"Come on, Gratton," shouted Brodie. "Or do you want me to begin shooting

from here?"

The light of the fire flared higher, brighter. The eyes of the men who

had just entered from the outside were growing accustomed to this place

of shadows. Suddenly the man Jarrold called sharply:

"There's some one with him. There's two of 'em, Brodie. Go easy!"

Brodie cursed him for a fool.

"I don't care how many's with him or who they are," he bellowed. "The

grub-stealing thief has got his coming to him. Step out, you

lily-livered sneak, and take your medicine."

"That's all right," muttered Jarrold. "But it won't hurt to see who they

are first, Brodie."

"Gratton's got no gun with him," cackled Benny Rudge. "Neither's that

other guy. Come ahead, Steve. Me an' you'll pull 'em out."

Gloria pressed back against the rock, her flesh quivering. She saw two

men and then another two coming toward her. The first sound broke from

Gratton's lips now, a little gurgling moan. The men came on; one had

heard and laughed. Then Gloria, with more shuddersome thought of rough

hands upon her than of a rifle-ball, broke away from her cowering

companion and came hastily to meet them.

"I'm coming out," she cried out to them.

It was all that she could do to hold herself erect and come back into

the more open cave. Jarrold and Benny and the men after them came to a

dead halt and stared at her. In the flickering half-light she looked a

slim frightened boy.

"All of a sudden the woods is gettin' all cluttered up with folks,"

grunted Benny. "Who in blazes are you, kid? An' where's your mamma?"

His companions laughed; they laughed at anything. One of them, Steve

Jarrold, came closer to look into her face. She saw that his steps were

uncertain; she had heard how thick was his vocal utterance; now she

smelled the whiskey with which he reeked.

A shout broke from Jarrold. He clutched her shoulder with a great claw

of a hand and drew her closer to him, his face thrust down to hers.

"Let me go!" she cried, trying to jerk away from him.

"Easy does it," said Jarrold. "Easy--_kid_! I'm of a notion I've seen

that face of yours somewheres."

"Never mind the kid," Brodie was growling savagely. "It's Gratton first.

Out with him, Benny."

The others bore down upon Gratton. He had found his voice now; he

shrieked at them; he begged shrilly; he battered them with his fists,

striking weak, vain blows. Benny, though the smaller man, had him by the

collar. The Italian caught an arm, and as they dragged him half-fainting

toward the fire, Brail struck at him with a heavy boot.

"So," said Brodie heavily.

Gratton began an incoherent pleading, arrested impatiently by Brodie's

great voice.

"Shut up! You've had your innings; it's mine now. You swiped grub when

it's the same thing as slitting a man's gullet. You let another man be

killed for what you done. Now you get yours!"

He jerked up his rifle. Benny and the Italian let Gratton go and jumped

nimbly aside. Gratton stumbled and sagged, staggering like a drunken

man. Brodie, with his rifle-barrel not six feet from Gratton's

terror-stricken body, laughed again.

"Stop!" Gloria shrilled. She broke away from Jarrold's grasp and ran

toward Brodie. "You don't know what you are doing. You----"

"Close your trap, kid," Brodie thundered at her. "Unless you want the

second bullet."

Jarrold's big boots came clumping noisily across the rock floor.

"Easy does it, Brodie," he shouted. "She ain't no kid, I tell you. She's

a girl. That's Ben Gaynor's girl, the one Gratton wanted to marry, the

one King took away from him. Keep your eye peeled; King would be around

somewhere!"

"Hidin' back there in the dark somewhere," muttered Benny.

Brodie, though his rifle had not swerved, was listening.

"No, not hiding in the dark corners," he said ponderously. "Not Mark

King, rot him.... Ben Gaynor's girl, you say? Then we're red hot on the

right trail, boys! You know what her and King would be after!"

Gratton's stunned brain began to function wildly.

"The gold is here, Brodie!" he cried out wildly. "King had got to it

before us, but I've found it. I was coming back to tell you----"

Brodie had small liking for a coward and now his bull's voice cut

Gratton's chatter short.

"No solid mountain of gold is going to save your hide----"

Benny began to jig up and down in a frenzy of excitement.

"Hold your hand, Brodie, you big fool," he shouted. He even jumped to

Brodie's side and caught the rifle-barrel, shoving it downward. "If he

does know where it is, give him a show to lead us to it. Ain't you got

any sense? Before King gets back. If you popped him off now, how would

we know where to look?"

Brodie snarled at Benny and whipped the rifle clear of the nervous

clutch. But he understood what Benny had in mind and saw wisdom in

obeying the command to hold his hand. His gross, heavy-muscled face,

half in light, half in darkness, showed a look of hesitation. Gratton

began a rapid, vehement talking, explaining, arguing, pleading; he had

not meant to steal the food; he could lead them to the gold; he wanted

none of it; all that he asked was to be allowed to live----

"Shut up!" Brodie cried again disgustedly. "You ain't dead yet, are you?

So's you keep your lying face closed I'll give you one show. Step

lively; _where is it_?"

Gratton, like a hound in leash suddenly freed, turned and sped toward

the spot where he had hid the gold. Brodie, his rifle shifting in his

hands, leaped after him, keeping close to him. Gratton was down on his

hands and knees, scratching among the loose stones like a dog digging

for a buried bone. Brodie put a heavy hand on his shoulder and jerked

him back, hurling him to one side. Thus it was Brodie who found the bag

and dragged it forward to the fire, dumping its contents on the ground.

Benny was with him now, pawing over the heavy lumps. Brail, the Italian,

Steve Jarrold--all rushed forward and snatched up bits of the ore that

had rolled from the sack; one of them shouted in wonder; another seized

the nugget from his hands; they all talked at once; Benny squealed in

high rage as Jarrold shoved him backward; the Italian trod in the fire

and cursed and kicked at it savagely, sending burning brands in all

directions.

Gloria had stood powerless to move. Now she saw that in their flush of

excitement no one was looking toward her. She began slowly, silently,

edging toward the side of the cave, toward the way out. Her one thought

was to slip away while none noted her; to dart out and hurry up the

cliff to come to the hiding-place of which Mark King had told her.

"I never see such gold, and me an old-timer in the mines." It was Steve

Jarrold muttering. "It's like they'd took clean gold down to the mint

and rolled it and lumped it into nuggets. _This was broke off the mother

lode_. Oh, my Gawd!"

Gloria made another quiet step--and another. Still no one saw her. If

she could only make half a dozen more steps before these men awoke from

the first moments of a spell that had made them oblivious of everything

on earth except that little heap of rock! Another step; she went

quicker; their backs were toward her. And still no one saw. Yes, Gratton

alone had seen. She made a quick frightened gesture. His jaw sagged

open; he watched her with bulging eyes. She could read his thought so

plainly: he was thinking of his own ultimate chances for life, he was

screwing up his courage to make a dash for the open himself. His eyes

followed her step by step. Oh, if only he would look in some other

direction! If any one of them saw Gratton's tell-tale face----

Then Gratton began a slow withdrawal from the others; he meant to do as

he saw her doing.

"Heavy laka hell," the Italian was saying. "Justa da gold do that!"

"Give me that, Tony," snarled Brodie. He snatched the mass from the

other's hands. "That's the biggest nugget any man living ever saw."

Gloria tasted the clean fresh outside air; she was within three paces of

the line of snow. Then there was a sudden noise; Gratton, inching off

backward, had stumbled over a dead stick. The men by the fire were

startled out of their oblivion. Steve Jarrold, the one nearest Gloria,

swung about, saw her, dropped what was in his hands, and lunged towards

her. She made a dash for the exit. In two great strides Jarrold was upon

her and had caught her by the shoulders, dragging her back. And Gratton

stood again, his feet glued to the ground; she could see the flash of

his teeth gnawing at his fingers.

"Trying to make a sneak for it!" boomed Brodie. "I'll show you----"

"Not yet, Brodie, you big fool!" yelled Benny. "This is only a sackful,

and not full at that. It's the rest of it we're after--the whole lousy

mess. He's got to show us where this come from."

"I am not trying to get away," said Gratton, though his tone did not

convince. "Haven't I made good already? Haven't I kept my promise? Am I

not ready to do whatever I can?"

"Talk's cheap," retorted Brodie. "Get busy, then."

Gratton, struggling already in the meshes of the net drawing ever

tighter about him, pointed to Gloria with shaking finger. He swallowed

twice and moistened his lips to speak.

"King found it first. She was with him. I made her show me the sack of

gold. I was going to go back to your camp, to tell you----"

"Cut it," commanded Brodie. "Leave out the lies and talk straight and

fast. Where is the rest of it? Where did this come from?"

"I'm trying to tell you," said Gratton hurriedly. "There--there's

another cave; up above. That's where King had his camp; that where's I

got the sack. It's up there----"

"No wonder she wanted to skip out," jeered Steve Jarrold, his great

bony hand locked about Gloria's shrinking shoulder. His ill-featured

face, the small, pig eyes, always jeering, the black bristle of beard,

not unlike a hog's bristles, were thrust close to her face. "Where's

King all this time?" he demanded. "Up in the other cave, maybe?"

"No," she said dismally, seeking to jerk away from his evil glance and

whiskey-laden breath. "He has gone----"

"That's good; let him go. We don't care, do we? Eh, girlie?" But again

his hand tightened until the hard fingers hurt her. "But gone where?"

"We were short of food--he is hunting--maybe he has gone for help----"

"And you showed Gratton where he hid his gold? That's a nice little

she-trick, ain't it? Well, while the showing's good, lead us to the rest

of it."

"That's the eye, Steve," said Brodie. He stepped forward, shoved his

rifle-muzzle against Gratton's body, and commanded: "You, too. Go ahead,

you and her, and show us the way. And no monkey business, either of you,

or I'll blow a hole square through you."

Gratton, grown nimble, darted ahead with Brodie always close at his

heels. Gloria, forced on by Jarrold, came next, and after them the

others. Benny was the last; he had taken time to put the gold back into

the sack and set it aside among the shadows. For Benny believed in

making sure of what they had, even while they quested better things.

Then he caught up his rifle, the only other gun besides Brodie's, and

came hurrying after them.

They went up the cliff in a long file, clawing their way, cursing the

steepness, now and then one or another of them fumbling uncertainly,

close to a slip and a fall. It was clear that, with the possible

exception of Swen Brodie, not a man of them was entirely sober. But they

made the climb safely and hastened into the upper cave eagerly.

"It's somewhere back there," said Gratton.

"More fire," shouted Brodie. His voice exulted; his blood would be

running now with the gold fever. He tossed on an armful of dry wood; the

flames caught and roared; shadows quivered and danced. Already Benny was

at the far end of the cave; the others ran after him. Even Jarrold

relinquished Gloria's arm, eager to be in at the finding. But he called

to her as he went:

"You stick where you are. I'm not forgetting you this time."

Fascinated, she watched them. They ran like blood-lusting dogs that had

briefly lost their quarry, that were seeking everywhere, in every

cranny, with slavering jaws. They turned aside into side-pockets of the

main cavern; they got torches and looked high and low; they went back

and forth, up and down; they stumbled against one another and cursed

angrily; they caught up bits of stone, ran back to the fire to see if

the fragments were shot with gold; cursed and hurled the useless things

from them, and ran back again, to jostle and seek and be first; they

were not so much like dogs now as human hogs, fighting to get first into

the trough.

But they did not forget Gratton, and they did not forget Gloria. All the

time both Brodie and Benny kept their guns in their hands; two

significant looks had been all that was needed to keep their two

prisoners in mind of the fact that no escape now was possible.

