u to travel among them teaching the men in relays to
shoot accurately and fast. This can be done without greatly interfering
with the working of the mines. You would be nominally under the command
of a man named O'Hagan, to whom I have written a letter introducing you,
on the chance that you might care to use it."

"Where," said Wilmot smiling, "does the business end of the affair
begin? I'm rotten with debts."

"For teaching my men to shoot," said Blizzard, "I will pay you the money
that you owe me. That's one debt written off."

"And how shall I live in the meanwhile?"

"I have empowered O'Hagan to pay you five hundred dollars a month."

"And the rest of my debts? How about them?"

"You will fight for down-trodden people," said Blizzard gravely. "If you
win, you will find them grateful--possibly beyond the dreams of avarice.
In the republic of which we are speaking there is wealth enough for all.
It is one of the richest little corners of God's footstool--gold,
diamonds, silver. If you succeed you will be on Easy Street. If you
fail, you will very likely get a bullet through your head."

Wilmot's face brightened. "If I got killed trying to pay 'em," said he,
"my creditors couldn't feel very nasty toward me, could they?"

A look of strong admiration came into Blizzard's hard eyes. "I like the
way your mind works," said he. "If you get killed in my service, I'll
pay your debts myself."

"I owe nearly a hundred thousand," said Wilmot.

"I've been worse stung," said Blizzard.

"Where the devil do you get all your money, Blizzard?"

"I've lived for money and power. I've been lucky, clever--and
unscrupulous."

"I like your frankness. But you are not letting me in for anything
rotten?"

"Your Revolutionary ancestors fought against just such forces as you are
to fight against--unjust taxation, abuse of power, and corruption in
high places. Are you going to serve?"

"I'm going it pretty blind, but I think so. I like the idea of fighting.
I like the idea of paying my debts. And at times I think a bullet in the
head would be a matter for self-congratulation."

"That," said Blizzard, "is the feeling of two classes of young
men--those who are tangled up with women and those who aren't."

Wilmot laughed, though the legless man's words brought the ache into his
heart.

"You will return to New York," Blizzard went on, "during the first half
of January."

"I had rather promised myself to keep out of New York fo