he Teegmores, Mistaire Steering, and protect
Madeira's fortune. You can do that easy."

"I know. It looks easy. But think back a little. Madeira is sure to
fight. Grierson's death occurred months ago under an assumed name. To
prove that he died we must prove when he died, where he died and who he
was. To prove all that is to let the light in upon dark places. I hardly
see how the light can be let in, Uncle Bernique, without cutting Madeira
out sharp and keen as a rascal. Madeira would never allow,--at this
juncture, he couldn't allow us to establish my claim to the Tigmores on
my word and yours. He has done unwise, crazy things already. He would
fight us. I know it, you know it. We could win. But where would our
victory leave him, Uncle Bernique? Ah, you see?"

The old man was shaking from head to foot. He clung close to Steering.
"Oh, my God!" he moaned, "I will not let this thing be."

"Yes, you will let it be! It is my affair even more than it is yours.
You will do as I say about it, Uncle Bernique. Here and now, you shall
swear this oath with me: I by my love for Sally Madeira, you by your
love for Piney's young mother, that never, so help us God, shall one or
the other of us carry word of these matters to anyone, least of all to
Crittenton Madeira or his daughter Salome!"

The old man's breath came gustily, his cheeks flamed, the hectic burned
like fire in his shrivelled cheeks. He loosed his clinging hold and
tried to shake Bruce off.

"Swear," Bruce decreed again, his powerful grip on the old man, his eyes
half shut, "I by my love for Sally Madeira, you by your love for Piney's
young mother! Swear!" He held up his own right hand, and Bernique said
brokenly:

"God above, I swear!" The old man was crying. Neither heard the swish in
the bluff growth, neither saw the brave light in the two eyes that
peered through the bushes.

"Why now, everything is all right," cried Bruce. "Are you going on into
Canaan to-night, or shall you sleep here with me? I think that I shall
take the skiff now and go up toward Madeira Place, then drift back
down-stream, a sort of good-bye journey. What will you do meantime?"

Old Bernique hardly knew. He was sore, bewildered. He thought he might
spend the night on the hills, then again he might come back to the shack
for the night. He wanted to go into Choke Gulch first thing.

Bruce pushed away in the skiff through the swollen Di. Bernique got his
horse and started off, climbing t