To Gloria it seemed inevitable that in this quest which overlooked

nothing, and which as time wore on grew less frenzied and more

systematic, they would find what King had found before them. She tried

to think consecutively; she recalled all that King had told her of these

men, all that Gratton had hinted at. She recalled with a shudder the

look in the moist eyes of Steve Jarrold. It seemed to her that her only

slim chance for safety lay in their finding the gold. For only gold,

gold unlimited, could cause them to forget her.

For an hour they sought tirelessly. It appeared that there were many

fingers to the further end of the cave, narrow, irregular channels into

which they pressed. Their faggots burned out; the smoke choked them;

they coughed and cursed, came out for fresh air, dived into the dark

again. The short day was passing; the entering light, where they had

torn the canvas aside, grew dimmer. And still they searched.

At last Brodie returned and stood looking from Gloria to Gratton.

"One of you knows," he said shortly. "Which one?"

"I swear to God----" began Gratton.

"Shut up! Then it's you?" The little, shiny blue eyes, never so coldly

evil, drew her own frightened eyes, fascinated and held them. "You know"

"I don't know! All I know----"

"Don't lie to me! It'll do you no good." He lifted a hand and held it

over her, the enormous fingers apart and rigid. "I'll make you tell!"

"Listen to me," she managed to cry out. "I don't know, I tell you. But I

know where it might be. In a place you would never think of looking. Not

in a thousand years----"

Blue fire sprang up in the gleaming eyes. The other men, drawn close,

watched and listened, their eyes alive with many lights.

"What you know I'll know. I'll choke it out of you----"

"I'll tell you--if you will keep your hands off me! I'll make a bargain

with you. I'll show you the place; if there's gold there, I don't care

what happens to it--if you'll only agree to let me alone--to let me

go----"

Brodie laughed at her. But Benny cried out:

"Of course we'll let you go! What do you suppose we want of you? Once we

get our hands on it she can go, Brodie. Tell her so, you big----"

"Sure," said Brodie, with a wide grin. "It ain't women we're after this

trick; it's something better. And--and it would be very nice of you to

show us--Miss Gaynor." He treated her to a grinning mock respect, so

obviously spurious that her fear of him rose higher, choking her. "Very

nice, ain't it, boys?"

"I--I am not sure what you'll find," whispered Gloria. "I only know

that----Oh, dear God, I hope you find all the gold in the world!"

Hastily she ran by Brodie toward the dark end of the cave. Then she

stopped and tried to think; how many paces had King said? She came back

to the fire; thirty, thirty-five? She began counting as she walked while

they watched her wondering and following slowly after her. She found

several boulders in her path; but she had not gone far enough. She kept

on; thirty, thirty-two, thirty-three----She could hardly see about her.

She stumbled against a rock in her way.

"Try here," she said. Already Brodie and Steve Jarrold were at her side.

"This rock. See if it will move----"

They thrust her roughly aside. Brodie set down his rifle, laid his big

hands on the boulder, and as if it had weighed only ten pounds, tossed

it out of the way. He knelt, feeling along the ground. A sudden shout

burst from him:

"Down here! There's a big hole; there's a dark cave underneath. That's

where it is?"

They brought faggots; at the edge of the hole they hastily built another

fire. They crowded round, peering down. Brodie tossed a brand through;

it dropped a short distance, a few feet only, struck, and began to roll;

it caught against a rock, smoked and smouldered, and went out. Brodie

set his legs over the opening, called to the Italian to grab his rifle

and keep an eye on Gloria and Gratton, and went down. The others crowded

about the hole, waiting impatiently for him to go through, and then

began piling down after him. Gloria could see their figures dimly; they

went down and down along a long, steep, slanting passage-way; they had

smoking torches and looked like so many fiends in the bottomless pit.

She heard them calling back and forth excitedly; they went on, still

downward; she heard their grinding boot-heels, but could no longer see

them. Suddenly they were silent. Then there were swift mutterings. And

then a great, triumphant, many-voiced shout. In Gus Ingle's

treasure-cache they had at last come to Gus Ingle's treasure. And, among

other things, to the skeleton of Gus Ingle himself, sprawling here for

sixty years in the dark over a great heap of gold.

_Chapter XXIX_

Swen Brodie, whose will had at all times directed, was now absolute

dictator. Big and brutal and fearless, drunken with gold, he loomed

above his companions, driving them, commanding them, swearing violently

that they would do what he told them to do or he'd dash their brains

out.

"I led you to it," he reminded them in a great shouting voice. "But for

me never a man of you would of smelled it. There's enough here to make a

thousand men rich, and that's lucky for you! But we've got to hold what

we got, and we got to get out of here with it--somehow. That somehow is

for me to figure out. And, being as one man's got to run any job and the

rest has got to take orders and take 'em on the jump, you're doing what

I say! If any man jack of you don't like that, let him open his head

right now!"

"There's no sense scrappin'," muttered Benny. "An' we're all satisfied,

I'd say. But there's no call to start wavin' a red flag."

"We're going down to the lower cave," said Brodie. "Everything we can

pry loose is going down with us. We'll pitch the loose chunks of gold

over the cliff and we'll stow 'em away somewhere else--where King, if

things break some way we don't look for, won't find 'em! We start right

now, while there's daylight. What's more, we move our camp from down the

canon to the cave below. Steve Jarrold, you and Tony are elected to that

job, and you'd better get a move on. Bring up what grub's left, and the

blankets and stuff. The rest of us will start in firing gold overboard

and putting it somewhere more safe--all that's loose. And at that, think

of the great, big, wide, yellow, rotten-soft seam of it down below!"

"Where are you goin' to put it?" demanded Jarrold.

"Not hiding it from you and Tony, Steve," cried Brodie sharply. "Put

your suspicious ways in your pocket. And, if you're on the jump, you'll

have our camp truck moved before we're done. Look alive, will you? A

man never knows what's going to happen."

"Why not leave it here until we know----?"

"For one thing, because Mark King knows this place. Now, move! Come

ahead, you other fellows. You, too, Gratton; we ain't forgot you." An

uglier note crept into the harsh voice. "You can help. And so can you,"

whirling on Gloria. "Woman or no woman, you got hands and feet."

* * * * *

Night, pitch-black, had come when they had done. Gloria, scarcely able

to stand from exhaustion, her body bruised, her hands and arms wounded

from many a jagged rock as she had gone back and forth carrying heavy

loads, went with the others into the lowest cave in which already the

gold had been stowed away. She sank down wearily; she closed her eyes

rather than watch the men about their fire, eating noisily, drinking

noisily from the bottles which Steve and Tony had brought from their

other camp. Trying to remain unnoticed in the shadows was Gratton.

Brodie, having commanded that a rude rock wall like King's be built

across the mouth of the cave to shut out the cold, and having laboured

with the others at the task, came back to the fire. He took a long pull

at a bottle, emptying it and smashing it to tinkling fragments as he

hurled it behind him. He caught up a big piece of dried beef and gnawed

at it like a dog; though Gloria kept her eyes away from him she could

hear the tearing and grinding of the monstrous teeth.

"It's been a day's work, at that," he said with a full mouth. "But we

ain't done. I noticed how no man has said a word about how we split what

we found."

"There's five of us," said Benny quickly. "We split it five ways, even,

like pardners."

Brodie turned on him slowly, still rending at his meat, still clutching

his rifle and holding it so that no man might forget that he held it.

"Think so, Benny?" he said ponderously. "Being as I've worked on this

lay a long time, since I let you others in on it, since I led you to

it--think that's the fair way to split it? Now suppose you listen to

me. You boys ain't mentioned a split because it was none of your say and

you knew it. Say, in round numbers--but there's ten times that--that

there's a million dollars tucked away here. Why, there's mines all

through these mountains that never thought of stopping at a million;

that was just a fair start! Well, to get going, say there's an even

million. I get just half that; that leaves half a million, don't it?

Now, shut up a minute!" he commanded truculently as more than one man

stirred. "Listen to me. That's five hundred thousand to split between

four of you; that's over a hundred thousand for every man jack of you.

And that's what I call a fair split."

They growled in their throats at that, but no man took it upon himself

to speak out definitely, though they glanced sidewise among themselves.

Benny, who always had a thought of his own, said quietly:

"What are you doin' about Gratton? He'll claim his share, won't he? And,

if you say him no, he'll shoot his face off, won't he?"

"No," said Brodie. "He won't." He paused, swallowed the last of his

beef, caught up a bottle from Benny's side, and drank deeply. Benny,

afraid that this bottle, too, still nearly full, would be broken,

hastily snatched it back when Brodie had done.

"No," said Brodie heavily. "Gratton won't talk." He grew suddenly

quick-spoken--he broke into a volley of accusation; his tongue lent

itself to such a rush of vileness that Gloria, shrinking back, covered

her ears with her hands. "Gratton stole grub. When grub-stealing was the

same as slitting a man's throat. And what next does he plan? Why, to

make trouble; to swear that Benny killed a man; that we was all in it;

to get us all hung, if he can, or in the pen; then to grab what's ours.

Look at him. You can see it in his frog eyes! He's done, that's what he

is!" With a swift gesture his gun was at his shoulder.

Gratton scrambled to his feet with a choking cry. Gloria, too, had

sprung up, sick with horror. She looked from Brodie to Gratton, who was

not two feet from her. She saw that he was panic-stricken; his fear was

choking him, stopping his heart, paralysing his muscles. He wanted to

run and could not; he tried to speak but now not even a whisper came

from between his writhing lips.

Slowly, an unshaken, senseless piece of machinery, Brodie raised his

rifle. Now Gratton's voice returned to him; a strangling cry broke from

his agonized soul. A hand, wildly outthrown, caught at Gloria's sleeve.

"You, there," called Brodie, "stand aside. Unless you're wanting yours

too!"

Her own heart was stopping, her feet were leaded. She understood what he

said--she knew that it was to her that he spoke--but she wouldn't

believe, couldn't believe that he meant--_that_!

Gratton was pressing tight to Gloria, seeking futilely to get behind

her. He began to articulate--to beg--to promise----

Brodie fired. A great reverberating roar filled the cavern. Gloria, her

brain gone suddenly numb, felt the grip on her arm tighten convulsively.

Then it relaxed--slowly. Gratton, his eyes bulging, his mouth wide open,

was sinking----

Gloria put her hands over her eyes and screamed. Again and again her

scream broke from her. She tried to draw back, to run. But all her

strength was gone. She crumpled and settled down almost as Gratton had

done, and so close to him that she brushed him with her knee. She felt

the body twitch. She leaped to her feet and ran blindly, screaming. She

struck against the rock wall and sank down again.

The wonder was that she did not swoon outright. As it was, her soul

seemed to float dizzily out of her body and through an utter dark. She

thought that she was dying. As though across a vast distance she heard

voices.

"Well?" It was the man who had done the shooting, his voice truculent.

"Anybody got anything to say? Say it quick, if you have."

There was a silence. Then a shuffling of feet. Then an answering voice,

thin and querulous. It was Benny; he, too, had killed his man.

"He had it coming," he said eagerly. "Any judge would say so. Stole

every bit of grub when stealing grub is the same as cutting a man's

throat, just like you said, Brodie. He had it coming. You done right."

"You, Jarrold," demanded Brodie. "Got anything to say?"

Again silence. Then again a voice, Jarrold's, saying hurriedly:

"No. Benny's right. He had it coming. Damn fool."

"And you, Brail? And you, Tony? Got anything to say? Talk lively!"

Brail and Tony, like the others before them, were quick to excuse

Brodie's act. They spoke briefly and relapsed into silence. Then,

beginning far away and coming closer with the speed of an onrushing

hurricane, Gloria heard heavy feet crunching in the dirt and gravel. A

hard hand gripped her shoulder, jerking her to her feet.

"You, friend," said Brodie. "What have you got to say about it?"

She hung limp in his powerful hand, speechless.

