artist gazing
on a finished masterpiece, no conqueror thanking the fates for victory
could have spoken with more triumphant fervor.

But Hicks was out of the machine and running to Harry's car. He saw
the shreds of the blankets; he saw the knife; finally he caught a
glimpse of the chain that was fastened to the sapling.

"Don't be so sure," grumbled Hicks. "Come on--but come quiet."

He got down on his hands and knees and crawled to the edge of the
cliff. Owen followed him. Together they drew back with gasps of
surprise and anger.

Hicks sprang to his feet. His big-bladed knife flashed in his hand.
He sawed excitedly at the small chain. A low curse escaped him as the
blade bent on the links.

Owen had dashed to Harry's auto. He was back with a pair of heavy
pliers. In a flash he had cut the chain. The end of it shot over the
cliff. There was a startled cry from below.

It was several minutes before Hicks and Owen looked down again.

The man they thought they had just killed and the girl whom they had
marked to die stood on the ledge in each other's arms, oblivious of
life or death, or foe or friend, of everything but love.

Pauline was still aquiver with the shock of her waking. A cry ringing
above her had brought her from her swoon and she had looked up to see
the terrible balloon still reeling over her and to find Harry dangling
from a rope's end not ten feet away.

She rose weakly and stretched out her arms to him.

"Be still; don't move, dear," he called softly.

"You can't help me. You--"

There was a sudden snapping sound from over the top of the cliff. The
chain end of the line fell upon his shoulders. He dropped joltingly to
the ledge and lunged forward toward a further fall. It was the soft
arms of Pauline that caught and held him. Both trembling a little as
their lips met.

From overhead came the sound of a starting automobile. Harry shouted
at the top of his voice. There was no answer. He stopped quickly and
picked up the severed end of the life line.

"Look; it wasn't broken; it was cut;" he cried. "Good heaven, Polly,
who is it that hates us like that?"

For answer she merely nestled nearer in his protecting arms.

They sat down on the ledge, and Harry's keen eyes watched the tantrums
of the balloon in the wind. It was pulling fiercely toward the river
now, but the anchor held fast.

Suddenly Harry sprang up. Pauline started to follow his example, but
he motioned