The Law of Hemlock Mountain

by Hugh Lundsford

  CHAPTER XXI

  John Spurrier stepped from the train at Carnettsville into a life thathad been revolutionized. At last he had succeeded in leaving hisGerman exile. His own country was in the war but he, with theequipment of a soldier, bore a dishonored name, which would bar himfrom a commission. Here he found the development of his dreamsrealized, but by other hands than his own.

  Above all, he must see Glory. He had cabled her and written her, soshe would be expecting him. Now he gazed about streets through whichteemed the new activity.

  Here was the thing he had seen in his dreams when he stood on woodedhills and thought in the terms of the future. Here it stood vivid andactual before the eyes that had visioned it.

  With a groan he turned into the road homeward on a hired horse. Hestill meant to fight, and unless the Bud Hawkins property had escapedhim, he would still have to be accounted with--but great prizes hadslipped away.

  At the gate of his house, his heart rose into his throat. The power ofhis emotion almost stifled him. Never had his love for Gloryflickered. Never had he thought or dreamed of anything else or any oneelse so dearly and so constantly as of her.

  He stood at the fence with half-closed eyes for a moment, steadyinghimself against the surges of up-welling emotion, then, raising hiseyes, he saw that the windows and the door were nailed up. The chimneystood dead and smokeless.

  Panic clutched at his throat as with a physical grasp. Before himtrooped a hundred associations unaccountably dear. They were allmemories of little things, mostly foolish little things that went intothe sacred intimacy of his life with Glory.

  Now there was no Glory there.

  He rode at the best speed left in his tired horse over to oldCappeze's house, and, as he dismounted, saw the lawyer, greatly agedand broken, standing in the door.

  One glance at that face confirmed all the fears with which he had beenbattling. It was a face as stern as those on the frieze of theprophets. In it there was no ghost of the old welcome, no hope of anyrelenting. This old man saw in him an enemy.

  "Where is Glory?" demanded Spurrier as he hurried up to the doorstep,and the other looked accusingly back into his eyes and answered incold and bitterly clipped syllables.

  "Wherever she is, sir, it's her wish to be there alone." Suddenly theold eyes flamed and the old voice rose thin and passionate. "If Iburned in hell for it to the end of eternity, I would give you noother word of her."

  "She--she is not dead, then?"

  "No--but dead to you."

  "Mr. Cappeze," said Spurrier steadily, "are you sure that I may nothave explanations that may change her view of me?"

  "We know," said the lawyer in a voice out of which the passion hadpassed, but which had the dead quality of an opinion inflexiblysolidified, "that since your marriage, you never made her thecompanion of any hour that was not a backwoods hour. We know that younever told us the truth about yourself or your enterprises--that youcame to us as a friend, won our confidence, and sought to exploit us.Your record is one of lies and unfaithfulness, and we have cast youout. That is her decision and with me her wish is sacred."

  The returned exile stood meeting the relentless eyes of the old manwho had been his first friend in these hills and for a few moments hedid not trust himself to speak.

  The shock of those shuttered windows and that blankly staring front atthe house where he had looked for welcome; the collapse of all thedreams that had sustained him while a prisoner in an internment campand a refugee hounded across the German border were visiting upon hima prostration that left him trembling and shaken.

  Finally he commanded his voice.

  "To me, too, her wish is sacred--but not until I hear it from her ownlips. She alone has the right to condemn me and not even she until Ihave made my plea to her. Great God, man, my silence hasn't beenvoluntary. I've been cut off in a Hun prison-camp. I've kept life inme only because I could dream of her and because though it was easierto die, I couldn't die without seeing her and explaining."

  "It was from her own lips that I took my orders," came the unmovedresponse. "Those orders were that through me you should learnnothing. You had the friendship of every man here until you abusedit--now I think you'll encounter no sympathy. I told you once how thewolf-bitch would feel toward the man who robbed her of her young. Youchose to disregard my warning--and I'll ask you to leave my house."