He dragged her closer to the firelight, peering at her with his

red-flecked eyes.

"Don't forget who she is," another voice was saying. Steve Jarrold's.

"Remember what I told you."

It was as though he prided himself on the fact that he alone knew her

for Gaynor's daughter, and from it derived a sort of ownership of her;

for while the others had never caught a glimpse of her until now, he had

filled his eyes with her before. "We got to think this out. She came

along with King. Got enough of him and switched to Gratton. That's like

a woman."

Brodie let her slip down and turned away from her. His mood was not so

soon for a woman.

"See she keeps her mouth shut," he said threateningly. "If she ain't got

sense enough for that she ain't got sense to go on living."

Benny stooped and feasted his eyes on her. Then, straightening up, he

turned to Jarrold with nodding approval.

"She skins anything _I_ ever saw," he admitted.

In some strange way it seemed to Gloria that both Benny and Brodie had

consigned her to Jarrold as though they admitted his prior claim; as

though, among these three, she was looked upon as the property of one.

She struggled to her feet.

"Don't let her go," said Brodie. "That's all I got to say about her

right now."

She made an uncertain step toward the mouth of the cave. Jarrold moved

at her side. She went faster. He put his hand on her.

"Didn't you hear what he said?" he asked.

She tried to break away and run. He held her One clear thought and only

one formed in her mind. As she had never longed for anything in her

life, she yearned for Mark King.

"Mark!" she screamed, "Mark King! Save me."

Jarrold clapped a big dirty hand over her mouth. He put a wiry arm about

her and lifted her and carried her back to the fireside.

"None of that," he growled in her ear. She shrank away as she felt the

tensing of his arm and was conscious of the contact of his rag-clothed

body. She grew silent, cowering. She heard a sound of something dragging

and could not hide her fascinated eyes. Thus she watched as Brodie

gripped the slack of Gratton's coat shoulders and shoved the body out

into the snow. She even marked how the living man spat after the dead.

"Go to the coyotes," he muttered. "They're your kind."

Gloria knew that if she took a step Jarrold would clutch her again. So

she stood very still. Brodie came back and threw some wood on the fire

and squatted down over the provisions, seeming to be taking stock of

them. Perhaps he was but strengthening his heart, digesting the evidence

of the case, assuring himself again after the accomplished fact that the

deed was just. Still squatting, he drank again, this time from the

bottle which had been Gratton's. As he tilted it up she saw that it was

two-thirds full. When he put it down with a long sigh and wiped his wet

mouth it was not over half-full. He brooded over the fire, he gave no

sign of noticing her.

"Let me go," she said to Jarrold. "I am sick. I'd die here. Please let

me go."

Jarrold shifted and looked to his companions. Benny shook his head.

"There ain't no hurry," he stated judicially. "What sort is she, Steve?"

"She come up to Gaynor's place along with Gratton," answered Jarrold as

though he knew all about her. "He was crazy gone on her, crazy enough to

want to marry her, even. Sent me for the judge. Then Mark King showed

up. She fell for him and gave Gratton the go-by. Then she comes into the

mountains with King, I guess. Next she gets tired of him and goes back

to Gratton."

"'Frisco woman?" asked Benny.

Jarrold nodded. Benny clacked his tongue. Brodie still brooded at his

fire, his eyes sullen upon the fitful flame and red embers.

"Where is King?" asked Brodie.

"Where is King?" repeated Jarrold to Gloria.

"I don't know," she answered, speaking with difficulty. "I ... Oh, for

God's sake, let me go. I won't say anything about what I saw; I promise.

If you will only let me go."

"They promise easy and break promises easier," said Jarrold.

Benny came up and touched Brodie on the shoulder. The squatting man

started and scowled. Benny stooped and whispered. Brodie got up heavily

and together the two withdrew, going further back in the cave. They

talked, but Gloria could not catch the words. She saw the flare of one

match after the other as they fell to smoking; the smell of strong

tobacco came to her. She looked appealingly to Jarrold. He sidled

closer, standing between her and the open.

"I'll pay you a thousand dollars when I get back to San Francisco," she

whispered eagerly. "Ten thousand! If you'll let me go now."

Jarrold pondered, his stupid little eyes steady and unwinking on her.

"A thousand dollars," he returned slowly, "wouldn't do me any good if I

never got it: as I wouldn't if none of us got clear of this damn' snow;

neither would ten I And it wouldn't do me any good if Benny and Brodie

shot me full of lead. And it wouldn't be much, anyhow, if we got away

with what we found to-day! Everything being as it is, I ain't half as

strong for a thousand dollars, nor yet ten, right now as I am for you!

And you know it, don't you?"

He tried to ogle her, and her sick dread nearly overwhelmed her.

"And you got sense, too," went on Jarrold, leering meaningly. "It won't

be bad to have a man stuck on you that's got all kind of kale, will it,

girlie?"

As he poured out his wretched insinuations she was trembling; in her

heart she thought that she had spoken truly and would die if they kept

her here.

"I am married. To Mr. King," she said as steadily as she could. "I want

to go to him. You have no right to keep me here."

"But you don't even know where he is," Jarrold reminded her slyly.

Brodie and Benny had given over their whispering and came back to the

fire, where Brail and the Italian looked up at them sharply. Here was

another guarded conference among the four; Gloria, though she could

watch them, was unable to hear what they were saying. Jarrold began to

grow uneasy, so soon is distrust bred amongst those who have found

treasure.

Brodie made a last remark and laughed; the others laughed after him, and

the four looked toward Jarrold and Gloria. Brodie, leaning back, caught

up a bottle and drank, and thereafter passed the bottle to the man

nearest him. Gloria was quick to see that he had set his rifle away

somewhere against the rock wall in the shadows. Only Brail still clung

to his gun; if he should set it aside--if there should come a moment

when she could slip to the cave's mouth--in the outside dark, despite

the deep snow, she would at least have a chance to escape from them.

Even though she had nowhere to go, she longed wildly to be away from

them. When their eyes roved toward her she thought that she would rather

be dead, out in the clean, white snow, than here.

She wondered if these men were as utterly callous as they seemed.

Gratton, so newly dead, appeared forgotten. They laughed and drank, they

smoked and spat, they soiled her with their eyes and their talk, quite

as though they had neither knowledge nor memory of manslaughter done.

Benny alone, for a brief period, appeared nervous. She wondered what he

was doing; he had rolled back his coat-sleeve; he was jabbing at his

bare forearm with something which now and then caught and reflected the

firelight. After a long time she heard a long sigh from Benny; he pulled

down his coat-sleeve. The others laughed again.

"It's time we had a little talk," said Brodie out of a short silence.

"Without anybody's skirt listening in. Leave her back there, further

from the front door, Jarrold. Where she can't get an earful, and where

she can't make a getaway; you come on over here a minute."

Gloria made no resistance but sank down limply where Jarrold left her

and watched him as he slouched over to the fire. She sought to hear

their words, to read the looks on their faces. But she caught only a

monotonous mutter, unintelligible but evil, and saw only the bottle

passing from one to the other. Brodie finished it and hurled it from him

so that it broke noisily. A few times she heard them laugh; she could

distinguish Brodie's throaty, bull tone and Benny's nervous cackle.

Jarrold did not appear made for mirth, and him she feared most of all;

yes, even more than Brodie, whom she had seen do murder, and Benny who,

she knew, had done murder. Brail and the Italian said little; they were

men to follow where other men led. She fancied that several times Steve

Jarrold's little eyes left the bottle, the faces of his companions, and

even the pile of gold to quest for her face in the dark.

"Come here," commanded Brodie.

She started. He was calling to her! She got up and moved forward slowly.

It was obey or be dragged to him. In the pale light by the fire,

standing so that the blaze was between the five men and herself, she

stopped. Until now she had been very white; suddenly she knew that her

face must be flooded with bright red; she could feel the burn of it.

The eyes of the men seemed veritably to disregard her clothes, to make

her feel another Lady Godiva.

"Gratton's, then King's, then Gratton's again?" Brodie chuckled. "I

don't care whose before Gratton's the first time; but whose after

Gratton's the last time, that's it! Who are you for, Bright-Eyes? Me or

Steve?"

"No!" she cried, her hands at her breast. "No! I am not like that! I was

not Gratton's; I am ... I am Mark King's wife!"

"So?" admitted Brodie good-humouredly. "Well, that cuts no ice; it's

open and shut you'd gone back to Gratton. Now, come over here. Closer."

"I won't," she shuddered. "You don't dare make me! I ... Oh, won't you

let me go? You have your gold there; you have gold and whiskey; you

don't want me...."

"Whiskey, gold, and women," muttered Brodie. "They go together fine. And

quit that little schoolgirl dodge; you make me sick. If you wasn't what

you are, you wouldn't be where you are. Come over here and give us a

kiss." He jerked from his pocket a dull lump, one of the smaller, richer

nuggets. "I'm no pincher; come across and I'll give you a whole handful

of gold!" His tone was playful.

But Jarrold cut in less playfully:

"Leave her alone, Brodie," he advised. "She don't cotton to you, and,

what's more, whose gold is it, anyhow? We ain't divided yet. And

she.... Well, if she belongs to anybody, she's mine!"

"So?" Brodie's monosyllable was expressionless. "Well, I was asking

_her_. And she ain't answered yet."

Fast as the girl's heart beat, her thoughts sought to fly faster. These

men were brutes; here she began, and, alas, here she ended. She had

never known what brute meant; she had called Mark King that! And now, if

only Mark King could hear her call, could come to her.... But that was

less thought than prayer. These were brute beasts; their bestiality when

they had first come upon her was terrifying; now, as the alcohol burned

in their half-starved stomachs and the further intoxication of gold

crept into their blood, her terror was boundless. In a moment she would

feel upon her either the hands of Brodie or the hands of Jarrold. And

she was helpless and hopeless. Until, since life connotes hope, there

came a faint flicker of light. And with it came a sudden, compelling,

swift longing. If she might set them to quarrelling over her, to send a

snarling man at a snarling man's throat.... Her hands dropped to her

sides, and were clenched; she lifted her chin; with all that strength

that lay in the innermost soul of Gloria King she strove to drive her

great fear out of her eyes, to hide it from their wolfish regard, to

summon up in its stead a mocking inscrutability. There was but one thing

left to do, but one part to play----Oh, God, if she could play the

part! She stood motionless, silent; she battled with herself; she

struggled mightily for a calm utterance. And in the end she said in a

tone which she managed to make full of challenge:

"Which of you is the better man?"

They stared at her, all of them puzzled by her change of attitude as by

her words. Then Brodie, with a noisy explosion of laughter, smote his

thigh and, after him, Benny giggled foolishly.

"The better man!" Brodie shouted. "Hear her, Steve, old horse? The

better man!" He lunged to his feet; he stood solidly, unswerving though

more than ever slow and ponderous. "I'll go you, Steve. The lady's

right; she goes to the man who's man enough to get her. That's big Swen

Brodie, the best man in these mountains! I'll go you for her, Steve. By

God, she's worth it, too."

But Steve Jarrold sat where he was, glaring.

"She's sly," he grunted, cursing before and after. "Can't you see what

she's up to? She wants us to fight one another; she'd be glad if we both

killed one another. You don't understand women, Brodie; they're sly like

cats."

"Make a auction out'n it!" was Benny's mirthful suggestion. "Why just

you two guys, anyway? Where do you get that stuff? Free for all, that's

what I say!" He waved his bottle. "Auction her off, that's what I say!

I'll give a bottle of whiskey for her; hey, Brodie?"

Brodie had laughed when Jarrold spoke; he laughed now. But he looked to

Jarrold and not Benny as he spoke; he extended his great hands, the

fingers crooked, curving slowly inward, like steel hooks.

