a
weapon. Blake lay upon the hilt of the revolver; the level rod lacked
weight and balance. But the heavy hammer--a blow on the upturned
temple of the sleeper!--

With the cunning stealth of madness, Ashton took up the hammer and
crept around back of Blake's head. He straightened on his knees, and
peered down at the calm, powerful face of the engineer.

What if he was a veritable Samson, this conqueror of canyons? Where now
was his power? Sleep had bound fast his steel muscles, had numbed his
indomitable will and locked his keen intellect in the black prison of
unconsciousness.

The avenger hovered over him, gloating. Now at last was come the
opportunity--the perfect opportunity, down in these uttermost depths,
in the secret night time. The world above slept--and he slept. Never
should he waken from that sleep; never should he rouse up in his evil
strength to escape out of the abyss and bring ruin to her!

Lightly the hammer swung over and downward, measuring the curve of the
stroke. It lifted and poised. Again it swung down; and again it lifted
and poised. The blow must be certain--there must not be the slightest
chance of missing.

Each time the heavy steel head stopped a full two inches short of the
upturned temple--but each time its shadow fell across the eyes of the
sleeper. He stirred. The hammer whirled up, gripped in both hands of
the kneeling man. The sleeper turned flat on his back, with his face
full to the light. A quiver ran through the tense muscles of the
avenger. Had the eyes of the sleeper opened, had their lids so much as
fluttered, the hammer must have crashed down.

But it was the sleeper's lips that moved. As it were by a miracle of
acuteness, the tense nerves of the other's ear caught the whispered
words through the roaring of the river--"_Jenny! Son!_"

The hammer hurled away out into the swirl of the foam-flecked waters.
The avenger flung himself about, face downward on the rock.

"God!" he sobbed, in an agony of remorse. "Forgive me, God! I cannot
do it! I am weak--unfit!... Not even to save her!--not even to save
her!"

He writhed in the anguish of his love and rage and self-abasement. He
had failed; he was too weak to do the deed. But God--Would God permit
that evil should befall her?

He struggled to his feet and flung up his quivering hands to moon and
stars and black sky in passionate invocation--"O God! You say that
vengeance is Yours; that You will repay! Take me, if You will