence the thrick has beenworked through," he mused, turning hisplug of tobacco over in his hand, lookingfor a likely place to sink his stained oldteeth. "Ye'll be kapin' mum about what's inyer mind, young feller, ef ye don't want tobring the dom Forest Service on yer trail.Ef it was me, I'd buy me a bag of salt ferme mines—I would thot."

"Well, by George!" The professor stared."What has salt—?"

"A-ah, an' there's where ye're ign'rant,young feller, wit' all yer buke l'arnin'. 'Tisgold I mean—gold thot ye can show t' thimthot gits cur'us. But if it was me, I'd sinkme shaf' in a likelier spot than what thisspot is—I wuddn't be bringing up durt likethis, an' be callin' the hole a mine! I kinshow ye places where ye kin git the coloran' have the luke of a mine if ye haven't thegold. There's better men than you beenfooled in these hills. I spint me a wintermeself, cuttin' timbers fer me mine—an'no more than a mile from this spot it was—an' in the spring I sinks me shaf' an' nota dom ounce of gold do I git fer mepains!"

"Well, by George! I'll speak to Fred aboutit. I—I suppose you can be trusted,

Murphy?"

Murphy spat far from him and hitched uphis sagging overalls. "Kin any man betrusted?" he inquired sardonically. "Hekin, says I, if it's to his intrust. I'm gittin'my wages fer the diggin', ain't I? Then it'sto me intrust to kape on diggin'! Sure, metongue niver wagged me belly outy a grub-stake yit, young feller! I'm with ye on this,an' thot's me true word I'm givin' ye."

The professor hurried off to find Fred andurge him to let Murphy advise them uponthe exact sites of their mines. Murphy hunghis hammer up in the forked branches of ayoung oak, and went off to his dinner.Arriving there, he straightway discoveredthat Mike, besides frying bacon andmaking a pot of muddy coffee and stirring

up a bannock, had been engaged also inwhat passed with him for thinking.

"Them fellers don't know nothin' aboutminin'," he began when he had pouredhimself a cup of coffee and turned the potwith the handle toward Murphy. "They'sno gold there, where we're diggin', I knowthere's no gold! They's no sign of gold.They can dig a hunnerd feet down, an' theywon't find no gold! Why, in Minnesota,that time—"

"A-ah, now, le's have none av Minnesota,"Murphy broke in upon Mike's gobbling—no other word expresses Mike's manner ofspeech, or comes anywhere near to givingany idea of his mushy mouthing of words."An' who iver said they was after gold,now?"

Mike's jaw went slack while he stareddully at his partner. "An' if they ain't aftergold, what they diggin' fer, then?" hedemanded, when he had collected what hecould of his scattered thoughts.

"A-ah, now, an' thot's a diffrunt story,Mike, me boy." Murphy broke off a pieceof bannock, on the side least burned, andnodded his head in a peculiarly knowingmanner. "Av ye could kape yer tonguequiet fr'm clappin' all ye know, Mike, Icud tell ye somethin'—I cud thot."

"Wh-why, nobudy ever heard me talkin'things that's tol' in secret," Mike madehaste to asseverate. "Why, one time inMinnesota, they was a feller, he tol' me,min' yuh, things 't he wouldn't tell his ownmthrrr!" Mike, poor man, could not say

mother at all. He just buzzed with histongue and let it go at that. But Murphywas used to his peculiarities and guessedwhat he meant.

"An' there's where he showed respick ferthe auld lady," he commended drily, andwinked at his cup of coffee.

"An' he tol' me, mind yuh, all about amrrer" (which was as close as he couldcome to murder) "an' he knew, mind ye,who it was, an' he tol' me—an' why, Iwouldn't ever say nothin' an' he knew it—Idoctrrrred his eyes, mind ye, mind ye, an'the doctrrrs they couldn't do nothin'—an'we was with this outfit that was puttin' ina bridge" (only he couldn't say bridge tosave his life) "this was 'way back inMinnesota—"

"A-ah, now ye come back to Minnesota,ye better quit yer travelin' an' eat yerdinner," quelled Murphy impatiently. "An'le's hear no more 'bout it."

Mike laid a strip of scorched bacon upona chunk of scorched bannock and bit downthrough the mass, chewed meditativelyand stared into the coals of his camp fire."If they ain't diggin' fer gold, then what aret h e y diggin' fer?" he demandedaggressively, and so suddenly that Murphystarted.

"A-ah, now, I'll tell ye what they're diggin'fer, but it's a secret, mind ye, and ye mustnivver spheak a word av it. They'rediggin' fer anguintum, me boy. An' thot'swort' more than gold, an' the likes av me 'nyou wadden't know if we was to wade

through it, but it's used in the war, I dunno,t' make gas-bags t' kill the inimy, and ye'ret' say nawthin' t' nobody er they'll likelytake an' hang ye fer a spy on thegovernment, but ye're sa-afe, Mike, s' longas ye sthick t' me an' yer job an' saynawthin' t' nobody, d' ye see."

"They'd nivver hang me fer a spy," Mikegobbled excitedly. "They'll nivver hangme—why I knowed—"

"A-ah, av yer ivver did ye've fergot itintirely," Murphy squelched himpitilessly.

Mike gulped down a mouthful and took aswallow of muddy coffee. "They betterlook out how they come around me," hethreatened vaguely. "They can't take me

for a spy. I'd git the lawyers after 'em, an'I'd make 'em trouble. They wanta look out—I'd spend ivvery cent I make on lawyersan' courts if they took and hung me fer aspy. I'd lawsue 'em!"

Murphy laughed. "A-ah, would ye, now!"he cried admiringly. "My gorry, it takes abrain like yours t' think av things. Now, avthey hung me, I'd be likes to let 'er sthandthot way. I'd nivver a thought t' lawsue 'emfer it—I wad not!"

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A CAVE DWELLER JACK WOULDBE

Smoke-tinged sunlight and warm windsand languorous days held for another fullmonth in the mountains. Then the pinescomplained all through one night, and inthe morning they roared like the rush ofbreakers in a storm, and sent deadbranches crashing down, and sifted brownneedles thick upon the earth below.

"A-ah, but she's goin' t' give us the rainnow, I dunno," Murphy predicted, staringup at the leaden clouds through his thickglasses. "Ye better git up some firewood,Mike, and make the camp snug agin foulweather. An' av' the both of ye ain't got yerplace tight an' ready fer a sthorm, yebetther be stirrin' yerselves an' let thediggin' go fer a day. It's firewood ye'llneed, an' in a dry place. An' while ye'retalkin' 'bout wood, have yer got yer woodfer the winter? An' yer goin' to sthay, yebin tellin' me."

Fred looked around him at the forestwhere the oaks and the cottonwoods andall the trailing vines were fluttering gayred and yellow leaves in the wind. Fallwas slipping on him unaware. He had

thought that there was plenty of time tomake ready for winter, but now he knewthat the time was short—too short, maybe,with that wind booming up from thesouthwest.

"You and Mike can knock off work here,and when your camp's in shape you cancome over and cut wood for us. Doug,we'll beat it and throw that woodshedtogether we've been going to build. Thinkit'll storm today, Murphy?"

Murphy stepped out where he couldglimpse the southern sky, and eyed thedrift of heavy clouds. "She will not bustloose t'day, I'm thinkin'," he decided."She'll be workin' 'erself up to the pint avshnowin' er rainin' er both. Rain in thevalley, shnow up here where we're at, I'm

thinkin'. She'll be a rip when she does bustloose, me boy, an' ye can't have things tootight an' shnug."

"I believe yuh. Come on, Doug. Murphy,you can take care of the tools and cover upthe hole, will you?"

"I will do that." Murphy grinned after thetwo tolerantly. "Will I take care av metools, an' it buildin' a sthorm?" hesarcastically asked the swaying bushesaround him. "An' do I need a pilgrim toremind me av that? An' thim wit' no wood,I dunno, whin they shud have thurrty tier atthe very least, sawed an' sphlit an' rickedup under cover where it can be got at whinthey want it—an' they will want it, fairenough! A-ah, but they'll find they ain'twinterin' in Southern Californy, before

they're t'rough with this country. They'renot got their winter grub laid in, an' I'll betmoney on't, an' no wood, an' they're like t'be shnowed in here, whin no rig willcome up thot grade wit' a load an' I don'tcare how much they'll pay t' have ithauled, an' them two not able t' pack grubon their backs as I've done manny's thetime, an' them wimmin wantin' all thenicks Lee's got in his sthores! Cake an'pie, it's likely they must have in the houseer they think they're not eatin'." Murphytalked as he worked, putting the tools in apile ready to be carried to camp, pickingup pieces of rope and wire and boardsand nails, and laying a plank roof over thewindlass and weighting it with rocks.Mike had gone pacing to camp, swinginghis arms and talking to himself also,

though his talk was less humanly kindunder the monotonous grumble. Mike wasgobbling under his breath, somethingabout law-suing anybody that comebotherin' him an' tryin' t' arrest him fornothin'. But Murphy continued to harpupon the subject of domesticpreparedness.

"An' that leanto them men sleep in is nobetter than nothin' an' if it kapes the rainoff their blankets it'll not kape off theshnow, an' it won't kape off the wind atall. An' they've not got the beddin' they'llbe needin', an' I'll bet money on it.

"They should have a cellar dug back avthe cabin where's the hill the sun gets to,an' they should have it filled with spudsan' cabbages an' the like—but what have

they got? A dollar's worth av sugar,maybe, an' a fifty-poun' sack av flour, an'maybe a roll av butter an' a table full ofnicknacks which they could do without—an' winter comin' on like the lope av acoyote after a rabbit, an' them no betterprepared than the rabbit, ner so, fer therabbit's maybe got a hole he can duck intyan' they have nawthin' but the summercamp they've made, an' hammicks, bygorry, whin they should have warrmovershoes an' sourdough coats! Tenderfeetan' pilgrims they be, an' these mountains isno place fer such with winter comin' on—an' like to be a bad wan the way the squrlshas been layin' away nuts."

Pilgrims and tenderfeet they were, andtheir lack of foresight might well shock an

oldtimer like Murphy. But he would havebeen still more shocked had he seen whatpoor amateurish preparations for thecoming winter another young tenderfoothad been making. If he had seen the placewhich Jack Corey had chosen for hiswinter hide-out I think he would havetaken a fit; and if he had seen the little pileof food which Jack referred to pridefullyas his grubstake I don't know what hewould have done.

Under the barren, rock-upended peak ofKing Solomon there was a narrow cleftbetween two huge slabs that had slippedoff the ledge when the mountain was in themaking. At the farther end of the cleft therewas a cave the size of a country school-house, with a jagged opening in the roof at

one side, and with a "back-door" openingthat let one out into a network of clefts andcaves. It was cool and quiet in there whenJack discovered the hiding place, and thewind blowing directly from the south thatday, did not more than whistle pleasantlythrough a big fissure somewhere in theroof.

Jack thought it must have been made toorder, and hastened down to their meetingplace and told Marion so. And the verynext day she insisted upon meeting him onthe ridge beyond Toll-Gate basin andclimbing with him to the cave. As soon asshe had breath enough to talk, she agreedwith him as emphatically as hervocabulary and her flexible voice wouldpermit. Made to order? She should say it

was! Why, it was perfect, and she was justas jealous of him as she could be. Why,look at the view! And the campfire smokewouldn't show but would drift awaythrough all those caves; or if it did show,people would simply think that a newvolcano had bursted loose, and theywould be afraid to climb the peak for fearof getting caught in an eruption. Even ifthey did come up, Jack could see themhours before they got there, and he couldhide. And anyway, they never would findhis cave. It was perfect, just like amoonshiner story or something.

Speaking of smoke reminded Jack that hewould have to lay in a supply of wood,which was some distance below the rockcrest. Manzanita was the closest, and that

was brushy stuff. He also told Mariongravely that he must do it before any snowcame, or his tracks would be a dead give-away to the place. He must get all hisgrubstake in too, and after snowfall hewould have to be mighty careful aboutmaking tracks around any place.

Marion thought that snow on the mountainwould be "keen," and suggested that Jacktry a pair of her shoes, and see if hecouldn't manage to wear them wheneverthere was snow. His feet were very smallfor a man's, and hers were—well, not tinyfor a woman, and she would spend somuch time hiking around over the hills thata person would think, of course, she hadmade the tracks. Being an impulsive youngwoman who believed in doing things on

the spot, she thereupon retired behind acorner of rock, and presently threw one ofher high-lace boots out to Jack. Itcrumpled his toes, but Jack thought hecould wear it if he had to. So that pointwas settled satisfactorily, and they wenton planning impossibilities with a naiveenthusiasm that would have horrifiedMurphy.

Any man could have told Jack things todampen his enthusiasm for wintering onthe top of King Solomon. But Jack, forperfectly obvious reasons, was not askingany man for information or advice uponthat subject. Hank Brown would haverambled along the trail of many words andeventually have told Jack some things thathe ought to know—only Hank Brown

came no more to Mount Hough lookoutstation. A stranger brought Jack's weeklypack-load of supplies; a laconic type ofman who held his mind and his tonguestrictly to the business at hand. The othermen who came there were tourists, andwith them Jack would not talk at all if hecould help it.

So he went blandly on with his campbuilding, four precious days out of everymonth. He chopped dead manzanita bushand carried it on his back to his hide-out,and was tickled with the pile he managedto store away in one end of the cave.Working in warm weather, it seemed to bea great deal of wood.

From the lookout station he watched theslow building of the storm that so worried

Murphy because of the Toll-Gate people.He watched the circled sweep of theclouds rushing from mountain ridge tomountain ridge. Straight off Claremontthey came, and tangled themselves in thetreetops of the higher slopes. The windhowled over the mountain so fiercely thathe could scarcely force his way against itto the spring for water. And when he filledhis bucket the wind sloshed half of it outbefore he could reach the puny shelter ofhis station. If he had ever wondered whythat station was banked solid to thewindow-sills with rocks, he wondered nomore when he felt that gale pushing andtugging at it and shrieking as if it wereenraged because it could not pick thestation up bodily and fling it down into thelake below.

"Gee! I'm glad I've got a cave the windcan't monkey with, to winter in," hecongratulated himself fatuously once,when the little boxlike building shook inthe blast.

That night the wind slept, and the mountainlay hushed after the tumult. But the cloudshung heavy and gray at dark, and in themorning they had not drifted on. It was asthough the mountain tops had corralled allthe clouds in the country and held thempenned like sheep over the valleys. Withthe gray sunrise came the wind again, andhowled and trumpeted and bullied theharassed forests until dark. And then, withdark came the stinging slap of rain uponthe windows, and pressed Jack'sloneliness deep into the soul of him.

"They'll be shutting up this joint for thewinter," he told himself many times thatnight, half hopefully, half regretfully."They won't pay a man to watch foreststhat are soaking wet. I guess my job's donehere."

The next morning a thin white blanket ofsnow fresh sifted from the clouds lay allover the summit and far down the sides.Beyond its edges the rain beat steadilyupon the matted leaves and branches.Surely his job was ended with that storm,Jack kept telling himself, while he staredout at his drenched world capped withwhite. It was the nearest he had ever beento snow, except once or twice when hehad gone frolicking up Mount Wilson withsnowballing parties. He scooped up

handfuls of it with a dreary kind ofgleefulness—dreary because he must begleeful alone—he made tracks all aroundjust for the novelty of it; he snowballedthe rocks. He would soon go into adifferent kind of exile, without rules andregulations to hamper his movements;without seventy-five dollars a monthsalary, too, by the way! But he would havethe freedom of the mountains. He wouldbe snug and safe in his cave over there,and Marion would climb up to meet himevery day or so and bring him magazinesand news of the outside world. And hewould fill in the time hunting, and maybedo a little prospecting, as he had vaguelyhinted to the man who brought hissupplies. It would not be so bad.

But his job did not end with that storm.The storm passed after a few days ofdreary drizzle in the lower country andhowling winds over the crest and a fewhours of daytime snowfall that interestedJack hugely because he had never in hislife before seen snow actually falling outof the sky. Then the sun came out anddried the forests, and Supervisor Rosssaid nothing whatever about closing thelookout station for the winter.

A week of beautiful weather brought otherbeautiful weeks. He had another four days'relief and, warned by the storm, he spentthe time in laboriously carrying dead pinewood and spruce bark up to his cave. Itwouldn't do any harm to have a lot ofwood stored away. It might get pretty

cold, some stormy days. Already thenights were pretty nippy, even to a warmblooded young fellow who had never inhis life really suffered from cold. Someinstinct of self-preservation impelled himto phone in for a canvas bed sheet—a"tarp," he had heard Hank Brown call it—and two pairs of the heaviest blankets tobe had in Quincy. You bet a fellow oughtto be prepared for the worst when he isplanning to winter in a cave! Especiallywhen he must do his preparing now, ortough it out till spring.

With his mirror he heliographed a signalto Marion, and when she came he said hemust have more cigarettes, because hemight smoke harder when he was reallysettled down to roughing it. What he

should have ordered was more bacon andflour, but he did not know that, his minddwelling upon the luxuries of life ratherthan the necessities—he who had nevermet real necessity face to face.

"I'll send the order right away," Marionobligingly promised him. "But Kate willbe simply furious if she sees the package.The last lot I made her believe was candythat was sent me, and because I didn'toffer her any of it—I couldn't, of course—she would hardly talk for a whole day,and she hinted about selfishness. Shethinks I carry my pockets full of candywhen I start off hiking through the woods,and eat it all by myself." She laughedbecause it seemed a good joke on Kate.

The next time she climbed up to the station

she found him boarding up the windowsand hanging certain things from the ceilingto keep them away from rats, under thetelephone directions of the supervisor. Heexpected Hank's successor up thatafternoon to move down what must betaken to town for the winter. He did notseem so cheerful over the near prospect ofhiding out on King Solomon, and Marionherself seemed depressed a bit and moresilent than usual. The wind whistledkeenly over the peak, whipping her khakiskirt around her ankles and searching outthe open places in her sweater. Claremontand the piled ridges beyond were hoodedin clouds that seemed heavy withmoisture, quite unlike the woolly fleecesof fair weather.

"Well, she's all nailed down for thewinter," Jack said apathetically when thelast board was in place. "She's been aqueer old summer, but I kind of hate toleave the old peak, at that."

