usiness; and
Honest John had replied, and sent Wiley a copy, that he was in no ways
responsible for his acts. This letter to Wiley had been followed by
another in which his father had rebuked him for persecuting Mrs. Huff,
and Wiley had replied with five pages, closely written, reciting his
side of the case. At this John Holman had declared himself neutral and,
beyond repeating his offer to buy the Widow's stock, had disclaimed all
interest in her affairs. But now, with her stock still in Blount's hands
and this last source of revenue closed to her, the Widow was left no
alternative but to appeal indirectly to Wiley. What other way then was
open, if she was ever to win back her stock, but to get back Virginia's
shares and sell them to raise the eight hundred dollars? Wiley grumbled
to himself as Death Valley Charley turned away and went on writing his
letter.

It had been a surprise, after his break with Virginia, to discover that
it left him almost glad. It had removed a burden that had weighed him
down for months, and it left him free to act. He could protect his
property now as it should be protected, without thought of her or
anybody; and he could board his own men and keep the gospel of hate from
being constantly dinned into their ears. They were honest, simple
miners, easily swayed by a woman's distress, but equally susceptible to
the lure of gold; and now with a bonus after the minimum of work they
were tearing out the ore like Titans. They were loyal and satisfied,
greeting his coming with a friendly smile; but if Virginia got hold of
them, or her venomous mother, where then would be his discipline?

He was deep in his work when a shadow fell upon his desk and he looked
up to see--Virginia.

CHAPTER XXV

VIRGINIA REPENTS

"I came for my stock," said Virginia coolly as she met his questioning
eye and Wiley turned and rummaged in a drawer. The stock was hers and
since she came and asked for it--he laid it on the desk and went ahead
with his work. Virginia took the envelope and examined it carefully, but
she did not go away. She glanced at him curiously, writing away so
grimly, and there was a scar across his head. Could it be--yes, there
her rock had struck him. The mark was still fresh, but he had given her
the stock; and now he was privileged to hate her. That wound on his head
would soon be overgrown and covered, but she had left a deeper scar on
his heart. She had hurt his man's pride; and now he