hey were tight gloves of kid, and said: "Well, you might do that,
sometimes--when you have time; but you mustn't neglect your work. I
come here because it is my favorite ride. You must not come merely to
talk to me when there are other duties."

"Yes," he said, endeavoring to appear unconcerned. "The Croix d'Or is
apt to be a most insistent tyrant."

"And it should come first!" He was obtuse for the instant in his
worriment, and did not catch the subtle shade of bitterness in which
she spoke.

She tugged at the reins of her horse, and the animal reluctantly tore
loose a last mouthful of the succulent grass growing under the
moisture and shadow of the big steel pipe, and stood expectantly
waiting for her to mount. She was in the saddle before Dick could come
around to her side to assist her. He made a last desperate compromise,
finding an excuse.

"When I feel that I must see you, because you are such a good little
adviser, I shall come back here," he said, "morning after morning, in
the hope of seeing you and unburdening my disgruntlement."

She laughed, as if it were a joke.

"I'm afraid I'm not a very good miner," she said, "although I suppose
I ought to be a yellow-legged expert, having been brought up somewhere
within sound of the stamps all my life. Good luck to you. Good-by."

His reply was almost a mumble, and the black horse started down the
trail. He watched her, with a sinking, hungry heart. Just as the crag
was almost abreast of her mount, she turned and called back: "Oh, I
forgot to say that I shall probably come here almost every day."

He did not understand, until long afterward, the effort that speech
cost her; nor did he know ever that her face was suffused when her
horse, startled, sprang out of sight at the touch of her spurs. He
did not know, as he stood there, wishing that he had called her back,
that she was riding recklessly down the road, hurt, and yet inclined
to be strangely happy over that parting and all it had confessed. With
a set face, as if a whole fabric of dreams had been wrenched from his
life, the miner turned and walked slowly over the trail, worn by his
own feet, which led him back to the Croix d'Or, and the struggle with
the stubborn rock.

As he topped the hill he suddenly listened, and his steps quickened.
From below a new sound had been added to the threnody of the hills; a
new note, grumbling and roaring, insistent and strong. Its message was
plain. The mill of the Cr