But the gorge of Elliot rose. The man, after all, was a law-breaker,
a menace to civilization. He was a survivor by reason of his strength
from the primitive wolf-pack. Already the special agent had heard many
strange stories of how this man of steel had risen to supremacy by
trampling down lesser men with whom he had had dealings, of terrible
battles from which his lean, powerful body had emerged bloody and
battered, but victorious. The very look of his hard, gray eyes was
dominant and masterful. He would win, no matter how. It came to Gordon's
rebel heart that if Macdonald wanted this lovely Irish girl,--and the
young man never doubted that the Scotchman would want her,--he would
reach out and gather in Sheba just as if she were a coal mine or a
placer prospect.

All this surged through the mind of the young man while the singer was
on the first line of the second stanza.

"But if 't was only Sheve Cross to climb from foot to crown,
I'd soon be up an' over that, I'd soon be runnin' down.
Then sure the great ould sea itself is there beyont the bar,
An' all the windy wathers are between us, so they are.
Och anee!"

The rich, soft, young voice with its Irish brogue died away. The little
audience paid the singer the tribute of silence. She herself was the
first to speak.

"'Divided' is the name of it. A namesake of mine, Moira O'Neill, wrote
it," she explained.

"It's a beautiful song, and I thank ye for singing it," Macdonald said
simply. "It minds me of my own barefoot days by the Tay."

Later in the evening the two dinner guests walked back to the hotel
together. The two subjects uppermost in the minds of both were not
mentioned by either. They discussed casually the cost of living in the
North, the raising of strawberries at Kusiak, and the best way to treat
the mosquito nuisance, but neither of them referred to the Macdonald
coal claims or to Sheba O'Neill.

CHAPTER VII

WALLY GETS ORDERS

Macdonald, from his desk, looked up at the man in the doorway. Selfridge
had come in jauntily, a cigar in his mouth, but at sight of the grim
face of his chief the grin fled.

"Come in and shut the door," ordered the Scotchman. "I sent for you to
congratulate you, Wally. You did fine work outside. You told me, didn't
you, that it was all settled at last--that our claims are clear-listed
for patent?"

The tubby little man felt the edge of irony in the quiet voice. "Sure.
That's wha