"No " Lee came into the trading-post on the following morning, and found attending store as if nothing unusual had occurred.  
"Say! What's this about you and ? I hear you had a horrible run-in, and that you split him up the back like a ."
 
"We had a row," admitted the trader. "It's been a long time working out, and last night it came to a head."
 
"Lord-ee! And to think of Ben Stark's bein' licked! Why, the whole camp's talkin' about it! They say he emptied two six-shooters at you, but you kept a-comin', and when you did get to him you just carved your initials on him like he was a bass-wood tree. Say, John, he's a goner, sure."
 
"Do you mean he's—passing out?"
 
"Oh no! I reckon he'll get well, from what I hear, though he won't let nobody come near him except old Doc; but he's lost a battle, and that ends him. Don't you ? Whenever a quits second best, it breaks his hoodoo. Why, there's been men laying for him these twenty years, from here to the Rio Grande, and every feller he ever bested will hear of this and begin to grease his holster; then the first shave-tail desperado that meets him will spit in his eye, just to make a name for himself. No, sir! He's a spent shell. He's got to fight all his battles over again, and this time the other feller will open the ball. Oh, I've seen it happen before. You killed him last night, just as sure as if you'd hung up his hide to dry, and he knows it."
 
"I'm a peaceable man," said Gale, on the . "I had to do it."
 
"I know! I know! There was witnesses—this dress-maker at the fort seen it, so I hear."
 
The other silently.
 
"Well! Well! Ben Stark licked! I can't get over that. It must 'a' been somethin' powerful strong to make you do it, John." It was as close to a question as the miner dared come, although he was with curiosity, and, like the entire town, was in a to know what lay back of this midnight encounter, concerning which the most exaggerated were . These stories grew the more and ridiculous the longer the truth remained hidden, for Stark could not be seen, and neither Gale nor Burrell would speak. All that the people knew was that one lay wounded to death behind the dumb walls of his cabin, and that the other had brought him down. When the old man no more than a nod to his question, the inquired:
 
"Where's Poleon? I've got news for him from the creek."
 
"I don't know; he's gone."
 
"Back soon?"
 
"I don't know. Why?"
 
"His have give up. They've cross-cut his ground and the pay ain't there, so they've quit work for good."
 
"He drew a blank, eh?"
 
"Worse'n that—three of them. The creek is spotteder than a . Runnion's men, for instance, are into it bigger than a house, while Poleon's people can't raise a color. I call it tough luck—yes, worse'n tough: it's hard-biled and pickled. To them as has shall it be given, and to them as hasn't shall be took even what they 'ain't got, as the poet says. Look at Necia! She'll be richer than a cream . Guess I'll step around and see her."
 
"She's gone," said the trader, wearily, turning his haggard face from the prospector.
 
"Gone! Where?"
 
"Up-river with Runnion. They got her away from me last night."
 
"Sufferin' snakes!" ejaculated Lee. "So that's why!" Then he added, simply, "Let's go and git her, John."
 
The trader looked at him queerly.
 
"Maybe I won't—on the first boat! I'm eating my heart out hour by hour waiting—waiting—waiting for some kind of a craft to come, and so is Burrell."
 
"What's he got to do with it?" said the one-eyed miner, jealously. "Can't you and me bring her back?"
 
"He'll marry her! God, won't there never be a boat!"
 
For the hundredth time that morning he went to the door of the post and strained his eyes down-stream.
 
"Well, well! Them two goin' to be married," said Lee. "Stark licked, and Necia goin' to be married—all at once. I hate to see it, John; he ain't good enough; she could 'a' done a heap better. There's a lot of reg'lar men around here, and she could 'a' had her pick. Of course, always bein' broke like a dog myself, I 'ain't kept up my personal appearance like I'd ought, but I've got some new clothes now, and you wouldn't know me. I bought 'em off a tenderfoot with cold feet, but they're the goods, and you'd see a big improvement in me."
 
"He's a good man," said Gale. "Better than you or me, and he's all torn up over this. I never saw a man act so. When he learned about it I thought he'd go mad—he's haunted the river-bank ever since, raging about for some means of following her, and if I hadn't fairly held him he'd have set out single-handed."
 
"I'm still strong in the belief that Necia could have bettered her hand by stayin' out awhile longer," declared Lee, stubbornly; "but if she wants a soldier, why, we'll get one for her, only I'd rather have got her somethin' real good and pronounced in the military line—like an agitant-gen'ral or a walkin' delegate."
 
