\y*^ ""*
 
 UP AGAINST IT
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 THE LADY OF THE NIGHT WIND 
 THE TWO-FACED MAN 
 THE GIRL BY THE ROADSIDE 
 SOMETHING DOING 
 UP AGAINST IT
 
 "So! It was you!" he said. "You have a heavy hand, 
 Miss Maitland."
 
 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 By 
 
 VARICK VANARDY 
 
 Author of 
 
 "The Lady of the Night Wind," "The Two-Faced 
 
 Man," "Something Doing," 'The Girl 
 
 by the Roadside," etc. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 THE MACAULAY COMPANY
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1920, BT 
 
 THE MACAULAY COMPANY 
 
 Printed in the U. S. A.
 
 2138640
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. A Critical Moment 9 
 
 II. A Pair of Schemers 22 
 
 III. The Fake Package 33 
 
 IV. Life and the Right to Live 44 
 
 V. A Declaration of War . 52 
 
 VI. With Dog-like Devotion 57 
 
 VII. Randall's Renunciation 64 
 
 VIII. Joyce 70 
 
 IX. At the Devil's Pulpit 81 
 
 X. The Dead Forger 89 
 
 XI. The Tragedy at Magician 94 
 
 XII. "I Will Stay Here and Fight" .... 101 
 
 XIII. Two Packets in Oilskins 112 
 
 XIV. A Conspiracy that Failed 120 
 
 XV. Dan Randall's Error . . . . . . . 133 
 
 XVI. Dan Randall's Ultimatum 141 
 
 XVII. A Touch of the Tempest 148 
 
 XVIII. The Tracks in the Snow 158 
 
 XIX. Some Freaks of Fortune 168 
 
 XX. The Great Change . 177 
 
 XXI. Things Begin to Move 185 
 
 XXII. Preparing for the Contest ...... 196 
 
 XXIII. The Last Night of Idleness 203 
 
 XXIV. Beginning the Fight . ...... . 213 
 
 XXV. The Fight at Lonecamp 223 
 
 XXVI. The Voices over the Wire 232 
 
 XXVII. First Blood 240 
 
 XXVIII. The Effect of the Shot 249 
 
 XXIX. The Live Wires .258 
 
 XXX. War, to the Utmost Limit 266
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XXXI. The Dynamite Attack 274 
 
 XXXII. Stampeding the Enemy . . . . . . .283 
 
 XXXIII. Taggart's Villainous Scheme 289 
 
 XXXIV. At the Stone House 294 
 
 XXXV. Dan Randall's Strategy 300 
 
 XXXVI. A Double-Headed Fight 307 
 
 XXXVII. Taking the Bull by the Horns 312 
 
 XXXVIII. When Taggart Laid Down 320 
 
 XXXIX. The Last Ditch 326 
 
 XL. Things that Did Not Burn 336 
 
 XLI. A Cry for Help 341 
 
 XLII. In the Nick of Time 346 
 
 XLIII. The Ways of Transgressors 353 
 
 XLIV. How One Man Could Hate 361 
 
 XLV. When Dreams Come True 366
 
 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 A Critical Moment 
 
 Dan Randall shoved his chair slowly back from 
 the table, gripping the edge of it tightly between 
 his fingers as he did so. His face had gone white, 
 his jaws were set, and his eyes were hard. They 
 had glittered with the utter cold of restrained an- 
 ger since the last half hour. The sensations pro- 
 duced by the extremes of heat and cold are much 
 the same, although their manifestations are dif- 
 ferent. It was the latter that affected Randall, at 
 that directors' meeting. 
 
 There were eight others present around the big 
 table of solid oak. He was the ninth. One of the 
 eight had betrayed him, and had been betraying 
 him, systematically and methodically, for weeks 
 and months; had betrayed his friendship, his trust, 
 his confidence. The other seven had followed 
 meekly (or purposefully, it did not matter) in the 
 wake of Ace Wadleigh his friend. His friend! 
 
 It had been hard for Randall to believe. 
 
 The full realization of the treachery of which he 
 was the victim had come slowly. It had all
 
 10 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 seemed so incredible, so impossible, at the begin- 
 ning of present developments. 
 
 He had refused to credit his own perceptions, at 
 first. Then, bit by bit, and minute by minute, the 
 conviction had grown upon him until the point of 
 finality was reached when the votes of the direc- 
 tors had been cast with brutal frankness. 
 
 Randall was ousted from the board, shorn of his 
 power, deprived of every atom of influence cast 
 out. 
 
 And the railroad was his, more than anybody's. 
 His brains had conceived it, his ability had estab- 
 lished it, his money had financed it; and now he 
 was thrown out with all the ruthlessness that is 
 shown to a drunken bum who has spent his last 
 cent across a bar and is turned into the street be- 
 cause of it. ... Only, Dan Randall had not ex- 
 pended all of his resource's; not yet. He knew, 
 even as he rose slowly from his chair at the end of 
 the table, gripping it, that these men would find 
 out presently, and to their cost, that he had not. 
 But he did not choose to tell them so; not just then. 
 
