ollis killed; you see the rest
fell on 'em soon's they dropped. It was hell. Nothing but hair and blood
and bones churned into the snow far as you could see. Excuse me, ma'am; I
guess it sounds a little rough. I'm more used to talking to men, my, yes.
But the fellow who told me said Hollis knew well enough what was coming at
the start, when he heard the first cry of the pack. He had a chance to
make a roadhouse below the pass. Not one man in a thousand would have
stayed by that sled."

His withered face worked again. He moved to the door. "But Dave would have
done it." His voice took a higher pitch. "Yes, ma'am, Dave would have done
the same for Hollis Tisdale. They was a team; my, yes." He laughed his
hard, mirthless laugh. "Well, so long," he said.

She did not answer. Half-way down the corridor Banks looked back through
the open door. She had not moved from the place where he had left her,
though her face was turned to the window. A little farther on, while he
waited for the elevator, he saw she had taken the package he had brought
from Tisdale. She stood weighing it, undecided, in her hands, then drew
out the table drawer and laid it in. She paused another instant in
uncertainty and, closing the drawer, began to gather up the pieces of
gold.

CHAPTER XIX

LUCKY BANKS AND THE PINK CHIFFON

On his way down from Vivian Court, the mining man's attention was caught
by the great corner show window at Sedgewick-Wilson's, and instantly out
of the display of handsome evening gowns his eyes singled a dancing frock
of pink chiffon. "She always looked pretty," he told himself, "but when
she wore pink--my!" and he turned and found his way through the swinging
doors. A little later the elevator had left him at the second floor. For a
moment the mirrors bewildered him; they gave a sense of vastness,
repeating the elegant apartment in every direction, and whichever way he
glanced there was himself, seated on the edge of a chair, his square shoes
set primly on the thick green carpet, his hat held stiffly over the
crippled hand. Then an imposing young woman sauntered towards him. "Well,"
she said severely, "what can I show you?"

Banks drew himself a little stiffer. "A dress," he said abruptly in his
highest key, "ready-made and pink."

"What size?"

"Why"--the little man paused, and a blush that was nearer a shadow crossed
his weather-worn face--"let me see. She's five feet seven and a quarter,
in her shoes, and I