unbuckled her belt and placed her revolver in Miss Hartwell's listless
hands. "Keep away from the windows. If there is any firing lie down on
the floor close to the wall. Nothing will get through the logs." She
turned toward the door. "You must come and lock up after me."

At the door Miss Hartwell stood for a moment, irresolute. She offered no
further objections to Elise's going. That it cost a struggle was plainly
shown in the working lines of her face. Only for a moment she stood,
then, yielding to an overmastering impulse, she laid her hands on the
shoulders of Elise.

"Good-bye," she whispered. "You are a brave girl."

Elise bent her lips to those of Miss Hartwell.

"Yours is the hardest part. But it isn't good-bye."

The door closed behind her, and she heard the click of the bolt shot
home.

There were a few resolute men in the mill. It was short-handed; but the
beating stamps pounded out defiance. In the tram tower Elise spoke to
the attendant.

"Stop the tram."

The swarthy Italian touched his hat.

"Yes, miss."

The grinding brake was applied and an empty bucket swung gently to and
fro.

"Now, Joe, do just as I tell you. I am going up in this bucket." She
glanced at the number. "When three-twenty comes in stop. Don't start up
again for a half hour at least."

The man looked at her in dumb surprise.

"You go in the tram?" he asked. "What for?"

"To warn Mr. Firmstone."

For reply, the man brushed her aside and began clambering into the empty
bucket.

"Me go," he said, grimly.

Elise laid a detaining hand upon him.

"No. You must run the tram. I can't."

"Me go," he insisted. "Cable jump sheave? What matter? One damn dago
gone. Plenty more. No more Elise."

Elise pulled at him violently. He was ill-balanced. The pull brought him
to the floor, but Elise did not loose her hold. Her eyes were flashing.

"Do as I told you."

The man brought a ladder and Elise sprang lightly up the rounds.

"All right," she said. "Go ahead."

The man unloosed the brake. There was a tremor along the cable; the next
instant the bucket shot from the door of the tower and glided swiftly up
the line.

"Don't forget. Three-twenty." Already the voice was faint with distance.

In spite of injunctions to the contrary, Miss Hartwell was looking out
of the window. She saw, below the shafts of sunlight already streaming
over the mountain, the line of buckets stop, swing back and forth, saw
the cable tremble,