"He seemed very bitter over the chief's dismissal; but I hope to persuade
him to stay in the service; he's too valuable a man to lose just now when
the war is so hot. I realize that his salary is too small; but there are
other places for him. Perhaps when he knows that I have a special note to
him from the chief he will reconsider. He's quite capable of the
Supervisor's position, and Mr. Redfield is willing to resign in his favor.
I'm telling you all this because Mr. Redfield has told me of your interest
in Mr. Cavanagh--or rather his interest in you."

Sam Gregg, entering the door at this moment, came directly to the
Forester's table. He was followed by the sheriff, a bearded old man with a
soiled collar and a dim eye.

Gregg growled out, "You'd better keep your man Cavanagh in the hills, Mr.
Forester, or somebody will take a pot-shot at him."

"Why, what's new?"

"His assistant is down with smallpox."

"_Smallpox_!" exclaimed Dalton.

Every jaw was fixed and every eye turned upon the speaker.

"Smallpox!" gasped Lee.

Gregg resumed, enjoying the sensation he was creating. "Yes, that Basque
herder of mine--the one up near Black Tooth--sent word he was sick, so I
hunted up an old tramp by the name of Edwards to take his place. Edwards
found the dago dying of pox, and skipped out over the range, leaving him
to die alone. Cavanagh went up and found the dago dead, and took care of
him--result is, he's full of germs, and has brought his apprentice down
with it, and both of 'em must be quarantined right where they are."

"Good heavens, man!" exclaimed Dalton. "This is serious business. Are you
sure it's smallpox?"

"One of my men came from there last night. I was there myself on Monday,
so was the deputy. The sheriff missed Tom this morning, but I reached him
by 'phone, and Cavanagh admitted to us that the Basque died of smallpox,
and that he buried him with his own hands."

The sheriff spoke up. "The criminal part of it is this, Mr. Dalton:
Cavanagh didn't report the case when he came down here, just went about
leaving a trail of poison. Why didn't he report it? He should be
arrested."

"Wait a moment," said Dalton. "Perhaps it wasn't pox, perhaps it was only
mountain-fever. Cavanagh is not the kind of man to involve others in a
pestilence. I reckon he knew it was nothing but a fever, and, not wishing
to alarm his friends, he just slid into town and out again."

A flash of light, of heat, of joy went thro