htly; then, with a further
look around, he stepped a little nearer the wheel. "Hell's about to
break loose again, Mart."

"What's the latest?"

"I can't go into details, and I mustn't be seen talking with you, but
Williams is in for trouble. Tell him to reverse engine for a few weeks.
Good-day," and he walked off, leaving the impression of having been sent
to convey a friendly warning.

Haney seized upon this message. His resolution returned. His voice took
on edge and decision. "Oscar," he called quickly, "drive me down to the
station, I want to get that ten-thirty-seven train."

As the driver chirruped to his horses and swung out into the street,
Marshall Haney, with full understanding that this was to be his eternal
farewell, turned and looked up, hoping to catch a last glimpse of his
wife's sweet face at the window. A sign, a smile, a beckoning, and his
purpose might still have faltered, but the recall did not take place,
and facing the west he became again the man of will. When the carriage
drew up to the platform he gave orders to his coachman as quietly as
though this were his usual morning ride. "Now, Oscar, you heard what
that friend of mine said?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, forget it."

"Very well, sir."

"But tell Mrs. Haney I've gone up to the mine. You can say to her that
Williams sent for me. You can tell her, but to no one else, what you
heard Dan say. You understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"All right, that stands. Now you go home and wait till about
twelve-thirty. Then go down for Mrs. Haney."

The coachman, a stolid, reliable man, well trained to his duties, did
not offer to assist his master, but sat in most approved alertness upon
his box while Haney painfully descended to the walk.

The train was about to move, and the conductor had already signalled the
engineer to "go ahead," but at sight of the gambler, whom he knew,
stopped the train and helped Haney aboard. "A minute more and you would
have been left. Going up to the mine, I reckon?"

They were still on the platform as Mart answered, "Yes, I'm due to take
a hand in the game up there." He said this with intent to cover his
trail.

He was all but breathless as he dropped into a seat near the door. The
sense of leaden weakness with which he had come to struggle daily had
deepened at the moment into a smothering pain which threatened to blind
him.

"I must be quiet," he thought--"I will not die in the car." There seemed
something disgraceful