  John Spurrier bowed his head. He had lost her! If that were her finalconclusion, he could hardly seek to dissuade her. At least he couldlose the final happiness out of his life--from which so much else hadalready been lost--as a gentleman should lose.

  And he knew that however old Cappeze might feel, he would not lie. Ifhe said that was Glory's deliberately formed decision, that statementmust be accepted as true.

  "I have never loved any one else," said Spurrier slowly. "I shallnever love any one else. I have been faithful despite appearances. Therest of your charges are true, and I make no denial. I gambled aboutas fairly as most men gamble. That is all."

  A stiffening pride, made flinty by the old man's hostility, shutinto silence some things that Spurrier might have said. He scornedthe seeming of whine that might have lain in explanations, eventhough the explanations should lighten the shadow of his old friend'sdisapproval. He offered no extenuation and breathed nothing of thechanges that had been wrought in himself by the tedious alchemy oftime and reflection.

  He had begun under the spur of greedy ambition, but changes had beenwrought in him by Glory's love.

  He was still ambitious, but in a different way. He wanted to salvagesomething for the equitable beneficiaries. He wanted to stand, notamong the predatory millionaires, but to be his own man, with a cleanname and solvent.

  Before he could attain that condition he must render unto Harrison thethings that were Harrison's and wipe out his own tremendousliabilities--but his heart was in the hills.

  John Spurrier went slowly and heavy heartedly back to the house whichhe had refashioned for his bride; the house that had become to him ashrine to all the dear, lost things of life.

  The sun fell in mottled luminousness across its face of tempered grayand from the orchard where the lush grass grew knee-high came thecheery whistle of a Bob-white.

  At the sound the man groaned with a wrench of his heart and throat,and his thoughts raced back to that day when the same note had comefrom the voices of hidden assassins and when Glory had exposed herbreast to rifle-fire to send out the pigeon with its call for help.

  The splendid oak that had shaded their stile had grown broader ofgirth and more majestic in the spread of its head-growth since he hadstood here before, and in the flower beds, in which Glory haddelighted, a few forlorn survivors, sprung up as volunteers fromneglected roots, struggled through a choke of dusty weeds.

  The man looked about the empty yard and his breath came like that of atorture victim on the rack. The desolation and ache of a life deprivedof all that made it sweet struck in upon him with a blight besidewhich his prison loneliness had been nothing.

  "If she knew the whole truth--instead of only half the truth," hegroaned, "she might forgive me."

  He ripped the padlock from the door and let himself in. He flung widea shutter and let the afternoon sun flood the room, and once inside ascore of little things worked the magic of memory upon him and toreafresh every wound that was festering.

  There hung the landscapes that he and she had loved and as he lookedat them her voice seemed to sound again in his ears like forgottenmusic. From somewhere came the heavy fragrance of honeysuckle and oldnights with her in the moonlight rushed back upon him.

  Then he saw an apron on a peg--hanging limp and empty, and again hesaw her in it. He went and opened a drawer in which his own clotheshad been kept--and there neatly folded by her hand were things ofhis.

  John Spurrier, whose iron nerve had once been cafe talk in the Orient,sat down on a quilted bed and tearless sobs racked him.

  "No," he said to himself at last. "No, if she wants her
freedom Ican't pursue her. I've hurt her enough--and God knows I'm punishedenough."

  Unless he were tamely to surrender to the despair that beset him, JohnSpurrier had one other thing to do before he left the hills. He mustcome to such an agreement with Bud Hawkins as would give him a rightof way over that single tract and complete his chain of holdings. Thusfortified the field beyond the ridge would be safe against invasion byhis enemies and even the other field would have readier outlet tomarket by that route. In the Hawkins property lay the keystone of thearch. With it the position was impregnable. Without it all the restfell apart like an inarticulated skeleton.

