men, and before long became a
familiar figure around the few public places. McGill met him frequently,
seeing which Barclay's fellow-passengers from below raised their
eyebrows and muttered meaningless commonplaces; then, when the younger
man took to spending more and more of his time at the miner's cabin,
they ceased making any comment whatever. These are things that wise men
avoid, and a loose tongue often leads to an early grave when fellows
like McGill are about. Some of the old-timers who had wintered with the
miner in the "upper country" shook their heads and acknowledged that
young Barclay was a braver man than they gave him credit for being.

Of course McGill was the last to hear of it, for he was of the simple
sort who have faith in God and women and such things, and he might have
gone on indefinitely in ignorance but for Hopper, who did not care much
for the Barclay person. The saloon-man, being himself uneducated and
rough, like McGill, cherished certain illusions regarding virtue, and
let drop a hint his friend could not help but heed. The husband paid for
his drink, then went back to the rear of the room, where he sat for an
hour or more. When he went home he was more gentle to his wife than
ever. He brooded for a number of days, trying to down his suspicion, but
the poison was sown, and he finally spoke to her.

"Barclay was here again this afternoon, wasn't he?"

She turned her face away to hide its pallor. "Yes. He dropped in."

"He was here yesterday, and the day before, too, wasn't he?"

"Well?"

"He'd ought to stay away; people are talking."

She turned on him defiantly. "What of it? What do I care? I'm lonesome.
I want company. Mr. Barclay and I were good friends."

"You're my wife now."

"Your wife? Ha! ha! Your wife!" She laughed hysterically.

"Yes. Don't you love me any more, Alice?"

She said nothing.

"I've noticed a change, lately, and--I can't blame you none, but if you
loved me just a little, if I had even that much to start on, I wouldn't
mind. I'd take you away somewhere and try to make you love me more."

"You'd take me away, would you?" the woman cried, gaining confidence
from his lack of heat. "Away, where I'd be all alone with you? Don't you
see I'm dying of lonesomeness now? That's what's the matter. I'm half
mad with the monotony. I want to see people, and live, and be amused.
I'm young, and pretty, and men like me. You're old, McGill. You're old,
and I'm young."

He