is own. She meant to break his stubborn spirit--to
arouse in him, if possible, a violent aversion to her presence. Already
the summer was vanishing. The few birds--swallows, swifts, and yellow
warblers--that had immigrated at the coming of spring were preparing for a
long journey South. Cold winds were turning the leaves brown, and the
whole landscape deepened into autumn glory. Angela noted the change with
an impatience that was evident to any observer.

Jim, testing the last few yards of claim, pondered over the problem of her
change of front. She even sang at times, in a way that only succeeded in
deepening his suspicions. Was she singing on account of some happiness
newly found?--some interest in life which lay beyond himself and the
immediate surroundings?

It seemed to be the case, and the consciousness of this disturbing truth
caused him acute mental agony. Some other man could bring her happiness.
Some other man had succeeded in breaking into that icy reserve against
which all attempts on his part had been vain. Was it worth while
continuing the drama? If he let her escape, forgetfulness might come. Time
had its reward no less than its revenges. Why suffer, as he was suffering,
all the agonies of burning, unrequited love. At nights, with that hateful
curtain between them, he had writhed in anguish to hear the soft breathing
within a foot or so of his head. More than once a mad desire to rise up
and claim her as mate came to him, only to be cast aside as the better
part of him prevailed over these primal instincts.

"She's mine," he argued, "mine by purchase, an' if I was anything of a man
I'd go and take her now."

But just because he was a man he didn't. She owed her sanctity to the fact
that this rough son of Nature loved her with a love that seemed to rend
his heart in twain. The thin canvas between them was as safe a partition
as walls of granite. She might have found time to admire the quality of
his love, considering the circumstances prevailing, but her pride left
scant room for any sentiment of that sort. She merely took these things
for granted.

Jim, with the last hole bored in the iron earth, and the precious glint of
gold still as absent as ever, gazed back at the tent with knitted brows.
Red Ruin was a failure, as he had long known it to be. The future loomed
dark and uncertain. There were no more creeks near Dawson worth the
staking, but gold lay farther afield--over the vast repelling mountain