ght in a quick breath of air. Shep looked up
at her with his sharp, eager bark and then the gladness of discovery in
his eyes changed suddenly into wistful wonder. Gypsy, with tossing
head and jingling bridle, turned toward the crossing, quickening her
stride, ready to break into a trot.

At last the girl jerked her hands away from a face that was white and
miserable, and with angry spur and rein brought the mare back to the
spot where the revolver lay. Slipping down, she hesitated a moment,
glancing swiftly about as though afraid some one might see her, even
with a look that was almost suspicious at the quiet body of Arthur
Shandon, and stooping suddenly swept up the thing that had been a toy
yesterday and was so hideously tragic to-day. It was with a great
effort of her will that she compelled her fingers to touch it, forced
them to close upon it and take it up. Then with a little cry into
which loathing and dread merged, she cast it from her, flinging it far
down stream so that it fell into a black pool below a tiny, frothing
waterfall.

"I can't believe it. I won't believe it!" she murmured in a voice that
shook even as her hands were shaking. "It is too terrible!"

No longer could she look at the huddled form in the grass, the young,
frank face that was so still and white and cold in the sunshine.
Throwing herself into the saddle, she swung Gypsy's head about toward
the trail, as though she were fleeing from a fearful pursuing menace.
Shep, who had run, barking, to retrieve his lost discovery from the
black pool under the waterfall, snapped his disappointment from the
bank and then splashed through the creek after his mistress.

Two hundred yards the girl raced along the up-trail, her mare running,
her dog struggling hard to keep up. Then with a new, sudden fear she
jerked her pony to a standstill.

"I . . . I can't leave it there," her white lips were whispering.
"They will find it, and then . . . Oh, my God!"

And now her brain had ceased to act like a strangely magical camera;
now sights and sounds and faint odours about her were all unnoticed.
Her eyes, wide and staring at the winding trail before her, did not see
the broad trees or the flower sprinkled grass or the blossoming
manzanita bushes. They gazed through these things which they did not
see, and instead saw what might lie in the future, what fate the grim
gods of destiny might mete out . . . to one man . . . if the revolver
below the wa