His six months would have expired, his stake would have melted into thin air. His whole future---- But he would have spent six months at Hazel's side, working upon something that was obviously very dear to her brave and loyal heart. What more could a man desire?

He felt his great muscles thrill with a mighty sense of restrained effort. Was there any thought in the world so inspiring as that which had the support of the most wonderful creature he had ever met for its inspiration? He thought not. His pulses stirred at the bare idea of being Hazel Mallinsbee's companion all those weeks and months. Of course it would mean nothing to her. She was far too clever, and--and altogether brainy to give him a second thought. But he felt he could help her. He felt that to go back home with the knowledge that he--he had been one of the prime factors in her achieving the hope of her life would not be without compensations. Compensations? He wondered what form such compensations took. They certainly would need to be considerable for the loss of such a companionship.

He thought of the vision he had seen upon the trail. The beautifully rounded figure. The graceful movements, so obviously natural. Then those eyes, and----

He smiled and abandoned all further attempt to consider seriously the offer he had received. What was the use? His good fortune was certainly running in a strong tide. To attempt to steer a course was to fly in the face of his own luck. No, he would swim with it, let it take him whither it might. Meanwhile, Hazel had promised to meet him on the morrow, and show him the great coal seam, after which he was to interview her father, and have supper at the--office. Forthwith he hastily retired to his nightly game of hide-and-seek amongst the hummocks of flock in his disreputable bed, that the long hours of night might the more speedily merge into a golden to-morrow.

The next day Gordon, at an early hour, spent something over fifty dollars on a pair of ready-made riding-breeches and boots. For once in his life he felt that the faithful Harding had been found wanting.

Somehow, in arriving at this conclusion, he had forgotten the episode of the five-cent-cigar man. Anyhow, the purchase had to be made, since it was necessary to ride out to the coal seams.

It was during the time spent on these matters an incident occurred which caused him some irritation. He saw in the distance, as he was making his way to the principal store, the pale-faced, sickly-looking creature who had accosted Hazel the day before. The sight of the man put him into a bad temper at once, and he forthwith gave the storekeeper all the unnecessary trouble he could put him to.

Then, on returning to his hotel, he discovered the man in the office talking to Peter McSwain. His swift temper left him utterly without shame, and he stood and stared at the object of his dislike, taking him in from head to foot with profoundly contemptuous eyes.

Somehow his inspection made him feel glad he disliked the man. He was a broad-chested person with aggressively cut clothes. His black hair was obviously greased, and his general cast of features suggested his Hebrew origin. Gordon had no grudge against him on this latter score.

It was not that. It was the narrow, shifty eyes, the hateful way in which he smoked his cigar, with its flaming band about its middle. It was the loud coarse laugh and general air of impertinent arrogance that set his back bristling. And this--this had spoken to Hazel Mallinsbee only the day before.

He deposited his parcels in his bathroom, and returned to the office to find McSwain by himself. He had no hesitation in satisfying his curiosity.

"Say," he demanded, in a crisp tone. "Who was that rotten-looking 'sharp' you were yarning to when I came in?"

Peter's amiable expression underwent the most trifling change.

"Guess I lost ten thousand dollars talkin' that way once," he said, smelling cautiously at one of his own cigars.

Gordon promptly snapped back.

"Maybe I've lost more than that. But it don't cut any ice. Who was he?"

Peter smiled as he lit his cigar.

"David Slosson. Guess he's chief robber for the railroad company.

You've seen him. Are you scared any? Say, we've been waitin' to hear him talk two days now. I guess you could hand us a bunch of emperors, an' kings, an' princes, an' dust over 'em a sprinkling of presidents, but I don't reckon you'd stir a pulse among us like the coming of that man did to this city. That feller's right here to put the railroad in on this land scoop. When he's fixed 'em the way he wants we'll hear from the railroad."

Gordon's eyes were thoughtful.

"Chief grafter, eh? He surely looks it."

"Some of 'em do," agreed Peter. "It's my belief the best of 'em don't, though," he added reflectively. "Yet he surely ought to be right.

Railroads don't usual graft with anything but the best. He was talkin'

pretty, too."

"Pretty? More than he looked," snorted Gordon. Then he began to laugh. "Say, you and I are pretty well agreed about miracles. I sort of feel it'll have to be one of them miracles if the time don't come when I knock seventeen sorts of stuffing out of that man. I feel it coming on like a disease. You know, creeping through my bones, and getting to the tips of my fingers. I'd like to spoil his store suit in the mud, and beautify his features with your 'hoss' soap, and drown 'em in--well, what's in your washing-trough."

