ad been patched and repatched. When Alexander had
picked it up that night before Halloway's departure, as she struggled
to keep her feet against the elemental surge of his whirlpool passion,
its inner breast pocket had spread a bit at the top, and her eyes had
glimpsed a discolored tailor's label--bearing the words, "New York."

That had been the thing she needed: the floating spar to one who is
drowning and it steadied her into instant resistance. She had gone to
her own room and read there the full legend--almost obliterated by
wear--almost, but not quite. Some letters and numbers were gone, but
enough were left legible.

"Mr. J. C. Halloway," was written in ink with a number on Fifth Avenue,
New York. Then there was the tailor's name and address--also on that
main thoroughfare of Fashion.

Cumberland mountain loggers do not have their clothes hand tailored in
Manhattan; and though the exact locality meant nothing to her, the town
meant much.

The label was partly ripped away from the pocket, and the girl had
snipped it loose altogether. Halloway had played a careful game. He
had avoided carrying forwarded envelopes--he had held to the vernacular
at times when sudden crisis threatened to drive him into forgetfulness.
He had overlooked only one possible precaution--that of ripping out the
tailor's trademark from his coat.

"Yes, we're right proud of thet thar wheat elevator. We all went
partners ter raise ther money fer rearin' hit," said Warwick McGivins,
as he dismounted from his old pacing mare and pointed to a huge wooden
building that stood at the edge of a bluff, from which one could drop a
rock down a sheer hundred and fifty feet.

Alexander, his niece, and Jerry O'Keefe, following suit, slid from
their saddles and the three walked through a wide gate, over a set of
wagon scales and into the yard of the huge structure.

"Kinderly looks ter me like ye'd done deesigned hit fer a fort ter
fight In'jins," suggested O'Keefe and the guide nodded his iron gray
head. "Hit don't hurt none ter hev a house like thet solid-timbered,"
he asserted. "When ther crop's in, thet buildin' holds erbout all ther
wheat thet ther passel of us fellers raises amongst us--an' we seeks
ter hev hit held safe. Thar's some car-loads in thar right now, an'
threshin' time hain't nigh over yit."

Drawing a key from his pocket he took them into the small office, and
showed them the spaciously dimensioned interior. There wer