They turned their heads involuntarily andstared across the fire-scarredmountainside to where Taylor Rock thrustbleakly up into the sky. A summerunmarked by incidents worthy the name ofevents, spent on one mountain top; awinter that promised as little diversionupon another mountain top—

"Say, a ride on a real live street car wouldlook as big to me right now as a three-ringcircus," Jack summed up his world-hungerwith a shrug. "By the time I've winteredover there I'll be running round in circles

trying to catch my shadow. Plumb bugs,that's what I'll be; and don't I know it!"

"You'll love it," Marion predicted withelaborate cheerfulness. "I only wish Icould change places with you. Think ofme, shut up in a dark little three-roomcabin with one elocutionist, one chronicgrouch and one human bluebottle fly thatdoes nothing but buzz! You're a lucky kidto have a whole mountain all to yourself.Think of me!"

"Oh, I'll think of you, all right!" Jackreturned glumly and turned back to thedenuded little station. "I'll think of you,"he repeated under his breath, feelingsavagely for the top button of his thickgray sweater. "Don't I know it!"

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

MIKE GOES SPYING ON THE SPIES

Mike sat hunched forward on a box infront of the stove in the rough little cabinwhere he and Murphy were facingtogether the winter in Toll-Gate flat. Foran hour he had stared at the broken cookstove where a crack disclosed the blazewithin. He chewed steadily andabstractedly upon a lump of tar-weed, andnow and then he unclasped his hands andgave his left forefinger a jerk that made

the knuckle crack. Tar-weed and knuckle-cracking were two queer little habits muchaffected by Mike. The weed he chewed inthe belief that it not only kept his physicalbody in perfect health, but purified hissoul as well; cracking the knuckles on hisleft forefinger cleared the muddle of hismind when he wanted to go deep into asubject that baffled him.

Hunched forward on another box satMurphy nursing his elbow with one grimypalm and his pipe with the other. Hewould glance at Mike now and then andwith a sour grin lifting the scraggly endsof his grizzled mustache. Murphy wasresentfully contemptuous of Mike's longsilences, but he was even morecontemptuous of Mike's gobbling

indistinct speech, so he let Mike alone andcomforted himself with grinningsuperciliously when Mike was silent, andsneering at him openly when he spoke, andcursing his cooking when Mike cooked.

"That gurrl," Mike blurted abruptly whilehe cracked his knuckles, "she'd better lookout!"

"A-ah," retorted Murphy scornfully,"belike ye'd better tell her so thin. Orbelike ye better set yerself t' look out ferthe gurrl—I dunno."

"Oh, I'll look out fer her," Mike gobbled,nodding his head mysteriously. "I binlookin' out fer her all the time—but sheain't as cute as what she thinks she is. Oh,maybe she's cute, but there's them that's

cuter, an' they don't live over in Europe,neither. Don't you worry—"

"Which I'm not doin' at all, me fine duck,"vouchsafed Murphy boredly, crowdingdown the tobacco in his pipe. "An' it's youthat's doin' the worryin', and fer why Idunno."

"Oh, I ain't worryin'—but that gurrl, shebetter look out, an' the old un she betterlook out too."

"An' fer what, then, Mike, should the gurrlbe lookin' out? Fer a husband, maybe yerthinkin'."

Mike nodded his head in a way that didnot mean assent, but merely that he wasnot telling all his thoughts. He fell silent,

staring again at the glowing crack in thestove. Twice he snapped his knucklesbefore he spoke again.

"She thinks," he began again abruptly,"that everybody's blind. But that's whereshe makes a big mistake. They's nothin' thematter with my eyes. An' that old un, shebetter look out too. Why, the gurrl, shegoes spyin' around t' meet the other spy,an' the old un she goes spyin' around afterthe gurrl, an' me I'm spyin' on—all of'em!" He waved a dirt grimed, callousedhand awkwardly. "The whole bunch," hechortled. "They can't fool me with theirspyin' around! An' the gov'ment can't foolme nayther. I know who's the spies uphere, an' I kin fool 'em all. Why, it's likeback in Minnesota one time—"

Murphy, having listened attentively thusfar, settled back against the wall, swung arough-shod foot and began nursing hispipe and elbow again. "A-ah, an' it's thetrail to Minnesota, then," he commenteddisgustedly, nodding his head derisively."Umm-hmm—it's back in Minnesota ye'rewanderin' befuddled with yer sphies. Sol'ave Minnesota wance more, Mike, an'put some beans a-soakin' like I explainedt' ye forty-wan times a're'dy. My gorry,they're like bullets the way ye bile themfer an hour and ask that I eat thim. An'since yer eyes is so foine and keen, Mike,that ye can see sphies thick as rabbits inthe woods, wud ye just pick out a few ofthe rocks, Mike, that will not come softwith all the b'ilin' ye can give thim? For ifI come down wance more with me teeth

on a rock, it's likely I might lose metemper, I dunno."

Mike grumbled and got out the beans, andMurphy went back to his smoking and hismeditations. He made so little of Mike'soutburst about the spies that he did nottrouble to connect it with any one in thebasin. Mike was always talking whatMurphy called fool gibberish, that no manof sense would listen to it if he could helpit. So Murphy fell to calculating how muchof the money he had earned might justly bespent upon a few days' spree withoutendangering the grubstake he planned totake into the farther mountains in thespring. Murphy had been sober now for acouple of months, and he was beginning tothirst for the liquid joys of Quincy.

Presently he nodded his head slowly,having come to a definite conclusion in hisargument with himself.

"I think I'll be goin' t' town in the marnin',Mike, av I kin git a little money from theboss," he said, lookin' up. "It's comin'cold, an' more shnow, I'm thinkin', an' Imust have shoepacs, I dunno. So we'll beup early in the marnin', an' it's a hefty two-hours walk t' town fer anny man—morenow with the shnow. An' I be thinkin'—"

What he was thinking he did not say, andMike did not ask. He seemed not to hearMurphy's declaration at all. Now that hehad the beans soaking, Mike wasabsorbed in his own thoughts again. Hedid not care what Murphy did. Murphy, inMike's estimation, was merely a conceited

old fellow-countryman with bad eyes anda sharp tongue. Let Murphy go to town ifhe liked. Mike had plans of his own.

The old un, for instance, stirred Mike'scuriosity a good deal. Why should she befollowing the girl, when the girl wenttramping around in the woods? They livedin the same cabin, and it seemed to Mikethat she must know all about what the girlwas doing and why she was doing it. Andwhy didn't the men go tramping aroundlike that, since they were all in together?Mike decided that the two women must bespies, and the men didn't know anythingabout it. Probably they were spying on themen, to get them in trouble with thegovernment—which to Mike was a vast,formless power only a little less than the

Almighty. It might be that the women werespies for some other government, andmeant to have the men hanged when thetime was ripe for it; in other words, whenthese queer mines with no gold in themwere all done.

But a spy spying on a spy smacked ofcomplications too deep for Mike, with allhis knuckle-cracking. He was lost in amaze of conflicting conjectures wheneverhe tried to figure the thing out. And whowas the other spy that stayed up on TaylorRock? There was smoke up there whereshould be no smoke. Mike had seen it.There were little flashes of light up thereon sunny days—Mike had seen them also.And there was nothing in the nature ofTaylor Rock itself to produce either

smoke or flashes of light. No one but a spywould stay in so bleak a place. That wasclear enough to Mike by this time; what hemust find out was why one spy followedanother spy.

The very next day Marion left the cabinand set forth with a square package underher arm. Mike, watching from where hewas at work getting out timbers for nextyear's assessment work on the claims,waited until she had passed him at a shortdistance, going down the trail towardQuincy. When she had reached the line oftimber that stood thick upon the slopeopposite the basin, he saw Kate, bulky insweater and coat, come from the cabin andtake the trail after Marion. When she alsohad disappeared in the first wooded curve

of the trail, up the hill, Mike struck his axebit-deep into the green log he was clearingof branches, and shambled after her, goingby a short cut that brought him into thetrail within calling distance of Kate.

For half a mile the road climbed throughdeep forest. Marion walked steadilyalong, taking no pains to hide her tracks inthe snow that lay there white as the day onwhich it had fallen. Bluejays screamed ather as she passed, but there was no othersound. Even the uneasy wind was quietthat day, and the faint scrunching ofMarion's feet in the frozen snow when shedoubled back on a curve in the trail, cameto Kate's ears quite plainly.

At the top of the hill where the wind hadlifted the snow into drifts that left bare

ground between, Marion stopped andlistened, her head turned so that she couldwatch the winding trail behind her. Shethought she heard the scrunch of Kate'sfeet down there, but she was not sure. Shelooked at the scrubby manzanita bushes ather right, chose her route and steppedwidely to one side, where a bare spotshowed between two bushes. Her left footscraped the snow in making the awkwardstep, but she counted on Kate beingunobserving enough to pass it over. Sheducked behind a chunky young cedar,waited there for a breath or two and thenran down the steep hillside, keepingalways on the bare ground as much aspossible. Lower down, where the sun wasshut away and the wind was sent whistlingoverhead to the next hilltop, the snow lay

knee deep and even. But Kate wouldnever come this far off the trail, Marionwas sure. She believed that Katesuspected her of walking down to thevalley, perhaps even to town, though thedistance was too great for a casual hike ofthree hours or so. But there was the depot,not quite at the foot of the mountain; and atthe station was the agent's wife, who wasa friendly little person. Marion had madeit a point to mention the agent's wife in anintimate, personal way, as though shewere in the habit of visiting there. Mrs.Morton had an awful time getting herclothes dry without having them allsmudged up with engine smoke, she hadsaid after her last trip. Then she hadstopped abruptly as though the remark hadslipped out unaware. It was easy enough

to fool poor Kate.

But there was a chance that poor Katewould walk clear down to the station, andfind no Marion. In that case, Mariondecided to invent a visit to one of thenearest ranches. That would be easyenough, for if Marion did not know any ofthe ranchers, neither did Kate, and shewould scarcely go so far as to inquire atall the ranches. That would be tooridiculous; besides, Kate was not likely topunish herself by making the trip just forthe sake of satisfying her curiosity.

Marion plunged on down the hill, hurryingbecause she was later than she hadintended to be, and it was cold for aperson standing around in the snow. Shecrossed the deep gulch and climbed

laboriously up the other side, over hiddenshale rock and through clumps of bushesthat snatched at her clothing like a witch'sbony fingers. She had no more thanreached the top when Jack stepped outfrom behind a pine tree as wide of girth asa hogshead. Marion gave a little scream,and then laughed. After that she frowned athim.

"Say, you mustn't come down so far!" sheexpostulated. "You know it isn't a bit safe—I've told you so a dozen times, andevery time I come out, here I find you amile or so nearer to camp. Why, yesterdaythere were two men up here hunting. I sawthem, and so did Doug. They gave Dougthe liver of the deer they killed and theheart—so he wouldn't tell on them, I

suppose. What if they had seen you?"

"One of them was Hank Brown," Jackinformed her unemotionally. "I met himclose as I am to you, and he swung off andwent the other way. Last time we met Ilicked the daylights out of him, and I guesshe hasn't forgotten the feel of my knuckles.Anyway, he stampeded."

"Well, forevermore!" Marion wasindignant. "What's the use of your hidingout in a cave, for goodness' sake, if you'regoing to let people see you whenever theycome up this way? Just for that I've a goodmind not to give you these cigarettes. Icould almost smoke them myself, anyway.Kate thinks that I do. She found out that itwasn't candy, the last time, so I had topretend I have a secret craving for

cigarettes, and I smoked one right beforeher to prove it. We had quite a fuss overit, and I told her I'd smoke them in thewoods to save her feelings, but that I justsimply must have them. She thinks nowthat the Martha Washington is an awfulplace; that's where she thinks I learned.She cried about it, and that made me feellike a criminal, only I was so sick I didn'tcare at the time. Take them—and pleasedon't smoke so much, Jack! It's simplyawful, the amount you use."

"All right. I'll cut out the smoking and goplumb crazy." To prove his absolutesincerity, he tore open the package,extracted a cigarette and began to smoke itwith a gloomy relish. "Didn't bringanything to read, I suppose?" he queried

after a minute which Marion spent ingetting her breath and in gazing drearilyout over the wintry mountainside.

"No, Kate was watching me, and Icouldn't. I pretended at first that I waslending magazines and papers to Murphyand Mike, but she has found out thatMurphy's eyes are too bad, and Mike, theignorant old lunatic, can't read or write. Ihaven't squared that with her yet. I've beenthinking that I'd invent a ranch orsomething to visit. Murphy says there'sone on Taylor Creek, but the people havegone down below for the winter; and it'sclose enough so Kate could walk over andfind out for herself."

She began to pull bits of bark off the treetrunk and throw them aimlessly at a snow-

mounded rock. "It's fierce, living in a littlepen of a place like that, where you can'tmake a move without somebody wantingto know why," she burst out savagely. "Ican't write a letter or read a book or putan extra pin in my hat, but Kate knows allabout it. She thinks I'm an awful liar. AndI'm beginning to actually hate her. And shewas the very best friend I had in the worldwhen we came up here. Five thousanddollars' worth of timber can't pay for whatwe're going through, down there!"

"You cut it out," said Jack, reaching foranother cigarette. "My part of it, I mean.It's that that's raising the deuce with youtwo, so you just cut me out of it. I'll makeout all right." As an afterthought he addedindifferently, "I killed a bear the other

day. I was going to bring you down achunk. It isn't half bad; change from deermeat and rabbits and grouse, anyway."

Marion shook her head. "There it is again.I couldn't take it home without lying aboutwhere I got it. And Kate would catch meup on it—she takes a perfectly fiendishdelight in cornering me in a lie, lately."She brightened a little. "I'll tell you, Jack.We'll go up to the cave and cook somethere. Kate can't," she told him grimly,"tell what I've been eating, thankgoodness, once it's swallowed!"

"It's too hard hiking up there through thesnow," Jack hastily objected. "Better nottackle it. Tell you what I can do though.I'll whittle off a couple of steaks and bringthem down tomorrow, and we'll hunt a

safe place to cook them. Have abarbecue," he grinned somberly.

"Oh, all right—if I can give Kate the slip.Did you skin him?" reverting with someanimation to the slaying of the bear. "Itmust have been keen."

"It was keen—till I got the hide off thebear and onto my bed."

"You don't sound as if it was a bitthrilling." She looked at him dubiously."How did it happen? You act as if you hadkilled a chipmunk, and I want to beexcited! Did the bear come at you?"

"Nothing like that. I came at the bear. I justhunted around till I found a bear that hadgone byelow, and I killed him and

borrowed his hide. It was a mean trick onhim—but I was cold."

"Oh, with all those blankets?"

Jack grinned with a sour kind ofamusement at her tone, but his reply wasan oblique answer to her question.

"Remember that nice air-hole in the topwhere the wind whistled in and made akind of tune? You ought to spend a nightup there now listening to it."

Marion threw a piece of bark spitefully ata stump beyond the snow mound. "But youhave a fire," she said argumentatively."And you have all kinds of reading, andplenty to eat."

"Am I kicking?"

"Well, you sound as if you'd like to. Yousimply don't know how lucky you are. Youought to be shut up in that little cabin withKate and the professor."

"Lead me to 'em," Jack suggested withsuspicious cheerfulness.

"Don't be silly. Are there lots of bears upthere, Jack?"

"Maybe, but I haven't happened to see any,except two or three that ran into the brushsoon as they got a whiff of me. And thisone I hunted out of a hole under a big treeroot. It's a lie about them wintering incaves. They'd freeze to death."

"You—you aren't really uncomfortable,are you, Jack?"

"Oh, no." Jack gave the "no" what Katewould have called a sliding inflectiondeeply surcharged with irony.

"Well, but why don't you keep the firegoing? The smoke doesn't show at all,scarcely. And if you're going to tramp allover the mountains and let everybody seeyou, it doesn't matter a bit."

Jack lit his third cigarette. "What's goingon in the world, anyway? Any news from—down South?"

"Well, the papers don't say much. There'sbeen an awful storm that simply ruined thebeaches, they say. Fred has gone down—something about your case, I think. Andthen he wanted to see the men who are inon this timber scheme. They aren't coming

through with the assessment money theway they promised, and Fred and Dougand Kate had to dig up more than theirshare to pay for the work. I didn't becauseI didn't have anything to give—and Katehas been hinting things about that, too."

"I wish you'd take—"

"Now, don't you dare finish that sentence!When I came up here with them theyagreed to do my assessment work and takeit out of the money we get when we sell,and they're to get interest on all of it. Kateproposed it herself, because she wantedme up here with her. Let them keep theagreement. Fred isn't complaining—Fred'sjust dandy about everything. It's only—"

"Well, I guess I'll be getting back. It's a

tough climb up to my hangout." Jack'sinterest in the conversation wanedabruptly with the mention of Fred. "Can'tyou signal about ten o'clock tomorrow, ifyou're coming out? Then I'll bring downsome bear meat."

"Oh, and I'll bring some cake and bread, ifI can dodge Kate. I'll put up a lunch as if itwere for me. Kate had good luck with herbread this time. I'll bring all I dare. And,Jack,—you aren't really uncomfortable upthere, are you? Of course, I know it getspretty cold, and maybe it's lonesomesometimes at night, but—you stayed aloneall summer, so—"

"Oh, I'm all right. Don't you worry aminute about me. Run along home now,before you make Kate sore at you again.

And don't forget to let me know if you'recoming. I'll meet you right about here. Solong, pardner." He stuffed the package ofcigarettes into his coat pocket and plungedinto the balsam thicket behind him asthough he was eager to get away from herpresence.

Marion felt it, and looked after him withhurt questioning in her eyes. "He's got hiscigarettes—that's all he cares about," shetold herself resentfully. "Well, if he thinksI care—!"

She went slipping and stumbling down thesteep wall of the gulch, crossed it andclimbed the other side and came uponKate, sitting in the snow and holding herright ankle in both hands and moaningpitiably.

CHAPTERSEVENTEEN

PENITENCE, REAL AND UNREAL

Kate rocked back and forth, and tears ofpain rolled down her cheeks. She leanedher shoulder against a tree and moaned,with her eyes shut. It frightened Marion tolook at her. She went up and put her handon Kate's shoulder with more realtenderness than she had felt for months.

"What's the matter, Kate? Did you hurtyourself? Is it your ankle?" she askedinsipidly.

