"I 'm--I 'm under arrest or something up here," was added with a laugh.

"The guard won't let me come down."

"Wait, and I 'll raise the bucket for you. All right, guard!" Then, blinking with surprise, he turned to the staring Harry. "It's Anita Richmond," he whispered. Harry pawed for his mustache.

"On a night like this? And what the b.l.o.o.d.y 'ell is she doing 'ere, any'ow?"

"Search me!" The bucket was at the top now.

A signal from above, and Fairchild lowered it, to extend a hand and to aid the girl to the ground, looking at her with wondering, eager eyes.

In the light of the carbide torch, she was the same boyish appearing little person he had met on the Denver road, except that snow had taken the place of dust now upon the whipcord riding habit, and the brown hair which caressed the corners of her eyes was moist with the breath of the blizzard. Some way Fairchild found his voice, lost for a moment.

"Are--are you in trouble?"

"No." She smiled at him.

"But out on a night like this--in a blizzard. How did you get up here?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

"I walked. Oh," she added, with a smile, "it did n't hurt me any. The wind was pretty stiff--but then I 'm fairly strong. I rather enjoyed it."

"But what's happened--what's gone wrong? Can I help you with anything--or--"

Then it was that Harry, with a roll of his blue eyes and a funny waggle of his big shoulders, moved down the drift toward the stope, leaving them alone together. Anita Richmond watched after him with a smile, waiting until he was out of hearing distance. Then she turned seriously.

"Mother Howard told me where you were," came quietly. "It was the only chance I had to see you. I--I--maybe I was a little lonely or--or something. But, anyway, I wanted to see you and thank you and--"

"Thank me? For what?"

"For everything. For that day on the Denver road, and for the night after the Old Times dance when you came to help me. I--I have n't had an easy time. And I 've been in rather an unusual position. Most of the people I know are afraid and--some of them are n't to be trusted.

I--I could n't go to them and confide in them. And--you--well, I knew the Rodaines were your enemies--and I 've rather liked you for it."

"Thank you. But--" and Fairchild's voice became a bit frigid--"I have n't been able to understand everything. You are engaged to Maurice Rodaine."

"I was, you mean."

"Then--"

"My engagement ended with my father's death," came slowly--and there was a catch in her voice. "He wanted it--it was the one thing that held the Rodaines off him. And he was dying slowly--it was all I could do to help him, and I promised. But--when he went--I felt that my--my duty was over. I don't consider myself bound to him any longer."

"You 've told Rodaine so?"

"Not yet. I--I think that maybe that was one reason I wanted to see some one whom I believed to be a friend. He 's coming after me at midnight. We 're to go away somewhere."

"Rodaine? Impossible!"

"They 've made all their plans. I--I wondered if you--if you 'd be somewhere around the house--if you 'd--"

"I 'll be there. I understand." Fairchild had reached out and touched her arm. "I--want to thank you for the opportunity. I--yes, I 'll be there," came with a short laugh. "And Harry too. There'll be no trouble--from the Rodaines!"

She came a little closer to him then and looked up at him with trustful eyes, all the brighter in the spluttering light of the carbide.

"Thank you--it seems that I 'm always thanking you. I was afraid--I did n't know where to go--to whom to turn. I thought of you. I knew you 'd help me--women can guess those things."

"Can they?" Fairchild asked it eagerly. "Then you 've guessed all along that--"

But she smiled and cut in.

"I want to thank you for those flowers. They were beautiful."

"You knew that too? I didn't send a card."

"They told me at the telegraph office that you had wired for them.

They--meant a great deal to me."

"It meant more to me to be able to send them." Then Fairchild stared with a sudden idea. "Maurice 's coming for you at midnight. Why is it necessary that you be there?"

"Why--" the idea had struck her too--"it is n't. I--I just had n't thought of it. I was too badly scared, I guess. Everything 's been happening so swiftly since--since you made the strike up here."

"With them?"

"Yes, they 've been simply crazy about something. You got my note?"

"Yes."

"That was the beginning. The minute Squint Rodaine heard of the strike, I thought he would go out of his head. I was in the office--I 'm vice-president of the firm, you know," she added with a sarcastic laugh. "They had to do something to make up for the fact that every cent of father's money was in it."

"How much?" Fairchild asked the question with no thought of being rude--and she answered in the same vein.

"A quarter of a million. They 'd been getting their hands on it more and more ever since father became ill. But they could n't entirely get it into their own power until the Silver Queen strike--and then they persuaded him to sign it all over in my name into the company. That's why I 'm vice-president."

"And is that why you arranged things to buy this mine?" Fairchild knew the answer before it was given.

"I? I arrange--I never thought of such a thing."

"I felt that from the beginning. An effort was made through a lawyer in Denver who hinted you were behind it. Some way, I felt differently.

I refused. But you said they were going away?"

"Yes. They 've been holding conferences--father and son--one after another. I 've had more peace since the strike here than at any time in months. They 're both excited about something. Last night Maurice came to me and told me that it was necessary for them all to go to Chicago where the head offices would be established, and that I must go with him. I did n't have the strength to fight him then--there was n't anybody near by who could help me. So I--I told him I 'd go. Then I lay awake all night, trying to think out a plan--and I thought of you."

"I 'm glad." Fairchild touched her small gloved hand then, and she did not draw it away. His fingers moved slowly under hers. There was no resistance. At last his hand closed with a tender pressure,--only to release her again. For there had come a laugh--shy, embarra.s.sed, almost fearful--and the plea:

"Can we go back where Harry is? Can I see the strike again?"

Obediently Fairchild led the way, beyond the big cavern, through the cross-cut and into the new stope, where Harry was picking about with a gad, striving to find a soft spot in which to sink a drill. He looked over his shoulder as they entered and grinned broadly.

"Oh," he exclaimed, "a new miner!"