umental in wresting from him that which of all the world must be
most prized. And in many the thought was painful.

The gray world looked grayer for their mission. The daylight seemed to
grow far more slowly than was its wont. Where was the ruddy splendor
of the day's awakening, where the glory of dawning hope? Lost, lost.
For the minds of these men could not grasp that which lay beyond the
object of their journey.

The long-drawn howl of the prairie scavenger broke the stillness. It
was answered by its kind. It was a fitting chorus for the situation.
But ears were deaf to such things, for they were too closely in
harmony with the doings of the moment. The gray owls fluttered by,
weary with their night's vigil, but with appetites amply satisfied
after the long chase, seeking their daylight repose in sparse and
distant woodland hidings. But there were no eyes for them. Eyes were
on the distant bluff to the exclusion of all else.

Six men rode ahead of the buckboard. Smallbones was on the lead. It
was his place, and he triumphantly held it. His was the office. Jim
Thorpe had reached the end of the one-way trail. And it was his to
speed him on--beyond. The rope hung coiled over the horn of his
saddle. It was a good rope, a strong, well-seasoned rope. He had seen
to that, for he had selected it himself from a number of others. The
men with him were those who would act under his orders, men whose
senses were quite deadened to the finer emotions of life.

Those behind the buckboard were there to witness the administration of
the sentence passed upon the prisoner by his fellow townsmen.

Doc Crombie drove the buckboard. And he watched the condemned man
beside him out of the tail of his eye. Jim's attitude gave him relief,
but it made him feel regret.

They had passed the limits of the village when his prisoner suddenly
pointed with his bound hands at a pile of soil rising amidst the level
of the prairie grass.

"Peter Blunt's cutting," he said, with curious interest. "He's tracked
the gold ledge from the head waters down to here." His tone was half
musing. It almost seemed as though he had no concern with the object
of their journey.

"Peter's crazy on that gold," said the doctor. "He guesses too much."

Jim shook his head. And for some moments there was silence. Finally
his answer came with a smile of understanding.

"He's not crazy. You fellers are all wrong. Peter's got the gold all
right."

"He's welcome, sur