for the fun of it. He had lost
company money, trusting to his ability to make it good from his own
pocket when the time came. The time was coming, and his pockets were
empty. Spring was here, the first boats would arrive any day, and with
them would come the P. C. men to audit his accounts. It was possible to
cover it up, to be sure, but he scorned to falsify his books.

"I should have stayed in Council City," he said, "but when I heard you
were--sick--" He buried his brown face in his hands.

The girl's lips were white as she asked, "How much is it?"

"Nearly twenty thousand."

She shook her head hopelessly. "I haven't nearly that much, Harry, but
perhaps they would let us pay off the balance as we are able."

"June!" he cried. "I wouldn't let you! I'll go to jail first! I--I
suppose you won't want to marry me, now that you know?"

"I love you more than twenty thousand dollars' worth," she replied.
"We'll face it out together."

"If only I had time I could pay it back and they'd never know, for I
have property that will sell, once the season opens."

"Then you must take time."

"I can't. Sternberg will tell."

"What has Sternberg to do with it?"

"I lost the money in his place--his books will show. He suspects, even
now, and he's talking about it. He doesn't like me, you know, since he
heard of our engagement."

The days fled swiftly by; the hills thrust their scarred sides up
through the melting snow; the open sea showed black beyond the rim of
anchor ice. As nature awoke and blossomed, June faded and shrank until
she was no more than the ghost of her former self. Then one day smoke
was reported upon the horizon, and the town became a bedlam; for the
door of the frozen North was creaking on its hinges, and just beyond lay
the good, glad world of men and things.

June could stand it no longer; so she told her sorrow to Llewellyn, who
had half guessed it, anyhow, and he in turn retold it to his
fellow-Wags.

The Scrap Iron Kid was for killing Hope at once, and argued that it was
by far the simplest way out of June's trouble, carrying with it also an
agreeable element of retribution. Hope had hurt the Wag-lady, therefore
the least atonement he could offer was his blood. But Dummy, the foxy
old alibi man of the outfit, said:

"I've got a better scheme. Hope wants to do the right thing, and June'll
make him if she has a chance. The company will get its coin, she'll get
her square guy, an' nobody'll be hu