going back where I belong,
because what I'm looking for don't exist there. Maybe I'll never find
what I'm looking for--that is to keep and hold it. Maybe, as I say,
I'll get it in driblets, and it'll fly away again. It don't much
matter. Meanwhile I find gold--in those places folks don't guess it's
any use looking. Do you get my meaning?"

The quizzical smile that accompanied his final question was very
gentle, and revealed something of the soul of the man.

Elia didn't answer for some moments. He was trying to straighten out
the threads of light which his twisted mind perceived. Finally he
shook his head. And when he spoke his words showed only too plainly
how little he was interested in the other's meaning, and how much his
cupidity was stirred.

"And that gold--in Barnriff? When you've found it?"

Peter laughed to think that he had expected the boy to understand him.
How could he--at his age?

"I'll give it to you, laddie--all of it."

"Gee!"

Elia's cold eyes lit with sudden greed.

"But you'd best say nothing to the folks," Peter added slyly. "Don't
let 'em know we're looking for anything."

"Sure," cried the boy quickly, with a cunning painful to behold.
"They'd steal it. Will Henderson would."

Peter thought for a moment, and relit his pipe, which had gone out
while he was talking.

"You don't like Will, laddie," he said presently, and so blundered
into the midst of the boy's greedy reverie.

"I hate him!"

Any joy that the thought of the promised gold might have given him
suddenly died out of the dwarf's vindictive heart, and in its place
was a raging storm of hatred. Such savage passion was his dominating
feature. At the best there was little that was gentle in him.

"You hate him because of that night--about the chickens?"

But no answer was forthcoming. Peter waited, and then went on.

"There's something else, eh?"

But the eyes of the boy were fixed upon the now smouldering fire, nor
could the other draw them. So he went on.

"Will's your sister's husband now. Sort of your--brother. Your
sister's been desperate good to you. You've had everything she could
give you, and mind, she's had to work for it--hard. She loves you so
bad, she'd hate to see you hurt your little finger--she's mighty good
to you. Gee, I wish I had such a sister. Well, now she's got a
husband, and she loves him bad, too. I was wondering if you'd ever
thought how bad she'd feel if she knew you two were at loggerhead