not to run in on us till we had finished. They'll camp a few miles down
the creek, and be in early."

"You couldn't get but three, eh?"

"That's all I could find who would agree to give up half."

"Can we count on them?"

"Huh!" the other grunted. "They worked with me and Soapy on the Skagway
trail."

"Good. Five against three, not counting the girl and the Lieutenant,"
Stark mused. "Well, that will do it." He outlined his plan, then the
two returned to the cabin to find Lee cooking supper. Poleon was there
with the others, but, except for his silence, he showed no sign of what
had taken place that afternoon.

Stark developed a loquacious mood after supper, devoting himself
entirely to Necia, in whom he seemed to take great interest. He was an
engaging talker, with a peculiar knack of suggestion in
story-telling--an unconscious halting and elusiveness that told more
than words could express--and, knowing his West so well, he fascinated
the girl, who hung upon his tales with flattering eagerness.

Poleon had finished several pipes, and now sat in the shadows in the
open doorway, apparently tired and dejected, though his eyes shone like
diamonds and roved from one to the other. Half unconsciously he heard
Stark saying:

"This girl was about your size, but not so dark. However, you remind me
of her in some ways--that's why it puts her in my mind, I suppose. She
was about your age at the time--nineteen."

"Oh, I'm not eighteen yet," said Necia.

"Well, she was a fine woman, anyhow, the best that ever set foot in
Chandon, and there was a great deal of talk when she chose young
Bennett over the Gaylord man, for Bennett had been running second best
from the start, and everybody thought it was settled between her and
the other one. However, they were married quietly."

The story did not interest the Canadian; his mind was in too great
agitation to care for dead tales; his heart burned within him too
fiercely, and he felt too great a desire to put his hands to work. As
he watched Burrell and Runnion bend over the table looking at a little
can of gold-dust that Lee had taken from under his bunk, his eyes grew
red and bloodshot beneath his hat-brim. Which one of the two would it
be, he wondered. From the corner of his eye he saw Gale rise from Lee's
bed, where he had stretched himself to smoke, and take his six-shooter
from his belt, then remove the knotted bandanna from his neck, and
begin to clean the gun, his he