"O-oh! Marion, you keep me nearlydistracted! You must know I only want toguard you against—oh—gossip andtrouble. You seem to look upon me as anenemy, lately—Oh!—And I only want toconsider your best interests. Who is thatman, Marion? I believe he is a criminal,and I'm going to send word to the sheriff.If he isn't, he is welcome at the cabin—you know it, Marion. You—you hurt meso, when you meet him out here in this slyway—just as if you couldn't trust me. AndI have always been your friend." Shestopped and began moaning again.

"Now, don't cry, dear! You're simply

upset and nervous. Let me help you up,Kate. Is it your ankle?"

"Oh, it pains dreadfully—but the shock ofseeing you meet that strange man out hereand knowing that you will not trust me—"

"Why, forevermore! I do trust you, Kate.But you have been so different—you don'ttrus t me, is the trouble. I'm not doinganything awful, only you won't seeanything but the wrong side of everything Ido. I'd tell you about the man, only—"Marion glanced guiltily across at the placewhere Jack had disappeared, "—it's hissecret, and I can't."

Kate wept in that subdued, heartbrokenway which is so demoralizing to theperson who has caused the tears. Like a

hurt child she rubbed her ankle andhuddled there in the snow.

"We never used to have secrets," shemourned dismally. "This place haschanged you so—oh, I am simply toomiserable to care for anything any more.Go on, Marion—I'll get home somehow. Ishouldn't have followed, but I was so hurtat your coldness and your lack ofconfidence! And I was sure you weredeceiving me. I simply could not endurethe suspense another day. You—you don'tknow what I have suffered! Go on—you'llget cold standing here. I'll come—afterawhile. But I'd as soon be dead as go onin this way. Please go on!"

Kate may have been a bit hysterical; at anyrate, she really believed herself utterly

indifferent to her sprained ankle and thechance of freezing. She closed her eyesagain and waved Marion away, andMarion immediately held her closer andpatted her shoulder and kissed herremorsefully.

"Now, don't cry, dear—you'll have mecrying in a minute. Be a good sport andsee if you can't walk a little. I'll help you.And once you're back by the fire, and haveyour ankle all comfy, and a cup of hotchocolate, you'll feel heaps better. Hangtight to me, dear, and I'll help you up."

It was a long walk for a freshly sprainedankle, and the whiteness of Kate's facestamped deeper into Marion's consciencethe guilty sense of being to blame for itall. She had started in by teasing Kate

over little things, just because Kate wasso inquisitive and so lacking in any senseof humor. She could see now that she hadantagonized Kate where she should havehumored her little whims. It wouldn't havedone any harm, Marion reflectedpenitently, to have confided more in Kate.She used to tell her everything, and Katehad always been so loyal and sympathetic.

Penitence of that sort may go to dangerouslengths of confession if it is not stopped intime. Nothing checked Marion's excitedconscience. The ankle which she baredand bathed was so swollen and purple thatany lurking suspicion of the reality of thehurt vanished, and Marion cried over itwith sheer pity for the torture of that longwalk. Kate's subdued sadness did the rest.

So with Kate, lying on the couch near thefire and with two steaming cups ofchocolate between them on an up-endedbox that sturdily did its duty as a table,Marion let go of her loyalty to one that shemight make amends to another. She toldKate everything she knew about JackCorey, down to the exact number of timesshe had bought cigarettes and purloinedmagazines and papers for him. Whereforethe next hour drew them closer to their oldintimacy than they had been since first theycame into the mountains; so close anintimacy that they called each other deariewhile they argued the ethics of Jack's caseand the wisdom—or foolishness—ofMarion's championship of the scapegoat.

"You really should have confided in me

long ago—at the very first inkling you hadof his identity," Kate reiterated, sippingher chocolate as daintily as ever she hadsipped at a reception. "I can scarcelyforgive that, dearie. You were taking atremendous risk of being maligned andmisunderstood. You might have foundyourself terribly involved. You are soimpulsive, Marion. You should have comestraight to me."

"Well, but I was afraid—"

"Afraid of Kate? Why, dearie!"

That is the way they talked, until theyheard the professor scraping the snow offhis feet on the edge of the flat doorstep.Kate lay back then on her piled pillows,placed a finger across her closed lips and

pulled her scanty hair braid down overher left shoulder. She shut her eyes andheld them so until the professor came in,when she opened them languidly.

Marion carried away the chocolate cups,her heart light. She would not havebelieved that a reconciliation with Kateand the unburdening of her secret couldwork such a change in her feelings. Shewished fervently that she had told Kate atfirst. Now they could have Jack down atthe cabin sometimes, when the men wereboth away. They would cook nice littledinners for him, and she could lend himall the reading matter he wanted. Shewould not have to sneak it away from thecabin. It was a great relief. Marion wasvery happy that evening.

Jack was not so happy. He was climbingslowly back to his comfortless camp,wondering whether it was worth while tokeep up the struggle for sake of hisfreedom. Jail could not be worse than this,he kept telling himself. At least therewould be other human beings—he wouldnot be alone day after day. He would bewarm and no worse off for food than here.Only for his mother and the shame itwould bring her, he would gladly makethe exchange. He was past caring, past thehorror of being humiliated before hisfellows.

It was hard work climbing to the cave, butthat was not the reason why he had notwanted Marion to make the trip. He didnot want Marion to know that the cave

was half full of snow that had blown inwith the wind, and that he was compelledto dig every stick of firewood out fromunder a snowdrift. Only for that pile ofwood, he would have moved his camp tothe other side of the peak that was moresheltered, even though it was hidden fromthe mountain side and the lower valleys hehad learned to know so well.

But the labor of moving his camp weighedheavily against the comfort he would gain.He did not believe that he would actuallyfreeze here, now that he had the bearskin;stiff and unwieldy though it was, when hespread it with the fur next to his blankets itwas warm—especially since he had bentthe edges under his bed all around and letthe hide set that way.

Marion would have been astonished hadshe known how many hours out of everytwenty-four Jack spent under the strong-odored hide. Jack himself was astonished,whenever he came out of his generalapathy long enough to wonder how heendured this brutish existence. But he hadto save wood, and he had to save food,and he had to kill time somehow. So hecrawled into his blankets long beforedark, short as the days were, and he stayedthere long after daylight. That is why hesmoked so many cigarettes, and craved somuch reading.

Lying there under the shelter of a rockshelf that jutted out from the cave wall, hewould watch the whirling snow sift downthrough the opening in the cave's roof and

pack deeper the drift upon that side.Twice he had moved his pile of supplies,and once he had moved his wood; andafter that he did not much care whetherthey were buried or not.

Lying there with only his face and onehand out from under the covers so that hemight smoke, Jack had time to do a greatdeal of thinking, though he tried not tothink, since thinking seemed so profitless.He would watch the snow and listen to thewind whistling in the roof, and try to letthem fill his mind. Sometimes hewondered how any one save an idiotcould ever have contemplated passing awinter apart from his kind, in a cave on amountain-top. Holed up with the bears, hereminded himself bitterly. And yet he had

planned it eagerly with Marion and hadlooked forward to it as an adventure—alark with a few picturesque hardshipsthrown in to give snap to the thing. Well,he had the hardships, all right enough, andthe snap, but he could not see anythingpicturesque or adventurous about it.

He could have given it up, of course. Histwo legs would have carried him down tothe valley in a matter of three hours or so,even with the snow hampering hisprogress. He could, for instance, leave hiscave in the afternoon of any day, and reachMarston in plenty of time for either of thetwo evening trains. He could take the "up"train, whose headlight tempted him everyevening when he went out to watch for itwistfully, and land in Salt Lake the next

night; or he could take the "down" train alittle later, and be in San Francisco thenext morning. Then, it would be strange ifhe could not find a boat ready to leaveport for some far-off, safe place. He coulddo that any day. He had money enough inhis pocket to carry him out of the countryif he were willing to forego the luxuriesthat come dear in travel—and he thoughthe could, with all this practice!

He played with the idea. He picturedhimself taking the down train, and the nextday shipping out of San Francisco on asailing vessel bound for Japan or Panamaor Seattle—it did not greatly matterwhich. He would have to make sure firstthat the boat was not equipped withwireless, so he supposed he must choose a

small sailing vessel, or perhaps a trampsteamer. At other times he picturedhimself landing in Salt Lake and hiking outfrom there to find work on some ranch.Who would ever identify him there asJack Corey?

He dreamed those things over hiscigarettes, smoked parsimoniously througha cheap holder until the stub was nolonger than one of Marion's fingernailsthat Jack loved to look at because theywere always so daintily manicured. Hedreamed, but he could not bring himself tothe point of making one of his dreamscome true. He could not, because ofMarion. She had helped him to plan thisretreat, she had helped him carry some ofthe lighter supplies up to the cave, she had

stood by him like the game little pal shewas. He could dream, but he could notshow himself ungrateful to Marion byleaving the place. Truth to tell, when hecould be with her he did not want toleave. But the times when he could bewith her were so dishearteningly few thatthey could not hold his courage steady.She upbraided him for going so far downthe mountain to meet her—what would shehave said if she knew that once, when themoon was full, he had gone down to thevery walls of the cabin where she slept,and had stood there like a lonesome ghost,just for the comfort her nearness gavehim? Jack did not tell her that!

Jack did not tell her anything at all of hismisery. He felt that it would not be

"square" to worry Marion, who was doingso much for him and doing it with suchwhole-souled gladness, to serve a fellowbeing in distress. Jack did not flatterhimself that she would not have doneexactly as much for any other likablefellow. It was an adventure that helped tofill her empty days. He understood thatperfectly, and as far as was humanlypossible he let her think the adventure apleasant one for him. He could not alwayscontrol his tongue and his tones, but hemade it a point to leave her as soon as hesaw her beginning to doubt hiscontentment and well-being.

He would not even let Marion see thatthoughts of his mother gnawed at him likea physical pain. He tried to hold to his

old, childish resentment against herbecause she never spoke of his dad anddid not show any affection for his dad'sboy. Once she had sighed and said, "Inever will forgive you, Jack, for not beinga girl!" and Jack had never forgotten that,though he did forget the little laugh and theplayful push she had given himafterwards. Such remarks had beenalways in the back of his mind, hardeninghim against his mother. Now they turnedagainst Jack accusingly. Why couldn't hehave been a girl? She would have gottensome comfort out of him then, instead ofbeing always afraid that he would dosomething awful. She would have had himwith her more, and they would havebecome really acquainted instead of beinghalf strangers.

He would stare at the rock walls of thecave and remember little things he hadforgotten in his roistering quest of fun. Heremembered a certain wistfulness in hereyes when she was caught unawares withher gaze upon him. He remembered thatnever had she seemed to grudge himmoney—and as for clothes, he boughtwhat he liked and never thought of thecost, and she paid the bills and neverseemed to think them too large, thoughJack was ashamed now at the recollectionof some of them.

Why, only the week before his world hadcome to an end, he had said at dinner oneevening that he wished he had a racing carof a certain expensive type, and his motherhad done no more than lecture him mildly

on the tendency of youth towardrecklessness, and wonder afterwards howin the world the garage was going to bemade larger without altogether destroyingits symmetry and throwing it out ofproportion to the rest of the place. Itwould make the yard look very cramped,she complained, and she should becompelled to have her row of poinsettiasmoved. And she very much doubtedwhether Jack would exercise anyjudgment at all about speed. Boys were sowild and rough, nowadays!

Well, poor mother! She had not beencompelled to enlarge the garage; butJack's throat ached when he thought of thatconversation. What kind of a motherwould she have been, he wondered, if he

had petted her a little now and then? Hehad an odd longing to give her a real bear-hug and rumple up her marcelledpompadour and kiss her—and see if shewouldn't turn out to be a human-being kindof a mother, after all. He looked back andsaw what a selfish, unfeeling young cub hehad always been; how he had alwaystaken, and had given nothing in return savea grudging obedience when he must, and apetty kind of deception when he might.

"Bless her heart, she'd have got me thatracer and never batted an eye over theprice of it," he groaned, and turned overwith his face hidden even from his bleakcave. "I was always kicking over littlethings that don't amount to a whoop—andshe was always handing out everything I

asked for and never getting a square dealin her life." Then, to mark more definitelythe change that was taking place in Jack'ssoul, he added a question that a yearbefore would have been utterlyimpossible. "How do I know that dad evergave her a square deal, either? I neversaw dad since I was a kid. She's proud asthe deuce—there must be some reason—"

Once full-formed in his mind, theconviction that he had been a poor sort ofa son to a mother whose life had heldmuch bitterness grew and flourished. Hehad called her cold and selfish; but afterall, her life was spent mostly in doingthings for the betterment of others—as sheinterpreted the word. Showy, yes; but Jacktold himself now that she certainly got

away with it better than any woman heknew. And when it came to being cold andselfish, it struck Jack forcibly that he hadbeen pretty much that way himself; that hehad been just as fully occupied in playingwith life as his mother had been inmessing around trying to reform life.When he came to think of it, he could seethat a woman of Mrs. Singleton Corey'stype might find it rather difficult tomanifest tenderness toward a husky youngson who stood off from her the way Jackhad done. Judgment is, after all, a point ofview, and Jack's viewpoint wasundergoing a radical change.

That very change added much to hismisery, because it robbed him of thecomfort of pitying himself. He could do

nothing now but pity his mother. As hesaw it now, the crime of lying to her aboutthat Sunday's frolic loomed blacker thanthe passive part he had played in thetragedy of the night. He had lied to her andthought it a joke. He had taken a car worthmore than five thousand dollars—morethan his young hide was worth, he toldhimself now—and he had driven itrecklessly in the pursuit of fun thatnauseated him now just to remember.Summing up that last display of ingratitudetoward the mother who made his selfishlife soft and easy, Jack decided that he hadgiven her a pretty raw deal all his life, andthe rawest of all on the tenth of last May.

All the while he was coaxing his fire toburn in the little rock fireplace he had

built near his bed; all the while, he waswhittling off a slice of frozen bear meatand broiling it over the fire for his supper,Jack was steeped in self-condemnationand in pity of his mother. More than wasusual she haunted him that night. Evenwhen he crept shivering under thebearskin and blankets, and huddled therefor warmth, her face was as clear beforehim as Marion's. Tears swelled hiseyelids and slid down his cheeks. Andwhen he brushed away those tears otherscame—since boyhood these were the firsttears he had ever shed because of apoignant longing for his mother.

CHAPTEREIGHTEEN

HANK BROWN PROVES THAT HECAN READ TRACKS

To begin with, Kate knew Mrs. SingletonCorey, just as well as a passably popularelocutionist may expect to know one of therecognized leaders of society and clublife. Kate had recited at open meetings ofthe clubs over which Mrs. SingletonCorey had presided with that smiling

composure which was so invulnerable tothose without the favored circle. Kate hadonce talked with Mrs. Singleton Corey forat least five minutes, but she was not at allcertain that she would be remembered thenext time they met. She would like verymuch to be remembered, because anelocutionist's success depends so muchupon the recognition which society givesto her personality and her talents.

Now, here was Jack Corey hiding in hervery dooryard, one might say; and hismother absolutely distracted over him.How could she make any claim to humansympathy for a mother's sorrow if shewithheld the message that would bringrelief? She was astonished that Marionhad been so thoughtless as never once to

think of the terrible distress of Mrs.Singleton Corey. Of course, she hadpromised—but surely that did not excludethe boy's mother from the solace ofknowing where he was! That would beoutrageous! Very carefully she soundedMarion upon the subject, and found herunreasonable.

"Why, Jack would murder me if I told hismother! I should say I wouldn't tell her!Why, it was because his mother was goingto be so mean about it and turn againsthim, that Jack ran away! He'd go back, if itwasn't for her—he said so. He'd rather goto jail than face her. Why, if I thought for aminute that you'd take that stand, I neverwould have told you, Kate! Don't youdare—" Then Marion dropped a saucer

that she was wiping, and when herconsternation over the mishap hadsubsided she awoke to the fact that Katehad dropped the subject also and had goneto read her limp little Sonnets from thePortuguese, that Marion never could seeany sense in.

Marion must have had a remarkablytrustful nature, else she would have beensuspicious. Kate was not paying anyattention to what she read. She wasmentally rounding periods and coiningnew phrases of sympathy that should nothumiliate but draw close to the writer thesoul of Mrs. Singleton Corey when sheread them. She was planning the letter shefully intended to write. Later that evening,when Marion was curled up in bed with a

book that held her oblivious tounobtrusive deeds, such as letter-writing,Kate put the phrases and the carefullyconstructed sentences upon a sheet of herthickest, creamiest stationery. She did notfeel in the slightest degree disloyal toMarion or to Jack. Hot-headed, selfishchildren, what did they know about thedeeper problems of life? Of course hismother must be told. And of course, Katewas the person who could best write sodifficult a letter. So she wrote it, andexplained just how she came to knowabout Jack. But the professor was aconscientious man. He believed that theauthorities should be notified at once. JackCorey was a fugitive from the law, and toconceal the knowledge of his whereaboutswould be nothing short of compounding a

felony. It was thoughtful to write hismother, of course. But duty demanded thatthe chief of police in Los Angeles shouldbe notified also, and as speedily aspossible. By George, the case warrantedtelegraphing the news!

Now, it was one thing to writesympathetically to a social leader that herwayward son has been found, but it isquite another thing to turn the waywardson over to the police. Kate had notconsidered the moral uprightness of theprofessor when she showed him the letter,but she managed the difficulty very nicely.She pleaded a little, and flattered a little,and cried a good deal, and finallypersuaded the professor's conscience tocompound a felony to the extent of writing

Fred instead of wiring the chief of police.Fred could notify the authorities if hechose—and Kate was wise enough topretend that she was satisfied to leave thematter in Fred's hands.

She thought it best, however, to add apostscript to her letter, saying that shefeared for Jack's safety, as the authoritieshad begun to be very inquisitive and hardto put off; but that she would do all in herpower to protect the poor boy. She did notfeel that it would be wise to write Fred,because the professor would think shewas working against him and would beangry. Besides, she knew that it would beof no use to write Fred. He would do ashe pleased anyway; he always did.

In the face of a keen wind the professor

started down the mountain to leave theletters at Marston with the agent, who wasvery obliging and would see that theywere put on the "down" train that evening.

