ld say," Dick directed, pointing an indicatory
finger, and the drill runner nodded.

The swamper, who appeared to know his business, came forward with the
coupling which fed compressed air to the machine, the runner gave a
last inspection of his drill, turned his chuck screw, setting it
against the rocky face, and signaled for the air. With a clatter like
the discharge of a rapid-fire gun, the steel bit into the rock, and
the Cross was really a mine again. Spattered with mud, and satisfied
that the new drift was working in pay, the partner trudged back out.

They signaled for the cage, shot upward, and emerged to the yard near
the blacksmith's tunnel in time to see a huge bay horse, with a woman
rider, come toiling up the slope. There was something familiar about
the white hat, and as she neared them they recognized The Lily. Before
they could assist her to dismount, she leaped from the saddle, landing
lightly on her toes, and dropped the horse's reins over his head.

"Good-day--never mind--he'll stand," she said, all in a breath,
striding toward them with an extended hand.

Dick accepted it with a firm grip, and lifted his hat, while Bill
merely shook hands and tried to smile. It was to him that she turned
solicitously.

"I'm glad you are out," she remarked, without lowering her eyes which
swept over the bandages on his face. "You're all right, are you?"

"Sure. But how's that girl? It don't matter much about an old cuss
like me. Girls are a heap scarcer."

The owner of the High Light looked troubled for a moment, and removed
her gloves before answering.

"Doctor Mills says she will live," she said quietly, "but she is
terribly burned. She will be so disfigured that she can never work in
a dance hall any more. It's pretty rough luck."

Dick recoiled and felt a chill at this hard, cold statement. The girl
could never work in a dance hall any more! And this was accepted as a
calamity! Accustomed as he was to the frontier, this matter-of-fact
acceptance of a dance-hall occupation as something desirable impressed
him with its cynicism. Not that he doubted the virtue of many of those
forlorn ones who gayly tripped their feet over rough boards, and drank
tea or ginger ale and filled their pockets with bar checks to make a
living as best they might, but because the whole garish, rough,
drink-laden, curse-begrimed atmosphere of a camp dance hall revolted
him.

Mrs. Meredith had intuition, and read men as she read b