g whose
presence must take a large place in the drama of these events: and I
hoped the best.

Until morning I lay and planned the best way to bring things to a
successful issue. The morning came--beautiful after a mad night. Soon
after I got up I received a note, brought by a boy from Viking, which
gave me a thrill of excitement. The note requested me to go to Sunburst.
But first I sent a note to Mrs. Falchion, begging her in the name of our
new friendship not to leave the mountains that day. I also asked that
she would meet me in Sunburst that evening at eight o'clock, at a place
indicated by me. I asked for a reply by the messenger I sent, and urged
her to ask no questions, but to trust me as one who only wished to do
her a great service, as I hoped her compliance would make possible. I
waited for the reply, and it bore but the one word--"Yes."

Greatly pleased, I started down the valley. It was still early when I
reached Sunburst. I went directly to the little tavern from whence the
note had come, and remained an hour or more. The result of that hour's
conversation with the writer of the note was memorable, as was the hour
itself. I began to hope fondly for the success of my scheme.

From the tavern I went to the village, with an elation hardly disturbed
by the fact that many of the salmon-fishers were sullen, because of
foolish depredations committed the evening before by idle river-men and
mill-hands of Viking. Had I not been so occupied with Mrs. Falchion and
an event wherein she must figure, I should have taken more seriously the
mutterings of the half-breeds, the moroseness of the Indians, and the
nervous threatenings of the white fishers: the more so because I knew
that Mr. Devlin had started early that morning for the Pacific Coast,
and would not be back for some days.

No two classes of people could be more unlike than the salmon-fishers of
Sunburst and the mill-hands and river-drivers of Viking. The life of the
river-men was exciting, hardy, and perilous; tending to boisterousness,
recklessness, daring, and wild humour: that of the salmon-fishers was
cheerful, picturesque, infrequently dangerous, mostly simple and
quiet. The river-driver chose to spend his idle hours in crude, rough
sprightliness; the salmon-fisher loved to lie upon the shore and listen
to the village story-teller,--almost official when successful,--who
played upon the credulity and imagination of his listeners. The
river-driver loved ex