Marion did not see any sense in his goingaway that day, and she told Kate so verybluntly. With the professor gone she couldnot meet Jack and have those broiled bearsteaks, because some one had to stay withKate. When Kate suggested that she haveJack come to the cabin with his bearsteaks, she discovered that she could notdo that either. She was afraid to tell Jackthat Kate knew. Of course, it was all right—Kate had promised faithfully never totell; but Jack was awfully queer, lately,and the least little thing offended him. Hewould refuse to see that it was the best to

take Kate into the secret, because it gaveMarion more freedom to do things for hiscomfort. He would consider that she hadbeen tattling secrets just because shecould not hold her tongue, and sheresented in advance his attitude. Guiltilyconscious of having betrayed him, she stillbelieved that she had done him a realservice in the betrayal.

It was a complicated and uncomfortablestate of mind to be in, and Kate's state ofmind was not much more complacent. Shealso had broken a promise and betrayed atrust, and she also believed she had doneit for the good of the betrayed. To theirdiscomforting sense of guilt was addedMarion's disappointment at not meetingJack, and Kate's sprained ankle, which

was as swollen and painful as a sprainedankle usually is. They began by arguing,they continued by reminding each other ofpast slights and injuries, they ended byspeaking plain truths that were unpalatablechiefly because they were true. When theprofessor tramped home at sundown hewalked into an atmosphere of icy silence.Kate and Marion were not on speakingterms, if you please.

The next day was cold and windy, butMarion hurried the housework in a waythat made Kate sniff disgustedly, andstarted out to signal Jack and bring himdown to their last meeting place. Flashafter flash she sent that way, until the sunwent altogether behind the clouds and shecould signal no more. Not a glimmer of an

answering twinkle could she win from thepeak. The most she did was to stimulateold Mike to the point of mumbling wildharangues to the uneasy pines, the gist ofwhich was that folks better look out howthey went spyin' around after him, an'makin' signs back and forth with glasses.They better look out, because he had goodeyes, if Murphy didn't have, and theycouldn't run over him and tromp on him.

He was still gesticulating like a bearfighting yellow-jackets when Marionwalked past him, going up the trail. Shelooked at him and smiled as she went by,partly because he looked funny, wavinghis arms over his head like that, and partlyby way of greeting. She never talked toMike, because she could not understand

anything he said. She did not consider himat all bright, so she did not pay muchattention to him at any time; certainly notnow, when her mind was divided betweenher emotions concerning Jack and herfresh quarrel with Kate.

Mike struck his axe into a log andfollowed her, keeping in the brush justoutside the trail. His lips movedceaselessly under his ragged, sandymustache. Because Marion had smiledwhen she looked at him, he called her,among other things, a she-devil. Hethought she had laughed at him becauseshe was nearly ready to have him hanged.Marion did not look back. She was quitecertain today that Kate would not followher, and the professor was fagged from

yesterday's tramp through the snow. Shehurried, fully expecting that Jack had gonedown early to the meeting place and waswaiting for her there.

Mike had no trouble in keeping close toher, for the wind blew strongly against herface and the pines creaked and mournedoverhead, and had he called to her shewould scarcely have heard him. She leftthe road at the top of the hill and wentacross to the gully where Kate hadsprained her ankle. Today Marion did nottrouble to choose bare ground, so shewent swiftly. At the top of the gully whereJack had met her before, she stopped, hereyes inquiring of every thicket near her.She was panting from the stiff climb, andher cheeks tingled with the cold. But

presently she "who-whoed" cautiously,and a figure stepped out from behind acedar and came toward her.

"Oh, there you—oh!" she cried, andstopped short. It was not Jack Corey at all,but Hank Brown, grinning at her while heshifted his rifle from the right hand to theleft.

"Guess you thought I was somebody else,"he drawled, coming up to her and puttingout his hand. "Pretty cold, ain't it? Yuhtravelin' or just goin' somewheres?" Hegrinned again over the ancient witticism.

"Oh, I—I was just out for a walk," Marionlaughed uneasily. "Where are you going,Mr. Brown?"

"Me, I'm travelin' fer my health. Guess youaim t' git walkin' enough, comin' awayover here, this kind of a day."

"Why, I hike all over these mountains. Itgets lonesome. I just walk and walkeverywhere."

Grinning, Hank glanced down at her feet."Yes, I've seen lots of tracks up aroundthis way, and up towards Taylor Kock.But I never thought they were made by feetas little as what yours are."

"Why, forevermore! I suppose I ought tothank you for that. I make pretty healthylooking tracks, let me tell you. And I don'tclaim all the tracks, because so manyhunters come up here."

Hank looked at her from under his slanteyebrows. "Guess they's some that ain'tcrazy about huntin' too," he observedshrewdly. "Feller that had the lookout lastsummer, guess he hangs out somewherearound here, don't he? Must, or youwouldn't be calling him. Got a claim,maybe."

"Why do you think so? I go all over thesehills, and I—"

"I was kinder wonderin'," said Hank. "Iguess you must know 'im purty well. I justhappened to notice how clost them twosets of tracks are, over by that big tree.Like as if somebody with kinda little feethad stood around talking to a feller forquite a spell. I kinda make a study oftracks, you see—'cause I hunt a good deal.

Ever study tracks?"

"Why, no—" Marion's smile became setand superficial. "I do wish you'd teach me,Mr. Brown."

"Well, come on over here and I'll showyuh somethin'." He reached over and laidhis hand on her arm, and after aninvoluntarily shrinking, Marion thought itwisest to let it pass. Very likely he did notmean anything at all beyond eagerness toshow her the tracks. Why in the world hadthey forgotten to be careful, she wondered.But it was hard to remember that thiswilderness was not really so untrodden asit looked when she and Jack foundthemselves alone in some remote spot.She went fearfully, with uneasy laughter,where Hank led. They stopped beside the

tree where she and Jack had talked theother day. Hank pointed down at thetelltale snow.

"It's dead easy to read tracks," hedrawled, "when they's fresh and plain aswhat these are. They's four cigarette butts,even, to show how long the feller stoodhere talkin' to the girl. And behind the treeit's all tromped up, where he waited ferher to come, most likely. You kin seewhere his tracks comes right out frombehind the tree to the place where theystood talkin'. An' behind the tree there ain'tno cigarette butts a-tall—an' that's when afeller most generally smokes—when he'spassin' the time waitin' fer somebody. An'here's a string—like as if it had beenpulled offn a package an' throwed away.

An' over there on that bush is the paper thestring was tied aroun'—wind blowed itover there, I guess." He waded through thesnow to where the paper had lodged, andpicked it up. "It's even got a pos'mark ontoit," he announced, "and part of theaddress. It must a'been quite a sizablepackage, 'cause it took foteen cents to sendit from Los Angeles to Miss Marion—"

"Why, what do you know about that!"cried Marion abruptly, bringing her handstogether animatedly. "All that's left of myopera fudge that one of the girls sent me!"She took the paper and glanced at itruefully. "I remember now—that was thetime Fred was sure he'd get a—" shestopped herself and looked at him archly—"a jack-rabbit. And I said I'd come out

and help him carry it home. But he didn'thave any luck at all—why, of course, Iremember! Meeting the professor with themail, and bringing the candy along to eat ifwe got hungry—and we did too. And Fredhid behind the tree and scared me—why,Mr. Brown, I think you're perfectlywonderful, to figure that all out just fromthe tracks! I should think you'd be adetective. I'm sure there isn't a detective inthe country that could beat you—really,they are stupid alongside of such work asthis. But I hope the tracks won't tell youwhat Fred said about not getting the—er—the rabbit he shot at!" She laughed up intohis face. "You might tell," she accusedhim playfully, "and get us all into trouble.I'm awfully afraid of you, Mr. Brown. Iam really."

Hank Brown could read tracks fairly well,but he could not read women at all. Hispuzzled gaze went from Marion's laughingface to the tracks in the snow; from thereto the paper in his hand; to the tree, andback again to her face.

"The man's tracks went back towardsTaylor Rock," he drawled out halfapologetically. "That's what made mekinda think maybe—"

"Oh, you know that, too! You know howhe said he was going up there and see if hecouldn't run across a bear beforesundown, and for me to go straight home.And I'll bet," she added breathlessly, "youcan tell me exactly where it was that Katewaited for me across the gulley, andwhich ankle it was that she sprained so I

had to almost carry her back to the house,and—why, I wouldn't be one bit surprisedif you could tell me what I put on it!"

"No," Hank confessed feebly, "I guess Icouldn't just figure all that out, not offhandlike."

"But you knew about Fred forgetting hiscigarettes, and about my bringing himsome so he wouldn't be grouchy all theway home," Marion reminded himdemurely. "I—I do think you are thecleverest boy!"

That finished Hank. Never within hisrecollection had a young woman so muchas hinted that she thought him wonderfulor clever. Besides, Hank was well pastthirty, and it tickles a man of that age to be

called a boy.

He began to leer at her with amorous eyeswhen he spoke, and he began to findfrequent occasions for taking hold of herarm. He managed to make himself odiousin the extreme, so that in sheer self-defense Marion made haste to bring histhoughts back to Jack.

"Did you say that lookout man has a claimup here somewhere?" She started back tothe road, Hank keeping close to her heels.

"I dunno—I just said maybe he had. He'sup here, I know that—an' you know it,too." He took her arm to help her up thehill, and Marion felt as though a toad wastouching her; yet she dared not show tooplainly her repulsion for fear of stirring

his anger. She had a feeling that Hank'sanger would be worse than his boorishgallantry. "I figure he's on the dodge. Ain'tno other reason why he ain't never been totown sence I packed him up to the lookoutstation las' spring. 'F he had a claim he'dbe goin' to town sometime, anyway. He'dgo in to record his claim, an' he ain't neverdone that. I'll bet," he added, walkingclose alongside, "you could tell more'nyou let on. Couldn't you, ay?"

"I could, if I knew anything to tell."Marion tried to free her arm withoutactually jerking it, and failed.

"But you don't, ay? Say, you're pretty cute.What'll yuh give me if I tell yuh what I dothink?"

The fool was actually trying to slip hisarm around her without being too abruptabout it; as if he were taming somecreature of the wild which he wished notto frighten. Marion was drawing herselftogether, balancing herself to land a blowon his jaw and then run. She believed shecould outrun him, now that they were inthe trail. But at that moment she caughtsight of a figure slinking behind a stump,and she exclaimed with relief at the sight.

"Why, there's Mike over there—I waswishing—I wanted to ask him—oh, Mike!Mike!" She pulled herself free of Hank'srelaxing fingers and darted from the trail,straight up the park-like slope of the giantpines. "Mike! Wait a minute, Mike. I waslooking for you!"

It was an unfortunate sentence, that lastone. Mike stopped long enough to makesure that she was coming, long enough tohear what she said. Then he ducked andran, lumbering away toward a heavyoutcropping of rock that edged the slopelike a halibut's fin. Marion ran after him,glancing now and then over her shoulder,thankful because Hank had stayed in thetrail and she could keep the great treetrunks between them.

At the rock wall, so swift was Marion'spursuit, Mike turned at bay, both handslifted over his head in a threateninggesture. "Don't yuh chase me up," hegobbled frenziedly. "Yuh better look outnow! Don't yuh think yuh can take me andhang me for a spy—you're a spy yourself

—You look out, now!" Then he saw thatMarion kept on coming, and he turned andran like a scared animal.

Though she could not understand what hesaid, nevertheless Marion stopped insheer astonishment. The next momentMike had disappeared between twoboulders and was gone. Marion followedhis tracks to the rocks; then, fearful ofHank, she turned and ran down the slopethat seemed to slant into Toll-Gate Basin.Hank could track her, of course, but shemeant to keep well ahead of him. So sheran until she must climb the next slope.Once she saw Mike running ahead of herthrough the trees. She wondered whatailed him, but she was too concerned overher own affairs to give him much thought.

Hank called to her; he seemed to becoming after her, and she supposed hewould overtake her in time, but she kepton through brush and over fallen logs halfburied in the snow that held her weight ifshe was careful. And when she wasalmost ready to despair of reaching theopen before Hank, she saw through thetrees the little pasture with its log fence.Mike was going across to his cabin, stillrunning awkwardly.

Marion ploughed through the drifts in theedge of the timber and slowed thankfullyto a walk when she reached the corner ofthe fence. Across the flat the cabin stoodbacked against the wall of heavy forest.Hank would not dare come any farther—or if he did he would be careful not to

offend. She walked on more slowly,pulling herself back to composure beforeshe went in to face the critical, censuringeyes of Kate.

CHAPTERNINETEEN

TROUBLE ROCKS THE PAN,LOOKING FOR GRAINS OF GOLD

Up on the peaks Jack was touching theheights and the depths of his own nature,while the mountains stood back andwaited, it seemed to him, for the finalanswer. He had lived with them too longand too intimately to disregard them now,uninfluenced by their varying moods. He

watched them in sunlight when they wereall shining white and violet and softpurple, with great shadows spread overtheir slopes where the forests stooddeepest; and they heartened him, gave hima wordless promise that better times wereto come. He saw them swathed withclouds, and felt the chill of their coldaloofness; the world was a gloomy placethen, and friendship was all false and lovea mockery. He saw them at night—thenwas he an outcast from everything thatmade life worth while; then was he almostready to give up.

When he had waited until the sun waslow, and Marion did not come or send hima signal from the little knoll behind thecabin, he told himself that he was just a

whim of hers; that he merely furnished herwith a little amusement, gave her apleasant imitation of adventure; that ifsomething more exciting came into herdull life there in the Basin, she wouldnever bother with him again. He toldhimself cynically that she would merelybe proving her good sense if she stoppedmeeting him or sending those brief littlemessages; but Lord, how they did put heartinto a fellow!—those little dots ofbrightness, with now and then a wider,longer splash of radiance, which she toldhim meant "forevermore"; or, if it werevery long and curved, as when she wavedthe glass over her head, it meant a laugh,and "here's hoping."

But when she did not come, or even run up

the hill and send him the one-two-threesignal which meant she could not meet himthat day, he faced the long night feelingthat the world held not one friend uponwhom he could depend. The next day hewent out, but he was so absolutelyhopeless that he persuaded himself shewould not come and that he did not wanther to come. He did not want to meet anyhuman being that he could think of—except his mother, and his punishment wasthat he should never see her again. He hadto walk for exercise, and he might get ashot at a grouse. He was not going to meetMarion at all. Let her stay at home, if shewanted to—he could stand it if she could.

He tramped down the mountain toward theBasin. It was a dreary journey at best, and

today his perverse mood would not lethim brighten it with the hope of seeingMarion. She had fooled him the daybefore, after she had promised to come,and he had carried that chunk of bear meatall the way down from the cave, so nowhe was going to fool her. If she came hewould just let her stand around in the cold,and see how funny it was to wait for someone who did not show up.

Near their last meeting place, on the brinkof the deep gulley that divided the CrystalLake road from the first slope of GrizzlyPeak, he stopped, half tempted to turnback. She was keen-eyed, and he did notwant her to see him first. She should nothave the chance, he reflected, to think hewas crazy about meeting her every day. If

she wanted to make it once a week, shewouldn't find him whining about it. Hemoved warily on down to the place, hiseyes searching every open spot for aglimpse of her.

He got his glimpse just as she and Hankwere climbing the side of the gulley to theroad. It was a glimpse that shocked himout of his youthful self-pity and stood himface to face with a very real hurt. Theywere climbing in plain sight, and so closeto him that he could hear Hank's drawlingvoice telling Marion that she was a cuteone, all right; he'd have to hand it to herfor being a whole lot cuter than he hadsized her up to be. Uncouth praise it was,bald, insincere, boorish. Jack heardMarion laugh, just as though she enjoyed

Hank's conversation and company—andall his anger at yesterday's apparent slightseemed childish beside this hot, man'srage that filled him.

Any man walking beside Marion wouldhave made him wild with jealousy; butHank Brown! Hank Brown, holding her bythe arm, walking with her more familiarlythan Jack had ever ventured to do, for alltheir close friendship! Calling her cute—why cute, in particular? Did Hank, by anychance, refer to Marion's little strategiesin getting things for Jack? The barepossibility sickened him.

He stood and watched until they reachedthe trail and passed out of sight among thetrees, their voices growing fainter as thedistance and the wind blurred the sounds.

Had they looked back while they wereclimbing out of the gulley, they must haveseen him, for he stood out in the open,making no attempt at concealment, noteven thinking of the risk. When they hadgone, he stood staring at the place and thenturned and tramped apathetically back tohis cave.

What was Marion doing with HankBrown, the one man in all this countrywho held a definite grudge against Jack?What had she done, that Hank shouldconsider her so cute? Was the girl playingdouble? Loyalty was a part of Jack'snature—a fault, he had come to call itnowadays, since he firmly believed it wasloyalty toward his father that had cost himhis mother's love; since it was loyalty to

his friends, too, that had sent him out ofLos Angeles in the gray of the morning;since it was loyalty to Marion that hadheld him here hiding miserably like ananimal. Loyalty to Marion made it hardnow to believe his own eyes when theytestified against her.

There must be some way of explaining it,he kept telling himself hopelessly. Marion—why, the girl simply couldn't pretend allthe time. She would forget herself sometime, no matter how clever she was atdeception. She couldn't keep up a make-believe interest in his welfare, the wayshe had done; if she could do that—well,like Hank Brown, he would have to handit to her for being a lot cleverer than hehad given her credit for being. "If she's

been faking the whole thing, she ought togo on the stage," he muttered tritely."She'd make Sarah Bernhardt look like asmall-time extra. Yes, sir, all of that. AndI don't quite get it that way." Then heswore. "Hank Brown! That hick—afterhaving her choice of town boys, her takingup with that Keystone yap! No, sir, thatdon't get by with me." But when he hadgone a little farther he stopped and lookedblackly down toward the Basin. A swift,hateful vision of the two figures walkingclose together up that slope struck him likea slap in the face.

"All but had his arm around her," hegrowled. "And she let him get by with it!And laughed at his hick talk. Huh! HankBrown! I admire her taste, I must say!"

Up near the peak the wind howled throughthe pines, bringing with it the bite of cold.His shoulders drawn together with thechill that struck through even his heavysweater and coat, he went on, followingthe tracks he had made coming down.They were almost obliterated with thesnow, that went slithering over the driftslike a creeping cloud, except when aheavier gust lifted it high in air and flung itout in a blinding swirl. Battling with thatwind sent the warmth through his bodyagain, but his hands and feet were numbwhen he skirted the highest, deepest,solidest drift of them all and crept into thedesolate fissure that was the opening tohis lair.

