ge her guide in conversation,
quite as though they were making a pleasure trip that was mutually
agreeable. The man--as though he also desired his thoughts removed as far
as might be from his real mission--responded readily, and succeeded in
making himself a really interesting companion. Only once, did the girl
venture to approach dangerous ground.

"Really," she said, "I wish I knew your name. It seems so stupid not to
know how to address you. Is that asking too much?"

The man did not answer for some time, and the girl saw his face clouded
with somber thought.

"I beg your pardon," she said gently. "I--I ought not to have asked."

"My name is Henry Marston, Miss Andres," he said deliberately. "But it is
not the name by which I am known these days," he added bitterly. "It is an
honorable name, and I would like to hear it again--" he paused--"from
you."

Sibyl returned gently, "Thank you, Mr. Marston--believe me, I do
appreciate your confidence, and--" she in turn hesitated--"and I will keep
the trust."

By noon, they had reached Granite Peak in the Galenas, having come by an
unmarked way, through the wild country around the head of Clear Creek
Canyon.

They had finished lunch, when Marston, looking at his watch, took a small
mirror from his pocket and stood gazing expectantly toward the distant
valley where Fairlands lay under the blue haze. Presently, a flash of
light appeared; then another and another. It was the signal that Aaron
King had seen and to which he had called Brian Oakley's attention, that
first day of their search.

With his mirror, the man on Granite Peak answered and the girl, watching
and understanding that he was communicating with some one, saw his face
grow dark with anger. She did not speak.

They had traveled a half mile, perhaps, from the peak, when the man again
stopped, saying, "You must dismount here, please."

Removing the things from the saddle, he led the horse a little way down
the Galena Valley side of the ridge, and tied the reins to a tree. Then,
slapping the animal about the head with his open hand, he forced the horse
to break the reins, and started him off toward the distant valley. Again,
the girl understood and made no comment.

Lifting the pack to his own strong shoulders, her companion--his eyes
avoiding hers in shame--said gruffly, "Come."

Their way, now, led down from the higher levels of peak and ridge, into
the canyons and gorges of the Cold Water country. Th