his eyes fixed on the vague water ahead.

A stag crashed through the reeds ashore; the June fawn stared with eyes
like rubies in the dark.

Onward, onward, through the spell-bound forest; and at last the windows
of the house glimmered, reflected in the water.

Garcide and Crawford awaited them on the veranda as they came up, rising
in chilling silence, ignoring the offered hands of greeting.

"I've a word to say to you," snarled the Hon. John Garcide, in his
ward's ear--"and another word for your fool of an aunt!"

She shrank back against her husband, amazed and hurt. "What do you
mean?" she stammered; "we--we are married. Will you not speak to my--my
husband?"

A silence, too awful to last, was broken by a hoarse laugh.

"You're all right, Jim," said the elder Crawford, slowly. "Ophir Steel
won't slip through your fingers when I'm under the sod. Been married
long, Jim?"

THE FIRE-WARDEN

I

"And of course what I buy is my own," continued Burleson, patiently. "No
man here will question that, I suppose?"

For a moment there was silence in the cross-roads store; then a lank,
mud-splashed native arose from behind the stove, shoving his scarred
hands deep into the ragged pockets of his trousers.

"Young man," he said, harshly, "there's a few things you can't buy; you
may think you can buy 'em--you may pay for 'em, too--but they can't be
bought an' sold. You thought you bought Grier's tract; you thought you
bought a lot o' deer an' birds an' fish, several thousand acres in
timber, and a dozen lakes. An' you paid for 'em, too. But, sonny, you
was took in; you paid for 'em, but you didn't buy 'em, because Grier
couldn't sell God's free critters. He fooled ye that time."

"Is that the way you regard it, Santry?" asked Burleson. "Is that the
way these people regard private property?"

"I guess it is," replied the ragged man, resuming his seat on the
flour-barrel. "I cal'late the Lord A'mighty fashioned His wild critters
f'r to peramble round about, offerin' a fair mark an' no favor to them
that's smart enough to git 'em with buck, bird-shot, or bullet. Live
wild critters ain't for sale; they never was made to buy an' sell. The
spryest gits 'em--an' that's all about it, I guess, _Mister_ Burleson."

A hard-faced young man leaning against the counter, added significantly:
"We talked some to Grier, an' he sold out. He come here, too, just like
you."

The covert menace set two spots of color deepening in