Inside it was more dismal than out on the

peak, if that could be. The wind whistledthrough the openings in the roof, the snowswirled down and lay uneasily where itfell. His camp-fire was cheerless, siftedover with white. His bed under the ledgelooked cold and comfortless, with theraw, frozen hide of the bear on top, adingy blank fringe of fur showing at theedges.

Jack stood just inside, his shoulders againhunched forward, his chilled fingersdoubled together in his pockets, andlooked around him. He always did thatwhen he came back, and he always feltnearly the same heartsick shrinking awayfrom its cold dreariness. The sun nevershone in there, for one thing. The nearest itever came was to gild the north rim of the

opening during the middle of the day.

Today its chill desolation struck deeperthan ever, but he went stolidly forwardand started a little fire with a splinter ortwo of pitch that he had carried up from alog down below. Hank had taught him thevalue of pitch pine, and Jack rememberedit now with a wry twist of the lips. Hesupposed he ought to be grateful to Hankfor that much, but he was not.

He melted snow in a smoky tin bucket andmade a little coffee in another bucket quiteas black. All his food was frozen, ofcourse, but he stirred up a little batter withself-rising buckwheat flour and what wasleft of the snow water, whittled off a fewslices of bacon, fried that and afterwardscooked the batter in the grease, watching

lest the thick cake burn before it hadcooked in the center. He laid the slices ofbacon upon half of the cake, folded theother half over upon them, squatted on hisheels beside the fire and ate the ungainlysandwich and drank the hot black coffeesweetened and with a few of the coarsergrains floating on top. While he ate hestared unseeingly into the fire, thatsputtered and hissed when an extra siftingof snow came down upon it. The cave wasdusky by now, so that the leaping flamesmade strange shadows on the uneven rockwalls. The whistle of the wind had risento a shriek.

Jack roused himself when the fire began todie; he stood up and looked around him,and down at his ungainly clothes and

heavy, high-cut shoes laced over thickgray socks whose tops were turned downin a roll over his baggy, dirt-stainedtrousers. He laughed without any sound ofmirth, thinking that this was the JackCorey who had quarreled over the exactshade of tie that properly belonged to acertain shade of shirt; whose personaltaste in sport clothes had been aped andimitated by half the fellows he knew.What would they think if they could lookupon him now? He wondered if Stit Duffywould wag his head and say "So-me cave,bo, so-me cave!"

Then his mind snapped back to HankBrown with his hand clasping Marion'sarm in that leisurely climb to the trail. Hisblack mood returned, pressing the dead

weight of hopelessness upon him. Hemight as well settle the whole thing with abullet, he told himself again. After all,what would it matter? Who would care?Last night he had thought instantly ofMarion and his mother, and he had felt thattwo women would grieve for him. Tonighthe thought of Marion and cast the thoughtaway with a curse and a sneer. As for hismother—would his mother care so verymuch? Had he given her any reason forcaring, beyond the natural maternalinstinct which is in all motherhood? Hedid not know. If he could be sure that hismother would grieve for him—but he didnot know. Perhaps she had grieved overhim in the past until she had worn out allemotions where he was concerned. Hewondered, and he wished that he knew.

CHAPTER TWENTY

IGNORANCE TAXES THE TRAIL OFDANGER

Mike, looking frequently over hisshoulder, sought the sanctuary of his owncabin, slammed the door shut and pulledthe heavy table as a barricade against ituntil he could find the hammer and somenails. His hands shook so that he struck histhumb twice, but he did not seem to noticethe pain at all. When the door was nailedshut he pulled a side off a box and nailed

the two boards over the window. Then hegrabbed his rifle out of a corner anddefied the spies to do their worst, andhang him if they dared.

A long time he waited, mumbling there inthe middle of the room, the rifle pointedtoward the door. Shadows flowed into thevalley and filled it so that only the tops ofthe tallest pines were lighted by the sun.The lonesome gloom deepened and thepines swung their limber tops and talkedwith the sound of moving waters along asandy shore.

An owl flapped heavily into a tall pinenear by, settled his feet comfortably upona smooth place in the limb, craned hisneck and blinked into the wind, fluffed hisfeathers and in a deep baritone voice he

called aloud upon his errant mate.

"Who! Who! Who-who!"

Mike jumped and swung his rifle towardthe sound! "Oh, yuh needn't think yuh canfool me, makin' si'nals like an owl," hecried in his indistinct gobble. "I knowwhat you're up to. Yuh can't fool me!"

Far across the basin the mate, in a lighter,more spirited tone, called reassuringreply:

"Who-who-who-o-o!"

"Who! Who! Who-who!" admonished theowl by the cabin, and flapped away to theother.

Mike's sandy hair lifted on the back of his

neck. His face turned pasty gray in thedeep gloom of the cabin. Spies they were,and they were laying their trap for him.The one who had called like an owl wasHank Brown. The one who had answeredacross the flat was the girl, maybe—orperhaps it was that other spy up on top ofthe mountain; Mike was not sure, but themenace to himself remained as great,whichever spy answered Hank Brown.Hank Brown had trailed him to the cabin,and was telling the others about it. Mikewas so certain of it that he actuallybelieved he had seen Hank's form dimlyrevealed beside a pine tree.

He waited, the gun in his hands. He didnot think of supper. He did not realize thathe was cold, or hungry, or that as the

evening wore on his tortured musclescried out for rest. The sight of HankBrown talking intimately with Marion—allied with the spies, as Mike's warpedreason interpreted the meeting—had givenhim the feeling that he was hedged aboutwith deadly foes. The sudden eagernesswhich Marion had shown when she sawhim, and the way she had run after him, tohim meant nothing less than an attempt tocapture him then and there. They wouldcome to the cabin when he was asleep—he was sure of it. So he did not intend tosleep at all. He would watch for themwith the gun. He guessed they didn't knowhe had a gun, because he never used itunless he went hunting. And since thecounty was filled up with spies on thegovernment he was too cute to let them

catch him hunting out of season.

He waited and he waited. After a longwhile he backed to the bed and sat down,but he kept the gun pointed toward thedoor and the window. A skunk cameprowling through the trampled snowbefore the cabin, hunting food where Mikehad thrown out slops from the cooking. Itrattled a tin can against a half-buried rock,and Mike was on his feet, shaking withcold and excitement.

"Oh, I c'n hear yuh, all right!" he shoutedfiercely, not because he was brave, butbecause he was scared and could notawait calmly the next move. "Don't yuhcome around here, er I'll shoot!"

In a minute he thought he heard stealthy

footsteps nearing the door, and withouttaking any particular aim he lifted thehammer of the gun and pulled the trigger,in a panicky instinct to fight. The odor thatassailed his nostrils reassured himsuffocatingly. It was not the spies after all.

He put down the gun then, convinced thatif the spies had been hanging around, theywould know now that he was ready forthem, and would not dare tackle him thatnight. He felt vaingloriously equal to themall. Let them come! He'd show 'em a thingor two.

Groping in the dark to the old cookstove,Mike raked together the handful of pitch-pine shavings which he had whittled thatmorning for his dinner fire. He reached upto the shelf where the matches were kept,

lighted the shavings, laid them carefully inthe firebox and fed the little blaze with drysplinters. He placed wood upon thecrackling pile, rattled the stove-lids intoplace and crouched shivering beside thestove, trying to absorb some warmth intohis chilled old bones. He opened the ovendoor, hitched himself closer and thrust hisnumbed feet into the oven. He sat theremumbling threats and puny warnings, andso coaxed a little warmth into his courageas well as his body.

So he passed the rest of that night, huddledclose to the stove, hearing the murmur ofhis enemies in the uneasy swashingtogether of the pine branches overhead,reading a signal into every cry of theanimals that prowled through the woods.

The harsh squall of a mountain lion,somewhere down the creek, set himshivering. He did not believe it was amountain lion, but the call of those whowatched his cabin. So daylight found himmumbling beside the stove, his old rifleacross his knees with the muzzle pointingtoward the nailed door.

He wished that Murphy would come; andin the next moment he was cursing Murphyfor being half in league with the plotters,and hoping Murphy never showed his faceagain in the cabin; making threats, too, ofwhat he would do if Murphy came aroundsneering about the spies.

With daylight came a degree of sanity, andMike built up the fire again and cookedhis breakfast. Habit reasserted itself and

he went off to his work, muttering hisrambling thoughts as he shambled alongthe path he and Murphy had beaten in thesnow. But he carried his rifle, which hehad never done before, and he stood itclose beside him while he worked. Alsohe kept an eye on the trail and on Toll-Gate cabin. He would have been as hardto catch unaware that day as a weasel.

Once or twice he saw the professorpottering around near the cabin, gatheringpieces of bark off fallen trees to help outtheir scanty supply of dry wood. The pinesstill mourned and swayed to the wind,which hung in the storm quarter, and theclouds marched soddenly in the oppositedirection or hung almost motionless for aspace. The professor did not come within

hailing distance, and seemed whollyoccupied with gathering what bark hecould carry home before the storm, butMike was not reassured, nor was hethrown off his guard.

He waited until noon, expecting to see thegirl come out for more plotting. When shedid not, he went back and cooked a hotdinner, thinking that the way to get the bestof spies on the government is to watchthem closer than they watch you, and to beready to follow them when they go off inthe woods to plot. So he ate as much as hecould swallow, and filled his pocketswith bacon and bread. He meant to keepon their trail this time, and see just whatthey were up to.

Marion, however, did not venture out of

the cabin. She was very much afraid thatHank Brown was suspicious of Jack andwas trying to locate Jack's camp. She wasalso afraid of Hank on her own account,and she did not want to see him everagain. She was certain that he had triedhard to overtake her when she wentrunning after Mike, and that she hadescaped him only by being as swift-footedas he, and by having the start of him.

Then Kate could not walk at all, and withthe professor busy outside, commondecency kept Marion in the house. Shewould like to have sent Jack a heliographmessage, but she did not dare with theprofessor prowling around hunting drylimbs and bark. She had no confidence inthe professor's potential kindness toward

a fellow in Jack's predicament—theprofessor was too good to be trusted. Hewould tell the police.

Normally she would have told Kate aboutHank Brown, would have asked Kate'sadvice, for Kate was practical when sheforgot herself long enough to be perfectlynatural. But she and Kate were speakingonly when it was absolutely necessary tospeak, and discussion was therefore out ofthe question. She felt penned up,miserable. What if Hank Brown found outabout Jack and set the sheriff on his trail?He would, she believed, if he knew—forhe hated Jack because of that fight. Jackhad told her about it, keeping the causefogged in generalities.

All that night the wind howled up the

mountainside and ranted through the forestso that Marion could not sleep. Twice sheheard a tree go splitting down through theoutstretched arms of its close neighbors,to fall with a crash that quivered thecabin. She was glad that Jack's camp wasin a cave. She would have been terriblyworried if he had to stay out where a treemight fall upon him. She pictured thehorror of being abroad in the forest withthe dark and that raging wind. She hopedthat the morning would bring calm,because she wanted to see Jack again andtake him some magazines, and tell himabout Hank.

In the morning it was snowing and rainingby turns, with gusty blasts of wind.Marion looked out, even opened the door

and stood upon the step; but the stormdismayed her so that she gave up thethought of going, until a chance sentenceoverheard while she was making theprofessor's bed in the little lean-tochanged her plan of waiting into one ofswift action. She heard Douglas say toKate that, if Fred did decide to inform thechief of police, they should be hearingsomething very soon now. With the trialprobably started, they would certainlywaste no time. They would wire up to thesheriff here.

"Oh, I wish you hadn't told Fred," Katebegan to expostulate, when Marion burstin upon them furiously.

"You told, did you?" she accused Katetempestuously. "Doug, of all people! You

knew the little runt couldn't keep his handsoff—you knew he'd be so darnedrighteous he'd make all the trouble hecould for other people, because he hasn'tgot nerve enough to do anything wronghimself. You couldn't keep it to yourself,for all your promises and your crocodiletears! I ought to have known better thantrust you with anything. But I'll tell youone thing more, you two nasty nicecreatures that are worse than scrawlingsnakes—I'll tell you this: It won't do youone particle of good to set the police afterJack. So go ahead and tell, and be just astreacherous and mean as you like. Youwon't have the pleasure of sending him tojail—because they'll never catch him. Myheavens, how I despise and loathe youtwo!"

While she spat venom at them she wasstamping her feet into her overshoes,buttoning her sweater, snatching up thisthing and that thing she wanted, drawing awoolly Tarn O'Shanter cap down over herears, hooking a cheap fur neckpiece thatshe had to tug and twist because it fittedso tightly over her sweater collar. Shetook her six-shooter—she was still deadlyafraid of Hank Brown—and she got hermuff that matched the neck fur. Her eyesblazed whenever she looked at them.

"Marion, listen to reason! You can't goout in this storm!" Kate began to whimper.

"Will you please shut up?" Marionwhirled on her, primitive, fighting ragecontorting her face. "I can go anywhere Ilike. I only wish I could go where I'd

never see you again." She went out andpulled the door violently shut. Stood aminute to brace herself for what she had todo, and went into the storm as a swimmerbreasts the breakers.

After her went Mike, scuttling away fromhis cabin with his rifle swinging from hisright hand, his left fumbling the buttons onhis coat.

At the fence corner Marion hesitated,standing with her back to the wind, thesnow driving past her with that faint hissof clashing particles which is the voice ofa sleeting blizzard. She could take the old,abandoned road which led up over theridge topped by Taylor Rock, and shewould find the walking easier, perhaps.But the road followed the line of least

resistance through the hills, and that linewas by no means straight. Jack wouldprobably be in the cave, out of the storm;she had no hope of meeting him over onthe slope on such a day. Still, he mightstart down the mountain, and at any rate itwould be the shortest way up there. Sheturned down along the fence, following thetrail as she had done before, with Mikecoming after her as though he was stalkinggame: warily, swiftly, his face set andeager, his eyes shining with the huntinglust.

Up the hill she went, bracing herselfagainst the wind where it swept throughopen spaces, shivering with the cold of it,fearful of the great roaring overheadwhere the pinetops swayed drunkenly with

clashing branches: Dead limbs broke andcame crashing down, bringing showers ofsnow and bark and broken twigs andstripped needles from the resistingbranches in their path. She was afraid, soshe went as fast as she could, consolingher fear with the shrewd thought that thestorm would serve to hold back the sheriffand give Jack time to get awaysomewhere. No one would dream of histraveling on such a day as this, she kepttelling herself over and over. It wasgetting worse instead of better; the snowwas coming thicker and the sleet waslessening. It was going to be quite a climbto the cave; the wind must be simplyterrible up there, but she could see nowthat Jack would never expect her out insuch weather, and so he would stay close

to the camp fire.

At the top of the hill the wind swoopedupon her and flung clouds of snow into herface so that she was half blinded. Sheturned her back upon it, blinked rapidlyuntil her vision cleared again, and stoodthere panting, tempted to turn back. Noone would be crazy enough to venture outtoday. They would wait until the stormcleared.

She looked back down the trail she hadfollowed. Wherever the wind had a cleansweep her tracks were filling already withsnow. If she did not wait, and if Jack gotaway now, they couldn't track him at all.She really owed him that much of a chanceto beat them. She put up her muff, shieldedher face from the sting of frozen

snowflakes, and went on, buffeted downthe steep slope where Kate had sprainedher ankle, and thinking that she must becareful where she set her feet, because itwould be frightful if she had such anaccident herself.

She did not expect to meet Jack on thefarther edge of the gulch, but she stood aminute beside the great pine, looking at thetrampled snow and thinking of HankBrown's leering insinuations. Whateverhad started the fellow to suspecting suchthings? Uneasily she followed Hank'scunning reasoning: Because Jack hadnever once gone in to Quincy, except tosettle with the Forest Service for hissummer's work; because Jack had not filedupon any claim in the mountains, yet

stayed there apart from his kind; becausehe avoided people—such little things theywere that made up the sum of Hank'ssuspicions! Well, she was to blame forthis present emergency, at any rate. If shehad not told Kate something she had noright to tell, she would not have quite somuch to worry about.

She turned and began to climb again,making her way through the thicket thatfringed the long ridge beyond; like a great,swollen tongue reaching out toward thevalley was this ridge, and she followed itin spite of the tangled masses of youngtrees and bushes which she must fightthrough to reach the more open timber. Atleast the danger of falling trees andbranches was not so great here, and the

wind was not quite so keen.

Behind her Mike followed doggedly,trailing her like a hound. Days spent inwatching, nights spent crouched andwaiting had brought him to the high pitchof desperation, that would stop at nothingwhich seemed to his crazed brainnecessary to save his life and his freedom.Even the disdainful Murphy would haveknown the man was insane; but Murphywas sitting warm and snug beside a smalltable with a glass ready to his right hand,and Murphy was not worrying aboutMike's sanity, but about the next card thatwould fall before him. Murphy thoughthow lucky he was to be in Quincy duringthis storm, instead of cooped up in thelittle cabin with Mike, who would sit all

day and mumble, and never say anythingworth listening to. So Mike kept to thehunt—like a gentle-natured dog gone madand dangerous and taking the man-trailunhindered and unsuspected.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

GOLD OF REPENTANCE,SUNLIGHT OF LOVE AND A MAN

GONE MAD

Marion was up at the foot of the lastgrilling climb, the steep acclivity wheremanzanita shrubs locked arms and laughedat the climber. Fearful of a sprained anklelike Kate's, she had watched carefullywhere she set down her feet and had not

considered that it would be wise tochoose just as carefully the route sheshould follow to gain the top; so long asshe was climbing in that general directionshe felt no uneasiness, because TaylorRock topped it all, and she was bound tocome out somewhere close to the point atwhich she was aiming.

But the wall of manzanita stopped herbefore she had penetrated a rod into it.One solid mass blanketed with snow itlooked to be when she stepped carefullyupon a rock and surveyed the slope. Shehad borne too far to the right, away fromthe staggering rush of wind. She hated toturn now and face the storm while shemade her way around to the line of timber,but she had no choice. So she retreated

from the manzanita and fought her wayaround it—finding it farther than she haddreamed; finding, too, that the storm was adesperate thing, if one had to face it forlong in the open.

She made the timber, and stood leaningagainst the sheltered side of a dark-trunked spruce whose branches were thickand wide-spread enough to shield her. Thephysical labor of fighting her way thus far,and the high altitude to which she hadattained, made her pant like a runner justafter the race. She held her muff to herface again for the sense of warmth andwell-being its soft fur gave to her cheeks.Certainly, no one else would be foolenough to come out on such a day, shethought. And what a surprise to Jack,

seeing her come puffing into his cave! Shehad not been there since the snow fell, justbefore Thanksgiving. Now it was nearlyChristmas—a month of solitary grandeurJack had endured.

