I can't stand seeing _that_."

He was off at a gallop. They saw the sparks strike from the stones as
he turned up the Ridge Trail.

A week had passed. The fire had been put out with little damage except
from O'Finnigan's timber slash to the lake beneath the upper snows. A
new Ranger was in charge. As for O'Finnigan, like Calamity, he had
dropped as completely from the Valley's knowledge as if the earth had
swallowed him. The Valley, in fact, had given small thought to the mad
squaw or the drunken Irishman. The Valley had had other things to talk
about. There was the coming fall campaign, and Wayland's name as
reform candidate, and Wayland's quiet marriage to the daughter of the
dead sheep king. Eleanor and Wayland had gone round through the Pass
to the Lake Behind the Peak, where he had dreamed what form of
triangulation thoughts must take from the star in the water to the star
on the other side of the Holy Cross; where the little waves lipped and
lisped and laved the reeds; where they two could drink and drink unseen
of the joy of the waters of life before the opening of the political
battle.

"Make him tell y' of all that happened in th' Pass when A was with
him," Matthews had called as they rode away up the narrowing trail to
the jubilant shouting of the canyon waters, the little mule leading the
pack ponies.

Mrs. Williams stood on the upper piazza of the Mission School waving
and waving. The cottonwoods were raining down showers of gold; and the
pines were clicking their gypsy tambourines; and the golden torches of
countless yellow autumn flowers lighted the triumphal procession of the
year to its consummation. Against the opal crown of the Holy Cross
Mountain, the yellowed larches tossed flaming torches to the very sky.

"They seem to be riding away to a world of dreams," said the little
lady in black.

Mr. Bat Brydges and Senator Moyese walked slowly and reflectively past
the Range Cabin towards the charred burn and timber slash of
O'Finnigan's abandoned homestead.

"It's that damned rant the old fellow let off in the court room," said
Brydges.

"Rant doesn't win elections, Brydges! It has to be fought out! Sooner
we accept the challenge and put 'em to bed for good, the better! Money
talks, Brydges!"

"But that's just it, Senator! Money _does_ talk; and some body's money
has talked when the Independent sold out to Joe!"

"Fool and his money soon parted, Brydges! Only, in this cas