told her, in a low voice. "I've heard how
y'u fought for my life all day. There's nothing I can say. I owed y'u
everything already twice, and now I owe it all over again. Give me a
lifetime and I couldn't get even."

Helen's swift glance swept over Nora and the foreman. They were in a
dark alcove, oblivious of anybody else. Also they were in each other's
arms frankly. For some reason wine flowed into the cream of Helen's
cheeks.

"Do you have to 'get even'? Among friends is that necessary?" she asked
shyly.

"I hope not. If it is, I'm sure bankrupt Even my thanks seem to stay at
home. If y'u hadn't done so much for me, perhaps I could tell y'u how
much y'u had done But I have no words to say it."

"Then don't," she advised.

"Y'u're the best friend a man ever had. That's all I can say."

"It's enough, since you mean it, even though it isn't true," she
answered gently.

Their eyes met, fastened for an instant, and by common consent looked
away.

As it chanced they were close to the window, their shadows reflected on
the blind. A man, slipping past in the street on horseback, stopped
at sight of that lighted window, with the moving shadows, in an
uncontrollable white fury. He slid from the saddle, threw the reins
over the horse's head to the ground, and slipped his revolver from its
holster and back to make sure that he could draw it easily. Then he
passed springily across the road to the hotel and up the stairs. He trod
lightly, stealthily, and by his very wariness defeated his purpose
of eluding observation. For a pair of keen eyes from the hotel office
glimpsed the figure stealing past so noiselessly, and promptly followed
up the stairway.

"Hope I don't intrude at this happy family gathering."

Helen, who had been pouring a glass of cordial for the spent and wounded
sheepman, put the glass down on the table and turned at sound of the
silken, sinister voice. After one glance at the vindictive face, from
the cold eyes of which hate seemed to smolder, she took an instinctive
step toward her lover. The cold wave that drenched her heart accompanied
an assurance that the man in the doorway meant trouble.

His sleek smile arrested her. He was standing with his feet apart, his
hands clasped lightly behind his back, as natty and as well groomed as
was his wont.

"Ah, make the most of what ye yet may spend, Before ye, too, into the
Dust descend; Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie, Sans Wine, sans
Song, sans