  It happened that Spurrier met Hawkins as he went away from his lonelyhouse, and forcing his own miseries into the background, he sought tobecome the business man once more. He began with a frank statement ofthe facts and offered fair and substantial terms of trade.

  Both because his affection for the old preacher would have toleratednothing less and because it would have been folly now to play thecheaper game, he spoke in the terms of generosity.

  But to his surprise and discomfiture, Brother Hawkins shook a stubbornhead.

  "Thar ain't skeercely no power on 'arth, Mr. Spurrier," he declared,"thet could fo'ce me inter doin' no business with ye."

  "But, Brother Hawkins," argued the opportunity hound, "you are cuttingyour own throat. You and I standing together are invincible. Separate,we are lost. I'm almost willing to let you name the terms ofagreement--to write the contract for yourself."

  "I've done been pore a right long while already," the preacherreminded him as his eyes kindled with the zealot's fire. "Long aforemy day Jesus Christ was pore an' ther Apostle Paul, an' otherrighteous men. I ain't skeered ter go on in likewise ter what I'vealways done." He paused and laid a kindly hand on the shoulder of theman who offered him wealth.

  "I ain't seekin' ter fault ye unduly, John Spurrier. Mebby ye've donefollered yore lights--but we don't see with no common eye, ner nomutual disc'arnment. Ye've done misled folk thet swore by ye, ef Isees hit a'right. Now ye offers me wealth, much ther same as Satanoffered hit ter Jesus on a high place, an' we kain't trade--no morethen what they could trade."

  The old preacher's attitude held the trace of kindliness that soughtto drape reproof in gentleness and to him, as had been impossible withCappeze, Spurrier poured out his confidence. At the outset, heconfessed, he had deliberately dedicated himself to the development ofwealth for himself and his employers, with no thought of others.Later, in a fight between wary capitalists where vigilance had to bemet with vigilance, the seal of secrecy had been imperative. Franknesswith the mountain men would have been a warning to his enemies. Now,however, his sense of responsibility was awake. Now he wanted to winback his status of confidence in this land where he had known his onlyhome. Now what weight he had left to throw into the scales would berighteously thrown. Even yet he must move with strict, guardedsecrecy.

  But the old circuit rider shook his head.

  "Hit's too late, now, ter rouse faith in me, John," he reiterated."Albeit I'd love ter credit ye, ef so-be I could. What's come ter passkain't be washed out with words." He paused before he added the simpleedict against which there was no arguing.

  "Mebby I mout stand convinced even yit ef I didn't know thet therdevil was urgin' me on with prospects of riches."

  One thing remained to him; the pride that should stiffen him in thepresence of his accusers and judges. When he went into the eclipse ofruin, at least he would go with unflinching gallantry.

  And it was in that mood that Spurrier reached his club in New York andprepared himself for the ordeal of the next day's interview.

  He had wired Harrison of his coming, but not of his hopelessness, andwhen his telephone jangled and he heard the voice of the financier, herecognized in it an undercurrent of exasperation, which carried omenof a difficult interview.

  "That you, Spurrier? This is Harrison. Be at my office at elevento-morrow morning. Perhaps you can construe certain riddles."

  "Of what nature, sir?"

  "Of a nature that won't bear full discussion over the wire. We havehad an anonymous letter from some mysterious person who claims to comewith the situation in a sling. It may be a crank whom we'll have tothrow out--or some one we dare not ignore. At all events, it's up toyou to dispose of him. He's in your province. If you fail, we lose outand, as I said once before, you go to the scrap heap."

  Spurrier hung up the phone and sat in a nerveless trepidation whichwas new and foreign to his nature. This interview of to-morrow morningwould call for the tallest bluffing he had ever attempted, and thechances would, perhaps, turn on hair-trigger elements of personalforce.

  He must depend on his coolness, audacity, and adroitness to win adecision, and, except by guesswork, he could not hope to formulate inadvance the terrain of battle or the nature of counter-attack withwhich he must meet his adversary.

