in repetition of what he had already urged. "Come on an' say
the word, Saxon. Come on an' say the word."

Saxon stopped and quietly faced him.

"Listen, Charley Long. Billy's only doing thirty days, and his time is
almost up. When he gets out your life won't be worth a pinch of salt
if I tell him you've been bothering me. Now listen. If you go right now
away from here, and stay away, I won't tell him. That's all I've got to
say."

The big blacksmith stood in scowling indecisions his face pathetic
in its fierce yearning, his hands making unconscious, clutching
contractions.

"Why, you little, small thing," he said desperately, "I could break you
in one hand. I could--why, I could do anything I wanted. I don't want to
hurt you, Saxon. You know that. Just say the word--"

"I've said the only word I'm going to say."

"God!" he muttered in involuntary admiration. "You ain't afraid. You
ain't afraid."

They faced each other for long silent minutes.

"Why ain't you afraid?" he demanded at last, after peering into the
surrounding darkness as if searching for her hidden allies.

"Because I married a man," Saxon said briefly. "And now you'd better
go."

When he had gone she shifted the load of wood to her other shoulder
and started on, in her breast a quiet thrill of pride in Billy. Though
behind prison bars, still she leaned against his strength. The mere
naming of him was sufficient to drive away a brute like Charley Long.

On the day that Otto Frank was hanged she remained indoors. The evening
papers published the account. There had been no reprieve. In Sacramento
was a railroad Governor who might reprieve or even pardon bank-wreckers
and grafters, but who dared not lift his finger for a workingman. All
this was the talk of the neighborhood. It had been Billy's talk. It had
been Bert's talk.

The next day Saxon started out the Rock Wall, and the specter of Otto
Frank walked by her side. And with him was a dimmer, mistier specter
that she recognized as Billy. Was he, too, destined to tread his way to
Otto Frank's dark end? Surely so, if the blood and strike continued. He
was a fighter. He felt he was right in fighting. It was easy to kill
a man. Even if he did not intend it, some time, when he was slugging a
scab, the scab would fracture his skull on a stone curbing or a cement
sidewalk. And then Billy would hang. That was why Otto Frank hanged.
He had not intended to kill Henderson. It was only by accident that