nd or sea." Fear and terror had completely vanished, and it was a
placidly beautiful face--if by "placid" one can characterize that
intangible and occult something that I cannot say was a radiance or a
light any more than I can say it was an expression.

Abruptly, as if for the first time, she became aware of my presence.

"Have you seen Dave recently?" she asked me. It was on the tip of my
tongue to say "Dave who?" when Lon coughed in the smoke that arose from
the sizzling bacon. The bacon might have caused that cough, but I took
it as a hint and left my question unasked. "No, I haven't," I answered.
"I'm new in this part of the country--"

"But you don't mean to say," she interrupted, "that you've never heard of
Dave--of Big Dave Walsh?"

"You see," I apologised, "I'm new in the country. I've put in most of my
time in the Lower Country, down Nome way."

"Tell him about Dave," she said to Lon.

Lon seemed put out, but he began in that hearty, genial manner that I had
noticed before. It seemed a shade too hearty and genial, and it
irritated me.

"Oh, Dave is a fine man," he said. "He's a man, every inch of him, and
he stands six feet four in his socks. His word is as good as his bond.
The man lies who ever says Dave told a lie, and that man will have to
fight with me, too, as well--if there's anything left of him when Dave
gets done with him. For Dave is a fighter. Oh, yes, he's a scrapper
from way back. He got a grizzly with a '38 popgun. He got clawed some,
but he knew what he was doin'. He went into the cave on purpose to get
that grizzly. 'Fraid of nothing. Free an' easy with his money, or his
last shirt an' match when out of money. Why, he drained Surprise Lake
here in three weeks an' took out ninety thousand, didn't he?" She
flushed and nodded her head proudly. Through his recital she had
followed every word with keenest interest. "An' I must say," Lon went
on, "that I was disappointed sore on not meeting Dave here to-night."

Lon served supper at one end of the table of whip-sawed spruce, and we
fell to eating. A howling of the dogs took the woman to the door. She
opened it an inch and listened.

"Where is Dave Walsh?" I asked, in an undertone.

"Dead," Lon answered. "In hell, maybe. I don't know. Shut up."

"But you just said that you expected to meet him here to-night," I
challenged.

"Oh, shut up, can't you," was Lon's reply, in the same cautious
undertone.

The woman ha