-hand man there are two aspirants--the mayor
of New York City and the police commissioner--nor will the
lieutenant-governor of our great State hold his hands behind his back
and shake his head when the loot is being distributed."

"Are you _joking?"_

"No, Mr. Allen. I am dying. Now listen. I assume that you are no longer
with Blizzard."

"What an ass I've been!"

"You are to find Abe Lichtenstein and tell him what I have told you. The
boy Bubbles will put you on his track. As for money which Blizzard has
advanced to you--" The stranger fumbled in his breast pocket and brought
forth a much-soiled sheet of paper. "This locates outlying mining claims
in Utah. They will make you rich. One-third to you--one-third to Miss
Barbara Ferris--one-third to the boy Bubbles. You will tell him that I
was his brother--different mothers, but the same father."

"_You_ are Harry West," and Wilmot looked with compassionate interest
upon the man who, if only for a brief period of time, had once stood
first in Barbara's affections.

Under the strain of talking West's voice had grown weaker. "Miss
Barbara," he said quietly, "is in great danger from my father--"

"_Your_ father?"

"Didn't I tell you? Oh, yes. He is my father--Blizzard. That is why I
don't mind dying. When the city is in confusion, and without any laws
save of his own dictation, Miss Barbara will be in terrible danger. Many
years from now, when it can do no harm with you, tell her, please, that
in my life I had the incomparable privilege--"

Wilmot leaped to his feet. "Is there a doctor here? This man is dying."

But the Spartan, the wolf Death gnawing at his vitals, had said all that
it was necessary for him to say. Wilmot Allen's strong arm about him,
his mouth vaguely smiling, he fell heavily forward as if under the
weight of a new and overpowering wonder and knowledge.

XLII

Nothing so makes for insomnia as a man's knowledge that he has made a
fool of himself. Between Chicago and New York Wilmot Allen did not even
have his berth made up. He visited the dining-car at the proper
intervals, hardly conscious of what he ordered or ate. He bought
newspapers, books, magazines, and opened none of them. For the most part
he looked out the window of his compartment into rushing daylight or
darkness. His mind kept travelling the round of a great circle that
began and ended in humiliation. He had been as confiding in Blizzard's
hands as an undeveloped child of