nd a mill. That must be--"

"Ba'teese would have hear of eet."

"Surely. But Thayer might have--"

"Ba'teese would have hear of eet," came the repetition. "No, eet is
something else. She would have ask Ba'teese and Ba'teese would have
said, 'No. Take nothing and give nothing. _M'sieu_ Thayer, he is no
good.' So eet is not that. You know the way back? _Bon_--good. Go
to the cabin. Ba'teese will try to learn who eet is, this Blackburn."

They parted, Ba'teese to lounge back into the tiny town, Houston to
take the winding road which led back to the cabin. A pretty road it
was, too, one which trailed along beside the stream, now clear with
that sharp brilliancy which is characteristic of the mountain creek, a
road fringed with whispering aspens, bright green in their new foliage,
with small spruce and pine. Here and there a few flowers showed; by
the side of the road the wild roses peeped up from the denser growths
of foliage, and a vagrant butterfly or so made the round of blossom
after blossom. It was spring-summer down here, sharp contrast indeed
to the winter which lurked above and which would not fade until June
had far progressed. But with it all, its beauty, its serenity, its
peace and soft moistness, Houston noticed it but slightly. His
thoughts were on other things: on Thayer and his duplicity, on the
possibilities of the future, and the methods of combating a business
enemy he felt sure was lurking in the background.

It meant more to Houston than the mere monetary value of a
loss,--should a loss come. Back in the family burying ground in Boston
was a mound that was fresher than others, a mound which shielded the
form of a man who had died in disappointment, leaving behind an edict
which his son had sworn to carry through to its fulfillment. Now there
were obstacles, and ones which were shielded by the darkness of
connivance and scheming. The outlook was not promising. Yet even in
its foreboding, there was consolation.

"I at least know Thayer's a crook. I can fire him and run the mill
myself," Barry was murmuring to himself, as he plodded along. "There
may be others; I can weed them out. At least saws won't be breaking
every two weeks and lumber won't warp for lack of proper handling.
Maybe I can get somebody back East to look after the office there and--"

He ceased his soliloquy as he glanced ahead and noticed the trim figure
of Medaine Robinette swinging along the road, old Lost W