stic abruptness.

"Who's on the trail?"

"Who? Nick Westley. He's comin' for blood! Victor's blood!" Then Davia
sprang to her feet with a look of wild alarm upon her beautiful face.
"He's killed his brother!" she added. "He's mad--ravin' mad."

The man did not move a muscle. Only his eyes darkened as he heard the
announcement.

"Mad," he said, thoughtfully. "An' he's comin' fer Victor. Wal?"

Davia sat up. Her brother's calmness had a soothing effect upon her.

"Listen, an' I'll tell you."

And she told the story of the mountain tragedy, and the manner in which
she watched the madman's subsequent actions until he set out for the
store. And the story lost none of its intense horror in her telling.

Jean listened unemotionally and with a judicial air. Only his eyes
shoved that he was in any way moved.

When she had finished he asked her, "An' when'll he git here?"

"Can't say," came the swift reply. "Maybe to-night; maybe in an hour;
maybe right now. He's big an' strong, an'--an' he's mad, I know it." And
a shudder of apprehension passed over her frame.

"Fer Victor? Sure?" Jean asked again presently, like a man weighing up a
difficult problem.

"Sure. He don't know you, nor me, at this layout. Ther's only Victor. I
guess I don't know how he figgered it, he's that crazy, but it's Victor
he's layin' fer, sure. Say, I saw him sling his gun an' his 'six.' An'
his belt was heavy with ammunition. I reckon ther's jest one thing fer
us to do when a crazy man gits around with a gun. It's time to light
out. Wher's Victor?" And her eyes fell upon the treasure-chest.

"Him an' me's changed places. He's back ther'." Jean jerked a thumb over
his shoulder to indicate the huts in the wood.

Davia was on her feet in an instant and her eyes sparkled angrily.

"What d'ye mean, Jean?"

The man shrugged. But his words came full of anger.

"He didn't mean marryin' ye."

"Well?" The blue eyes fairly blazed.

"The boodle," with a glance in the direction of the treasure. "He was
fer jumpin' the lot."

"Hah! An'--?"

And Jean told his story. And after that a silence fell.

"It's cursed--it's blood-money!" Davia's voice was hoarse with emotion
as she said the words.

Jean started.

"We're goin' to git," he said slowly. And he looked into the woman's
eyes as though he would read her very soul.

"An' Victor?" said Davia harshly.

"Come, we'll go to him."

At the door Davia was seized with an overwhelming terror. Sh