elf was conscious of a
choking sensation he contrived to say in a most optimistic tone:

"In two weeks--not more than two weeks. It will take all that time to
arrange things at the rancho. As it is, I hardly see my way clear to
dismissing my men--you see, they belong to me, almost, and--but I'll do
so, never fear. No power on earth could make me take up the old life
again."

The Girl said nothing in reply; instead she put both her arms around his
neck and remained a long time in his embrace. At last, summoning up all
her fortitude she put him resolutely from her, and whispered:

"When you are ready, come. You must leave me now." And with a curt
command to the Indian she fled back into the darkness.

For an instant the road agent's eyes followed the direction that she had
taken; then, his spirits rising at the thought that his escape was now
well-nigh assured, he turned and plunged down the ravine.

XV.

As has been said, it was a custom of the miners, whenever a storm made
it impossible for them to work in the mines, to turn the dance-hall of
the Polka Saloon into an Academy, the post of teacher being filled by
the Girl. It happened, therefore, that early the following morning the
men of Cloudy Mountain Camp assembled in the low, narrow room with its
walls of boards nailed across inside upright beams--a typical miners'
dance-hall of the late Forties--which they had transformed into a
veritable bower, so eager were they to please their lovely teacher.
Everyone was in high spirits, Rance alone refraining from taking any
part whatsoever in the morning's activities; dejectedly, sullenly, he
sat tilted back in an old, weather-beaten, lumber chair before the
heavily-dented, sheet-iron stove in a far corner of the room, gazing
abstractedly up towards the stove's rusty pipe that ran directly through
the ceiling; and what with his pale, waxen countenance, his eyes red and
half-closed for the want of sleep, his hair ruffled, his necktie awry,
his waistcoat unfastened, his boots unpolished, and the burnt-out cigar
which he held between his white, emaciated fingers, he was not the
immaculate-looking Rance of old, but presented a very sad spectacle
indeed.

Outside, through the windows,--over which had been hung curtains of red
and yellow cotton,--could be seen the green firs on the mountain, their
branches dazzling under their burden of snow crystals; and stretching
out seemingly interminably until the line of earth