  That evening he strolled along Broadway and found himself yielding toa dangerous and whimsical mood. He wondered how many other menoutwardly as self-assured and prosperous as himself were covertlyconfessing suicide as one of to-morrow's probabilities.

  Over Longacre Square the incandescent billboards flamed and flared.The darning-wool kitten disported itself with mechanical abandon. Thewoman who advertised a well-known corset and the man who exploited abrand of underwear brilliantly made and unmade their toilets far abovethe sidewalk level. Motors shrieked and droned and crowds drifted.

  Before a moving-picture theater, his introspective eye was momentarilychallenged by a gaudy three-sheet. The poster proclaimed a popularscreen star in a "fight fuller of punch than that of 'The Wreckers.'"

  What caused Spurrier to pause was the composition of the picture--andthe mental comparison which it evoked. A man crouched behind a heavytable, overthrown for a barricade--as he had once done.

  Fallen enemies lay on the floor of a crude Western cabin. Others stillstood, and fought with flashing guns and faces "registering"desperation, frenzy, and maniac fury. The hero only, though alone andoutnumbered, was grimly calm. The stress of that inferno had notinterfered with the theatric pose of head and shoulders--the grace andeffect of gesture that was conveyed in the two hands wielding twosmoking pistols.

  Spurrier smiled. It occurred to him that had a director stood bywhile he himself had knelt behind a table he would have bawled outmany amendments which fact had overlooked. Apparently he and hisattackers had, by these exacting standards of art, missed the drama ofthe situation.

  Over him swept a fresh flood of memory, and it brought a cold andnervous dampness to his temples. Again he saw Glory rising at thebroken window with a pigeon to release--and a life to sacrifice, ifneed be. On her face had been no theatric expression which would havewarranted a close-up.

  Spurrier hastened on, turning into a side street where he could putthe glare at his back and find a more mercifully dark way.

  He was seeing, instead of dark house fronts, the tops of pine treesetched against an afterglow, and Glory standing silhouetted against ahilltop. Above the grind of the elevated and the traffic, he washearing her voice in thrushlike song, happy because he loved her.

  The agony of loss overwhelmed him, and he actually longed, as for abetter thing, for that moment to come back when behind an overturnedtable he had endured the suspense which death had promised to end inan instant filled and paid for with revenge.

  Then through his disturbed brain once more flashed lines of verse:

  "I was ever a fighter, so--one fight more, The best and the last! I should hate that Death bandaged my eyes and forebore, And bade me creep past."

  At all events he would, in the figurative sense, die fightingto-morrow. He knew his mistakes now. If he lived on he hoped to atonefor them, but if he died he would go out without a whine.

  And if he must die, there was one way that seemed preferable toothers. The army would have none of him, as an officer, because hestood besmirched of honor. But he knew the stern temper of themountaineers. They w
ould rise in unanimous response to the call ofarms. He could go with them, not with any insignia on his collar, butmarching shoulder against shoulder into that red hell of Flanders andFrance, where a man might baptize himself, shrive himself, and die.And in dying they would leave a record behind them!

  CHAPTER XXII

  Down along the creekbeds back of Hemlock Mountain young JimmyLitchfield, a son of old Uncle Jimmy, had been teaming with awell-boring outfit and his wagon had bogged down in deep mud. He hadfailed to extricate himself so he tramped three hard, steep miles andtelephoned for an extra team. While he awaited deliverance he foundhimself irked and, to while away the time, set his drill downhaphazard and began to bore.

  It would be some hours before help arrived, and when he had worked awhile he had forgotten all about help.

  His drill had struck through soft gravel to an oil pool lying close tothe surface, and the black tide gushed crazily.

  Young Jimmy sat back watching the dark jet that he had no means ofstemming or containing, and through his simple soul flowed all theintoxication of triumph.

  He was the discoverer of a new--and palpably a rich field!

  Hereafter oil men would speak of the Snake Creek field as copper menspoke of Anaconda or gold men of the Yukon.

