ch as
of Elise. Whether this was due to an awakening consciousness on his part
or whether his interest in Elise had attracted the attention of others
he could not decide. Certain it was that Miss Hartwell was continually
singing her praise. Jim, who was rapidly recovering from his wounds and
from his general shaking up at the wreck of the stage, let pass no
opportunity wherein he might express his opinion.

"Hell!" he remarked. "I couldn't do that girl dirt by up and going dead
after all her trouble. Ain't she just fed me and flowered me and coddled
me general? Gawd A'mighty! I feel like a delicatessen shop 'n a flower
garden all mixed up with angels."

Bennie was equally enthusiastic, but his shadowing gourd had a devouring
worm. His commendation of Elise only aroused a resentful consciousness
of the Blue Goose.

"It's the way of the world," he was wont to remark, "but it's a damned
shame to make a good dog and then worry him with fleas."

There was also Dago Joe, who ran the tram at the mill. Joe had a goodly
flock of graduated dagoes in assorted sizes, but his love embraced them
all. That the number was undiminished by disease he credited to Elise,
and the company surgeon vouched for the truth of his assertions. Only
Zephyr was persistently silent. This, however, increased Firmstone's
perplexity, if it did not confirm his suspicions that his interest in
Elise had attracted marked attention. There was only one way in which
his proposed plan of rescue could be carried out that would not
eventually do the girl more harm than good, especially if she was
compelled to remain in Pandora. Here was his problem--one which demanded
immediate solution. He was at the Falls, unconsciously preparing to
dismount, when he saw that neither Elise nor Miss Hartwell was there. He
looked around a moment; then, convinced that they were absent, he rode
on down the trail.

As he entered the town he noted a group of boys grotesquely attired in
miner's clothes. Leading the group was Joe's oldest son, a boy of about
twelve years. A miner's hat, many sizes too large, was on his head,
almost hiding his face. A miner's jacket, reaching nearly to his feet,
completed his costume. In his hand he was swinging a lighted candle. The
other boys were similarly attired, and each had candles as well.
Firmstone smiled. The boys were playing miner, and were "going on
shift." He was startled into more active consciousness by shrill screams
of agony. The