A day of shattered hopes is a thing, but the night of such a day is desolate indeed. In all his life Poleon Doret had never sunk to such depths of despondency, for his optimistic philosophy and his buoyant faith in the goodness of life forbade it. Therefore, when darkness came it out what little brightness and light and hope were left to him after Necia's stormy interview with the . The arrival of the freight steamer afforded him some , but there was only a small for the store, and that was quickly disposed of; so, leaving the other citizens of Flambeau to over their private merchandise, he went back to his vigil, which finally became so that he sought to escape his thoughts, or at least to drown them for a while, amid the lights and life and laughter of 's saloon. Being but a child by nature, his means of distraction were and elementary, and he began to gamble, as usual with hard luck, for the cards had ever been unkind to him. He did not think of winnings or losings, however—he merely the occupation; and it was this that induced him to sit at a game in which Runnion played, although ordinarily he would not have tolerated even tacitly such a to his dislikes. As it was, he in a corner, his hat pulled down over his brow, his swarthy face a darker beneath the shadow, losing , only now and then showing a flash of white teeth as he saw his money go. What mattered loss to him? He had no more need of money now than Necia had of his love. He would spend the dollars he had and scraped and saved for her as she had spent the treasures of his heart, and now that the one had brought him no return he wished to be rid of the other, for he was shortly to go again in search of his "New Country," where no man needs gold half so much as a clean heart. It would be a long journey, far to the West and North—a journey that none of his kind had ever fared back from, and he wished to go light, as all good adventurers go.  
Runnion annoyed him with his volubility, for the news of his good-fortune had fired the man with a reckless disregard for money, and he turned to gaming as the one natural recourse of his ilk. As the of fate would have it, he won what the Canadian lost, together with the stakes of various others who played for a time with him and then gave up, wagging their heads or swearing softly at the cards.
 
It was shortly after midnight that Stark came into the place. Poleon was not too absorbed in his own fortunes to fail to notice the extraordinary ferocity and exhilaration of the saloon-keeper, nor that his face was keener, his thinner, his walk more nervous, and his voice more cutting than usual when he to Runnion.
 
"Come here."
 
"I'll be with you when I finish this hand," said the player, over his shoulder.
 
"Come here!" Stark snapped his command, and Runnion threw down his cards.
 
"I'm right in the middle of a winning . You'll break my luck, Ben."
 
But the other only frowned impatiently, and, drawing the reluctant gambler aside, began to talk rapidly to him, almost within ear-shot of Poleon, who watched them, idly wondering what Stark had to say that could make Runnion start and act so queerly. Well, it was their affair. They made a bad pair to draw to. He knew that Runnion was the saloon-keeper's lieutenant and obeyed his senior's commands. He could distinguish nothing they said, nor was he at all curious until a knot of noisy men crowded up to the bar, and, forcing the two back nearer to the table where he sat, his sharp ears caught these words from Runnion's lips:
 
"Not with me! She'd never go with me!" and Stark's reply:
 
"She'll go where I send her, and with anybody I tell her to."
 
The Frenchman lost what followed, for a newly dealt hand required study. He scanned his cards, and tossed them face up before the ; then he overheard Runnion say:
 
"It's the only one in camp. He might sell it if you offered him enough." At this Stark called one of the men at the bar aside, and the three began to dicker.
 
"Not a cent less," the third man announced, loudly. "There ain't another Peterborough in town."
 
It was Poleon's deal now, and when he had finished both Stark and Runnion had disappeared, also the man they had , which pleased the Canadian, for now that Runnion was eliminated from the game he might win a little. A steady, unvarying run of bad hands is uninteresting, and does not occupy one's mind as well as an occasional change of luck.
 
Outside Runnion was saying again to Stark:
 
"She won't go with me, Ben; she don't like me. You see, I made love to her, and she got mad and wanted me killed."
 
"She'll never know who you are until it's too late to turn back," said the other, "and you are the only man I can trust to take her through. I can trust you—you owe me too much to be ."
 
"Oh, I'll act square with you! But look here, what's all this about, anyhow? Why do you want that girl? You said you didn't care for her that way; you told me so yourself. Been having a change of heart, or is it your second childhood?" He laughed disagreeably.
 
"It's none of your business," said the gambler. "I want her, and that's enough. All you have to do is to take her to St. Michael's and keep her there till you hear from me. She thinks she is going to the Mission, and you needn't tell her otherwise until you get her aboard a steamer; then take her, no matter what kind of a fight she puts up. You've got a light-rowing skiff, and you'd better keep going till you're overtaken by a down-river boat. I want her as far away from here as possible. There's going to be some hell in this camp. Now, hike, and get yourself ready."
 
"All right! But I ain't the safest kind of a chaperon for a good-looking girl."
 
Stark laid a cold hand on Runnion's shoulder, close up to his neck.
 
"Get that out of your mind. She belongs to me."
 
"You said just now—"
 
"Never mind what I said. She's mine, and you've got to promise to be straight with her. I've trusted you before, and if you're not on the level now, say so. It will save you a lot of trouble."
 
"Oh! All right!" exclaimed Runnion, . "Only it looks queer."
 