"I can eat you alive, and you know it, Steve," he mocked. "What's more,

_she_ knows it! That's what she wants; she's picked me, Steve! That's

just her way of letting you down easy; she don't aim to hurt your

feelings. Will you come on and take a fall for her? Or is the lady mine?

What's the word? Speak up, man!"

Gloria saw that Jarrold, though he sent a black, scowling look at the

bigger man, was afraid. And yet they must fight--they must be driven to

blows--she must somehow set them at each others' throats. It was so hard

to think at all! Yet she could think forward to one occurrence only that

could give her respite and a frail chance for freedom: if they would

only fight as, in some dim instinctive way, it was given her to

understand that such men would fight once a wrathful blow had been given

and taken--if the others would only watch them and not her, if she could

come to one of the rifles--or outside----

She turned to Jarrold. She gathered herself for the final supreme

effort. She made her eyes grow bright through sheer force of will; she

made her lips cease trembling and curve to a smile at the man; she even

concealed her loathing and put a ringing note, almost of laughter, into

her voice as she said softly:

"I know you are not afraid--and I think--yes, I am sure, that you could

whip him!"

Steve Jarrold's eyes flashed. Then they left hers lingeringly; Brodie

was stamping impatiently, calling to him.

"Take her!" snapped Jarrold. "Hell take both of you."

The laughter and challenge went out of Swen Brodie's bloodshot eyes; a

new red surged all of a sudden into them. He turned and came slowly

about the fire, his arms still uplifted, the crooking fingers toward

Gloria.

_Chapter XXX_

Scream after scream burst from Gloria's lips; taut nerves seemed to snap

all through her body like over-stressed violin strings. She ran, ran

anywhere, ran blindly. She ran into Benny, who clutched at her; she fled

away from him, back toward the darker end of the cave. The low rumble of

a man's laughter answered her; drunken laughter from Brodie. Whether

drunk with whiskey or with gold or with lust did not matter; drunk he

was. Gloria's shriek rose like a madwoman's; Brodie's thick laughter was

its sinister echo. Another man called out something; the slow, heavy

feet of Swen Brodie were following, following. Boots scuffling, Brodie

pursuing with a wide, patient grin; he was in no hurry, he was so sure

of her!

His hands were almost on her. Gloria whipped aside and ran again. He

kept between her and the front of the cave; with all of his grinning

patience he was as watchful as a cat. She was driven back and back,

deeper and deeper into the narrowing tunnel. He came on. He would be

upon her in another half-dozen slow, ponderous strides. She could not

pass him; she could not dart forward and out; his arms were widely

extended on either side. He was expecting that. She could only save

herself from him second by second--and the seconds were running out

swiftly.

She prayed to God in wild passionate supplication. She prayed for sudden

death, death before those horrid, crooked fingers touched her. But while

she prayed to God it was of Mark King that she thought. And Mark King,

because of her usage of him, was miles and miles away, so far that her

despairing shrieks died without penetrating one-millionth part of the

empty wastes across which he had trudged. And still she drew back and

back and still she prayed for the miracle as she had done that day when

she had seen King coming toward her with a rope in his hand, prayed for

the earth to split asunder, for a flame to leap out and consume the

beast crowding closer upon her--to consume him or herself.

At last she was at the end. The end of the passage-way, the end of hope.

Brodie came on, his arms out. She could hear him breathing. She could

smell the whiskey he reeked with.... Beyond him she saw Jarrold

squatting by the fire; Brail leaning on his rifle, guarding the

entrance; Benny and the Italian lounging in the shadows. Figures of

hell, watching Brodie's actions with aloof interest ...Brodie made the

last step; she felt his hand on her arm, closing, drawing her forward;

the last agonized shriek burst from her....

"Oh, God--oh, dear God----"

She did not hear and Brodie did not hearken to a sudden new sound in the

cave grown suddenly still; the sound of a cascade of loose stones. They

came with a rush, they piled up near the middle of the open cave,

dropping from the shadowy rock roof above. But Benny, always on nerve

edge, shrilled:

"Look out! A cave-in"

She heard--God had heard----Better crushed under a falling mountain

than in those brute arms.

And then she saw. From ten feet above, straight down dropped something

else. Taut nerves of those who saw fancied it a great boulder falling.

But no boulder this, which, striking the little pile of rocks, became

animated, rose, whirled, and----

"Mark!" screamed Gloria. "Mark!"

Turned to stone, incredulous of their eyes, bewildered beyond the power

to move, were those who saw. It was Brail who first understood, Brail

the one man with a gun in his hands. He whipped it up and began firing,

nervous and excited. It was after the second shot that King's rifle

answered him; it roared out like the crash of doom in Gloria's ears; she

saw the stabbing spurt of fire. Brail sagged where he stood, crumpled

and pitched forward, his rifle clattering loudly against the rocks.

But by now the brief stupor that had locked the other men in staring

inaction was gone. Gloria saw figures leaping forward; she knew that

Brodie's hands had relinquished her; she saw Brodie bearing down on

King, roaring inarticulately as he went; she saw Benny and Jarrold and

the Italian bearing down upon him; King was in the midst of all that.

They were upon him before Brail's head had struck the ground. They gave

him no time, no space for another shot. He swept his clubbed rifle high

over his head; she heard the blow when he struck, the hideous sound of a

crushing skull. A man went down, she did not know which one. Only it was

not Mark--thank God it was not Mark King!

And now King had a little room and an instant of his own as two other

men swerved widely about the falling figure. He fired again, not putting

the rifle to his shoulder. Another man fell, lay screaming, rolled

aside--was forgotten.

"Where's my rifle?" Brodie was yelling.

He couldn't find it in the dark; he couldn't stop to grope for it. But

Gloria knew; she remembered. She ran for it, found it, straightened up

with it in her shaking hands.

Again King was using his weapon as a club, since they pressed him so

closely. Again came that terrible sound; Steve Jarrold it was who went

down. And with it another sound, that of hard wood splintering. The

rifle was broken over his head, the stock whirled close to Gloria, King

had only the short heavy steel barrel in his hands.

Benny had circled to the far side; Brodie had caught up a great thick

limb of wood. They were coming at King from two sides at once.... Gloria

tried to aim, pulled the trigger, tugging frantically. Only then she

remembered to draw the hammer back; it was Brodie's ancient rifle and

she struggled to get it cocked. She shuddered at the report. The bullet

sang in front of Benny, and he stopped dead in his tracks. He was near

the cave's mouth. Gloria pointed, forgot the hammer remembered, got the

gun cocked and fired again. Benny plunged wildly forward; she did not

know if she had hit him. He hurled himself headlong toward the narrow

exit and through.

She had forgotten Brodie and King! She turned toward them. She did not

dare shoot now; King was in the way. He moved aside as if he understood

her trouble; Brodie, grown unthinkably quick of foot, moved with him.

Brodie, too, understood. She saw him leap in and strike. The blow

landed, a glancing blow. King seemed to have grown tired; he moved so

slowly. But he did move and toward Brodie; he swung his clubbed

rifle-barrel and beat at Brodie's great face with it. Beat and missed

and almost fell forward. Again Brodie struck; again King beat at him.

They moved up and down, back and forth; Brodie was cursing under his

breath, and at last jeering. King was moving more and more slowly; his

left arm swung as if it were useless; Brodie swept up his club in both

hands, grunting audibly with every blow.... Oh, if she could only

shoot ... if she only dared shoot! But Brodie, nimble on his feet that

had been so patiently slow just now, kept King always in front of him,

between him and Gloria's rifle.

"I'll get you, King. I'll get you," shouted Brodie, his voice exulting.

"I always wanted to get you--right!"

There was a crash, the splintering of wood against steel. Both men had

struck together; Brodie's club had broken to splinters. And the

rifle-barrel in King's hands flew out of his grip and across the cave,

ringing out as it struck. The two men, their hands empty, stood a moment

staring at each other. Then Brodie shouted, a great shout of triumph,

and sprang forward. And Mark King, steadying himself, ignoring the hot

trickle of blood down his side where Benny's second bullet had torn his

flesh, met him with a cry that was like Brodie's own. In his hot brain

there was no thought of handicap, of odds, of Brodie's advantage. There

was only the mad rage which had hurled him here, one man against five in

a girl's defence, that and a raving, unleashed blood lust, the desire,

overshadowing all else, to have Brodie's brute throat in his hands, to

batter Brodie's brute face into the rocks. They met in their onrush like

two bodies hurled from catapults; they struck and grappled and fell and

rolled together, one now as they strove, locked in the embrace of death.

An embrace in which Brodie's was the greater weight, the greater girth,

the greater strength--and Mark King's the greater sheer, clean manhood.

Gloria ran toward them, the rifle shaking in her hands. Brodie feared

her and strove to turn and twist so that she could not shoot. King saw

her and shouted in a terrible voice which was not like Mark King's

voice:

"Don't shoot--let me--"

She did not heed; she would shoot--if ever she could be sure that she

would not shoot him. But she did not dare--they thrashed about so madly.

They were like octopuses in mortal combat; their arms flailing seemed

more than four arms----

Brodie had his hands at King's throat--King's hands were at Brodie's

throat. She saw Brodie's bestial face gloating. He was so confident now.

She saw his great hands shut down, sinking into the flesh. King's face,

when she got one swift glimpse of it, was set, void of expression.

King's hands, with tendons bursting, sank deeper and deeper. Then she

understood that each man had the grip that he wanted; that it was a mere

matter now of strength and endurance and will--and that glorious thing,

sheer, clean manhood.

They were breathing terribly; they lay stiller, stiller. They did not

thrash about so much. Their eyes were starting out of their sockets;

their faces were turning purple--or was it the firelight? Men's faces

could not look like that--not while the men lived. They gasped now; they

did not breathe.

One of Brodie's hands came away hastily. He began battering at King's

face, battering like a steam-piston. The blows sounded loudly; blood

broke out under the terrific pounding. King's grip did not alter, did

not shift. His eyes were shut but he clung on, grim, looking a dead man,

but a man whose will lasted on after death. Brodie wrenched; they rolled

over. Still King's hands did not leave their grip.

They were on their feet, staggering up and down, two men moulded

together like one man. Brodie struck blow after blow, and with every

thud Gloria winced and felt a pain through her own body. And still King

held his grip, both hands sunk deep into the thick throat.

They were apart, two blind, staggering men. What parted them they did

not know and Gloria could not see. Thus they stood for a second only.

Brodie lifted his hands--weak hands rising slowly, slowly--uncertainly.

King saw him through a gathering mist; Brodie opened his mouth to draw

in great sobbing breaths of air. King, the primal rage upon him, saw the

great double teeth bared, and thought that his enemy was laughing at

him. It was King who gathered himself first and struck first. All of the

will he had, all of the endurance left in his battered body, all of the

strength God gave him, he put into that blow. He struck Brodie full in

the face, between the little battered blue eyes. And Brodie fell. He

rose; he got to his knees and sagged up and forward. King's shout then

was to ring through Gloria's memory for days to come; he bore down on

Swen Brodie, caught him about the great body, lifted him clear of the

floor and hurled him downward. Brodie struck heavily, his head against

the rocks. And where he fell he lay--stunned or dead.

"Come," said King to Gloria. "Come quick."

He turned toward the cave's mouth and with one hand began to drag away

the stones so that they could go out. His other hand was pressed to his

side. His work done, he picked up the rifle at his feet and went out.

Gloria, swaying and stumbling, came after him. Neither spoke a word as

they made a slow way through the snow. King went unsteadily with

dragging feet. They climbed the cliff laboriously. They were in their

cave--it was like home. She dropped down on the fir-boughs, stumbling to

them in the dark.

