her to stay where she was. In his hand gleamed the
revolver, that he had carried ever since the battle in Baskinelli's
den.

"Who is it?" whispered Pauline. "Can you see some one?"

He raised the revolver in the air, took aim and fired. The balloon
rope at his feet suddenly slacked and he caught at its sagging loop to
gave the anchor from loosening. He fired twice again at the balloon
bag, and Pauline, clinging to his shoulder saw the monster that had
held her a slave to its elemental power, that, like some winged gorgon
had held her captive in the labyrinth of air, crumple and wither and
fall at the prick of a bullet; saw it collapse into a mass of tangled
leather and rope and slide in final ruin down the smooth cliff.

She looked at Harry with the whimsical smile that she could not
suppress even on the dizzy heights of danger.

"Did you really think I would fly away again?" she asked.

"Hopeless ward," he said. "Pitiful case. Miss Pauline Marvin, crazy
heiress--thinks she's funny when she's merely getting killed. No,
Miss Flippancy, I wanted a line to slide the rest of the way on," he
announced as he gave the anchor rope a twist around a rock.

Pauline's merriment vanished like a flash.

"Oh, I can't do it again, Harry, I can't," she cried tremulously.

"It will be easy this time," he told her. "Here, give me your hands."

With a piece of the blanket rope he tied her wrists together, and
placed her arms about his shoulders, grasping a rope that sagged away
to the wrecked balloon on the road far below. He placed a leg over the
ledge, wrapped it around the rope and bracing the other foot against
the rock wall, started joyously on his fearful task.

Joyously, for if ever man rejoiced at the gates of death it was Harry
Marvin. To him the chance to risk his life today was a blessing and a
boon. It was what he had prayed for, hopelessly, on the long motor
dash in the wake of the balloon--just the chance to try and save
her. To die with her was all he asked; to die fighting for her was all
he wanted; and here he was, holding her in his arms on a stout rope,
already half way down the cliff.

At the bottom he let her feel the firm earth once more. "Now you can
open your eyes," he said.

With his torn hands he started to lift her arms from his neck; but she
clung there, weeping.

"Oh, Harry, you are so patient, so good and brave, and I have made you
risk your life again for me."

"Sure; that's it;