ng to his
shoulder, was swaying on his feet. He knew that a man is usually
judged by his company, and it was clear that nothing that she might
have noticed was likely to prepossess Miss Stirling in his favor. The
car, however, swept past him, and with some difficulty he got Grenfell
into another farther along the train. Then, while his companions
exchanged more compliments with the loungers, the big locomotives
snorted and the dusty cars lurched on again.

They naturally traveled Colonist, and when Grenfell stretched himself
out on a maple board it became evident that he had forgotten his
blanket. Weston threw his own over him, and the old man blinked at his
young companion with watery eyes.

"You stood by me. You're white," he said; and added with a little
patronizing gesture, "I'm not going to desert you."

After that he apparently went to sleep, and Weston, who felt no
inclination for the company of the others, went out and sat on one of
the car platforms, glad for the time being to be rid of him.

There was a moon in the sky, and the silvery light streamed down on
towering hillside and battalions of flitting pines. The great train
swept on, clattering and clanking, and dust and fragments of ballast
whirled about the lonely man. Still, the rush of the cool night wind
was exhilarating, and his mind was busy, though his thoughts were not
altogether pleasant. The few weeks he had spent in Ida Stirling's
company had reawakened ambition in him; and that was why he had set
out with Grenfell in search of the mine. Though he had not reproached
his comrade, and had, indeed, only half believed in the quartz lead,
the failure to find it had been a blow. There was in that country, as
he knew, no great prospect of advancement for a man without a dollar;
and though he realized that it had not troubled him greatly until a
little while ago, he now shrank from the thought of remaining all his
life a wandering railroad or ranching hand. He had also a great desire
for Miss Stirling's good opinion, although he scarcely expected her to
think of him, except as one who had proved a capable guide.

He knew that he could never quite forget the night they had made the
hazardous descent together, and her courage and quiet composure under
stress and strain had had their effect on him. The imperious anger
with which she had turned on him when he forced her away from Miss
Kinnaird had also stirred him curiously. He could still, when he
chos