She glanced up at the tossing boughsabove her; felt the great tree trunk quiverwhen a fresh blast swept the top; lookedout at the misty whiteness of the storm,clouded with swaying pine branches.What a world it was! But she was notafraid of it; somehow she felt its big,rough friendliness even now. It did notoccur to her that the mountains could workher ill, though she reminded herself thatstanding still was not the best way to keepwarm on such a day.

She started up again, ignorantly keeping

among the trees, that a mountaineer wouldhave shunned. But straightway she stoppedand looked around her puzzled. Surely shehad not come down this way when sheskirted the manzanita. She rememberedcoming in among the trees from the right.She turned and went that way, saw herfilling footprints in the snow, and ploddedback. There were tracks coming down thehill, and she had not made them. Theymust surely be Jack's.

With the new wisdom of having trampednearly every day through snow, shestudied these new tracks and her ownwhere she had come to the spruce tree.These other tracks, she decided, had beenmade lately—she must have missed byminutes seeing him pass before her.

Perhaps she could overtake him. So shefaced the wind and ran gasping down theslope, following the tracks. She nearlycaught Mike unaware, but she did notknow it. She hurried unsuspectingly pastthe tree where he was hiding, his rifleheld ready to fire if she looked his way.He was hesitating, mumbling there withhis finger on the trigger when she went outof sight around a bush, still followingwhere the tracks led. Mike stepped outfrom behind the tree and came bowleggingafter her, walking with that peculiar, flat-footed gait of the mountain trained man.

Luck was with her. Jack had gone down agully rim, thinking to cross it farther on,ran into rocks and a precipitous bank, andwas coming back upon his trail. He met

Marion face to face. She gave a cry thathad in it both tears and laughter, and stoodlooking at him big-eyed over her muff.

"Well, forevermore! I thought I neverwould catch you! I was going to the cave—" Something in Jack's scrutinizing,unfriendly eyes stopped her.

"Sorry, but I'm not at home," he said.There was more than a sulky mood in histone. Marion was long since accustomedto the boyish gruffness with which Jackstrove to hide heartaches. This wasdifferent. It froze her superficialcheerfulness to a panicky conviction thatJack had in some manner discovered herbetrayal of him; or else he had taken alarmat Hank's prowling.

"What's the matter, Jack? Did you find outabout—anybody knowing you're here?Are you beating it, now?"

"I don't know what you mean." Jack stilleyed her with that disconcerting,measuring look that seemed to accusewithout making clear just what thespecific accusation might be. "How doyou mean—beating it?"

"I mean—oh, Jack, I did an awful thing,and I came up to tell you. And HankBrown knows something, I'm sure, andthat worries me, too. I came out to see if Icould meet you, the other day, while Dougstayed with Kate. And I ran right ontoHank Brown, and he began asking aboutyou right away, Jack, and hinting thingsand talking about tracks. He showed me

where you had waited behind the tree, andwhere we stood and talked, and heguessed about my bringing cigarettes,even. He's the foxiest thing—he justworked it all out and kept grinning somean—but I fooled him, though. I madehim think it was Ered that had been outhunting, and that I met him, and thepackage had candy in it. I had to kid himaway from the subject of you—and thenthe big rube got so fresh—I had theawfullest time you ever saw, Jack, gettingaway from the fool.

"But the point I'm getting at is that hesuspects something. He said you hadn'tbeen near Quincy, and there must be somereason. He said you didn't have any minelocated, because you hadn't filed any

claim, or anything. But that isn't the worst—"

"I don't care what Hank thinks." Jackpulled the collar of his coat closer to hisears, because of the seeking wind andsnow. "Get under the cedar, while I tellyou. I was going without seeing you,because I saw you and Hank together and Ididn't like the looks of it. I was sore as agoat, Marion, and that's the truth. But it'slike this: I'm going back home. I can'tstand it any longer—I don't mean the wayI've been living, though that ain't any softgraft either. But it's mother, I'm thinkingof. I never gave her a square deal, Marion.

"I—you know how I have felt about her,but that's all wrong. She's been all right—she's a brick. I'm the one that's given the

raw deal. I've been a selfish, overbearing,good-for-nothing ass ever since I couldwalk, and if she wasn't a saint she'd havekicked me out long ago. Why, I sneakedoff and left a lie on her dresser, and nevergave her a chance to get the thing straight,or anything. I tell you, Marion, if I was inher place, and had a measly cub of a sonlike I've been, I'd drown him in a tub, orsomething. Honest to John, I wouldn't havea brat like that on the place! How she'smanaged to put up with me all these yearsis more than I can figure; it gets my goat tolook back at the kinda mark I've been—strutting around, spending money I neverearned, and never thanking her—feelingabused, by thunder, because she didn't—oh, it's hell! I can't talk about it. I'm goingback and see her, and tell her where I

stand. She'll kick me out if she's got anysense, but that'll be all right. I'll see her,and then I'm going to the chief of policeand straighten out that bandit stuff. I'mgoing to tell just how the play came up—just a josh, it was. I'll tell 'em—it'll bebad enough, at that, but maybe it'll dosome good—make other kids think twicebefore they get to acting smart-alecky.

"So you run along home, Marion, andmaybe some day—if they don't send me upfor life, or anything like that—maybe I'llhave the nerve to tell yuh—" A dark flushshowed on his cheek-bones, that weregaunt from worry and hard living. Hemoved uneasily, tugging at the collar ofhis sweater.

"You've got your nerve now, Jack Corey,

if you want to know what I think," Marionretorted indignantly. "Why, you're goingup against an awfully critical time! Anddo you think for a minute, you big sillykid, that I'll let you go alone? I—I neverdid—ah—respect you as much as I doright now. I—well, I'm going right alongwith you. I'm going to see that chief ofpolice myself, and I'm going to see yourmother. And if they don't give you asquare deal, I'm going to tell them a fewthings! I—"

"You can't go. Don't be a fool, sweetheart.You mustn't let on that you've thrown inwith me at all, and helped me, and all that.I appreciate it—but my friendship ain'tgoing to be any help to—"

"Jack Corey, I could shake you! The very

idea of you talking that way makes mewild! I am going. You can't stop me fromriding on the train, can you? And you can'tstop me from seeing the chief—"

"I'd look nice, letting your name get mixedup with mine! Sweetheart, have somesense!" Jack may not have known whatname he had twice called her, butMarion's eyes lighted with blue flames.

"Some things are better than sense—sweetheart," she said, with a shy boldnessthat startled her. The last word wasspoken into the snow-matted fur of hermuff, but Jack heard it.

"You—oh, God! Marion, do you—care?"He reached out and caught her by theshoulders. "You mustn't. I'm not fit for a

girl like you. Maybe some day—"

"Some day doesn't mean anything at all.This part of today is what counts. I'mgoing with you. I—I feel as if I'd die if Ididn't. If they send you to jail, I'll makethem send me too—if I have to rob aChinaman!" She laughed confusedly,hiding her face. "It's awful, but I simplycouldn't live without—without—"

"Me? Say, that's the way I've been feelingabout you, ever since Lord knows howlong. But I didn't suppose you'd ever—"

"Say, my feet are simply freezing!"Marion interrupted him. "We'll have tostart on. It would be terrible if we missedthe train, Jack."

"You oughtn't to go. Honestly, I mean it.Unless we get married, it would—"

"Why, of course we'll get married! Have Igot to simply propose to you? We'll haveto change at Sacramento anyway—or wecan change there just as well as not—andwe'll get married while we're waiting forthe train south. I hope you didn't think for aminute that I'd—"

"It isn't fair to you." Jack moved out fromunder the sheltering cedar and led the wayup the gully's rim, looking mechanicallyfor an easy crossing. "I'm a selfish enoughbrute without letting you—"

Marion plucked at his sleeve and stoppedhim.

"Jack Corey, you tell me one thing. Don'tyou—want me to—marry you? Don't youcare—?"

"Listen here, honey, I'll get sore in aminute if you go talking that way!" He tookher in his arms, all snow as she was, andkissed her with boyish energy. "You knowwell enough that I'm crazy about you. Ofcourse I want you! But look at the fix I'min: with just about a hundred dollars to myname—"

"I've got money in my muff to buy alicense, if you'll pay the preacher, Jack.We'll go fifty-fifty on the cost—"

"And a darned good chance of being sentup for that deal the boys pulled off—"

"Oh, well, I can wait till you get out again.Say, I just love you with that little lumpbetween your eyebrows when you scowl!Go on, Jack; I'm cold. My gracious, whata storm! It's getting worse, don't you think?When does that train go down, Jack? We'llhave to be at the station before dark, orwe might get lost and miss the train, andthen we would be in a fix! I wish togoodness I'd thought to put on my bluevelvet suit—but then, how was I going toknow that I'd need it to get married in?"

Jack stopped on the very edge of the bank,and held back the snow-laden branchesfor her to pass. "You're the limit forhaving your own way," he grinned. "I cansee who's going to be boss of the camp,all right. Come on—the sooner we get

down into lower country, the less chancewe'll have of freezing. We'll cross here,and get down in that thick timber below.The wind won't catch us quite so hard, andif a tree don't fall on us we'll work ourway down to the trail. Give me a kiss.This is a toll gate, and you've got to pay—"

Standing so, with one arm flung straightout against the thick boughs of a youngspruce, he made a fair target for Mikeback there among the trees. Mike wasclean over the edge now of sanity. Thetwo spies had come together—two againstone, and searching for him to kill him, ashe firmly believed. When they had stoodunder the cedar he thought that they werehiding there, waiting for him to walk into

the trap they had set. He would have shotthem, but the branches were too thick.When they moved out along the gulch,Mike ran crouching after, his rifle cockedand ready for aim. You would havethought that the man was stalking a deer.When Jack stopped and turned, with hisarm flung back against the spruce, heseemed to be looking straight at Mike.

Mike aimed carefully, for he was shakingwith terror and the cold of those heights.The sharp pow-w of his rifle crashedthrough the whispery roar of the pines, andthe hills flung back muffled echoes.Marion screamed, saw Jack sag downbeside the spruce, clutched at him wildly,hampered by her muff. Saw him go slidingdown over the bank, into the gulch,

screamed again and went sliding afterhim.

Afterwards she remembered a vagueimpression she had had, of hearing someone go crashing away down the gully,breaking the bushes that impeded hisflight.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

THE MISERERE OF MOTHERHOOD

The up-train came shrieking out of the lasttunnel in Feather River Canyon, churnedaround a curve, struck a hollow roar fromthe trestle that bridges the mouth of Toll-Gate creek, shrieked again when it saw,down the white trail of its headlight, thewhirling snow that swept down thecanyon, and churned up the stiff grade that

would carry it around through the Pocketat the head of the canyon and to the littleyellow station just beyond. A fight itwould have to top the summit of theSierras and slip down into the desertbeyond, but it climbed the grade with avicious kind of energy, twisted around thepoint of the hill where the Crystal Laketrail crossed and climbed higher, and witha last scream at the station lights it slewedpast the curve, clicked over a switch ortwo and stood panting there in the storm,waiting to see whether it might go on andget the ordeal over with at once, orwhether it must wait until the down trainpassed.

A thin, yellow slip ordered it to wait,since it was ten minutes behind time. The

down train was just then screaming intoSpring Garden and would come straighton. So the up train stood there puffing likethe giant thing it was, while the funny littletrain from Quincy fussed back upon adifferent siding and tried its best to puff asloud as its big, important neighbor while itwaited, too, for the down train.

Two men and a woman plowed throughthe wind and the snow and mountedwearily the steps of the little coach whichcomprised the branch line's passengerservice. The two men took it all as amatter of course—the bare little coachwith plush seats and an air of transientdiscomfort. They were used to it, and theydid not mind.

The woman, however, halted inside the

door and glanced around her withincredulous disdain. She seemed upon thepoint of refusing to ride in so crude aconveyance; seemed about to complain tothe conductor and to demand somethingbetter. She went forward under protestand drew her gloved fingers across theplush back of a seat, looked at her fingersand said, "Hmh!" as though her worstfears were confirmed. She looked at oneof the men and spoke as she would speakto a servant.

"Is there no other coach on this train?"

"No, ma'am!" the man said, accenting thefirst word as though he wished to preventargument. "It's this or walk."

"Hmh!" said the lady, and spread a

discarded newspaper upon the seat, andsat down. "Thank you," she addedperfunctorily, and looked out of thewindow at what she could see of thestorm.

The down train thundered in, just then, andwith a squealing of brakes stopped so thatits chair car blotted her dismal view of theclose hillside. Between the two trains thesnow sifted continuously, coming out ofthe gray wall above, falling into the blackshadows beneath. Two or three bundledpassengers with snow packed in thewrinkles of their clothing went down theaisle of the chair-car, looking for seats.

It was all very depressing, wearisome inthe extreme. The lady settled herselfdeeper into her furs and sighed.

She continued to sigh at intervals duringthe remainder of the trip. The last and theheaviest sigh of all she heaved when shesettled down to sleep in a hotel bedroomand thought miserably of a certain lovable,if somewhat headstrong, young man whowas out somewhere in these terriblemountains in the storm, hiding away fromthe world and perhaps suffering cold andhunger.

Thoughts of that kind are not the bestmedicine for sleeplessness, and it waslong after midnight before Mrs. SingletonCorey drifted insensibly from heartsickreflections into the inconsequentimaginings of dreams. She did not dreamabout Jack, which was some comfort;instead, she dreamed that she was

presiding over a meeting of her favoriteclub.

She awoke to the chill of an unheatedroom during a winter storm. The quietlulled her at first into the belief that it wasyet very early, but sounds of clashingdishes in a pan somewhere in a roombeneath her seemed to indicate breakfast.She would have telephoned down for herbreakfast to be served in her room, butthere was no telephone or call bell insight. She therefore dressed shiveringlyand groped through narrow hallways untilshe found the stairs. The mournful whoo-ooing of the wind outside gripped at herheartstrings. Jack was out somewhere inthis, hiding in a cave. She shivered again.

In the dining room, where two belated

breakfasters hurried through their meal,Mrs. Singleton Corey tried to pull herselftogether; tried to shut out sentiment fromher mind, that she might the better meetand handle practical emergencies. Itwould not do, of course, to announce hermotive in coming here. She would have tofind this Miss Humphrey first of all. Sheunfolded her napkin, laid it across her lapand waited.

"They can't do much till this storm letsup," a man at the next table observed tohis companion. "Uh course, I s'pose they'llmake some kinda bluff at trying—butbelieve me, these hills is no snap in asnowstorm, and don't I know it! I gotcaught out, once,—and I like to of stayedout. No, sir—"

"How's the trains, Barney?" the othercalled to a man who had just come in fromthe office.

"Trains! Ain't any trains, and there won'tbe. There's four slides between here andKeddie—Lord knows how many there isfrom there on down. Wires are all down,so they can't get any word. Nothingmoving the other, way, either. It's the raincoming first, that softened things up, andthen the weight of the snow pulled thingsloose. Take your time about yourbreakfast," he grinned. "You'll have quitea board bill before you get away fromhere."

"Anybody starting out to hunt that girl?"the first speaker asked him. "Can't domuch till the storm lets up, can they?"

"Well, if they wait till the storm lets up,"Barney retorted drily, "they might just aswell wait till spring. What kinda folks doyou think we are, around here? ForestService started a bunch out already. BillDunevant, he's getting another party madeup."

"It's a fright," the second man declared, "Idon't know a darn thing about thesemountains, but if somebody'll stake me toa horse, I'll go and do what I can."

"When was it they brought word?"

"Fellow got down to the station about anhour ago and phoned in, is the way I heardit," Barney said. "He had to wait till theoffice opened up."

Mrs. Singleton Corey laid her unusednapkin on the table beside her unusedknife and fork, and rose from her chair.She had a feeling that this matterconcerned her, and that she did not want tohear those crude men pulling her troubleinto their talk. With composedobliviousness to her surroundings shewalked out into the office, quite ignoringthe astonishment of the waitress who heldMrs. Singleton Corey's butter and twobiscuits in her hands by the table. Shewaited, just within the office, until the manBarney sensed her impatience andreturned from the dining room.

"I should like to go to a place called Toll-Gate cabin," she told him calmly. "Canyou arrange for a conveyance of some

kind? I see that an automobile is out of thequestion, probably, with so much snow onthe ground. I should like to start as soon aspossible."

The man looked at her with a startledexpression. "Why, I don't know. No,ma'am, I'm afraid a rig couldn't make it inthis storm. It's halfway up the mountain—do you happen to know the young lady thatwas lost up there, yesterday?"

"Has a young lady been lost up there?"The eyes of Mrs. Singleton Corey dweltupon him compellingly.

"Yes, ma'am, since yesterday forenoon.We just got word of it a while ago.They're sending out searching parties now.She was staying at Toll-Gate—"

"Is Toll-Gate a town?"

"No, ma'am. Toll-Gate is just the name ofa creek. There's a cabin there, and theycall it Toll-Gate cabin. The girl stayedthere."

"Ah. Can you have some sort ofconveyance—"

"Only conveyance I could promise is asaddle horse, and that won't be verypleasant, either. Besides, it's dangerous togo into the woods, a day like this. I don'tbelieve you better try it till the weatherclears. It ain't anything a lady had ought totackle—unless maybe it was a matter oflife and death." He looked at herdubiously.

Mrs. Singleton Corey pressed her lipstogether. Any recalcitrant club member, orher son, could have told him then thatsurrender was the only recourse left tohim.

"Please tell your searching party that Ishall go with them. Have a saddle horsebrought for me, if you can find nothingbetter. I shall be ready in half an hour.Tell one of the maids to bring me coffee, asoft-boiled egg and buttered toast to myroom." She turned and went up the stairsunhurriedly, as goes one who knows thatcommands will be obeyed. She did notlook back, or betray the slightestuneasiness, and Barney, watching herslack-jawed until she had reached the top,pulled on a cap and went off to do her

bidding.

Mrs. Singleton Corey was not the womanto let small things impede her calmprogress toward a certain goal. Sheproved that beyond all doubt when sheordered a saddle horse, for she had lastridden upon the back of a horse when shewas about fourteen years old. She had avague notion that all horses nowadayswere trained from their colthood to buck—whatever that was. Rodeo posters andsuch printed matter upon the subject as hereye could not escape had taught her thatmuch, but she refused to be dismayed.Moreover, she was aware that it wouldprobably be necessary for her to rideastride, as all women seemed to ridenowadays: yet she did not falter.

