!" came her plea. "I 'll hold on to
you--and you can help me along."

Fairchild released her and she seized his arm. For a quarter of a mile
they hurried along, skirting the places where the snow had collected in
breast-high drifts, now and then being forced nearly down to the bank
of the stream to avoid the mountainous piles of fleecy white. Once, as
they floundered through a knee-high mass, Fairchild's arm went quickly
about her waist and he lifted her against him as he literally carried
her through. When they reached the other side, the arm still held its
place,--and she did not resist. Fairchild wanted to whistle, or sing,
or shout. But breath was too valuable--and besides, what little
remained had momentarily been taken from him. A small hand had found
his, where it encircled her. It had rested there, calm and warm and
enthralling, and it told Fairchild more than all the words in the world
could have told just then--that she realized that his arm was about
her--and that she wanted it there. Some way, after that, the stretch
of road faded swiftly. Almost before he realized it, they were at the
outskirts of the city.

Grudgingly he gave up his hold upon her, as they hurried for the
sidewalks and for the sheriff's office. There Fairchild did not
attempt to talk--he left it all to Anita, and Bardwell, the sheriff,
listened. Taylor Bill had confessed to the robbery at the Old Times
dance and to his attempt to so arrange the evidence that the blame
would fall on Harry. Taylor Bill and Blindeye Bozeman had been caught
at work in a cross-cut tunnel which led to the property of the Blue
Poppy mine, and one of them, at least, had admitted that the sole
output of the Silver Queen had come from this thieving encroachment.
Then Anita completed the recital,--of the plans of the Rodaines to
leave and of their departure for Center City. At last, Fairchild
spoke, and he told the happenings which he had encountered in the
ramshackle house occupied by Crazy Laura. It was sufficient. The
sheriff reached for the telephone.

"No need for hurry," he announced. "Young Rodaine can't possibly make
that trip in less than two hours. How long did it take you to come
down here?"

"About an hour, I should judge."

"Then we 've got plenty of time--hello--Central? Long distance,
please. What's that? Yeh--Long Distance. Want to put in a call for
Center City." A long wait, while a metallic voice streamed over the
wire i