vation. He studied intently the gray face, missed its habitual
smile and for really the first time his gaze rested upon the yawning
wound in the temple.

He gazed at it in speechless, growing horror, and something like an
incredible cold descended upon him. The entire hydraulic system of his
blood seemed to be freezing. His hands were cold, his vitals icy and
lifeless. There was, however, the beginning of heat somewhere back of
his eyes. He could feel it but dimly, but it was increasing, slowly,
like a smoldering coal that eats its way into wood and soon will burst
into a flame. Slowly he began to grow rigid, his muscles flexing. His
face underwent a tangible change. The lines deepened, the lips set in a
hard line, the eyes were like those of a reptile,--cold, passionless,
unutterably terrible. His face was pale like the paleness of death, but
it appeared more like hard, white metal than flesh. His mind began to
work clear again; he began to understand.

Ezram had been shot, murdered by the men who had jumped his claim.
Beatrice's father, who had talked to him, had probably committed the
crime: if not he, one of his understrappers at his order. He found
himself recalling what Jeffery Neilson had said. Oh, the man had been
sharp! Believing that in the depth of the forest the body would never be
discovered, he had tried to send Ben farther into the interior in search
of him.

He arose, wholly self-mastered, and with hard, strong hands made a
detailed examination of Ezram's wound. He had evidently been shot by a
rifle of large caliber, probably at close range. Ezram's own gun lay at
his feet, loaded but not cocked.

"They shot you down in cold blood, old boy, didn't they?" he found
himself asking. "You didn't have a chance!"

But the gray lips were setting with death, and could not answer. Ben
had forgotten for the instant; he must keep better hold of himself. The
time was not ripe to turn himself loose. But he did wish for one more
word with Ezram, just a few little minutes of planning. They could
doubtless work out something good together. They could decide what to
do.

From this point his mind naturally fell to Ezram's parting advice to
him. "I've only got one decent place to keep things safe, and that ain't
so all-fired decent," the old man had told him. "I always put 'em down
my bootleg, between the sock and the leather. If I ever get shuffled
off, all of a sudden, I want you to look there careful."

Still wi