From her beautifully fitted traveling bagshe produced a pair of ivory-handledmanicure scissors, lifted her three-hundred-dollar fur-lined coat from a hookbehind the door and proceededdeliberately to ruin both scissors and coatby slitting the back of the coat up nearly tothe waist-line, so that she could wear itcomfortably on horseback. Her blackbroadcloth skirt was in imminent dangerof the same surgical revision when ashocked young waitress with the breakfasttray in her hands uttered shrill protest.

"Oh, don't go and ruin your skirt that way!They've got you a four-horse team andsleigh, Mrs. Corey. Mercy, ain't it awfulabout that poor girl being lost? Excuse me—are you her mother, Mrs. Corey?"

Mrs. Singleton Corey, sitting now uponthe bed, lifted her aloof glance from themutilated coat. "Set the things on the chair,there, since there is no table. I do notknow the girl at all." And she added, sinceit seemed necessary to make oneself veryplain to these people: "I think that will beall, thank you." She even went a stepfarther and gave the girl a tip, whichsettled all further overtures towardconversation.

The girl went off and cried, and calledMrs. Singleton Corey a stuck-up old henwho would freeze—and serve her right.She even hoped that Mrs. Singleton Coreywould get stuck in a snowdrift and have towalk every step of the way to Toll-Gate.Leaving her breakfast when it was all on

the table, just as if it would hurt her to eatin the same room with people, and thenacting like that to a person! She wishedshe had let the old catamaran spoil herskirt; and so on.

Mrs. Singleton Corey never troubledherself over the impression she made uponthe servant class. She regretted thepublicity that seemed to have been givenher arrival and her further journey into thehills. It annoyed her to have the girlcalling her Mrs. Corey so easily; itseemed to imply an intimate acquaintancewith her errand which was disquieting inthe extreme. Was it possible that theHumphrey woman had been talking tooutsiders? Or had the police really gottenupon the trail of Jack?

She hurried into her warmest things, drankthe coffee because it would stimulate herfor the terrible journey ahead of her, andwent down to find the four-horse teamwaiting outside, tails whipping betweenshivering hind legs, hips drawn down asfor a lunge forward, heads tossingimpatiently. The red-faced driver wasbundled to his eyes and did not say a wordwhile he tucked the robes snugly downaround her feet.

The snow was driving up the street in asteady wind, but Mrs. Singleton Coreyfaced it undauntedly. She saw the white-veiled plaza upon one side, the row oflittle stores huddled behind bare treesupon the other side. It seemed a neat littletown, a curiously placid little town to be

so buffeted by the storm. Behind it themountain loomed, a dark blur in the gray-white world. Beautiful, yes; but Mrs.Singleton Corey was not looking forbeauty that day. She was a mother, and shewas looking for her boy.

Two men, with two long-handled shovels,ran out from a little store halfway downthe street and, still running, threwthemselves into the back of the sleigh.

"Better go back and get another shovel,"the driver advised them, pulling up. "Iforgot mine. Anything they want me to haulup? Where's them blankets? And say,Hank, you better go into the drugstore andget a bottle of the best liquor they've got.Brandy."

"I've got a bottle of rye," the man standingbehind Mrs. Singleton Corey volunteered."Stop at the Forest Service, will you?They've got the blankets there. We can getanother shovel from them."

The driver spoke to his leaders, and theywent on, trotting briskly into the wind.Blurred outlines of cottages showed uponeither hand. Before one of these theystopped, and a young man came out with aroll of canvas-covered bedding balancedupon his bent shoulders. Hank climbeddown, went in and got a shovel.

"Ain't heard anything more?" questionedthe driver, in the tone one involuntarilygives to tragedy.

The young man dumped his burden into the

back of the sleigh and shook his head."Our men are going to stay up there tillthey find her," he said. "There's a sack ofgrub I wish you'd take along."

He glanced at Mrs. Singleton Corey,whose dark eyes were staring at himthrough her veil, and ran back into thehouse. Running so, with his back turned,his body had a swing like Jack's, and herthroat ached with a sudden impulsetoward weeping.

He was back in a minute with a knobbysack of something very heavy, that rattleddully when he threw it in. "All right," hecalled. "Hope yuh make it, all right."

"Sure, we'll make it! May have to shovelsome—"

Again they started, and there were nomore stops. They swung down a straightbit of road where the wind swept bitterlyand the hills had drawn back farther intothe blur. They drew near to one thatslowly disclosed snow-matted pine treesupon a hillside; skirted this and ploughedalong its foot for half a mile or so and thenturned out again into a broad, level valley.Now the mountains were more than everblurred and indistinct, receding into thedistance.

"Do we not go into the mountains?" Mrs.Singleton Corey laid aside her aloofnessto ask, when the valley seemed to stretchendlessly before them.

"Sure. We'll strike 'em pretty soon now.Looks a long ways, on account of the

storm. You any relation to the girl that'slost?"

"I do not know her at all." But trouble wasslowly thawing the humanity in Mrs.Singleton Corey, and she softened therebuff a little. "It must be a terrible thingto be lost in these mountains."

"Far as I'm concerned," spoke up Hankfrom behind them, 'they're either two of'em lost, or there ain't anybody lost. I'vegot it figured that either she's at the campof that feller that's stayin' up theresomewheres around Taylor Rock, or elsethe feller's lost too. I'll bet they'retogether, wherever they be."

"What feller's that, Hank?" the drivertwisted his head in his muffled collar.

"Feller that had the lookout on MountHough las' summer. He's hidin' out upthere somewheres. Him an' the girl used tomeet—I know that fer sure. Uh course Iain't sayin' anything—but they's two lost ernone, you take it from me."

The driver grunted and seemed to meditateupon the matter. "What did that perfessorwade clear down to Marston through thestorm for, and report her lost, if she ain'tlost?"

"He come down to see if she'd took thetrain las' night. That's what he come for.She'd went off somewheres before noon,and didn't show up no more. He didn'tthink she was lost, till Morton told himshe hadn't showed up to take no train.That's when the perfessor got scared and

phoned in."

The driver grunted again, and called uponhis leaders to shake a leg—they'd havewalking enough and plenty when they hitthe hill, he said. Again they neared thevalley's rim, so that pine trees with everybranch sagging under its load of snow,fringed the background. Like a pastel of astorm among hills that she had at home,thought Mrs. Singleton Corey irrelevantly.But was it Jack whom the man calledHank referred to? The thought chilled her.

"What's he hidin' out for, Hank? Funny Inever heard anything about it." The driverspoke after another season of cogitation,and Mrs. Singleton Corey was grateful tohim for seeking the information sheneeded.

"Well, I dunno what fur, but it stands toreason he's on the dodge. All summer longhe never showed up in Quincy when hewas relieved. Stayed out in the hills—andthat ain't natural for a young city feller, isit? 'N' then he was ornery as sin. Got so't Iwouldn't pack grub up to him no more. Icouldn't go 'im, the way he acted when afeller come around. 'N' then when theyclosed up the station, he made camp upthere somewheres around Taylor Rock,and he ain't never showed his nose intown. If I knowed what fur, I might 'a' didsomething about it. They's a nigger in thewoodpile somewheres, you take it fromme."

"Well, but that ain't got anything to do withthe girl," the driver contested stubbornly.

"I know her—she's a mighty fine girl, too;and good-looking as they make 'em. Ihauled their stuff up last summer—andthem, too. They seem like nice enoughfolks, all of 'em. And I saw her pretty nearevery time I hauled tourists up to thelake."

Hank chuckled to himself. "Well, I guess Iknow 'er, too, mebby a little better'n whatyou do. I ain't saying anything ag'inst thegirl. I say she was in the habit of meetingthis feller—Johnny Carew's the name hewent by—meetin' him out around differentplaces. They knowed each other, that'swhat I'm sayin'. And the way I figure,she'd went out to meet him, and either thetwo of 'em's lost, er else they're bothstorm-stayed up at his camp. She's mebby

home by this time. I look for 'er to be,myself."

"You do, hey?" The driver twisted hishead again to look back at Hank. "Whatyuh going up to help hunt her for, then?"

"Me, I'm just goin' fur the ride," Hankgrinned.

They overtook Murphy, plodding along inthe horse-trampled, deep snow, with abig, black hat pulled down to his ears, anempty gunny sack over his shoulders like acape, a quart bottle sticking out of eachcoat pocket. They took him into the sleighand went on, through another half mile oflane.

After that they began abruptly to climb

through pine forest. In a little they crossedthe railroad at the end of a cut through themountain's great toe. Dismal enough itlooked under its heavy blanket of snowthat lay smoothly over ties and rails, thetelegraph wires sagging, white ropes ofsnow. Mrs. Singleton Corey glanced downthe desolate length of it and shivered.

After that the four horses straightened theirbacks to steady, laborious climbing up anarrow road arched over with naked oaktrees set amongst pines. Here, too, thedeep snow was trampled with the passingof horses—the searching party, she knewwithout being told. The driver spoke to thetwo behind him, after a ten-minute silenceagainst the heavy background of roaringoverhead.

"Know that first turn, up ahead here? If wedon't have to shovel through, we'll belucky."

From the back of the sleigh where he wassitting flat, Murphy spoke suddenly. "A-ah, an' av ye don't have to saw yer trailthrough a down tree, ye'll be luckier sthill,I dunno. An' it's likely there ain't a saw inthe hull outfit!" He spat into the storm andadded grimly, "An' how ye're to git theshled around a three-fut tree, I dunno."

"Sure takes you to think up bad luck,Murph," Hank retorted. "We ain't struckany down timber so fur."

"An' ye ain't there yet, neither—not befour mile ye ain't."

Mrs. Singleton Corey, wrapped in herfurs, with snow packing full every foldand wrinkle of her clothing left uncoveredby the robe, did not hear the aimlessargument that followed between Hank andMurphy. The sonorous shwoo-oosh of thewind-tormented pine tops surged throughthe very soul of her, the diapasonaccompaniment to the miserere ofmotherhood. Somewhere on this wildmountainside was Jack, huddled from thewind in a cave, or wandering miserablythrough the storm. Wrapped in soft luxuryall her life, Mrs. Singleton Coreyshuddered as she looked forth through hersilken veil, and saw what Jack wasenduring because she had never taught herson to love her; because she had not taughthim the lessons of love and trust and

obedience.

Of the girl who was lost she scarcelythought. Jack was out here in the cold andthe snow and the roaring wind; homelessbecause she had driven him forth with hercoldness; friendless because she had notgiven him the precious friendship of amother. Her own son, fearing his motherso much that he was hiding away from heramong these terrible, mourning, roaringforests! Behind her veil, her delicatelypowdered cheeks showed moist lineswhere the tears of hungry motherhood slidswiftly down from eyes as brown asJack's and as direct in their gaze, butblurred now and filled with a terribleyearning.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

GRIEF, AND HOPE THAT DIEDHARD

During the months when she had hiddenher shame in a sanitarium, Mrs. SingletonCorey first learned how it felt to beunsatisfied with herself. Had learned, too,what it meant to have her life emptied ofJack's roisterous personality. She hadlearned to doubt the infallibility of her

own judgments, the justice of her ownviewpoints. She had attained a clarity ofvision that enabled her to see herself afailure where she had taken it for grantedthat she was a success. She had failed as amother. She had not taught her son to trusther, to love her—and she had discoveredhow much she craved his love and histrust.

Now she was learning other things. Forthe first time in her sheltered life Mrs.Singleton Corey knew what it meant to becold; bitterly cold—cold to the middle ofher bones. As Murphy had predicted, atree had fallen across the trail, so close totheir passing that they had heard the crashof it and had come up to see the branchesstill quivering from the impact. Before

then Mrs. Singleton Corey had learned thefeel of biting cold, when she waited on abald nose of the hill while three shovelslifted the snow out of the road so that theycould go on. Her unaccustomed ears hadlearned the sound of able-bodiedswearing because the horseman had takena short-cut over the hill and so had notbroken the trail here for the team.

Then, because the driver had not preparedfor the emergency of fallen trees—rather,because the labor of removing a sectionwould have been too long even if they hadbrought axes and a cross-cut saw—shelearned how it felt to be plodding throughsnow to her aristocratic knees. She had towalk a mile and a half to reach Toll-Gatecabin, which was the only shelter on the

mountainside, save the cabin of Murphyand Mike, which was out of the question.She had to walk, since she declined toride one of the horses bareback; so shewas tired, for the first time in herpampered life, and she knew that alwaysbefore then she had merely played at beingtired.

The driver, being unable to go farther withthe sleigh, and having a merciful regardfor his four horses, turned back when themen had lifted the sleigh around so that itfaced townward. So Mrs. Singleton Coreyhad the novel experience of walking withthe assistance of Murphy, whose handswere eager to help the lady, whose tonguewas eager to while away the wearisomejourney with friendly converse, whose

breath was odorous of bad whisky. Theother two men went ahead with theblankets and the gunny-sack of supplies,and broke trail for Murphy and the ladywhose mission remained altogether amystery, whose manner was altogetherdiscouraging to curiosity.

Those of us who have never experiencedhardships, never plumbed the black depthsof trouble, never suffered desperateanguish, are too prone to belittle thesuffering of others. Mrs. Singleton Coreyhad always secretly believed thatsuffering meant merely a certain bearabledegree of discomfort. In exalted momentsshe had contemplated simple living as adesirable thing, good to purge one's soulof trivialities. Life in the raw was

picturesque.

She changed her mind with a suddennessthat was painful when she totteredthankfully into Toll-Gate cabin and foundthe main room unswept and with thebreakfast dishes cold and cluttered uponthe rough, homemade table. And Katecrying on a couch in the other room, closeenough to the heating stove so that shecould keep the fire up without putting herinjured foot to the floor. She did not knowthis disheveled woman with swollen eyesand a soiled breakfast cap and an uglybathrobe and one foot bandaged like acaricature of a gouty member ofplutocracy. The Kate Humphrey she hazilyremembered had been a careful product ofrefinement, attired in a black lace evening

gown and wearing very good imitationpearls.

But Mrs. Singleton Corey gave no morethan one glance at Kate, who hurriedlypulled her bathrobe together and made ahalf-hearted attempt to rise and greet herproperly. The stove looked like a glimpseof paradise, and Mrs. Singleton Coreypulled up a straight-backed chair and satdown with a groan of thankfulness, pullingher snow-sodden skirts up above hershoetops to let a little warmth reach herpatrician limbs. She fumbled at the buttonsof her coat and threw it open, laid a palmeloquently upon her aching side andgroaned again.

But the dauntless Mrs. Singleton Coreycould not for long permit her spirit to be

subdued, especially since she had not yetfound Jack.

"Well, can you get word to my son that Iam here and should like to see him?" sheasked, as soon as the chill had left her alittle. "This is a terrible storm," she addedpolitely.

Even when Kate had explained howimpossible it was to get word to any onejust then, Mrs. Singleton Corey refused toyield one bit of her composure to theanxiety that filled her. She simply sat andlooked at poor Kate like the chairman of aways-and-means committee who iswaiting to hear all the reports.

"You think, then, that the young womanwent to meet Jack?"

"I know she did. She was furious becauseI had not concealed the fact of his beinghere, but I felt that I owed it—"

"Yes, to be sure. And where would she bemost likely to meet him? Do you know?"

"I know where she did meet him," Kateretorted with an edge to her voice. "Shecouldn't have gotten lost, though, if shehad gone there. It is close to the road youtraveled. Doug—Professor Harrison hasled a party up where Marion said Jack hadhis cave. If they are there, we shall knowit as soon as they come back."

"Yes, certainly. And if they are not there?"Mrs. Singleton Corey held her voice firmthough the heart within her trembled at theterrible possibility.

"Well—she didn't take the train, we knowthat positively. She must be up there withJack!"

Mrs. Singleton Corey knew very well thatKate was merely propping her hope withthe statement, but she was glad enough toaccept the prop for her own hopes. Sothey talked desultorily and with that arms-length amiability which is the smallcurrency of polite conversation betweentwo strange women, and Mrs. SingletonCorey laid aside her dignity with her fur-lined coat, and made tea for them—sinceKate could not walk.

Late in the afternoon men began to straggleinto the cabin, fagged and with no news ofMarion. The professor was brought backso exhausted that he could not walk

without assistance, and talkedincoherently of being shot at, up near thepeak, and of being unable to reach TaylorRock on account of the furious wind andthe deep drifts.

Hank Brown declared that he could makeit in the morning, and one or two othersvolunteered to go with him. It began toseem more and more likely that Marionwas up there and compelled by the stormto stay, in whatever poor refuge Jackmight have. It seemed useless to make anyfurther attempt at hiding Jack's identity andwhereabouts, although Mrs. SingletonCorey, with a warning glance at Kate anda few carefully constructed sentences,managed to convey the impression thatJack had been hiding away from her, after

a quarrel between them which had provedmerely a misunderstanding. She wasvastly relieved to see that her explanationwas accepted, and to know that if Quincyhad ever heard of the auto-bandit affair, ithad forgotten all about it long ago.

Still, that was a small relief, andtemporary. Until the next day they werehopeful, and the physical discomfort ofstaying in that crude little cabin with a lotof ungrammatical, roughly clad men, andof having no maid to serve her and noteven the comfort of privacy, loomed largein the mind of Mrs. Singleton Corey.Never before in her life had she drunkcoffee with condensed cream in it, oreaten burned bread with stale butter, andboiled beans and bacon. Never before had

she shared the bed of another woman, orslept in a borrowed nightgown that wastoo tight in the arms. To Mrs. SingletonCorey these things bore all the earmarksof tragedy.

But the next day real tragedy pushed smalldiscomforts back into their properperspective. It still stormed, though not sofuriously, and with fitful spells of sunlightbreaking through the churning clouds. Themen left the cabin at daylight, and Mrs.Singleton Corey found herself practicallycompelled to wash the dishes and sweepthe floor and wait on the distracted Katewho was crushed under the realization ofMrs. Singleton Corey's disgust at hersurroundings. Conversation languishedthat day. Mrs. Singleton Corey sat in a

straight-backed chair and stared out of thewindow that faced the little basin, andwaited for Jack to come. She had sufferedmuch, and she felt that fate owed her aspeedy return of the prodigal.

