ar the sound of a steam-drill,
thud-thud-thudding into the heart of a distant knob of the Canaan
Tigmores. That notion of Carington's and his about getting into the
hills had undeniably balled up into the veriest nonsense under the
pressure of Crittenton Madeira's control of the Tigmores. Steering
pounded on the ground with one fist and clenched his hands tightly about
his knees. That was not the worst, and he might as well face the worst.
There was also by now the bitterest sort of animosity toward him on
Madeira's part. Old Bernique, who was very fond of Miss Madeira and
loathed her father, had commented to Steering upon that being Madeira's
way with everyone who promised to be too much for him to handle--bah! it
made Steering angry to consider that Madeira should ever have tried to
"handle" him. He loosed the clench of his hands about his knees and
jumped to his feet. That was not the worst, and he might as well face
the worst. Naturally enough the daughter had had to go with the father.
That ride across the sunset glory of the Tigmores had been good-bye
after all. It had been two weeks since he had stood with her on the spur
above Salome Park, and he had seen her twice since; once at the
post-office, where she had said, "Good-morning, Mr. Steering"; once on
Main Street in front of her father's bank, where she had said,
"Good-evening, Mr. Steering."

But for all these things, he was not done with Missouri yet. Even now he
was waiting for old Bernique. When Bernique should come they would be
off again on a long prospect. Bernique and he had been in the hills for
two weeks, skirting the Grierson entail, picking, digging, sniffing for
ore by day, sleeping long sleeps on forest leaves, heaped and aromatic,
by night. He had that day ridden into Canaan for some clean clothes, and
was beating back toward Old Bernique now, having picked up Piney down
the river road.

"Well, Piney, son," Steering invaded the rush of his own thoughts
ruthlessly, "I expect I ought to be toddling. Going to ride part of the
way with me? I think we shall fall in with Uncle Bernique up-stream a
mile or so."

"Why, yes," assented Piney, rising; he made a keen calculation of the
time by the sun, as he got to his feet; "I'll go a-ways with you. I'd
like to see Unc' Bernique--aint seen him simlike fer a long time."

Their horses were tethered in a little glade below them and they went
into the glade as they talked. "We like Uncle Bernique, don't we