if we watch out."

Helen laid her hand on Winston's arm. Her eyes were deep and anxious.

"Watch out day and night, Ralph. There is danger, grave danger."

Winston was thoroughly aroused.

"You know something that you are concealing from me. Tell me!"

"I have told you enough to put you on your guard. I can't tell you any
more. I don't know any more."

Helen turned resolutely toward the foot-way. Winston walked silently
beside her. He wanted to know more, but he felt the uselessness of
words. As soon as he could free himself from the friends who thronged
around him and Helen, he sought out Uncle Sid and told him of Helen's
warning.

"What do you make out of it?" he asked.

"No more than you do, I guess."

"You think Elijah is at the bottom of it all, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. I'm sure of it."

"Why didn't she tell me then?" Winston burst out.

"Well, women are queer creatures." Uncle Sid spoke meditatively. "They
see more sides to a man than we do, an' when he's down, they stay by him
closer. I sometimes think that Helen knows more about 'Lige than we do;
anyway, she's mighty suspicious of him, but she's goin' to give him
every chance to get up, an' at the same time she's lookin' out that no
one gets hurt when he's flappin' his heels around, tryin' to make his
feet. What are you doin' to shut off any deviltry?"

"I've put on extra watchmen, day and night, and I've got men out hunting
Elijah."

"I guess that's all that you can do."

Winston meditated long over Helen's warning and Uncle Sid's explanation
of her conduct. The idea of Elijah's trying to injure the dam finally
seemed too monstrous to be entertained. It occurred to him to remain at
the dam and not trust to watchmen; but this was impossible. He had other
pressing duties demanding him. Nothing could happen this night; the next
would be spent at the mouth of the canyon. The day following he would
send some of his young assistants in place of the Mexicans.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The sun had long since sunk beneath the sheen of the ocean and one by
one the distant stars pricked sharp and clear through the azure veil
that made the world a unit in the depths of space. From their spanless
heights, moonlight and starlight plunged like hissing shafts of water
and, like shafts of water falling on the softly resisting air, broke in
diffused mantles that half concealed and half revealed the softened
contours of the slumbering world. The gently