touched his
heart.

"Aw, say, kid," he protested, "don't take on like that--the world hasn't
come to an end. You ain't cut out for this rough stuff, even if you did
steal me blind, but I'm not so sore as all that. You tell your old man
that I'll accept ten thousand dollars if he'll let me rebuild that
road--because ever since it washed out I've felt conscience-stricken as
hell over starting that cloudburst down his canyon."

He rose up gaily, but she refused to be comforted until he laid his big
hand on her head, and then she sprang up and threw both arms around his
neck and made him give her a kiss. But she did not ask him to forgive
her.

CHAPTER XXVIII

WUNPOST HAS A BAD DREAM

It is dangerous to start rumors against even the soundest of banks,
because our present-day finance is no more than a house of cards built
precariously on Public Confidence. No bank can pay interest, or even do
business, if it keeps all its money in the vaults; and yet in times of
panic, if a run ever starts, every depositor comes clamoring for his
money. Public confidence is shaken--and the house of cards falls,
carrying with it the fortunes of all. The depositors lose their money,
the bankers lose their money; and thousands of other people in nowise
connected with it are ruined by the failure of one bank. Hence the
committee of Blackwater citizens, with blood in their eye, which called
on John C. Calhoun.

Since the loss of his mine Wunpost had turned ugly and morose; and his
remarks about Eells, and especially about his bank, were nicely
calculated to get under the rind. He was waiting for the committee,
right in front of the bank; and the moment they began to talk he began
to orate, and to denounce them and everything else in Blackwater. What
was intended as a call-down of an envious and destructive agitator
threatened momentarily to turn into a riot and, hearing his own good
name brought into question, Judson Eells stepped quickly out and
challenged his bold traducer.

"W'y, sure I said it!" answered Wunpost hotly, "and I don't mind saying
it again. Your bank is all a fake, like your danged tin front; and
you've got everything in your vault except money."

"Well, now, Mr. Calhoun," returned Judson Eells waspishly, "I'm going to
challenge that statement, right now. What authority have you got for
suggesting that my cash is less than the law requires?"

"Well," began Wunpost, "of course I don't _know_, but----"

"No, o