ndred seventy three dollars, most of which had recently been the
property of Dobyans Verinder.

An early start for Gunnison had been agreed upon by the fishermen at the
camp. To go to bed now was hardly worth while. Jack took a towel from
the willow bush upon which it was hanging, went down to the river,
stripped, and from a rock ten feet above a deep pool dived straight as
an arrow into the black water. The swirl of the current swept him into
the shallower stream below. He waded ashore, beautiful in his supple
slimness as an Apollo, climbed the rock a second time, and again knew
the delightful shock of a dive into icy water fresh from the mountain
snows.

Ten minutes later he wakened the camp by rattling the stove lids.

"Oh, you sluggards! Time to hit the floor," he shouted.

CHAPTER IV

FUGITIVES FROM JUSTICE

At the Lodge too an early breakfast was held, though it was five hours
later than the one at the camp. The whole party was down by nine-thirty
and was on the road within the hour. The morning was such a one as only
the Rockies can produce. The wine of it ran through the blood warm and
stimulating. A blue sky flecked with light mackerel clouds stretched
from the fine edge of the mountains to the ragged line of hills that cut
off the view on the other side.

The horses were keen for the road and the pace was brisk. It was not
until half the distance had been covered that Joyce, who was riding
beside the captain, found opportunity for conversation.

"You sat up late, didn't you?"

"Early," the soldier laughed.

"How did the savage behave himself?"

"He went the distance well. We all contributed to the neat little roll
he carried away." Kilmeny smiled as he spoke. He was thinking of
Verinder, who had made a set against the miner and had tried to drive
him out by the size of his raises. The result had been unfortunate for
the millionaire.

"He has a good deal of assurance, hasn't he?" she asked lightly.

The captain hesitated. "Do you think that's quite the word? He fitted in
easily--wasn't shy or awkward--that sort of thing, you know--but he
wasn't obtrusive at all. Farquhar likes him."

"He's rather interesting," Joyce admitted.

She thought of him as a handsome untamed young barbarian, but it was
impossible for her to deny a certain amount of regard for any virile man
who admired her. The Westerner had not let his eyes rest often upon her,
but the subtle instinct of her sex had told her