Peter's smile was cordial enough at the forcefulness of his young guest. He had not forgotten that Gordon was a friend of Mallinsbee.

"I wouldn't play that way till we see how he's buying," he said cautiously.

"Play?" Gordon laughed and shook his head. "Well, perhaps you're right. It certainly will be some play."

After midday dinner Gordon set out on one of Mike Callahan's horses to keep his appointment with Hazel Mallinsbee. All his ill-humor of the morning was forgotten, and he looked forward with unalloyed pleasure to his afternoon, which was to culminate in his entering into his agreement with her father.

Hazel was waiting for him on the veranda of the office. Her horse, a fine brown mare, was standing ready saddled. Gordon noted the absence of Sunset, and understood, but he noted also that her smile of welcome was lacking something of the joyous spirit she had displayed the night before.

"Sunset off duty?" he inquired, as he came up and leaped out of the saddle to assist her.

Hazel scorned his assistance. She was in the saddle almost before he was aware of her intention.

"Sunset's father's," she said. "The Lady Jane is my saddle horse.

She's the most outrageous jade on the ranch. That's why I like her.

Every moment I'm in the saddle she's trying to get the bit between her teeth. If she succeeded she'd run till she dropped." Then, with a deliberate effort, she seemed to thrust some shadow from her mind as they set off at a brisk canter. "You know, father's just dying to show you the ranch. He's quite quaint and boyish. He takes likes and dislikes in the twinkle of an eye, and before all things in his life comes his wonderful ranch. I'll tell you a secret, Mr. Van Henslaer.

The day you--arrived, after he'd told me just how you had arrived, he said, 'I'd like to get that boy working around this lay out. I like the look of him. He don't know a lot, but he can do things.' He's certainly taken one of his wonderful, impulsive fancies to you. He's very shrewd, too."

Gordon laughed.

"Now I wonder how I ought to take that. I'm all sorts of a fool, but I can hit hard. That's about his opinion of me, eh?"

Hazel's eyes were slyly watching him. She shook her head.

"That's not it," she smiled back. "You don't know my daddy. He might say that, but there's a whole lot of other thoughts stumbling around in his funny old head. If he wants you he thinks you can do more than hit hard."

The humor of it all got hold of Gordon.

"Good," he cried, with one of his whole-hearted laughs. "Now I'll let you into a secret. This is a great secret. One of those secrets a feller generally hangs on tight to because he's half ashamed of it. I can do more than hit hard!"

Then he became serious, and it was the girl's turn to find amusement.

"You see, I've been raised in a bit of a hothouse. Maybe it's more of a wind shelter, though. You know, where the rough winds of modern life can't get through the crevices and buffet you. That's why I fell for that sharp on the train. That's why I bumped head first into Snake's Fall. That's why your daddy thinks I don't know a lot. But I tell you right here I've got to make that hundred thousand dollars in six months, and I'm going to do it by hook or crook, if there's half a smell of a chance. I've no scruples whatsoever. I just _must_ make it, or--or I'll never face my father ever again. Do you get me?

Whatever you have at stake in this land proposition, it's just nothing to what I have. And you'll know what I mean when I say it's just the youthful pride and foolish egoism of twenty-four years. Say, do you know what it means to a kid when he's dared to do some fool trick that may cost his life? Well, that's my position, but I've done the daring for myself. My mood about this thing is the sort of mood in which, if I couldn't get that money any other way, I'd willingly hold up a bullion train."

The girl nodded. For a moment she made no attempt to answer him. She was gazing out ahead at a point where signs of busy life had made themselves apparent. Something of the shadow that had been in her eyes at their meeting had returned. Gordon was watching them, and a quick concern troubled him.

"Say," he observed anxiously. "You're--worried. I saw it when I came up."

The girl endeavored to pass his inquiry off lightly.

"Worried?" she shook her head. "The anxieties of the business are on my poor daddy's shoulders, and will soon be on yours. They're not on mine."

But Gordon was not easily put off. He edged his horse closer to her side.

"But you _are_ worried," he declared doggedly. Then he added more lightly, "I'll take a chance on it. It's--a man. And he's got a sort of whitewash face, and black, shoe-shined hair. He's got a nose you'd hate to run up against with any vital part. As for his clothes, well--a blind man would hate to see 'em."

The girl turned sharply.

"What makes you think that way?"

Gordon smiled triumphantly.