o his feet
and wandered aimlessly up the canon.

Sterling had idled along, crossing and recrossing the restless stream
that appeared to be hurrying away from the quiet of the mountains. He
was really not a very enthusiastic hunter, as the Chinaman had
discovered. He liked the faint, sickening odor of the brakes and the
honey-like scent of the wild immortelles that came in little warm gusts
from the cliffs above far better than the smell of powder. He stopped
where the men had been at work the day before, and looked about with
that impartial criticism that always seems easier when nothing is being
done.

Some idea must have suggested itself suddenly, for he hurried across to
the opening of the tunnel and went in, leaving his rifle beside the
entrance. When he turned to come out, he heard a sound of muttered
curses, and in another instant he was confronted by the barrel of a gun
in the hands of a man he had never seen,--a man with wandering,
bloodshot eyes, which the change from the half-light of the tunnel's
mouth magnified into those of an angry beast.

"You've been a-blastin', have ye, an' a-dryin' up other folks's springs?
Damn ye, I'll blast ye!"

The old man was striving in vain to hold the rifle steadily, and
fumbling with the lock. Sterling did not stop to note that the weapon
was his own, and might easily be thrust aside. He did what most young
men would have done--drew his revolver from his pocket and fired.

The report echoed up and down the canon. By the time it died away life
had changed for the younger man. Old Withrow had fallen forward, still
clutching the rifle, and was dead.

Melissa, standing among the sycamores below, had seen it all as a
sudden, paralyzing vision. She stood still a brief, terrified instant,
and then turned and ran down the canon, keeping in the bed of the
stream, and climbing over the boulders.

She was conscious of nothing but a wild dismay that she had seen it. She
had a vague hope that she might run away from her own knowledge. The
swift, unreasoning notion had lodged itself in her brain that it would
be better if no one knew what had happened. Perhaps no one else need be
told. She avoided the camp, scrambling through the chaparral on the
opposite bank, and, reaching the flume path at last, hurried on
breathlessly.

Suddenly Melissa stopped. It would not do to approach the house in that
way. She must rest a little and cool her flushed face before any one
should see her.