leave.

As they all stood on the broad wooden steps Helen stretched out her
hand to Thurston.

"Thank you, Geoffrey," she said softly. "Believe me, I am grateful."

Standing bareheaded beside a pillar, Thurston looked after them as they
drove away. It was the first time Helen had called him "Geoffrey," and
he fancied that he had seen even more than kindness in her eyes.

"And it is her father whom they tempted me to betray! Damn them!" he
growled. "The only honest man among them included me among those who
lean upon Savine! Savine will need a stay himself presently, and one,
at least, will not fail him. Ah, again!--what the devil are you
wanting?"

The last words were spoken clearly, but Leslie, to whom they were
addressed, smiled malevolently.

"It would pay you to be civil," he threatened. "I have no particular
reason to love you, and might prove a troublesome enemy. However,
because my financial interests, which are bound up with my employers',
come first, I warn you that you are foolish to hold on to an associate,
who has strong men against him, a speculator whose best days are over.
I'll give you time to cool down and think over my suggestion."

"You and I can have no dealings," declared Geoffrey. "What's done
cannot be undone--but keep clear of me. As sure as there's a justice,
which will bring you to book, even without my help, we'll crush you, if
you get in Savine's way, or mine."

"I think this is hardly becoming to either of us, and the next time the
Company wants your views it can send another envoy," asserted Leslie.

"In the expressive Western idiom, it would save trouble if you keep on
thinking in just that way," Geoffrey rejoined.

The two men parted, Leslie to go back to where Millicent was holding a
group of men interested by her forced gayety and Geoffrey to walk
slowly out into the moonlight where he could think of Helen and wonder
how confidently he might hope to win her love.

CHAPTER XIV

THE WORK OF AN ENEMY

It was a bitter morning when a weary man, sprinkled white with powdery
snow, came limping into Thurston's camp, which was then pitched in the
canyon. A pitiless wind swept down from the range side across the
thrashing pines, and filled the deep rift with its shrill moaning which
sounded above the diapason of the shrunken river. A haze of
frost-dried snow infinitesimally fine, which stung the unprotected skin
like the prick of hot needles, whirled before the