rd.

"'Tis a tale that is truer and older
Than any the sagas tell;
I loved you in life too little,
I love you in death too well!"

In the adjoining room the happy young couple went on with their
singing, and when the song was finished, they stopped, said something
in a low voice, and then laughed joyously. But the ruler of Glen West
paced restlessly up and down his study. He heard no more singing that
night, for he had softly closed the door. Long after the rest had
retired, and the house was wrapped in silence, he continued his pacing,
only stopping now and then to gaze longingly at the picture above his
desk. Since his return from the hills Jim Weston had learned a new
lesson, but before it could be applied, it was necessary for him to
undergo the severest mental and spiritual struggle he had ever known.

CHAPTER XXI

THE PLOTTERS

After Curly had been dumped unceremoniously beyond the Golden Crest,
and sternly ordered never to return, he had sped hurriedly forward. He
was careless whither his steps led, so long as he was away from Glen
West and that frowning mountain ridge. Fear still possessed his soul,
and he believed that he had escaped death as if by a miracle. He was
so frightened that he did not realise how tired and hungry he was until
he had done a considerable distance, stumbling at every step, and at
times falling prone upon the ground. His bruises he hardly felt until
he had almost reached the foot of the long slope down which he was
speeding. Then a great weakness came upon him, and his body trembled.
Then he knew that he was very hungry and a long way from Big Draw.
What should he do? How could he drag his tired body any farther
through the night, with no trail to guide him? In fact, he did not
know where he was. Then the terrible truth flashed upon his mind that
he was lost. This brought him to his senses, and his terror vanished.
In its stead, a burning rage swept upon him, filled his heart, and made
him once more a brute thirsting for revenge. Before his distorted
vision rose the mocking face of Jim Weston, and a deep growling curse
spued from his lips. Then he saw Glen standing with Reynolds by the
side of the street, and turning swiftly around he faced the Golden
Crest, and lifting his dirty bleeding right hand, he shook his clenched
fist, and hurled forth a stream of terrible imprecations. But every
word sent forth came back with a startling clearness from the