ewhere. The farther away the better. I
want a lot of land--cheap. I'm out to make a stake--to found a fortune
for the Mackay family."

"You'll take me with you."

"No."

"Please!"

"Better not, old girl. I may have to cover a lot of ground before I find
what I'm looking for, and the traveling will be rough. It's better for
me to go alone."

Faith did not press. She recognized the truth of what he said. But she
realized as they rode down out of the hills what a difference already
his absence would make in her life.

CHAPTER XXIX

SUDDEN DEATH

Though Godfrey French's habits could not be called studious his private
room was known as his "study," which possibly was as good as any other
name. The furnishings of the room were of comfortable solidity. Since
the room served as an office in which he transacted such business as he
had, there was a desk with many pigeon holes, and backed against the
wall stood a small safe.

Outside it was dark, and the rising wind was beginning to sigh with a
promise of breeding weather. But in the study, lit by a shade lamp, its
owner and Mr. Braden were comfortably seated. Beside them stood a small
table bearing a decanter, a siphon and a box of cigars.

Mr. Braden helped himself to the whiskey. His drinking was strictly
private, but he indulged rather more frequently than of old, and in
larger doses. Somehow he seemed to require them. As for Godfrey French,
he took his Scotch as he took his tea, as he had been taking it all his
life, and with no more visible effect.

But as Mr. Braden looked at French he seemed to have aged in the last
few weeks. The features seemed more prominent, the keen face leaner and
more deeply lined, the cold, blue eyes more weary and more cynical.

"You look a little pulled down," Mr. Braden commented. "Perhaps a change
would do you good."

"If I could change the last thirty years for the next thirty, it might,"
French agreed grimly.

"None of us get younger," said Mr. Braden. "I myself begin to feel
the--er--burden of the years."

"You're not old. It's the burden of your fat."

"Ha-ha!" Mr. Braden laughed without much mirth. "But what seems to be
the matter with you?"

"The life that is behind me," French replied. "You can't eat your cake
and have it. But what the devil is the use of cake if you don't eat it?
I've eaten my cake and enjoyed it, and I'm quite willing to pay when the
times comes. All flesh is as grass, Braden--even such