for the first time since they had
met. She interrupted him.

"No, the only way you can do any good is to make your contribution.
I'll go with you."

They walked together toward the box which was now deserted, save by
the doctor and one other, who were scooping the money into a water
pail they had secured somewhere. Bill threw his roll of bills into it
and the doctor looked up and smiled.

"I knew you would come," he said. "And that, with the two thousand
that Mrs. Meredith has volunteered--"

She checked him.

"That was to be my secret. Please, none of you, speak of it again."

"As you wish," replied the doctor. "And I apologize. Now I would
suggest that you take charge of this and take it to the High Light.
I'll send it over to-morrow by Jim. The boys have done well."

That was all he said, and yet in his simple sentence was much. The
camp had done well. He straightened up with an air of weariness.

"This pail is pretty heavy," he said. "Won't you take it, Mathews, and
carry it over?"

The miner caught it up in his arms, fearing lest the bail break loose
under its weight. The doctor bade them good night, and they started
toward the High Light, leaving the torch man to extinguish his flares.
She talked freely as she walked between them, expressing her relief
that none of the destitute in that distant camp of mourning would
suffer unduly after the receipt of Goldpan's offering. As they entered
the house of the lights and noise the bartender nearest hailed her,
wiped his hands on his apron and reached out an envelope.

"Bully Presby was in here about an hour or two ago," he said, "and
left this. It was before you and Doc Mills was goin' out to try and
get the boys interested."

She tore it open, then flushed, and passed it to the partners who
together read it.

"I hear," the letter read, "that some of the men who were killed
over at the Blackbird used to work for me down in California. Also
that there are some women and children over there who may have a
hard time of it. Will you see to it that this goes to the right
channels, and regard it as confidential? I don't want to appear to be
a philanthropist on even a small scale. Presby."

Pinned to the letter was a check. It was for ten thousand dollars.
Bill lifted it in his fingers, scanned each word, then handed it to
Mrs. Meredith who stood frowning with her eyes fixed on the floor.

"I've known burros, and other contrary cusses, in my time," he said,