While they were talking Burrell came in, and "No Creek" saw that the night had the youth even more than it had Gale, or at least he showed the marks more plainly, for his face was , his eyes were sunken as if from hunger, and his whole body seemed to have fallen away till his uniform hung upon him loose, unkempt, and careless. It was as if hope had been a thing of avoirdupois, and when taken away had caused a shrinkage. He had Stark again after getting the doctor, but the man had only cursed at him, declaring that his daughter was out of reach, where he would take care to keep her, and torturing the lover anew by linking Runnion's name with the girl's till the young man fled from the sound of the monster's voice back to his own quarters. He strove to keep the image of Runnion out of his mind, for his reason could not endure it. At such times he cried aloud, cursing in a way that was strange to a God-fearing man, only to break off and rush to the other extreme, praying blindly, , for the girl's safe-keeping. At an unholy impulse almost drove him to Stark's cabin to finish the work Gale had begun, to do it coldly as a matter of justice, for was he not the one who had put Necia into the hands of that ruffian? Greeting Lee mechanically, he said to Gale:
 
"I can't wait much longer," and sank wearily into a seat. Almost the next instant he was on his feet again, saying to the trader, as he had said it a score of times already: "Runnion comes to me, Gale! You understand he's mine, don't you?"
 
The old man nodded. "Yes! You can take him."
 
"Well, who do I git?" asked Lee.
 
"You can't come along," the trader said. "We may have to follow the hound clean to the States. Think of your mine—"
 
"To hell with the mine!" exploded the shaggy prospector. "I reckon I'm kind of a daddy to your , and I'm goin' to be in at the finish."
 
Back and paced the restlessly, pausing every now and then to peer down the river. Suddenly he uttered a cry, and with a bound Gale was beside him, Lee at his shoulder.
 
"Look! Over the point! Down yonder! I saw smoke!"
 
The three stared at the distant forest fringe that masked the bend of the river until their eyes ached, and the dark-green grew black and wavered indistinctly.
 
"You're tired, my boy," said Gale.
 
"Wait!"
 
They obeyed, and finally over the tree-tops saw a faint streamer of
black.
 
"It is! It is!" cried the soldier. "I'm going for my war bag." And before the steamboat had hove into sight he was back with his bundle of baggage, behaving like one daft, talking and laughing and running here and there. Lee watched him closely, then went behind the bar and poured out a stiff glass of whiskey, which he made Burrell drink. To Gale he whispered, a moment later:
 
"Keep your eye on him, John—he'll go mad at this rate."
 
They waited, it seemed interminably, until at last a white slowly rounded the point, then shaped a course across the current towards the other bank, where the water was less swift. As it came into sight, Gale swore aloud in despair:
 
"It's the Mission boat!"
 
"Well, what of that?" said Burrell. "We'll hire it—buy it—take it!"
 
"It's no use; she ain't got but three dog-power to her engines," Lee explained. "She's a down-river boat—has to run with the current to move."
 
"We can't use her," Gale gave in, reluctantly. "She'd only lose time for us. We've got to wait for one of the A. C. boats."
 
"Wait!" cried Burrell. "Good God! we've done nothing but wait, WAIT, WAIT! Let's do something!"
 
"You go back yonder and set down," commanded Lee. "We'll have a boat before long."
 
The arrival of the tiny Mission steamer was never of sufficient importance to draw a crowd to the riverbank, so the impatient men at the post relaxed interest in her as she came creeping up of the town. It was little Johnny Gale who first saw Necia and Poleon on board, for he had recognized Father Barnum's craft at a distance, and stationed himself at the bank hand-in-hand with Molly to bid the good, kind old man welcome.
 
The men inside the house did not hear the boy crying Necia's name, for his voice was small, and they had gone to the rear of the store.
 
"Understand! You leave Runnion to me," Burrell was saying. "No man shall lay hands on him except me—" His voice trailed away; he rose slowly to his feet, a strange light on his face. The others turned to see what sight had drawn his eyes. In the opening, all splendid with the golden sunlight, stood Necia and Poleon Doret, who had her by the hand—and she was smiling!
 
