aced feverishly. From every boulder, from every bend in the trail,
she feared to see the sinister face of Jim Courtot.

Chapter XXV

In the Open

There came that night a crisis. Half expected it had always been, and
yet after the familiar fashion of supreme moments it burst upon them
with the suddenness of an explosion. Howard and Helen were sitting
silent upon the cabin doorstep, watching the first stars. In Sanchia's
near-by tent a candle was burning; they could now and then see her
shadow as she moved restlessly about. Longstreet had been out all day,
prospecting.

The first intimation the two star-gazers had of any eventful happening
was borne to them by Longstreet's voice, calling cheerily out of the
darkness below the cliffs. His words were simply 'Hello, everybody!'
but the whoop from afar was of a joy scarcely less than delirious.
Sanchia ran out of her tent, toppling over her candle; both Helen and
Howard sprang up.

'He has found it!' cried Helen. 'Look at that woman. She is like a
spider.'

Longstreet came on down the trail jauntily. Sanchia, first to reach
him, passed her arm through his and held resolutely to his side. As
they came close and into the lamp-light from the cabin door their two
faces hid nothing of their two emotions. Longstreet's was one of
whole-hearted triumph; Sanchia's of shrewdness and determination.

'Now,' cried Longstreet ringingly, 'who says that I didn't know what I
was talking about!' It was a challenge of the victor, not a mere
question.

Before any other reply came Sanchia's answer.

'Dear friend,' she told him hurriedly, 'I always had faith in you.
When others doubted, I was sure. And now I rejoice in your happiness
as----'

'Papa!' warned Helen. She ran forward to him. 'Remember and be
careful!'

Longstreet went into the cabin. The others followed him. Sanchia did
not release his arm, though she saw and understood what lay in Helen's
look and Howard's. The main issue had arrived and Sanchia meant to
make the most of it.

Longstreet put down his short-handled pick. Howard noted the act and
observed, though the impression at the time was relegated to the outer
fringes of his concentrated thought, that the rough head of the
instrument and even a portion of the handle looked rusty. Longstreet
removed from his shoulders his canvas specimen-bag. Plainly, it was
heavy; there were a number of samples in it, some as small as robins'
eggs, one