entle rain began
to fall, but the fire was burning fiercely.

The other matter in McGuire's thoughts was so much the more important to
him that he had given little thought to the damage to his property. His
forests might all be burned down for all that he cared.

At the spot to which Beth and Peter had been carried he met Shad and the
party of men that had been looking for Hawk Kennedy, but the place where
the fight had taken place was still a mass of fallen trees and branches
all flaming hotly and it was impossible for any one to get within
several hundred yards of it.

There seemed little doubt as to the fate of his enemy. Jonathan K.
McGuire stood at the edge of the burned area, peering into the glowing
embers. His look was grim but there was no smile of triumph at his lips.
In his moments of madness he had often wished Hawk Kennedy dead, but
never had he wished him such a death as this. He questioned Shad sharply
as to his share in the adventure, satisfying himself at last that the
man had told a true story, and then, noting his wounded arm, sent him
back with Brierly in the car to Black Rock House for medical treatment
with orders to send the chauffeur with the limousine.

The rain was now falling fast, but Jonathan K. McGuire did not seem to
be aware of it. His gaze was on the forest, on that of the burning area
nearest him where the fire still flamed the hottest, beneath the embers
of which lay the one dreadful secret of his life. Even where he stood
the heat was intense, but he did not seem to be aware of it, nor did he
follow the others when they retreated to a more comfortable spot. No one
knew why he waited or of what he was thinking, unless of the damage to
the Reserve and what the loss in money meant to him. They could not
guess that pity and fear waged their war in his heart--pity that any man
should die such a death--fear that the man he thought of should not die
it.

But as the hours lengthened and there was no report brought to him of
any injured man, being found in the forest near by, he seemed to know
that Peter Nichols had not struck for Beth in vain.

When the limousine came, he sent the other watchers home, and got into
it, sitting in solitary grandeur in his wet clothing, peering out of the
window. The glow of the flames grew dimmer and died at last with the
first pale light to the eastward which announced the coming of the dawn.
A light drizzle was still falling when it grew light enough to