_Chapter XXXI_

Gloria did not know if she had slept or fainted. When she regained

consciousness, though it was pitch dark and dead still, there was no

first puzzled moment of uncertainty. That last wonderfully glad thought

which had filled brain and heart when she sank down on her fir-boughs

had persisted throughout her moments or hours of unconsciousness,

pervading her subconscious self gloriously, flowering spontaneously in

an awakening mind: Mark King had come back to her in her moment of

peril; he had battled for her like the great-hearted hero that he was,

he had saved her and had brought her home. Back home! She had prayed to

God when utter undoing seemed inevitable, when death had seemed more

desirable than life, and He had answered. He had sent Mark King to her!

She was saved, and though it was cold and dark and still, she felt her

heart singing within her. Having lived through all that she had endured,

having been brought safely through it, she was as confident of the

future as though never had evil menaced her. She felt new strength

coursing through her blood, new hope rising within her, new certainty

that all was right with her and Mark King, that all would be right

eternally. Terror and anguish and despair that had surged over her in so

many great flooding waves now receded and were gone; in their place

shone the great flame of life triumphant; she thrilled through with the

largeness of life.

Never, thank God, would she forget how Mark King, forgetful of self,

contemptuous of the frightful odds against him, had hurled himself into

the midst of those drunken brutes; never would she forget how godlike he

had stood forth in her eyes as those others leaped upon him and he beat

them back. Forgetful of self--he had always been forgetful of self! She

could not think of him as she had ever thought of any other man she had

ever known--for what other man would have come to her as he had done,

courting death gladly if only he could stand between her and the hideous

thing that attacked her? The rush of great events had swept her mind

clear of pettiness and prejudice; they bore her on from familiar

view-points and to new levels; like roaring winds out of a tempestuous

north they cleared away the wretched fogs that had enwrapped a

self-centred girl; they made her see a man in the naked glory of his

sheer, clean manhood.

To her now he stood forth clothed in magnificence. She could think upon

him only in superlatives. He was fearless and he was unselfish; he was

kind and generous and as honest-hearted as God's own clear sunshine.

She knew now, suddenly and for the first time, because he had shown her,

what the simple word _man_ meant. How far apart he stood from such as

Brodie, the beast! How high above such as Gratton!--And once, in the

city, she had been ashamed of him and had turned to Gratton! Because he

had appeared to her without just so much black cloth upon his back cut

in just such a style! And now how bitterly she was ashamed of her shame.

But for only an instant. Thereafter she forgot shame of any sort and

exulted in her pride of him and in her pride that she was proud.

Yes, in glad defiance of a Gloria that had been, she was proud of the

manhood of a man who had beaten her! He had been right; he had done that

as the last argument with an empty-headed, selfish girl who deserved no

better at his hands, a girl who had been like the Gratton whom she so

abhorred and despised--despised even in death. She had been like Gratton

the cowardly, contemptible, petty, selfish--dishonourable! All along

Mark King had been right and she had been wrong, at every step. He had

been gentle and patient after a fashion which now set her wondering and,

in the end, lifted him to new heights in her esteem. When, without

loving him, she had lied with her eyes and married him, that had been a

Gratton sort of trick--like stealing his partners' food----

_Without loving him_! No, thank God; not that! She had always loved him;

she loved him now with her whole heart and soul, with an adoration she

had saved for him. When in the springtime she had ridden with him

through the forest-lands, when their hands had touched, when he had held

her in his arms--when she had seen him that first time from the stairway

and had looked down into his clear eyes and through them into his

heart--she had always loved him! She wanted suddenly to go to him, to

slip into his arms, to make herself humble in pleading for his

forgiveness. She was not afraid that he would not forgive; he was so big

of heart that he would understand.

"Mark!" she called softly.

In the utter dark she could see nothing. The absolute stillness was

unbroken. She called anxiously: "Mark, where are you?" There was no

answer. She sprang up and called to him over and over. When still there

was no reply she began a hurried search for a match; there were still

some upon the rock shelf. Then it was that she stumbled over something

sprawling on the floor.

"Mark!" she cried again. "Oh--Mark----"

She found a match; she got some dry twigs blazing. In their light she

saw him. He lay on his back like a dead man, his arms outflung, his

white face turned up toward hers. There was a great smear of blood

across his brow, the track of a bloody hand as it had sought to wipe a

gathering dimness out of his eyes. The fire burned brighter; she saw it

glisten upon a little pool of blood at her side. She knelt and bent over

him, scarcely breathing. If he were dead--if, after all this, Mark King

were dead----His eyes were closed; his face was deathly white, looking

the more ghastly from the dark stain across it. She lifted her own hand

that had touched his side and looked at it with wide frightened eyes;

it, too, was red. At that moment King's face was no ghastlier than hers.

For a little while she sat motionless, her brain reeling. But almost

immediately her brain cleared and there stood forth as in a white light

the one thought: _Mark King was about to die, and he must not die_! For

he was Mark King, valiant and full of vigour and vitality, a man strong

and hardy and lusty, a man who would not be beaten! He was the victor,

not the vanquished. And, further, she, Gloria King, Mark King's wife,

would not let him die! He was hers, her own; she would hold him back to

her. Had he not come to her when she needed him, and done his uttermost

for her? If now she was filled with life and the pulsating love of life,

it was his doing. And now it was her task--her glorious, God-given

privilege!--to do for him, to fight for him, ignoring the odds against

her, to save him. She sprang up filled with stubborn, confident

determination. He was hers and she would not let him die. She had

learned to fight; she had fought against Gratton, against Brodie; she

would fight as she had never done until now against death itself.

He was big and she little, yet she dragged his bed close to his side and

got her arms about him and lifted him enough to get him upon the

blankets. She ran to her fire and piled and piled wood on it until the

flames roared noisily and brightened everything about her. She ran back

to him and knelt again and slipped her hand inside his shirt, seeking

his heart. The deep chest was barely warmer than death; the heart

stirred only faintly. But it did beat. She sought the wound Brail's

bullet had made and found it in his side. There was blood on her hands

but she did not notice it now. She found where the bullet had entered

and where it had torn its way out through his flesh. She did not know if

any vital organ lay in that narrow span or if any major artery had been

severed or if the rifle-ball had merely glanced along the ribs and been

deflected by them; she only knew that he had lost much blood, that it

must have gushed freely while he strove with Swen Brodie, and that now

it must be stopped utterly. There seemed to be so little blood left in

the pale, battered body! She did see how in the intense cold it had

coagulated over the wounds, checking its own flow. But she did not mean

for him to lose another precious drop. And then it was that Gloria's

hands achieved the first really important work they had ever done in her

life. She tore bits away from her own under-garments and made soft pads

over each wound; with their butcher-knife she cut a long strip from a

blanket. This she wound about his limp body, making a long, tight

bandage. All this time he had not moved; she had to bend close to be

sure that he still breathed. She got snow and wiped his face clean of

blood, touching the closed eyelids gently.

When still the eyes remained shut and he looked like one already dead,

she longed wildly for some stimulant. There was coffee; she would make

hot coffee do. She got the coffee-pot among the coals, filled it with

snow to melt, recklessly poured coffee into it. Then, while she awaited

the slow heating, she returned to him and for the first time saw how wet

his boots were.

She got the boots off and felt his feet; she stooped over them until

for an instant she laid her cheek against a bare foot. It was like ice.

She recalled how he had ministered to her. She heated a blanket and

wrapped it about his feet and ankles. She heated other blankets and put

them about him. The canvas at the cave's mouth had been torn down; she

got it back into place to make it warmer for him. She put fresh wood on

the fire. She hastened the coffee boiling all that she could by placing

bits of dry wood close all about the pot.

She knelt at King's side; she got an arm under his shoulders and managed

to lift him a little; she rolled up a blanket and put it under his head.

Then she brought the cup of black coffee and with a spoon got some of it

between his teeth. She spilled more than went into his mouth but she was

rewarded by seeing the throat muscles contract as involuntarily he

swallowed. Thus, patient and determined and very, very gentle with him,

she got several spoonfuls of coffee down him. Thereafter she let him lie

back again while she sought to plan cool-thoughtedly just how she must

care for him, just what she could do for him. She knew little of nursing

and yet knew instinctively that his condition was precarious, that he

must be kept warm and still, that what strength remained in him must be

saved by proper nourishment. _Proper nourishment_!

There were scraps of food left; Brodie and his men, in their gold fever,

had not so much as thought to gather up the few bits of scanty

provisions. She began taking careful stock; she found a scrap of bread

that had been knocked to the floor and kicked aside; she picked it up

and, carrying a torch with her, began seeking any other fallen morsels.

In this search she came once to the hole in the floor through which

Brodie and the others had gone down into Gus Ingle's treasure-chamber.

And at its side she found something which at this moment was a thousand

times more precious in her staring eyes than if it had been so much

solid gold. It was a great hunk of fresh meat. Instantly she knew how it

had come here. King had killed his bear! That was why he had returned

to-night. He had brought it here; had missed her; had dropped it here.

And then? She understood now, too, how he had come so unexpectedly into

the lowest cave. He had gone down through this hole and had known a

passage-way which led on down. She stood by the hole, bending over it,

listening, wondering if any man stirred down there. But that was but for

a moment. She caught up the bear meat, carrying it in both arms, and

hurried back to her fire.

Though she knew little more of cookery than of nursing, she set about

the very sensible task of making a strong broth. The proper nourishment

that had seemed so impossible a moment ago was now ready at hand.

"God is good," she whispered, a sudden new gush of love and reverence in

her heart. "He will help me now."

For herself, since her own strength must be kept up, she cooked a strip

of the meat on the coals. Then she went to King and for a long time sat

at his side, her eyes upon his white face, her hand clasping his. Again

and again she stooped and laid her cheek against the strong but now lax

fingers; once she put her lips to his forehead; when she sat back her

eyes were wet and the slow tears welled up and trickled unnoticed down

her cheeks. But they were tears which left the heart sweetened, tears of

tenderness, of gratitude, of sympathy and love.

As the night wore on, since she was determined that King should not be

chilled, her fire consumed a great part of the wood. More wood must be

brought; to-night or in the morning. She went to the canvas flap and

looked out. There were clouds, but also there were wide rifts through

which the stars blazed in all of that glorious crystalline beauty of the

stars of the winter Sierra. While she stood looking out the moon, almost

at the full, gilded a cloud edge, and after a moment broke through like

an augury of joy. Stars and moon made the wilderness over into a land of

fairy; at ten million points the snow caught the light, flashing it back

as though the white robe spread over the solitudes were sewn with gems.

Never had the world looked so white as now with a rare light shining

upon its smooth purity; it was clean and fresh, gloriously spotless.

Where black shadows lay they but accentuated the whiteness across which

they fell.

Out of this sleeping, enchanted land, rising above it, sweeping across

it, a low voice like a whisper came to her, a whisper in her ears that

became a song in her heart. The snow that had, clung to the pines,

muting their needles and stilling their branches, had dropped on during

the day. Now the night wind which drove the clouds lingered through the

pine tops and set them swaying gently in the vast, harmonic rhythm which

is like the surging of a distant ocean. The everlasting whisper of the

pines, that ancient hushed voice which through the countless centuries

has never been still save when briefly silenced by the snow; which had

borne its message to Gloria when on that first day she went with Mark

King into the mountains; which many a time had mingled with her fancies,

tingeing them, leading her to dream of another life than that of city

streets; which now, suddenly, set chords vibrating softly in her own

bosom. All these days it had been stilled; had it called her ears would

have been deaf to it. But now insistently it bore a message to her, such

a message as from now on she would hear in the quiet voices of her

little camp-fire. To her, attuned by those varying emotions which

latterly had had their wills with her, it was the ancient call; the

summons back to the real things of his, to the bigness and the true

meaning of life. Rising in response to it, awakening in her own breast,

were the old human, instinctive influences, sprouting seeds in the blood

of her forbears. It was the eternal call of the mother earth that one

like Gloria must hear and hearken to and understand before she could set

firm feet upon the ashes of a vanquished self to rise to the true things

of womanhood. It was the

"... one everlasting Whisper day and night repeated--so:

Something hidden. Go and find it. Go and look behind the Ranges--

Something lost behind the Ranges. Lost and waiting for you. Go!"

