o get
away from here. There is no sense in our fussing or hesitating about
what we're going to do, is there?"

"No, I suppose not," she agreed.

"I'll send the _Panther_ down to the Springs for Lefty Howe's wife," he
outlined his plans unhesitatingly. "She'll get up here this evening.
To-morrow we will go down and take the train to Vancouver and be
married. You have plenty of good clothes, good enough for Vancouver. I
know,"--with a whimsical smile,--"because you had no chance to wear them
out. Then we'll go somewhere, California, Florida, and come back to
Roaring Lake in the spring. You'll have all the bad taste of this out of
your mouth by that time."

Stella nodded acquiescence. Better to make the plunge boldly, since she
had elected to make it.

"All right. I'm going to tell Benton," Fyfe said. "Good-by till
to-morrow."

She stood up. He looked at her a long time earnestly, searchingly, one
of her hands imprisoned tight between his two big palms. Then, before
she was quite aware of his intention, he kissed her gently on the mouth,
and was gone.

* * * * *

This turn of events left Benton dumbfounded, to use a trite but
expressive phrase. He came in, apparently to look at Stella in amazed
curiosity, for at first he had nothing to say. He sat down beside his
makeshift desk and pawed over some papers, running the fingers of one
hand through his thick brown hair.

"Well, Sis," he blurted out at last. "I suppose you know what you're
doing?"

"I think so," Stella returned composedly.

"But why all this mad haste?" he asked. "If you're going to get married,
why didn't you let me know, so I could give you some sort of decent
send-off."

"Oh, thanks," she returned dryly. "I don't think that's necessary. Not
at this stage of the game, as you occasionally remark."

He ruminated upon this a minute, flushing slightly.

"Well, I wish you luck," he said sincerely enough. "Though I can hardly
realize this sudden move. You and Jack Fyfe may get on all right. He's a
good sort--in his way."

"His way suits me," she said, spurred to the defensive by what she
deemed a note of disparagement in his utterance. "If you have any
objections or criticisms, you can save your breath--or address them
direct to Mr. Fyfe."

"No, thank you," he grinned. "I don't care to get into any argument with
_him_, especially as he's going to be my brother-in-law. Fyfe's all
right. I didn't imagine he was the