m the crowd, words of dissent, and the man pounded the
table for silence. But Frona resolutely kept her feet.

When the noise had subsided, she addressed the man in the chair. "Mr.
Chairman: I take it that this is a miners' meeting." (The man nodded.)
"Then, having an equal voice in the managing of this community's
affairs, I demand to be heard. It is important that I should be heard."

"But you are out of order. Miss--er--"

"Welse!" half a dozen voices prompted.

"Miss Welse," he went on, an added respect marking his demeanor, "it
grieves me to inform you that you are out of order. You had best sit
down."

"I will not," she answered. "I rise to a question of privilege, and if
I am not heard, I shall appeal to the meeting."

She swept the crowd with her eyes, and cries went up that she be given
a fair show. The chairman yielded and motioned her to go on.

"Mr. Chairman and men: I do not know the business you have at present
before you, but I do know that I have more important business to place
before you. Just outside this cabin is a man probably dying from
starvation. We have brought him from across the river. We should not
have bothered you, but we were unable to make our own island. This man
I speak of needs immediate attention."

"A couple of you nearest the door go out and look after him," the
chairman ordered. "And you, Doc Holiday, go along and see what you can
do."

"Ask for a recess," St. Vincent whispered.

Frona nodded her head. "And, Mr. Chairman, I make a motion for a
recess until the man is cared for."

Cries of "No recess!" and "Go on with the business!" greeted the
putting of it, and the motion was lost.

"Now, Gregory," with a smile and salutation as she took the stool
beside him, "what is it?"

He gripped her hand tightly. "Don't believe them, Frona. They are
trying to"--with a gulping swallow--"to kill me."

"Why? Do be calm. Tell me."

"Why, last night," he began hurriedly, but broke off to listen to the
Scandinavian previously sworn, who was speaking with ponderous slowness.

"I wake wide open quick," he was saying. "I coom to the door. I there
hear one shot more."

He was interrupted by a warm-complexioned man, clad in faded mackinaws.
"What did you think?" he asked.

"Eh?" the witness queried, his face dark and troubled with perplexity.

"When you came to the door, what was your first thought?"

"A-w-w," the man sighed, his face clearing and infinite c