crunch of the wheels through the
road dust.

"MacDonald," said Matthews abruptly, "A'm goin' t' see this thing
thro'. A don't mean y'r daughter's love; th' angels o' Heaven have
that in _their_ own charge! A'm referrin' t' this mine thing! There's
evil brewin'! A'm goin' t' see this thing thro'; an' A make no doubt
y'r goin' to do th' same! A'm no wantin' t' pry into y'r affairs,
MacDonald; but--is y'r will made an' secure?"

The sheep rancher flicked his whip at the bronchos and took firmer hold
of the reins.

"Copper rivetted," he said.

We call _It_ clairvoyance; and we call _It_ intuition; and we call _It_
instinct; and we might as well call it x, y, z for all these terms
mean. We do not know what they mean. Neither do we know what _It_ is.
We hear _It_ and obey _It_; and _It_ brings blessedness. In the din of
life's insistent noise, we sometimes do not hear _It_. That is, we do
not hear _It_ until afterwards when the curse has come. Then, we
remember that we did hear _It_, though we did not heed it.

It was so with Eleanor after her father passed from the Ranch House
that night. Afterwards, she knew that she had noticed the wistful look
on his face; but the memory of it did not come to the surface of
thought till she heard the click of Calamity's door in the basement and
recollected his words; "Keep Calamity by you." Also, at that very
moment, a great gray racing motor car swerved out across the white
bridge from the Senator's ranch buildings and went spinning down the
Valley road, the twin lanterns before and behind cutting the dark in
the double sword of a great search light that etched the sheathed pine
needles and twinkling cottonwoods in black against a background of
gold. Eleanor was perfectly certain she saw the same two hats in the
back seat that had met Wayland at the Cabin that afternoon.

"Calamity," she called down over the piazza railing.

The native woman came up the piazza stairs on a pattering run.

"Why has everybody gone down to Smelter City to-night? Is anything
wrong?"

The Cree woman's shawl had fallen back from her head. She stood
kneading her fingers in and out of her palms. There was a strange wild
look in the dark eyes and her breathing labored. "It ees Moyese," said
Calamity slowly. "He 'xamin d' mine t'-morrow."

"Why, Calamity, that is perfect nonsense! Moyese won't examine the
mine, at all! This young fellow from Washington is the one to examine
the m