drew a nervous, sweating hand
across his brow. "I ain't above dealing with crooks, I'll admit that.
I've done a few things in my life that haven't been any too straight,
or any too noble, and when Thayer came to me with this contract and
lease, I didn't ask any questions. My lawyer said it was O. K. That
was enough for me. But somehow or other, I kind of draw the line at
murder. I'm in your hands, Houston. I've got a mill up there that
I've put a lot of money in. It ain't worth the powder to blow it up
now--to me, anyway. But with you, it's different. If you want to make
me a fair offer, say the word, and I'll go more than half-way. What
say?"

"Is to-morrow time enough?"

"To-morrow--or the next day--or the next week. Suits me. I'm in your
hands."

Then he went on, leaving only three figures in the lobby,--the bent,
silent form of Ba'tiste Renaud, grave, but rewarded at last in his
faithful search; the radiant-eyed Houston, free with a freedom that he
hardly believed could exist; and a girl who walked to the window and
stood looking out a moment before she turned to him. Then impetuously
she faced him, her eyes searching his, her hands tight clasped, her
whole being one of supplication.

"I'm sorry," she begged. "Can you--will you forgive me?"

Boyishly Barry Houston reached forward and drew away a strand of hair
that had strayed from place, a spirit of venture in his manner, a
buoyant tone in his voice.

"Say it again. I like it!"

"But I am--don't you believe me?"

"Of course. But then--I--I--" Then he caught her hands. "Will you go
with me while I telegraph?" he asked in sudden earnestness. "I want to
wire--to the papers back in Boston and tell them that I've been
vindicated. Will you--?"

"I'd be glad to."

They went out the door together, Houston beaming happily downward, the
girl close beside him, her arm in his. And it was then that the
features of Ba'tiste Renaud lost their gravity and sorrow. He looked
after them, his eyes soft and contented. Then his big hands parted
slowly. His lips broke into a smile of radiant happiness.

And it was with the same glad light in his eyes that three months later
Ba'tiste Renaud stood on the shores of Empire Lake, his wolf-dog beside
him, looking out over the rippling sheen of the water. The snow was
gone from the hills now; the colors were again radiant, the blues and
purples and greens and reds vying, it seemed, with one another, in