  And that night word went by wire to the opportunity hound who hadjust gone east, that the "fur" side was to the "nigh" side as gold isto silver.

  * * * * *

  "What do you make of it?" demanded Harrison, when Spurrier, secure inhis seeming of undaunted assurance, arrived at his office and theresponse came smilingly: "I think it means a bluff."

  "Read that," snapped the financier as he flung a letter across hisdesk.

  Spurrier took the sheet of paper and read in a hand, evidentlydisguised!

  You find yourself in a cul-de-sac. I hold the key to a way out. My terms are definite and determined in advance. I shall be at your office at noon, Tuesday. We will do business at that time, or not at all.

  "I repeat," said Spurrier, "that this seems to me a brass-bound bluff.I make only the request that I be permitted to talk with this brigandalone; to sound him out with no interference and to shape my policy bythe circumstances. I'm not at all frightened."

  Harrison answered snappily:

  "I agree to that--but if you fail you fail finally."

  So on Tuesday forenoon Spurrier sat cross-legged in Harrison's officeand their discussion had come to its end. Now, he had only to awaitthe unknown person who was to arrive at noon bearing alleged terms, aperson who claimed to be armed for battle if battle were needed.

  At Harrison's left and right sat his favored lieutenants, but Spurrierhimself occupied a chair a little bit apart, relegated to a zone ofprobation.

  Then a rap sounded on the door, and Spurrier smiled with a ghost oftriumph as he noted that he alone of the small group did not start atthe signal. For all their great caliber and standing, these men werekeyed to expectancy and exasperated nervousness.

  The clerk who appeared made his announcement with the calculatedevenness of routine: "A lady is waiting. She says her name doesn'tmatter. She has an appointment for twelve."

  "A lady!" exclaimed Harrison in amazement. "My God, do we have tofight this thing out with a woman?"

  The tableau of astonishment held, until Spurrier broke it:

  "What matter personalities to us?" he blandly inquired. "We areinterested in facts."

  The chief lifted his hand and gave curt direction. "Show her in."

  Then through the door came a woman whose beauty would have arrestedattention in any gathering. Just now what these men, rising grudginglyfrom their chairs, noted first, was the self-possession, the poise,and the convincing evidence of good breeding and competency whichcharacterized her.

  She was elegantly but plainly dressed, and her manner conveyed aself-assurance in nowise flustered by the prospect of impendingstorm.

  No one there, save Spurrier, recognized her, for to Martin Harrisoncarrying the one disapproving impression of a mountain girl in patchedgingham, the transformation was complete.

  And as for Spurrier himself, after coming to his feet, he stood as aman might be expected to stand if a specter of death had suddenlymaterialized before him.

  For the one time in his life all the assumption of boldness, worn forother eyes, broke and fell away from him, leaving him nakedly andstarkly dumbfounded. He presented the pale and distressed aspect of awhipped prize fighter, reeling groggily against the ropes, anddefenseless against attack.

  It was a swift transformation from audacious boldness to somethingwhich seemed abject, or that at least was the aspect which presenteditself to Martin Harrison and his aides, but back of it all layreasons into which they could not see.

  It was no crumbling and softening of battle metal that had wroughtthis astonishing metamorphosis but a thing much nearer to the man'sheart. At that moment there departed from his mind the whole urgentcall of the duel between business enemies--and he saw only the womanfor whom he had sought and whom he had not found.

  In the cumulative force and impact of their heart-breaking sequencethere rushed back on him all the memories that had been haunting him,intensified to unspeakable degree at the sight of her face--and if hethought of the business awaiting them at all, it was only with astabbing pain of realization that he had met Glory again only in theguise of an enemy.

  Harrison gave him one contemptuous glance and remarked brutally:

  "Madam, this gentleman was to talk with you, but he seems scarcelyable to conduct any affair of moment."

  Glory was looking at the broken man, too, and into her splendid eyesstole a pity that had tenderness back of it.