Gloria understood. In her heart, lifting her eyes from the white glory

of the earth to the bright glory of the sky, she thanked God that she

understood.

Benny and the Italian were still alive and might be near? That did not

in any way affect the fact that there must be wood brought for King's

fire. She turned back for the rifle and the rope. She saw that King had

not stirred; that he seemed plunged in a deep, quiet sleep. She stood

over him, looking down at him with her love for him softening her eyes.

He was going to get well--_if she did her part_. And her part was so

clearly indicated; to give him broth and to keep his fire going. She did

not hesitate and she was not afraid as she went down the cliffs. She

meant to be Mark King's mate; she meant to be worthy of being his mate.

He had not hesitated, he had not been afraid, when one man against five

he dropped down into the lowest cave. She, like him, was of pioneer

stock. She remembered that impressive monument to pioneer fortitude

which stands in the mountains where the highway runs by Donner Lake; as

in a vision she saw the little group that crowns the rugged pile. The

woman, the pioneer mother, holding her baby to her breast, pressing on

with her own mate, looking fearlessly ahead, daring what might come, not

lagging behind the man, rather ready to lead the way should he falter.

It was a glorious thing to have blood like that in her veins; it was the

finest thing in the world to be a woman like that woman.

She stepped down into the packed snow at the base of the cliffs. Here

she stood looking up and down the gorge for any sign of Benny or of the

Italian or of any other of Brodie's crowd who might be alive and astir.

But she saw no one; even Gratton's body, where it had been tumbled out

into the snow, was hidden. She heard the deep, quiet breathing of the

pines; the canon stream rushed and gurgled and babbled, shouting as it

leaped over fails, flinging spray which the moonlight and starlight made

over into jewels.

Gloria worked at her fuel-gathering, working in the snow until her hands

and feet were nearly frozen. But her heart was warm. Though she made

haste and was ever watchful and on the alert, her mind filled with such

thoughts as had never come trooping into it before. Fragmentary, they

were like bright bits spinning about a common centre. She looked up at

the wide sky and it was borne in upon her that the universe was mighty

and wonderful and infinite; she looked into her own heart and saw where

she had been small and silly and finite. She saw that the snow-covered

ridges stretching endlessly were like a concrete symbol of that infinity

which extended above and about her; that they were clothed in beauty.

She knew that when Mark King was made whole again and had forgiven her

and they stood together, hand locked in hand, she would have no fear any

more for his mountains, but rather a great, abiding love. She saw that

her life had been empty; that only love could fill it, love and service

such as she was rendering to-night. Pretty clothes, dress suits, did not

matter, and strong, loyal hearts did matter. To-night she would rather

have Mark King hold her in his arms and say "I love you" than to have

all of the red gold in all of the world.

Three times that night she made the trip up and down the cliffs,

bringing wood. At the end, though near exhaustion, she sank down by the

fire for but a few minutes. The bear meat was boiling and bubbling; she

poured off a little of the broth, cooled it, and then, as she had given

King the coffee, she forced some of the strong soup between his teeth.

She touched his cheek and dared hope that it was not so icy cold; she

chafed his feet and wrapped them again in a not blanket. And then, with

all of her covers given to him, she drew a coat about her shoulders and

sat down at his side, on the edge of his blankets. And here, throughout

the night, she sat, dozing and waking, rising again and again to keep

the fire burning.

She started up to find it full day; she had been asleep, her head

against his knee. The fire was dying down; she jumped up and replenished

it, setting the broth back among the coals. King lay as he had lain last

night; his continued coma was like a profound quiet sleep. He was very

pale, and yet certainly not paler than when she had first looked upon

his blood-smeared face.

She went to the canvas screen and looked out. The sun was shining. And

oh, the glory of the sun after these long dark days! The sky was a deep,

serene, perfect blue. The snow shone and glittered and sparkled

everywhere. Down in the gorge she saw a little bird in quick flight. It

skimmed the water; it Lighted on a rock in the spray; it put back its

head and seemed to be bursting with a joy of song. A water-ouzel! A

friend from out a happy past----To Gloria it seemed that the world was

full of promise.

All day long she ministered to King, going back and forth tirelessly,

since love and hope inspired every step she made. None of Brodie's men

had come; she felt a strange confidence that they would not come. They

were afraid of King as jackals are afraid of a lion; further, they did

not know that he was wounded. She thought little of them, having much

else to think of. She wound King's watch, guessing at the time; she

judged it sensible to force a little nourishment upon him at regular

intervals and brought him his broth every two hours.

At a little before noon Gloria, stooping over the fire, started erect

and whirled about. King's eyes were open! She ran to him, dropping on

her knees beside him, catching up his hand, whispering:

"Mark! Oh, Mark--thank God!"

He looked at her strangely. There was a puzzled, bewildered expression

in his eyes. He strove to move and again looked at her with that strange

bewilderment. She saw his lips move--he wanted to say something, to ask

something and, deserted now by all of that magnificent strength on which

he had always leaned, was as weak as a baby.

"Don't try to talk, Mark," she cried softly. "Please; not yet. You are

better; everything is all right."

She gave his hand a last squeeze and hurried back to the fire; his eyes,

still shadow-filled, followed her curiously. She came back to him with

cup and spoon. This he could understand; he opened his lips for the

spoon, he accepted what she gave him and when she had finished lay

looking up at her wonderingly.

"You mustn't talk, Mark," she commanded him gently as, again, she knelt

by him. "You are getting so much stronger! I'll tell you everything. It

was last night; you have been unconscious ever since. None of the other

men have been near; I haven't even seen one of them."

She saw his eyes clear.

"Mark," she whispered, "we are safe here because--because you are so

wonderful! You were like a god--the bravest, noblest, best man in, all

the world! You came in time; you saved me, Mark; they had not put hand

upon me. And I am well and strong now; I am going to take care of you;

you must just lie still and get well--_Oh, Mark_----"

His eyes closed again; he seemed very faint, very weary. Hushed, she sat

tense, her eyes never moving from his face. After a long time he opened

his eyes again; he tried again to speak; when the words did not come he

managed a strange, shadowy smile with his bloodless lips and in another

moment had sunk again into that heavy sleep that was so like death.

When next, two hours later, she again brought his broth, he stirred at

her touch and awoke. This time his eyes cleared swiftly; he remembered

the other awakening and her words. He looked at her long and searchingly

and she understood what lay back of that look; he was wondering how she

managed, how she endured to care for them both, how without his active

aid she withstood hardship. And this time she smiled at him.

"I have been dining sumptuously on bear steaks," she told him lightly.

"And I have slept and kept warm. There has been no one near. And the

days are fine again. It was clear last night; the sun has been shining

all day. Now, when you've had your own lunch, I'll tell you anything you

want to know. Only you must not try to talk yet, Mark; not until

to-morrow. I want you strong and well again, you know; it's lonesome

without you."

She gave him, for the first time, a whole cup of broth, glorying in the

certainty that already he was stronger. But even yet his weakness was so

great that, before she had spoken a dozen sentences, he was asleep

again. Clearly, even to Gloria, if but a little more blood had ebbed

out of the wounded side, he would never have awakened; clearly to

Gloria, triumphant, it had been she who had held him back from death.

She, Gloria King, alone, had fought the great grim battle; hers was the

victory. For at last she knew with her brain, as all along she had known

in her heart, that it was to be victory.

So the hours passed. For the most part King slept, lapsing into the deep

stupor of a drugged man. But at times he stirred restlessly; with slowly

returning strength his wounds pained him; in his sleep he muttered;

Gloria, watching him, winced as she saw his brow contract and saw how he

tried to shift his body as though to pull away from something that hurt

him.

* * * * *

King was awake. Awakening, he tried to move. His utter weakness, like a

great weight bearing down upon him, held him powerless. But his mind,

slowly freeing itself from the shadows of sleep, was suddenly very

clear. He could turn his head a little. It was late afternoon; outside

the sun was still shining, for a patch of light lay at the side of the

canvas flap. At first he did not see Gloria; but his eyes quested until

at last they found her. She lay by the fire, her head upon her arm,

sleeping. The little huddled body looked weary beyond expression.

For a long time his haggard eyes remained with her. She lay on the

rocks, without a blanket. His hand moved weakly; there were blankets

under him, blankets covering him; his feet were wrapped in a blanket. He

remembered that a long, long time ago she had said to him: "It was last

night." All this long, long time he had had all the blankets.... He

looked again at Gloria, at the fire; he saw wood piled near by. For many

minutes he puzzled the matter; in the end it was obvious, even to a man

as sick as King, that she must have gone for wood. Perhaps more than

once. He closed his eyes and lay very still. He knew now that he had

been desperately hurt; that, wounded, his fight with Brodie had brought

him very near a weakness from blood loss that was pale twin to death.

And yet he was alive and warm; he had had broth and blankets and the

fire had been kept blazing. He managed to slip a hand inside his shirt;

before his fingers found it he knew that the bandage was there. Gloria

had done all this ... Gloria, whom he had struck ...

Ever since that blow, the one act of his life which he would have given

so much to have undone, he had been ashamed. He had rejoiced in his

battle with the men who had threatened Gloria with worse than death,

rejoiced that in some way he might make reparation. But now, beginning

to understand all that Gloria had done for him, how great were the

sacrifices she had made for him, lying unconscious of all she did, it

seemed to him that the thing that he had done was a very small thing set

in the scales against her own acts. He wanted to get up and go to her;

to put his blankets about her; to play the man's part and protect and

shelter. But he could not so much as raise his voice to call her to

him.... Ever since that blow, upbraiding himself, he had said: "She was

only a little, terrified girl and you were a brute to her." And now he

thought wonderingly: "After that, she has worked for you, has nursed

you, has saved the worthless life in you when she should have let you

die." Again his eyes flew open; now they clung to her with a strange

look in them, born of many emotions.

Gloria, as though she felt his eyes upon her, stirred, rose, pushed the

hair back from her eyes and came quickly to him. And as she came, she

smiled. She went down on her knees beside him and took his hand in her

two and held it tight. She had never seen in his eyes a look like the

one now burning in them. She could not understand its mute message, but

she spoke softly:

"Everything is all right, Mark. And you are better every time you wake."

His lips strove to frame words. She bent close to them and heard his

wondering whisper:

"Every--thing--all right?"

"Yes, thank God," she whispered back to him. "Everything in all the

wide, wide world!"

No, he could not understand that. She saw perplexity in his eyes now.

But she did not mean to let him talk yet and it was time for broth

again. But again he was whispering:

"Blankets--yours----"

"Yes, Mark. After you have had your nourishment. When I need them."

But when he had taken his cup of hot broth he slipped off to sleep again

and Gloria, smiling a tender smile, sat by her fire watching him as a

mother watches a sick baby who, the doctor has just told her, will live.

_Chapter XXXII_

That night Gloria, listening now to King's breathing, now to the

crackling of her fire, grew restless, restless. Again and again she went

to look out into the quiet moonlight night, across the glittering

expanses of pure white glistening snow. It was the restlessness of one

who had taken a giant determination; who but awaited impatiently for the

time to do what she was bent upon doing. In her heart was still that

new-born gladness; in her bosom there was still something singing like

the liquid voice of a bird. It had sung for the first time when first

she had ministered to King, when she had understood what love's service

was, when she had gone down the cliffs for firewood, when, because of

her tireless nursing, she had been rewarded by his opening eyes; as the

hours wore on it had grown into a chant triumphant. She, Gloria, had

lived to do something that was noble and unselfish and brave; she,

Gloria, had been unafraid and unswerving; she had saved a man's life.