He melted into the darkness and Stark returned to his cabin, where he paced back and impatiently, smiling evilly now and then, consulting his watch at frequent . A black look had begun to settle on his face, but it vanished when Necia came, and he met her with a smile.
 
"I was afraid you had weakened," he said. "Everything is ready and waiting. I've got the only canoe in the place, a Peterborough, and hired a good oarsman to put you through, instructing him to make as fast time as he can, and to board the first steamer that overtakes you. Too bad this freighter that just got in isn't going the other way. However, there's liable to be another any hour, and if one doesn't come along you'll find enough blankets and food in the skiff, so you needn't go . You'll be there before you know it."
 
"You are very kind," said the girl. "I can't thank you enough." She was clothed in her simple everyday dress, and looked again the sun-colored half-breed girl with the wide, dark eyes and the twin braids of crow-black hair.
 
"You didn't run into anybody, eh?"
 
She shook her head. Then he led her out into the darkness, and they stumbled down to the river's-bank, to the gravelly water's edge, where rows of clumsy hand-sawed boats and poling-skiffs were at their painters. The up-river steamer was just clearing.
 
Stark's low whistle was answered a hundred yards below, and they searched out a darker that proved to be a man's figure.
 
"Is everything ready?" he inquired, at which the shadow . So, holding Necia by the arm, Stark helped her back to a seat in the stern.
 
"This man will take you through," he said. "You can trust him, all right."
 
The oarsman clambered in and adjusted his sweeps, then Stark laid a hand on the and shoved the light boat out into the current, calling softly:
 
"Good-bye, and good-luck."
 
"Good-bye, Mr. Stark. Thank you ever so much," the girl replied, too and worn out to say much, or to notice or care whither she was bound or who was her boatman. She had been swept along too swiftly to reason or fear for herself any more.
 
Half an hour later the lights of the little camp and twinkled for the last time. Turning, she set her face forward, and, adjusting the cushions to her comfort, strained her tired eyes towards the rising and falling shadow of her boatman. She seemed borne along on a mystic river of gloom that and gurgled about her, invisible but all-pervading, , , only the ceaseless, creak of the rowlocks breaking the silence.
 
Stark did not return to his cabin, but went back instead to his saloon, where he saw Poleon Doret still with elbows on the table, his hat pulled low above his face. The owner of the place passed behind the bar and poured himself a full glass of whiskey, which he tossed off, then, without a look to right or left, went out and down towards the barracks. A light behind the curtains of the officer's house told that his man was not abed, but he waited a long moment after his summons before the door was opened, during which he heard the occupant moving about and another door close in the rear. When he was allowed entrance at last he found the young man alone in a smoke-filled room with a bottle and two empty glasses on the table.
 
For at the sound of his voice had whispered to Burrell, "Keep him out!" and the Lieutenant had to refuse his late visitor admittance when he lighted on the of the trader in the bedroom at the rear. It was only natural, he reasoned, that Gale should dislike to face a man like Stark before he had his composure.
 
"Go in there and wait till I see what he wants," he had said, and, shutting the old man in, he had gone forth to admit Stark, resenting his ill-timed intrusion and inquiring brusquely the cause of it.
 
Before answering, Stark entered and closed the door behind him.
 
"I've got some work for you, Lieutenant."
 
"I guess it can wait till morning," said Meade.
 
"No, it can't; it's got to be done to-night, right now! You represent the law, or at least you've taken every occasion to so declare yourself, and to mix in with little things that don't cut much figure; so now I've come to you with something big. It's a serious affair, and being as I'm a peaceful man I want to go by the law." His eyes mocked the words he uttered. "You're mighty prompt and when it comes to regulating such affairs. You seem to carry the weight of this whole community on your shoulders, so I'm here to give you some information."
 
Burrell ignored the , and said, quietly: "It's a little late for polite conversation. Come to the point."
 
"I've got a criminal for you."
 
"What kind?"
 
"Murderer."
 
"You've had a in your place, eh?"
 
"No, I've just made a discovery. I found it all out by accident, too—pure accident. By Heaven! You can't tell me there isn't a beneficent overlooking our affairs. Why, this has lived here among us all this time, and only for the merest chance I never would have recognized him."
 
"Well, well! Go on!" snapped Burrell, impatiently.
 
"He's a friend of yours, and a highly respected party. He's a glorious example to this whole river."
 
The officer started. Could it be? he wondered. Could knowledge of this affair have reached this man? He was uncomfortably aware of that presence in the back room, but he had to know the truth.
 
"Who is the man?"
 
"He's your friend. He's—" Stark paused, gloating over his enemy's .
 
"Go on." "He's everybody's friend. He's the shining mark of this whole country. He's the renegade, Squaw-man Gale."
 
"John Gale?"
 
"Gaylord is his name, and I was a fool not to know it sooner."
 
"How did you discover this?" inquired Burrell, . "What proof have you?"
 
The disclosure had not the soldier as Stark expected, and his anger began to lift itself.
 
"That's neither here nor there; the man's a murderer; he's wanted in California, where I came from; he's been , and there's a price on his head. He's hidden for fifteen years, but he'll hang as sure as I stand here."
 
Disclosures of a complex nature h............