  Old memories came in potent waves, and she closed her lids for amoment as though against a painful glare, but with quick recovery shespoke.

  "It is imperative, gentlemen, that I have a few words first--andalone--with Mr. Spurrier."

  "If you insist, but----" Harrison's shoulders stiffened. "But we donot guarantee that we shall abide by his declarations."

  "I do insist--and I think you will find that it is I who am in theposition to dictate terms."

  Harrison gave a sharply imperative gesture toward the door throughwhich the others filed out, followed by the chief himself, leaving thetwo alone.

  Then John Spurrier rose, and supported himself by hands pressed uponthe table top. He stood unsteadily at first and failed in his effortto speak. Then, with difficulty, he straightened and swept his twohands out in a gesture of surrender.

  "I'm through," he said. "I thought there was still one fight left inme--but I can't fight you."

  She did not answer and, after a little, with a slight regaining of hisself-command, he went on again:

  "Glory! What a name and what a fulfillment! You have always been Gloryto me."

  Out of his eyes slowly went the apathy of despair and another look ofeven stronger feeling preempted its place: a look of worship andadoration.

  "I didn't know," admitted Glory softly, "that I was to meet you here.I didn't know that the fight was to be between us."

  "You have ruined me," he answered. "I'm a sinking ship now, and thoserats out there will leave me--but it's worth ruin to see you again. Iwant you to take this message with you and remember it. All my lifeI've gambled hard and fought hard. Now I fail hard. I lost you anddeserved to lose you, but I've always loved you and always shall."

  Her eyes grew stern, repressing the tenderness and pity that sought tohold them soft.

  "You abandoned me," she said. "You sought to plunder my people. I tookup their fight, and I shall win it."

  Spurrier came a step toward her and spread his hands in a gesture ofsurrender, but he had recovered from the shock that had so unnervedhim a few minutes ago and there was now a certain dignity in hisacceptance of defeat.

  "I break my sword across my knee," he declared, "and since I must doit, I'm glad you are the victor. I won't ask for mercy even fromyou--but when you sa
y I abandoned you, you are grievously wrong.

  "When you say I sought to plunder your people, you speak the truthabout me--as I was before I came to love you. From that time on Isought to serve your people."

  "Sought to serve them?" she repeated in perplexity, "The record showsnothing of that."

  "And since the record doesn't," he answered steadily, "any assertionsand protestations would be without proof. I've told you, because myheart compelled me. I won't try to convince you. At all events, sinceI failed, my motives don't matter."

  "Your motives are everything. I took up the fight," she said, "becauseI thought a Spurrier had wronged them. I wanted a Spurrier to makerestitution."

  "At first I saw only the game, dear heart," he confessed, "never theunfairness. I'm ready to pay the price. Ruin me--but in God's name,believe that I love you."

  Her hand came out waveringly at that, and for a moment rested on hisshoulder with a little gesture of tenderness.

  "I thought I hated you," she said. "I tried to hate you. I'vededicated myself to my people and their rights--but if you trust meenough, call them in and let me talk with them."

  "Trust you enough!" he exclaimed passionately, then he caught her tohim, and, when he let her go, he stood again transformed andrevivified into the man he had seemed before she appeared in thedoorway. It was as though the touch of her lips had given him the firefrom which he rose phoenixlike.

  With an unhesitant step he went to the door and opened it, and the menwho had gone out trooped back and ranged themselves again about thetable.

  "Mr. Spurrier did all in your interests that a man could do," saidGlory. "He failed to secure your charter and he failed to secure theone tract that serves as the key. I am a mountain woman seeking onlyto protect my people. I hold that tract as trustee for Bud Hawkins. Imean to do business, but only at a fair price. It's for you todetermine whether I deal with you or your competitors."

  A look of consternation spread over the faces of the lesser men, butHarrison inquired with a grim smile:

  "Madam, haven't I seen you somewhere before to-day?"