And that life was Mark King's! She had made amends; she had set her feet

unfalteringly in a new trail; throughout her being she was aglow with

the consciousness of one who had gladly done love's labour.

Now she waited only for the hour when again King must have his broth.

She gave it to him, smiled at him, commanded him to go back to sleep,

promising to talk with him in the morning. And then, when again he

breathed with the quiet regularity of one sleeping, she went eagerly

about her task.

Now, at her hour of need, she was buoyed up by a great and wonderful

confidence that she could not fail. Thus far she had accomplished each

duty as it had stood before her, and from successes achieved grew the

new faith that in to-night's task, perhaps the supreme and final labour,

she would succeed again. They must have more meat; to-morrow or the next

day, at latest, for the steaks which she had eaten and the strong broths

to maintain and rebuild strength in. King had cut deeply into their

supply. And she knew Mark King well enough to be very certain that, the

moment he could summon strength enough to command his tottering body to

stand on two legs, he would go. Now, while he was still too weak to

observe greatly what went on about him and while he slept most of the

time, it was for her to be before him. Fortunately--and were not all

omens bright with hope?--it had not snowed since King made his kill; she

could follow in the trail he had made and it would lead her unerringly

to the spot where he had left the rest of the meat. She had everything

ready, rifle, small packet of food, knife, even matches and strips torn

from the sack for her feet. Down in the gorge, clutching her rifle, she

stood looking, listening. Always the thought of Benny and the other man

was on the rim of her consciousness, and fear is a basic and elemental

emotion. But, though the moon set forth all details in clear relief

against the snow, there was no man in sight, and, in the intense

determination possessing her, she throttled down all fear-thoughts. She

clung with a deep fervour to the thoughts that she and Mark King had put

disaster behind them, that ahead lay hope and happiness, that God was

with her and about her, and that all danger was gone. Down the canon she

saw the broken, uneven snow where Brodie and his men had left their

tracks, irregular trails up which Gratton had come, down which Benny and

the Italian had fled. Upward along the gorge was one deep, straight

path, wide and hard packed, the track of Mark King's crude snow-shoes.

Into this she stepped, thinking even at the time how even Mark King's

trail was characteristic of him and different from that of the other

men; it looked purposeful and confident and, like the man himself,

driving straight on. There was a sense of comfort in treading where he

had trodden before her.

The world slept, but its quiet breathing she seemed to hear as the air

drew through the pines. She turned up the gorge, a tiny dark figure in

an immense white wilderness. The stars shone and she loved them; they

were like bright companionable candles. The moon shed its soft lustre

and she loved it; it thrust shadows back and drove out the dark. The

night was all quiet splendour and peace and serenity. The snow was

crisp, crunching underfoot; sunny days had thawed, clear, cold nights

had frozen, and the crust had begun to form. Before she had gone a dozen

feet she discovered this and its importance to her; where King's weight

on the snow-shoes, along a twice-travelled trail, had packed the snow

and where now the sun and cold had done their work, there was a crust

which upbore her slight weight; she could walk swiftly; there was to be

no more floundering. She could run!

And run she did, when she had crested the first ridge and had started

down the far side. It was like flying! The crisp air cut her glowing

cheeks; her blood leaped along her veins; she breathed deeply, a great,

uplifting elation bore her along. Love--God is love--smoothed the way

before her; the stars ran with her, the great blazing stars to which

again and again she lifted her eyes. They spoke to her; they came close

to her; when she stopped, resting, they were all about her, bending

down, and she was lifted up among them. Fervour and the ecstasy of the

hour in which was doing to the uttermost, forgetful of pettiness and

selfishness and cowardice--she prayed mutely that she was done with them

for ever, that never again would she be such a woman as Gratton had been

a man--made her over into a radiant, glorious Gloria. The night stamped

itself upon her for all time; out of the night she drew, as one draws

air into his lungs, a new faith that was akin to the man's whom she

served. For one cannot be alone with the stars and be unmoved by them;

they are serene with eternity, refulgent with the perfect beauty of a

perfect creation, eloquent to the heart of man and woman of true values.

Under the fields of their vastitude, confronted by their infinity,

Gloria, like thousands before, understood that man in fevered times is

prone to turn to false gods. Gus Ingle's gold--her own gold, one

day--was a thing to smile at. Or, at best, not a thing to expend wildly

for gowns and gowns and shoes and stockings and limousines; to-night

Gloria felt that she had had her fill of vanities like those, that she

was done with them; that if, for every moan and agony and slow death and

thought of envy Gus Ingle's gold had brought into the world, she could

create a smile here and a hope fulfilled there and a glow yonder, she

would ask nothing else of the yellow dirt. For dirt or rock or dross it

was, and that was as clear as starlight. If her hand but lay in the hand

of Mark King, what did gold matter? Or dresses--or what people thought

or said of her or him? A strange little smile touched her lips.

"I love you," she whispered, as though Mark were with her--as in her

soul he was.

Had there not been a great, glowing love in her heart she would have

been afraid. But there was no room for fear. Had she not felt that he

was with her and that God was with her she must have felt an

unutterable, dreary loneliness; but she was upborne at every step and

gloried in every exertion.

And exertion, until she came close to the limits of endurance, was to be

hers that white night; hers the knowledge of supreme endeavour. On and

on she went across the immense glistening smooth fields through which

the trail ahead was the only scar, through groves of black pines

whispering, whispering, whispering, down into shadow-filled canons, out

into the open again, up and down and on and on, a tiny dot upon the

endless wastes. Fatigue came upon her suddenly, when she had forgotten

to save her strength and had gone over-fast. She rested, lying on her

back, her eyes closed. She opened her eyes, she saw the stars, she rose

and went on. She had gone miles; how many she could not guess. Always,

after for a little while she had dropped down wearily, she rose again

and went on; she learned that, though beaten down, one might rise again.

That was Mark King's way; it would be her way. Despite the rags about

her boots her feet were soon dangerously cold. She passed into the

embrace of a forest of black trees casting blacker shadows. Their

branches seemed motionless, but they sang to her with hushed voices. And

always there was the trail King had made, leading her on; where he had

gone before, she followed.

Where he had made slow progress, seeking game and breaking trail, she

went swiftly on the packed snow. So, in the full splendour of the moon,

she came at last to the final ridge, whence, looking down into the

canon, she saw the end of her trail: hanging from a bent pine sapling

was what she knew must be his bear. Down the steep slope she went, half

sliding, half rolling. In the bed of the ravine she landed softly in the

drift; here she rested, sitting in a nest of snow. And before she had

stirred to begin the last short span of her journey, there came suddenly

out of the silence a strange, quivering cry, bursting out upon her; a

sobbing, throbbing scream.

"A woman!" cried Gloria, aghast.

A woman in an agony of terror, she thought. Or a lost soul, the

wandering spirit of the dead, or God knew what impossible thing. Sudden

terror leaped out upon her, striking like a knife into her heart. Fear,

banished all this time, surprised her and clutched at her throat and

paralysed her muscles. Blind panic gripped her. Then came the piercing

scream again, and with it enlightenment, and Gloria sank back, seeming

to melt into the snow about her. Yonder, just upon the next ridge where

the moonlight carved in fine details the outline of a big bare boulder,

stood the thing that had screamed; in this light its great body was

weirdly magnified, so that the entire length of seven or eight feet

appeared to Gloria's frightened eyes twice that. Long-bodied and lithe,

small-headed and merciless, steel-muscled and chisel-clawed, the big cat

in silhouette twitched its restless tail back and forth nervously, and

from snarling jaws sent forth its almost human call to cut across vast,

still distances.

Gloria drew back and back where she crouched, her body pressed into the

snow-bank, in a panicky desire to hide. The big cat had smelled the

meat, she guessed swiftly. When it leaped upward, seeking to snatch down

the swinging weight, or clambered up the pine, then she must spring up

and run, run as she had never run in her life, away from this terrible,

murderous thing, back to King. Unconscious of cold and wet, she cowered

and waited, scarce breathing. She saw how the big beast put up its head

and sniffed; did it in reality smell the meat? Or had it sensed her

presence?

For what seemed a very long time the gaunt-bodied animal stood as still

as the rock beneath it; then, silent and swift, it turned and, like a

cat at home leaping down from a table, dropped into the shadows at the

base of the rock, and was lost to Gloria's sight in a little hollow. She

waited, her eyes staring.

Again, all of a sudden, she saw it. Moving with the stealthy caution

which is its birthright, it appeared fleetingly a score of feet lower on

the steep slope, the body and its shadow, a twin for stealthy silence,

gone in a flash, reappearing once more still lower on the slope and just

beyond the pine sapling. It was coming on. Fascinated, Gloria sat like

stone, with never a thought of the rifle lying across her knees.

The mountain-lion leaped downward softly from stage to stage of the

canon-side, paused under the pine, lifted its head, and sent forth again

its hunger-cry. All this time Gloria sat breathless; the

fear-fascination still held her powerless. She watched the animal crouch

and gather its strength and hurl its lean body upward. The lion fell

back, the ripping claws having missed the meat by some two or three

feet, and Gloria heard the low, rumbling growl. Again it sprang; again

it missed. And then, for a weary time of silence it sat still, its head

back, its eyes on the desired meal. In the moonlight Gloria saw the

glistening saliva from the half-parted jaws.

But in the end feline craft found the way, and the cat set its paws

against the tree trunk, and began to climb. Limbs broke under the two

hundred pounds of weight; the bark was torn under slipping paws, but

upward the sinuous body writhed. Swiftly now it would come to King's

kill.

King's! Gloria started; this was Mark's kill: he had stalked it, he had

ploughed many miles through deep snow to get it. To get it for her as

well as for him. To keep the life in her--now, without it, King would

die. And now the lion was going to take it, while she watched and did

nothing!

"Oh, God, help me!" She sprang to her feet, she jerked up her rifle and

fired at the black bulk crawling upward in the pine. "It shall not have

Mark's meat! It shall not!"

At the first shot the mountain-lion dropped through crashing branches.

She had shot it--she had driven a bullet through its heart. God had

heard her. That was her first wild thought. But in a flash she saw that

it was on its feet again, and that with red mouth snarling it had swung

about, facing her; she saw the cruel white teeth, wet and glistening.

Incoherently Gloria cried out, again sick and shaken with terror. In

another moment she would have the lean powerful body leaping upon her.

She fired again and again, taking no time for aim, as fast as she could

work the lever and pull the trigger; she was trembling so that it was

all that she could do to hold the gun at all. She prayed and called on

Mark and fired, all at once.

Never did bullets fly wider of the mark, but never did the roar of

exploding shells do better service. The lion, though ravenous, was not

yet starved to the degree to whip it to the supreme desperation of

attacking a human being and defying a rifle; it whirled and went

flashing across the snow, seeking the shadows, gone in the drifts,

vanishing.

Gloria gasped, stared after its wild flight a paralysed moment and then

ran to the tree where the bear hung. She was shaking like a leaf in a

storm; she was still terrified, filled with horror at the thought that

at any second the lean body might come flashing back upon her. But

through the emotions storming through her there lived on that one

determination that would live while she lived: that was Mark's meat and

she was going to save it for him. She began climbing the young pine; she

fought wildly to get up into its branches; she was handicapped by the

rifle which she clung to desperately. She got the gun in a crotch above

her head; she pulled herself upward; she slipped, and tore the skin of

hands and arms; but hastening frantically she climbed up and up. She got

the rifle into her hands again, nearly dropped it, thrust it above her,

jammed it into a fork of a limb and kept on climbing. At last she was

where she could reach out and touch the swinging carcass. With King's

keen-edged butcher knife she hacked and cut at the frozen meat, panting

with every effort. The task seemed endless; the bear swung away from

her; a branch broke under her foot and she almost fell; she was sobbing

aloud brokenly before it was done, the tears rolling down her cheeks.