Instead of that they brought Hank Brown tothe cabin, dead on a makeshift stretcher.When the shock of that had passed a little,so that her mind could digest details, Mrs.Singleton Corey learned, with a terrible,vise-like contraction of the heart, thatHank had climbed ahead of the others andhad almost reached the place they calledTaylor Rock, where Jack was said to havehis cave. Those below had heard a rifleshot, and they had climbed up to find Hankstretched dead in the snow. Two men hadsearched the vicinity as well as they

could, but they had found nothing at all.The snow, they said, was drifted twentyfeet deep in some places.

They did not tell her what they thoughtabout it, but Mrs. Singleton Corey knew.And Kate knew. And the two women'seyes would not meet, after that, and theirvoices were constrained, their wordsformal when they found it necessary tohave speech with each other.

Mrs. Singleton Corey forgot the cruditiesand the discomforts of Toll-Gate cabinafter that. She watched the trail, and hereyes questioned dumbly every man thatcame in for rest and food before going outagain to the search. They always wentagain, fighting their way through the stormthat never quite cleared. They went forth,

with a dogged persistence and a couragethat made Mrs. Singleton Corey marvel inspite of her absorption in her own anxiety.

Men with fresh horses and fresh suppliescame up from the valley, and the searchwent on, settling to a loose system ofsignals, relief shifts and the laying out ofcertain districts for certain men to cover,yard by yard. The body of Hank Brownwas lashed upon a horse and taken downto Quincy, and in the evening the mysteryof his death was discussed in the kitchen,where the men sat in a haze of tobaccosmoke. Mike had been reported absentfrom his cabin, the day that Murphy cameup from the valley, and he had notreturned. So there was mystery in plenty tokeep the talk going. One man shot dead

from ambush and three persons missing,were enough to stir the most phlegmaticsoul—and Mrs. Singleton Corey, howeverself-possessed her manner, was notphlegmatic.

Stormy day followed stormy day, and stillthey found no trace of Marion, got noglimpse of Jack. There were days whenthe wind made it physically impossible toclimb the peak and search for the caveunder Taylor Rock, dangerous to beabroad in the woods. Hank had said thathe knew about where the cave was—butHank's lips were closed forever upongarrulous conversation. Two or threeothers were more or less familiar withthat barren crest, having hunted bear inthat locality. They led the parties that

turned their faces toward the peakwhenever the wind and the snowpromised to hold back for a time.

They began to whisper together, out in thekitchen where they thought that Mrs.Singleton Corey could not hear. Theywhispered about the fight that had takenplace up at the lookout station, lastsummer, when Hank had ridden into townsullen and with blackened eyes andswollen lips, and had cursed the lookouton Mt. Hough. It began to seem imperativethat they locate that cave as soon aspossible, and the man who had shot Hank.

Kate mourned because Fred was not there,and talked as though his presence wouldright nearly everything. That, and thewhispering and the meaning glances

among the men when she appeared in theroom, exasperated Mrs. Singleton Coreyalmost beyond endurance. Why did theynot find Jack and the girl? What possibleuse could Fred be, more than any otherman? Why didn't somebody do something?She had never seen so inefficient acountry, it seemed to her. Why, they hadeven let the trains stop running, and thetelegraph lines were all down! Nobodyseemed to know when communicationwith the outside world would be possible.She might have to stay here a month, forall she could learn to the contrary. Therewas just one cheerful thought connectedwith the whole thing, and that was the factthat this Fred, of whom Kate talked somuch, could not be summoned. Mrs.Singleton Corey felt that another

Humphrey in the house would drive herquite mad.

Then one day Murphy came stumbling into the cabin, just after three or fourdisheartened searchers had arrived, andannounced that he had got on the track ofthe man that shot Hank Brown.

"An' it's Mike, the crazy fool thot did it,an' I'll bet money on it," he declared,goggling around at his audience. "An'what's more, the rest of ye had betther betravelin' wit' yer eyes open, fer he's crazyas a loon, an' he'll kill anny one thatcrosses his trail. An' didn't I notice justthis marnin' that his rifle was gone wit'him—me dom eyes bein' so near blind thotI c'uldn't see in the corner where it was,an' only fer wantin' a belt that hung on a

nail there, I w'uldn't av been feelin' aroundat all where the gun sh'uld be standin'. An'it's gone, an' I mind me now the talk hewas makin' about sphies in the woods, an'thot the gurrl had betther look out, an' thefeller up on the peak had betther look out,an' me thinkin' he was talkin' becawse avthe railroad tie thot hit 'im wanct, an'hushed 'im up whin I sh'uld 'a' been takin''im in to the crazy house, I dunno. An' ifhe's kilt the gurrl an' the missus' boy, likehe kilt Hank Brown, it's like he's found thecave the lad was livin' in, an' is sthayin'holed up there, I dunno—fer he ain't beennear the cabin, an' unlest a tree er a fallin'limb kilt him, he'd have to be sthayin'somewheres. Fer he's kilt the gurrl an' theboy, an' I'll bet money on it, I dunno."

"Looks that way, Murphy—" began one,but he was stopped by a cry that thrilledthem with the terrible grief that was in thevoice,—grief and hope that was dyinghard.

Mrs. Singleton Corey, having stood justwithin the other room listening, made twosteps toward Murphy and fell fainting tothe kitchen floor.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

TROUBLE FINDS THE GOLD THATWAS IN THEM

After that nothing seemed to matter. Thedays slipped by and Mrs. Singleton Coreycared so little that she did not count themor call them by name. She would sit by theone window that faced the Basin andwatch the trail beaten in the deep snow bythe passing of many feet, and brood over

the days when she might have won Jackand by the very closeness of their lovehave saved him from this. Had she doneher part, Jack would not have lied to herabout that trip to Venice; he would nothave dreamed of such a thing. It hurtterribly to think how close she had been tohappiness with Jack and how unthinkinglyshe had let it slip from her while shecentered her interest upon other things thatheld no comfort for her now—now whenall she asked of life was to give her backher son alive.

Men came and went, and answered theheartbreaking question in her big browneyes with cheerful words that did not,somehow, cheer. The storm was over,they told her, and now they would have a

better chance. She mustn't think of whatMurphy said—Murphy was an old fool.She mustn't give up. And even while theytalked she knew by their eyes that they hadgiven up long ago, and only kept up thepretense of hopeful searching for her sake.

Because the partition was only onethickness of boards she heard themcommenting one night on the grim fact thatno smoke had been seen at Taylor Rock,though many eyes had watched anxiouslyfor the sign. She listened, and she knewthat they were going to give up—knew thatthey should have given up long ago but forher. With no fire in the cave none couldlive for long in this weather, she heardthem muttering. The cave was drifted fullof snow, in the opinion of those who had

the most experience with mountain snows.The lost couple might be in the cave, butthey were not alive. One man said thatthey were probably under some fallen tree—and they were many—or buried deep ina gulch somewhere. Certainly after tendays neither Jack nor Marion nor Mikecould by any possibility be alive in thehills.

Kate was asleep and did not hear. Theprofessor was out there with the others—probably they thought that Mrs. SingletonCorey was asleep also, for it was growinglate. Her chapped knuckles pressedagainst her trembling lips, she listenedawhile, until she could bear no more.How kind they were—these men ofQuincy! How they had struggled to keep

alive her courage! She got up, opened thedoor very quietly, and went out into thestrong, bluish haze of tobacco smoke thatenveloped the men huddled there aroundthe kitchen stove for a last pipe beforethey turned in. She stood within the door,like "madam president" risen to addressthe meeting. Like "madam president" shewaited for their full attention before shespoke.

"I wish to thank you gentlemen for theheroic efforts you have put forth during thepast week," she said, and her low-pitchedvoice had the full resonance that was oneof her charms as a leader among women."It would be impossible for me to expressmy grateful appreciation—" She stopped,pressed her lips together for a minute, and

when she felt sure of her composure shemade a fresh start. "I cannot speak of therisks you have taken in these forests, but I—I appreciate your bravery. I know thatyou have been in danger from falling trees,nearly every day that you spent searchingfor—those who are lost. I have learnedfrom your conversations amongyourselves how useless you consider thesearch. I—I am forced to agree with you.Miss Humphrey and Professor Harrisonhave long ago given up all hope—they saythat—that no one could possibly bealive.... I—I know that a mother can beterribly selfish when her son...." Hard asshe fought for steadiness, she could notspeak of it. She stood with the back of onehand pressed hard against her shakinglips, swallowing the sobs that threatened

to balk her determination to speak a littleof the humble gratitude that filled her. Themen looked down in embarrassed silence,and in a minute she went on.

"Gentlemen, I know that you have gone onsearching because you felt that I wantedyou to do it, and you were too kind-hearted to tell me the truth. So I beg of younow to go back to your families. I—I mustnot let my trouble keep you away fromthem any longer. I—I—have given up."

Some one drew a long breath, audible inthat room, where tragedy held them insilence. It was as though those two lostones lay stark and cold in their midst; asthough this woman was looking downupon her son. But when the silence hadtightened their nerves, she spoke again

with the quiet of utter hopelessness.

"I must ask you to help me get down themountain somehow. If the railroad is inoperation I shall return home. I wish tosay that while I shall carry with me thebitterest sorrow of my life, I shall carryalso a deep sense of the goodness and thebravery—"

Proud, yes. But proud as she was shecould not go on. She turned abruptly andwent back into the room where Kate sleptheavily. A little later the sound of stifledsobbing, infinitely sad, went out to themen who sat with cooling pipes in theirpalms, constrained to silence still by theinfinite sadness of motherhood bereaved.

"Tomorrow morning we better start in

clearing the road," one muttered at last."Somebody can ride down and have ateam come up after her."

"It's no use to hunt any longer," anotherobserved uneasily. "The snow wouldcover up—"

"Sh-sh-sh!" warned the professor, andnodded his head toward the room door.

In her own home, that had been closed formonths, Mrs. Singleton Corey folded herblack veil up over the crown of her blackhat and picked up the telephone. Her whitehair was brushed up from her forehead ina smooth, cloudy fashion that had in it nomore than a hint of marcelle waving. Herface was almost as white as her hair, andher eyes were black-shadowed and

sunken. She sat down wearily upon thechair beside the telephone stand, waiteddull-eyed for Central to answer, and thencalled up her doctor. Her voice was calm—too calm. It was absolutely colorless.

Her doctor, on the other hand, becameagitated to the point of stuttering when herealized who was speaking to him. Hisdisjointed questions grated on Mrs.Singleton Corey, who was surfeited withemotion and who craved nothing so muchas absolute peace.

"Yes, certainly I am back," she drawledwith a shade of impatience. "Just now—from the depot.... No, I am feeling verywell—No, I have not read the papers, andI do not intend to.... Really, doctor, I cansee no necessity of your coming out here. I

am perfectly all right, I assure you. I shallcall up the maids and let them know that Iam home, but first I have called you, justto ease your mind—providing, of course,that you have one. You seem to have lost itquite suddenly...."

She listened, and caught her breath. Herlips whitened, and her nostrils flaredsuddenly with what may have been anger."No, doctor ... I did not—find—Jack."She forced herself to say it. He wouldhave to know, she reflected.

She was about to add something thatwould make her statement sound less bald,but the doctor had hung up, mutteringsomething she did not catch. She waited,holding the receiver to her ear untilCentral, in that supercilious voice we all

dislike so much, asked crisply, "Are youwaiting?" Then Mrs. Singleton Corey alsohung up her receiver and sat there idlygazing at her folded hands.

"I must have a manicure at once," she saidto herself irrelevantly, though the heart ofher was yearning toward Jack's roomupstairs. She wanted to go up and liedown on Jack's bed; and put her head onJack's pillow. It seemed to her that itwould bring her a little closer to Jack.And then she had a swift vision of TaylorRock, where Jack was said to have hiscave. She closed her eyes and shuddered.She could not get close to Jack—she hadnever been close to him, since he passedbabyhood. Perhaps.... The girl, Marion—had Jack loved her? She was grown used

to the jealousy that filled her when shethought of Marion. She forced herself nowto think pityingly of the girl, dead up therein that awful snow.

She went upstairs, forgetting to telephoneto the maids as she had intended. Shemoved slowly, apathetically, pausing longbefore the closed door of Jack's room. Shewould not go in, after all. Why dig deeperinto the grief that must be masteredsomehow, if she would go on living? Sheremembered the maids, and when she hadput on one of her soft, silk house gownsthat she used to like so well, she wentslowly down the stairs, forgetting that shehad a telephone in her room, her mindswinging automatically to the one in thehall that she had used as she came in. She

had just reached it when the doctor camehurrying up the steps and pressed the bellbutton. She saw him dimly through thecurtained glass of the door, and frownedwhile she let him in. And then—

She knew that the doctor was propelledviolently to one side by some one comingbehind him, and she knew that she wasdreaming the rest of it. The feel of Jack'sarm around her shoulders, and Jack'swarm, young lips on her cheeks and herlips and her eyelids, and the sound ofJack's voice calling her endearing petnames that she had never heard him speakwhile she was awake and he was with her—It was a delicious dream, and Mrs.Singleton Corey smiled tremulously whilethe dream lasted.

"Gee, I'd like to give you a real old bear-hug, but I've got a bum wing and I can't.Gee, we musta passed each other on theroad somewhere, because I was streakingit down here to see you—gee, but youlook good to me!—and you were streakingit up there to see me—" The adorableyoung voice hesitated and deepened to ayearning half-whisper. "Did you go awayup there just because you—wanted to seeme? Did you do that, mother? Honest?"

Mrs. Singleton Corey snapped intowakefulness, but she still leaned heavilywithin her curve of Jack's good arm. Hereyes—brown, and very much like Jack's—stared up with a shining, wonderfulgladness into his face. But she was Mrs.Singleton Corey, and she would not act the

sentimental fool if she could help it!

"Yes, I—thought I should have to dig youout of a snowdrift, you—young—scamp!"

"She'd a done it, believe me! Only I wasn'tin any snowdrift, so she couldn't—Godlove her!" He was half crying all thewhile and trying to hide it; and halflaughing, too, and altogether engrossed inthe joy of being able to hold his ownmother like that, just as he had hungered todo up there on the mountain.

It was the doctor who saw that emotionhad reached the outer edge of safety forMrs. Singleton Corey. Over her head hescowled and made warning signs to Jack,who gave her a last exuberant squeeze andlet the doctor lead her to a chair.

"I've got a wife out in the taxi, mother," heannounced next. "She wouldn't come in—she's afraid you won't like her. But youwill, won't you? Can't I tell her—"

"Bring her right in here to me, Jack," saidMrs. Singleton Corey, gasping a bit, butfighting still for composure to face thismiracle of a pitying God.

Bit by bit the miracle resolved itself into aseries of events which, though surprisingenough, could not by any stretch of thecredulity be called supernatural.

Mrs. Singleton Corey learned that, with abullet lodged somewhere in the upper,northwest corner of Jack's person, he hadnevertheless managed to struggle downthrough the storm to Marston, with Marion

helping him along and doing wonders tokeep his nerve up. They had taken the trainwithout showing themselves at the depot,which was perfectly easy, Jack informedher, but cold as the dickens.

She managed to grasp the fact that Jackand Marion had been married inSacramento, immediately after Jack hadhis shoulder dressed, and that they hadcome straight on to Los Angeles, meaningto find her first and face the musicafterwards. She was made to understandhow terribly in earnest Jack had been, ingoing straight to the chief of police andletting the district attorney know who hewas, and then telling the truth about thewhole thing in court. She could not quitesee how that had settled the matter, until

Jack explained that Fred Humphrey was agood scout, if ever there was one. He hadtestified for the State, but for all that hehad told it so that Jack's story got over bigwith the jury and the judge and the wholecheese.

Fred Humphrey had remembered whatJack had shouted at the boys when theyfired. "—And mother, that was theluckiest call-down I ever handed thebunch. It proved, don't you see, that thehold-up was just a josh that turned outwrong. And it proved the boys weren'tplanning to shoot—oh, it just showed thewhole thing up in a different light, youknow, so a blind man had to see it. So theylet me go—"

"If you could have seen him, you wouldn't

have wondered, Mrs. Corey!" Marion hadbeen dumb for an hour, but she could notresist painting Jack into the scene with thewarm hues of romance. "He went therewhen he ought to have gone to thehospital. Why, he had the highest fever!—and he was so thin and hollow-eyed hejust looked simply pathetic! Why, theywouldn't have been human if they had senthim to jail! And he told the whole thing,and how it just started in fooling; and why,it was the grandest, noblest thing a boycould do, when the others had been meanenough to lay all the blame on Jack. Andhe had his shoulder all bandaged and hisarm in a sling, and he looked so—sobrave, Mrs. Corey, that—"

Mrs. Singleton Corey reached out and

patted Marion on the hand, and smiledstrangely. "Yes, my dear—I understand.But I think you might call me mother."

If it cost her something to say that, she wasamply repaid. Marion gave her onegrateful look and fled, fearing that tearswould be misunderstood. And Jack madeno move to follow her, but stayed andgathered his mother again into a one-armed imitation of a real bear-hug. I thinkJack wiped the last jealous thought out ofMrs. Singleton Corey's mind when he didthat. So they clung to each other likelovers, and Jack patted her white cloud ofhair that he had never made bold to touchsince he was a baby.

"My own boy—that I lost from the cradle,and did not know—" She reached up and

drew her fingers caressingly down hisweathered cheek, that was losing some ofits hardness in the softer air of the South."Jack, your poor old mother has beencheating herself all these years. Cheatingyou too, dear—"

"Not much! Your cub of a son has beencheating himself and you. But you watchhim make it up. And—mother, don't youthink maybe all this trouble has been kindof a good thing after all? I mean—if it'sbrought the real stuff out to the surface ofme, you know—"'

"I know. The gold in us all is too oftenhidden away under so much worthless—"

"Why, forev—" In the doorway Marionchecked herself abruptly, because she had

resolved to purify her vocabulary of slangand all frivolous expressions. Her eyelidswere pink, her lips were moist andtremulous, her face was all aglow. "I—may I please—mother—"

Mrs. Singleton Corey did not loosen herhold of Jack, but she held out her freehand with a beckoning gesture. "Come. I'mgoing to be a foolishly fond old lady, Iknow. But I want to hold both my childrenclose, and see if I can realize the miracle."

"Mother!" Jack murmured, as though theword held a wonderful, new meaning."Our own, for-keeps mother!"

THE END

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