beside the door as he came out.

"You had better bring your camp down here," he remarked, ironically.
"Well, for to-night you will have to spread your blanket in this room if
Harris doesn't object. That is what I am to do, for I've given up my
quarters to the ladies, who are afraid of snakes."

Akkomi nodded, and then Overton moved nearer the door again.

"Jim, I may not be back for an hour or so. I am going either on the water
or up on the mountain for a little while. Don't lie awake for me, and I'll
send a fellow in to look after you."

Harris nodded, and 'Tana, in her own room, heard Overton's steps die away
in the night. He was going on the water or on the mountains--the places
she loved to go, and dared not.

She felt like calling after him to wait to take her with him once more,
and did rise and go to the door, but no farther.

Lights were gleaming all along the little stream; laughter and men's
voices came to her across the level. Her own corner of the camp looked
very dark and shadowy in comparison. But she turned back to it with a
sigh.

"You may go, Flap-Jacks," she said to the squaw. "I don't mind being
alone, but first fix the bed of Harris."

She noticed Akkomi outside the door, but did not speak to him. She heard
the miner enter the other cabin and assist Harris to his couch and then
depart. She wondered a little that the old Indian still sat there smoking,
instead of spreading his blanket, as Overton had invited him to do.

A book of poems, presented to her by Lyster, was so engrossing, however,
that she forgot the old fellow, until a movement at the door aroused her,
and she turned to find the silent smoker inside her cabin.

But it was not Akkomi, though it was the cloak of Akkomi that fell from
his shoulders.

It was a man dressed as an Indian, but his speech was the speech of a
white man, as he frowned on her white, startled face.

"So, my fine lady, I've found you at last, even if you have got too high
and mighty to come when I sent for you," he said, growlingly. "But I'll
change your tune very quick for you."

"Don't forget that I can change yours," she retorted. "A word from me, and
you know there is not a man in this camp wouldn't help land you where you
belong--in a prison, or at the end of a rope."

"Oh, no," and he grimaced in a sardonic way. "I'm not a bit afraid of
that--not a bit in the world. You can't afford it. These high-toned
friends you've been making might drop off a l