Gale uttered a great cry and went to meet them, but the soldier could move nothing save his lips, and stood dazed and disbelieving. He saw them dimly coming towards him, and heard Poleon's voice as if at a great distance, saw that the Frenchman's eyes were upon him, and that his words were directed to him.
 
"I bring her back to you, M'sieu'!"
 
Doret laid Necia's hand in that of her lover, and Burrell saw her smiling shyly up at him. Something gripped him chokingly, and he could utter no sound. There was nothing to say-she was here, safe, smiling, that was all. And the girl, the glory in his eyes, understood.
 
Gale caught her away from him then, and buried her in his arms.
 
A woman came running into the store, and, seeing the group, paused at the door—a shapeless, silent, shawled figure in against the day. The trader brought the girl to her foster-mother, who began to talk in her own tongue with a rapidity none of them had ever heard before, her voice as tender as some wild bird's song; then the two women went away together around the store into the house. Poleon had told Necia all the amazing story that had come to him that direful night, all that he had overheard, all that he knew, and much that he guessed.
 
The priest came into the store shortly, and the men fell upon him for information, for nothing was to be gained from Poleon, who seemed strangely fagged and weary, and who had said but little.
 
"Yes, yes, yes!" laughed Father Barnum. "I'll tell you all I know, of course, but first I must meet Lieutenant Burrell and take him by the hand."
 
The story did not lose in his telling, particularly when he came to describe the fight on the bar which no man had seen, and of which Poleon had told him little; but the good priest was of a turn, and his blue eyes glittered and flashed like an old crusader's.
 
"It was a combat," he declared, with all the spirit of a spectator, "for Poleon advanced bare-handed and beat him down even as the man fired into his face. It is due to the goodness and mercy of God that he was spared a single wound from this desperado—a miracle vouchsafed because of his clean heart and his righteous cause."
 
"But where is Runnion?" broke in Burrell.
 
"Nursing his injuries at some wood-cutter's camp, no doubt; but God be praised for that double spirit of and forgiveness which prompted our Poleon to spare the . No finer thing have I known in all my life, Doret, even though you have ever been an ungodly fellow."
 
The Frenchman moved uneasily.
 
"Wal, I don' know; he ain' fight so dam' hard."
 
"You couldn't find no trace of him?" said Lee.
 
"No trace whatever," Father Barnum replied; "but he will surely reach some place of refuge where we can pick him up, for the days are still mild and the woods full of berries, and, as you know, the streams with , which he can kill with a stick. Why, a man might live a fortnight without inconvenience!"
 
"I'll be on the for him," said the Lieutenant, grimly. "To-night I'll send Thomas and a couple of men down the river."
 
When the voluble old priest had at last his he requested of Burrell the privilege of a few words, and drew him apart from the others. His face was shrewdly wrinkled and warm with understanding.
 
"I had a long conversation with my little girl, for she is like a daughter to me, and I discovered the depth of her love for you. Do you think you are of her?"
 
"No."
 
"Do you love her as much as you should?"
 
"As much as I can. They don't make words or numbers big enough to tell you how dear she is to me."
 
"Then why delay? To-morrow I leave again, and one never knows what a day may bring forth."
 
"But Stark?" the young man cried. "He's her father, you know; he's like a madman, and she's still under age."
 
"I know very little of law outside of the Church," the Father observed, "but, as I understand it, if she marries before he forbids her, the law will hold him powerless. Now, he has never made himself known to her, he has never forbidden her anything; and although my conclusion may not be correct, I believe it is, and you have a chance if you make haste. At your age, my boy, I never needed a spur."
 
"A spur? Good Lord! I'm from Kentucky."
 
"Once she is yours before God, your hold will be stronger in the eyes of men. If I am wrong, and he takes her from you—well, may some other priest re-wed you two—I sha'n't!"
 
"Don't worry," laughed Burrell, at the thought. "You're the only preacher who'll kiss my bride, for I'm a jealous man, and all the Starks and all the fathers in the world won't get her away from me. Do you think she'll do it?"
 
"A woman in love will do anything."
 
Burrell seized the little man by the hand. "If I had known more law you needn't have given me this hint."
 
"I must go now to this Stark," said the Father; "he may need me. But first I shall talk with Necia. Poor child, she is in a difficult position, between the love of John Gale and the she owes her father. I—I fear I cannot counsel her as well as I ought, for I am very weak and human. You had better come with me; perhaps the plea of a lover may have more weight than the v............