r the
present he could do without them. There was blasting to be done upon
the rugged wall of the canon, there were tall pines bunched in groves,
many of which must come down before the flume could be completed or
the ditch made. And men with axes and crowbars and giant powder were
set to their tasks.

Everywhere he went the Lark dogged his heels, listening intently to
the orders which his superior gave him.

"The main thing," Conniston told him, when he had outlined the work as
well as he could, "is to keep your men working! Don't lose any time.
I'll be back as soon as I can make it, some time to-morrow, and if you
don't know how to handle anything that comes up put your men on
something else. The dam has got to be made, the flume has got to be
built, the cut has to be dug, a lot of trees and boulders have to come
out. You will have enough to keep you busy."

"Do you know, Mr. Conniston," Jimmie Kent told him, as they sat down
together for a bite of lunch, "I've got a hunch. A rare, golden
hunch!"

Conniston laughed--he was in the mood to laugh at anything now--and
asked what the rare "hunch" was.

"Just this: there's going to be some fun pulled off in this very same
neck of the woods before the first of October! And, by Harry, I'd like
to see it! Have you any objection to my sort of roosting around and
keeping my bright eye on the game? Oh, I don't want a salary; I'll pay
for my grub, and you can have my valuable advice gratis. Can I stick
around?"

When Conniston told him that he should be glad to have him stay, and
as his and the company's guest, Jimmie Kent beamed.

"That's bully of you! If you don't mind, and we can scare up a horse
for me, I'd like to ride into Valley City with you? I can send a wire
from there to my firm asking for an indefinite vacation. Oh, they'll
grant it, all right. They want a man like me in their business."

It was after one o'clock, work was in progress, and Conniston and
Jimmie Kent swung into their saddles and started for Valley City.
Before they had ridden a mile down the mountainous road Conniston
heard Kent whistle softly, and ahead of them, coming to meet them, saw
a light pole buggy swiftly approaching. A moment later and the man
driving had stopped his horses and was looking with small, shrewd eyes
into Conniston's.

He was a short man, round of face, round of eyes, round of stomach.
Very fair, very bland, very red under the flaming sun, the sweat
trickling down his