But at last there was the thud of the falling meat; below her it lay on

the snow crust. In wild haste she snatched her rifle; holding it in one

hand, afraid to let it slip out of her grasp for a moment, casting a

last fearful look in the direction whither the lion had gone, she began

slipping down. And in another moment, with the precious burden caught up

with the gun in her arms, she was running back up the ridge, her feet in

King's trail. _The home trail_!

She looked behind her at every step, picturing the snarling cat

springing out from every shadow, starting upward from every drift and

snow-bank. But she clutched her meat tight and struggled on up the

slope.

Her whole body was shaking; she closed her eyes, overcome with

faintness. There was a faint wind stirring and it cut like a knife,

probing through her garments where they were damp. She shivered and

struggled on and on. She felt that she could run all night without

stopping. She stumbled and fell and arose, panting and sobbing, and ran

on. She no longer looked behind her: she had fallen when she did that.

Again and again from far behind her came the clear, merciless scream of

the mountain-lion. Time passed; half-hour or hour or two hours, she had

little idea. Time itself was a nightmare of running, falling, rising,

staggering, running again until the blood pounded in her temples,

drummed in her ears. The cry came again, as near as before--nearer?

Throughout the night as she struggled on she could always fancy the

stealthy, silent feet following her, keeping time with her own. Cautious

now, would its caution slowly subside as its hunger grew and as she

always fled from it? The thought came to her that such a menace would

follow one day after day; that it would wait and wait; that in the end

it knew its time would come when sleep or exhaustion broke down its

prey's guard. Then it would leap and strike.

Her rifle had grown a heart-breaking weight, until it seemed that it

would drag her arms from their sockets to hold it up; the pack of meat

on her back was like lead.

She wondered if King had missed her; if he were awake and wondering at

her absence. She wondered if he would miss her soon; how soon? At the

first glint of dawn? Would he begin to see, that she was at least, and

at last, trying? Well, she had tried; though she died, still she had

tried. She was cold to the bone; her teeth chattered, her body quaked.

Yet she kept on. She fell; she lay with the tears of exhaustion rolling

down her face; she struggled to get to her feet; she fell again. But

always she rose and always she kept on. And so, in the fulness of time,

after long frightful, hellish hours, §he came to the last terror of the

night.

The new day was bright on the mountain tops when she felt at first a

dull sort of surprise and then a sudden, stimulating gladness, noting

the familiar look of the ridge ahead. Yonder the cave would be. The cave

and King, success and rest. She straightened up a little, brushing her

hand across her straining eyes, making sure that she was right. She

heard the insistent scream behind her, but now she did not heed it, for

in front of her, stock-still in the trail, was a man. It was Benny.

To-night she had thrilled to an ecstasy descending from the stars,

welling up in her own heart, and she had shivered with fear and had

dropped with weariness akin to despair. Now suddenly all emotions were

upgathered into searing anger. Her thought was: "He will take the meat

from me! The meat I have brought for Mark." She grew rigid in her

tracks. She jerked up her rifle in front of her; her tired eyes

hardened. She had gone to the limits of endurance in a labour of love;

she had succeeded; and now she would fight for what she had brought

back.

Then she noted that Benny had not seen her. Though he was in full view

on the ridge, he had had no eyes for her. He was stooping. She saw that

he had a small pack on his back; food, no doubt. On the ground by him

was a second pack, something in a crash sack; Benny was struggling to

lift it to his shoulders. It must be very heavy. Gloria drew back

hastily, glancing about her, found the only hiding-place offered, and

slipped behind the big rock.

Presently Benny came on. She heard him from a distance; he was talking

to himself excitedly, jabbering broken fragments of sentences, twice

breaking into his hideous dry cackle of laughter. She shivered; his

utterances sounded mad.

And mad they were. Perhaps his drug had run out; certainly for a nervous

man there had been ample cause for jangling nerves. He jabbered

constantly, his mutterings at last coming to her in jumbled words as

Benny drew on.

He was talking about "gold," and he chuckled. He mentioned names,

Brodie's and Jarrold's and Gratton's and another name, and he chuckled

again. Gloria peered cautiously from the shelter of her rock. He was

very near now, struggling with the smaller pack and his rifle and the

heavy bundle in his sack. She thought that he was going to pass without

seeing her. But just as he passed abreast of her hiding-place something

prompted Benny to jerk up his head. He saw her and stopped suddenly; she

saw his eyes. And she knew on the instant that if the man were not stark

mad, at least he was not entirely sane. She lifted her rifle, cold all

over; if he came another step nearer she would shoot....

"It's mine!" Benny shrieked at her. "Mine, I tell you!"

He broke into a run, passing her, leaving the trail, floundering down

the ridge the shortest way. His rifle encumbered him; she saw it fall

into the snow, while Benny, clutching his gunny-sack in both arms,

stumbled on. He fell; he rose, shrieking curses. She watched,

fascinated. The pack on his back slipped around in front of him; Benny

tore at it and cursed it and hurled it from him. Still hugging his gold

he was gone, far down the steep slope. Gloria shuddered and stepped back

into her own trail. She could hear Benny cursing faintly. Like an echo

came another cry across the ridges; the cry of a starving cat.

_Chapter XXXIII_

Mark King awakened to a sensation of piercing cold. In his weakened

condition the chill struck deep, the pain of it sore in his wound. He

moved a little to draw his blankets closer about him and, as an awaking

impression, found that his strength, even though slowly, was surely

returning to him. He was still terribly weak, but, thank God--and

Gloria!--that hideous faintness in which he had been unable to stir hand

or foot or to speak above a whisper had passed. He filled his lungs with

a deep and grateful breath of satisfaction. In a day or two he would be

able to carry on again, to do his part.

He turned his head, lifting it a trifle; already he had thought of

Gloria, and now he sought her. The fire had burned down to a handful of

glowing coals; Gloria, then, must be asleep. For that, too, he was

grateful. He had but faint remembrance and dim knowledge of what tasks

must have fallen to her lot, but his mind, active from the moment his

eyes flew open, was quick to understand that the burdens had fallen upon

her shoulders and that she must have been in dire need of rest and

sleep.

He could not see her anywhere; no doubt she lay in the shadowy dark

beyond the dying fire. He lay back, staring up into the gloom above

him. It was thinning; day was coming or had come already. A day with

sunshine! They could go out on the crust by the time that he was able to

be about----

Then he remembered the blankets! Last night he had had all of them,

Gloria's as well as his own. He had wanted to make her take her covers

and she had put him off, and he had gone to sleep, forgetting! He

stirred again, hastily, his hands groping, even his feet moving. He had

them yet, his and hers. And she had slept through the cold night with no

covering while he, never waking until now, had lain warm and

comfortable. He struggled to turn on his side and got himself raised a

little despite the pain from the exertion, seeking her. She must be

frozen----

Gloria was not in the cave. He sank back, sure of that. For she should

be sleeping close by the fire. Then she had gone down again for wood. He

frowned and lay staring upward again. Gloria bringing wood while he lay

here like a confounded log. He grew nervously restive at the thought; it

was unthinkable that she should do work like that. He saw her in his

mind, struggling with the unaccustomed labour. And always he saw her as

he had first seen her, a fragile-looking girl, a girl with sweet little

hands as soft as rose petals. He remembered her as he had seen her that

first day, a vision of loveliness in her fluffy pink dress, her skin

like the skin of a baby, her eyes the soft, tender grey eyes of the girl

to whom he had given his heart without reservation. The glorious Gloria,

all slender delicacy, like a little mountain flower, the Gloria for whom

it had been his duty and his high privilege to labour. He must fight to

get his strength back, to get on his feet again, to save her from such

toil as was no woman's work in the world, certainly never the work for a

girl like Gloria.

He heard a sound at the cave's mouth. Gloria was coming back. He found

no words with which to greet her, but lay very still, waiting for her to

come in. An emotion of which he was ashamed and yet which was infinitely

sweet swept over him: it was so wonderful a thing to have Gloria come to

him, nurse him, put her hand so tenderly on his. A thrill shot down his

faintly stirring pulses as already he fancied her stealing softly to his

side. So he waited and, when she came where he could at last see her,

watched.

She set her gun down; at first he wondered at that. Poor little Gloria,

he thought; taking her rifle with her when she went down for wood,

frightened and yet strong-hearted enough to go in spite of fear. She

came on, not to him but to the smouldering coals. She had turned toward

him, but, no doubt, thought him still asleep. He watched her, still

knowing that presently she would come, awaiting her coming. And again he

was perplexed; he did not understand why Gloria walked like that. He had

never seen her walk so before; she had always been so light of foot, so

graceful--so like a fairy creature, scarcely touching the ground. Now

her feet dragged; she groped uncertainly; she was like one gone suddenly

dizzy.

She dropped down by the coals, her face in her hands. The light was bad;

he could hardly see her now. He heard a sigh that ended in a sob. She

rose, oh, so wearily. He saw her sway as she walked; she was throwing

wood on the fire. It caught; a flame flared out; other flames followed

with their merry crackling and leaping lights. And now he saw Gloria's

face. It was drawn and haggard; it had been washed with tears; her eyes

looked enormous and unnaturally bright. He saw her hair; it was in wild

disarray, a tumble of disorder. He saw that she had sacks wrapped about

her lagging feet; that her clothes were torn, that her sleeves were

ragged, that her arms were covered with long scratches! His first

thought, making his body tense with anger, was that he had not come in

time to save her from Brodie's hands....

What was Gloria doing? Struggling with something on her back. Something

which was tied across her shoulders. She got it free; it fell close to

the fire, played over by the light of the flames. He craned his neck and

saw; it was a great chunk of bear meat--he could see bits of the hide

still on it!

He could not understand. Not yet. All that he could do was stare at her

and wonder and grope confusedly for the explanation. It was clear that

something was wrong with Gloria; she dropped down by the fire, she

slumped forward, she lay her face upon her crossed arms. He could see

the frail body shaking--he could hear her sudden wild sobbing.

The truth came upon him at last, dawning slowly, slowly.

"Gloria!" It was a gasp of more than amazement; consternation was in his

heart. "_Gloria_!"

She lifted her head and sat up. He saw her great wide-open eyes and the

tears gushing from them. She fought to control herself, a sob in her

throat. She rose and came toward him in strange, wildly uncertain steps.

"Gloria! You----"

"Sh, Mark; you mustn't----"

But he couldn't lie still. He lifted himself upon his elbow and looked

at her with wondering eyes. She stood over him, looking on the verge of

collapse. Slowly she came down to him, half kneeling, half falling.

"My God," he cried hoarsely. "You went for my bear? _You did it_."

She tried to smile at him, and into his own eyes there broke a sudden

gush of tears.

"You wonderful, wonderful, wonderful Gloria!" he cried out. "There is no

girl in all the world could have done that--there is no girl like you."

Her hand was questing his; he caught it and gripped it with all the

strength in him; he hurt her, and at last, with the pain, her smile

broke through.

"Gloria----"

"Mark?"

"Can you--not so soon, but some day--forgive me?"

She found only a faint whisper with which to answer him; her eyes were

as hungry as his.

"Can you forgive, Mark?"

And now, when their eyes clung together as their hands were already

clinging, each was marvelling that the other could forgive and love one

who had erred so.