reed Dennis heartily. "And somehow, I'm going to
help. Go get your work done and then call for me at Pen's house."

Jim had been in the office but a few minutes when he came out again and
stood on the edge of the canyon, staring at the silhouette of the
Elephant against the night stars. After a moment he turned up the trail
toward the tent house. He entered without ceremony and stood a tall,
slender, commanding figure against the white of the tent wall. His eyes
were big and bright. His lips were stiff as he looked at Sara and said:

"You are fully even now, Saradokis. I've a notion to kill you as I would
a rattler."

The tent was bright with lamplight. The red and black Navajo across
Sara's cot was as motionless over the outline of his great legs as
though it covered a dead man. Uncle Denny stared at Jim without
stirring. His florid face paled a little and his bright Irish eyes did
not blink.

Pen could see a tiny patch that Mrs. Flynn had put on the knee of Jim's
riding breeches. There swept over her a sudden appreciation of Jim's
utter simplicity and sincerity under all the stupendous responsibilities
he had assumed not only in the building of the dam, but in his less
tangible building for the nation. As he stood before them she saw him
not as a man but as the boy Uncle Denny often had described to her,
announcing the vast discovery of his life work. Would he, had he known
the bitter years ahead of him, have chosen the same, she wondered.

"I found two interesting communications in my mail tonight," said Jim,
slowly. "One is a letter from the Washington Office containing clippings
from eastern papers. Some reporter announces that he has discovered a
fully developed scheme of mine and Freet's to sell out to the
Transatlantic people. He gives a twisted version of the conversation
here, the other night, that sounds like conclusive evidence. The matter
is so well handled that even the Washington office is convinced that I'm
a crook. The local papers will, of course, copy this."

Sara did not stir. Jim moistened his lips. "While I knew that I lived
under a cloud of suspicion," he said, "I thought to be able to leave the
Service with nothing worse than suspicion on my name. I shall never be
able to live this down. Yet this is not the worst. I received tonight an
anonymous letter. It states that unless I drop my silent campaign, the
name of the wife of my crippled friend will be coupled with mine in an
unpleasant mann