meeting with Van.

At daylight all were up, and in the chill of the rarified mountain air
were walking stiffly to the car. The chauffeur, who had slept in his
machine, promised breakfast by eight at Mrs. Dick's. He tore up the
road and he tore away their breath, but he came into Goldite half an
hour ahead of time, and claimed he had driven "pretty slow."

Meantime, the night in the mining-camp had brought no untoward
excitement. Van, at his tent, with the covered figure lying on the
earth, had welcomed his partners at midnight with the news that a
"homeless and worn-out pilgrim of the desert" had come desiring rest.
He was sleeping hard; he was not to be disturbed. In the morning he
was scheduled to depart.

Tired to utter unconcern, the three old worthies made their beds with
Van beside the man at peace. And the whole five slept with a trust and
abandon to nature that balanced the living and the dead.

Van was out, had eaten his breakfast, and was waiting for the sheriff
when Beth and her party returned. He beheld them, felt his heart lift
upward like a lever in his breast, at sight of Beth in her male attire,
and grimly shut his jaws.

Christler, the sheriff, arrived a little after eight, bringing in a
wounded deputy. Barger had shot him in the thigh. Van did not wait
for his man to eat, but urged him home to his bachelor shack and sat
him down to a drink of something strong, with a cracker to munch for a
meal.

Christler was tired. He was somewhat stout; he had been in the saddle
almost constantly for weeks, and now, as a victim of chagrin and
disappointment, he was utterly dejected and done.

"Good Lord, Van, ain't a man to breathe--hain't he got no rights to
live, whatsoever?" he inquired. "You'd chase me up, or somebody would,
if I was in my grave."

"You'd break out of your grave," Van told him, "if you knew what's
going on."

Christler looked dubious, draining at his glass.

"Well, I dunno. It 'ud have to be something pretty rich."

"Bill," said Van, "you're going to stand in and work with me as you
haven't worked for a year. It's going to be worth it. Opal McCoppet,
and one Searle Bostwick, of New York, have stolen my claim by
corrupting Lawrence for twenty thousand dollars, running a false
reservation line, and maybe putting Culver out of the way because he
was square in his business."

Christler paused in the act of biting his cracker.

"What!"

"There's going to be something