  "Once before--down in the hills."

  "Then you are this man's wife! Was this dramatic incident prearrangedbetween you?"

  She raised an imperative hand, and her voice admitted no question ofsincerity.

  "Make no such mistake. Mr. Spurrier knew nothing of this. He was loyalenough--to you. From him I never even learned the nature of hisbusiness. Without his knowledge _I_ was loyal to my people."

  Then for ten minutes she talked clearly, forcefully, and with the ringof indubitable sincerity giving fire to voice and manner. She told ofthe fight she and her father had made to keep heart in mountain folk,enraged by what they believed to be the betrayal by a man they hadtrusted and attacked by every means of coercion at the disposal ofAmerican Oil and Gas.

  She told of small local reservoirs, mysteriously burned by unknownincendiaries; of neighborhood pipe lines cut until they spilled outtheir wealth again into the earth; of how she herself had walked theselines at night, watching against sabotage.

  As she talked with simple directness and without self-vaunting, theysaw her growing in the trust of these men whose wrath had been, in thewords of old Cappeze, "Like that of the wolf-bitch robbed a secondtime of her whelps." They recognized the faith that had commissionedher to speak as trustee, and to act with carte-blanche powers.

  Harrison and his subordinates were not susceptible men, easily swayedby a dramatic circumstance, so they cross-examined and heckled herwith shrewd and tripping inquiries, until she reminded them that shehad not come as a supplicant, but to lay before them terms, which theywould, at their peril, decline to accept.

  The realization was strong in them that she had spoken only the truthwhen she declared that she held the key. When they were convinced thatshe realized, in full, the strength of her position, they had no wishto antagonize longer.

  The group of financiers drew apart, but after a brief consultationHarrison came forward and offered his hand.

  "Mrs. Spurrier," he announced crisply, "we have gone too far to drawback. After all, I think you come rather as a rescue party than anattacker. Spurrier, you have married a damned brilliant woman."

  Glory accepted the extended hand of peace, and Harrison, with a jerkof his head to the door, led his followers out, leaving them aloneagain.

  Then Glory held out her arms, and into the bright depths of her eyesflashed the old bewitching merriment.

  "Thar's a lavish of things I needs ter know, Jack," she said. "You'vegot to l'arn 'em all ter me."

  "I come now, not as teacher but as pupil, dear heart," he declared,"and I come humbly."

  Then her face grew serious and her voice vibrant with tenderness.

  "I have another gift for you, Jack, besides myself, I can give youback an untarnished name."

  THE END

  * * * * *

  Transcribers Note

  Typographical inconsistencies have been changed and are listed below.

  Hyphenation standardized.

  Other archaic and variable spelling and hyphenation is preserved,including the author's use of eying and eyeing, Quizote, Otello, andlangour.

  Passages in italics indicated by _underscores_.

  Transcriber Changes

  The following changes were made to the original text:

  Page 86: Was sterterously (he sat there breathing =stertorously= while the untended fire died away)

  Page 90: Was plausiblity (One explanation only presented itself with any color of =plausibility=)

  Page 96: Was mistly (there was a dreamy violet where it merged =mistily= with the skyline ridges)

  Page 118: Was there ("It is well established by the evidence befo' =ther= co'te")

  Page 120: Was impusively (the girl broke out =impulsively=)

  Page 124: Removed extra quote (Still Spurrier cursed himself for a careless =fool=)

  Page 162: Was it's (you'll recall that =its= longer name is _Datura stramonium_)

  Page 180: Was inperceptible (pair of shoulders that hunched slowly forward with almost =imperceptible= movement)

  Page 208: Guessed at missing text (the latter inquired gravely: ="Did they play one= of them royalty games")

  Page 208: Was single quote (I ain't playin' no more of them royalty =games"=)

  Page 263: Was pacink ("Before God," cried Harrison, =pacing= his floor like a lion)

  Page 301: Was personalties ("What matter =personalities= to us?")