"That all?" he asked, with a deliberate pause between the words to
obtain clear diction.

O'Brien shrugged, but his eyes snapped angrily at this lack of
appreciation.

"Ain't it enough? Say," his manner had become almost threatening, "I'm
not doing things for hoss-play. The folks around can build any old
church to ease their souls and make a show. Rocky Springs ain't the
end of all things for me. I'm out after the stuff. I'll soothe my soul
with dollars. That's why I'm around telling you, because your game's
the thing that's to give 'em to me. When your game's played I hit the
trail, but as long as you make good Rocky Springs is for me. If you
can't handle your proposition right then I quit you."

Charlie suddenly shifted his position, and leaned his body against
the counter. The saloonkeeper looked for that sign which was to
re-establish his confidence. It was not forthcoming. For a moment
the half-drunken man leaned his head upon one hand, and his face
was turned from the other behind the bar.

O'Brien became impatient.

"Wal?" he demanded.

His persistence was rewarded at last. But it was rewarded with a shock
which left him startled beyond retort.

Charlie suddenly brought a clenched fist down upon the counter with a
force that set the glasses ringing.

"Fyles!" he cried fiercely, "Fyles! It's always Fyles! God's truth, am
I never to hear, or see, the last of him? Say, you know. You think you
know. But you don't. Damn you, you don't!"

Before the astonished saloonkeeper could recover himself and formulate
the angry retort which rose to his lips, Charlie staggered out of the
place.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE SOUL OF A MAN

It was growing dark. Away in the west a pale stream of light was
fading smoothly out, absorbed by the velvet softness of the summer
night. There was no moon, but the starlit vault shone dazzlingly upon
the shadowed valley. Already among the trees the yellow oil lamps were
shining within the half-hidden houses.

From within a dense clump of trees, high up the northern slope of the
valley, a man's slight figure made its way. His movements were slow,
deliberate, even furtive. For some moments he stood peering out at a
point below where a woman's figure was rapidly making its way up the
steep trail toward the old Meeting House.

The man's eyes were straining in the darkness for the outline of the
woman's figure was indistinct, only just discernible in the starlight.
She came on,