 The white heat of instant anger is as nothing to 
 the cold rage that is the result of contemplated 
 injustice remorselessly dealt out. Your true gen- 
 tleman is one who practices graciousness, and ex- 
 acts it; one who is loyal, and who demands loy- 
 alty; one who is grateful and considerate, and who 
 believes in the gratitude and the consideration of 
 others. When one who is born and bred with such 
 principles confronts the moment which outrages 
 all of them at once, just rage, bitter savagery, re- 
 morseless purpose are the immediate consequences. 
 
 Randall's eyes sought the gaze of Boniface Wad-
 
 A CRITICAL MOMENT 11 
 
 leigh, which met his own from the opposite end 
 of the table. He ignored the other men. They 
 did not count, save as their votes just cast, had 
 counted. But the purpose which their votes had 
 expressed was concentrated in the cold, almost ex- 
 pressionless eyes of Wadleigh. There was no ex- 
 altation in them; no evidence of the triumph he 
 had won by those votes. They were just coldly 
 determined. And Wadleigh's face was always a 
 mask. His pallor was natural, although it was 
 more pronounced than usual at that moment. His 
 strong, handsome, patrician features were deter- 
 mined in their utter calmness. He offered no 
 apology, manifested no regret, spoke no word, 
 when Randall arose to confront him. 
 
 For a moment Randall stood quite still, with- 
 out speaking. He was loosing his grip on the 
 table-edge in order to get one upon himself. 
 When he did speak it was in a low tone, and with- 
 out the expression of an emotion; calmly and 
 clearly. He said: 
 
 "It has been moved and seconded that we now 
 adjourn, subject to the call of the new president 
 just elected. Those in favor will signify it by say- 
 ing aye. ... It is so ordered. . . . Gentlemen, 
 keep your places. It will not be well for any of 
 you to attempt to leave this room just yet. Mr. 
 Wadleigh would not be entirely safe from me. 
 With the restraining influence of your presence, he 
 is quite so. For the remainder of what I have to 
 say, Wadleigh, / will address you. The others 
 who are here, while competent witnesses, possess 
 no other attribute of manhood which is perceptible, 
 and therefore may be ignored. . . . They have
 
 12 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 done as they were told to do. ... But, you !" 
 
 Randall shrugged slightly, but he did not smile. 
 The occasion was not one for smiling. 
 
 "I have been the president of the M. and J. rail- 
 way company since its inception, until to-day. 
 Now I am ousted from that position and you are 
 elected in my place. The position of treasurer, 
 formerly held by you, is now filled by Ellery Cuth- 
 bcrt, who is present. I have been robbed, sys- 
 tematically and deliberately, and you, Wadleigh, 
 are the thief. It is a hard word, I know, but no 
 other one fits the occasion. You have picked my 
 pockets with this 'mob' around you to aid you in 
 the act. You have climbed in at the second story 
 window of my confidence while I was sleeping, 
 drugged to insensibility by my faith in you. You 
 have garroted me from a hidden doorway while I 
 stood with my back turned, looking at the lights 
 across the street of my ambition. You are worse 
 than the thief, the pickpocket, and the footpad, be- 
 cause you added to them the facilities and the per- 
 suasiveness of a confidence-man. My utter amaze- 
 ment at what has happened, explains my calmness. 
 I am benumbed. 
 
 "But my intelligence is active, and it shall not 
 cease to be on the alert, henceforth. You shall be 
 made to pay, Wadleigh, cent per cent. Consider 
 well that statement when I have gone away. . . . 
 
 "At the stockholders' meeting which immedi- 
 ately preceded this directors' meeting, your 
 method and manner of voting the stock which 
 rightfully is mine, should have enlightened me. 
 But it did not. It is as well, perhaps, that I do not 
 understand, yet, how you acquired that power. I
 
 A CRITICAL MOMENT 13 
 
 cannot permit myself to think that Miss Maitland 
 knew to what use you would put it when she was 
 persuaded to confer it upon you, in my absence. 
 But I will know all about that circumstance, 
 later. So much for that, Wadleigh. These pup- 
 pets of yours do not understand me. But you 
 do. ... 
 
 "So far as I am personally concerned, the M. 
 and J. railroad company ceases to exist with this 
 hour. You have it all you and your stalagmites; 
 for it is the ooze that has dripped from you that 
 has created them. . . . You believe, too, that you 
 have me broke, and helpless. Perhaps you have. 
 Time will answer that. But, whether it is so or 
 not, what you have done to-day, Wadleigh, spells 
 Ruin. R-u-i-n. Think that over, too, for I do not 
 refer to myself, but to you. 
 
 "Now, to the business aspect of the situation. 
 There is one item which you have not taken into 
 account. You would have acted with less precipi- 
 tancy had you done so. You wouldn't have 
 thrown me down quite so hard. I refer to the 
 Lantowa cut-off, between Magician and Janver. 
 That is mine. Every inch of that right of way be- 
 longs to me and stands in my name, the deeds and 
 patents thereto being duly and legally recorded. 
 You had forgotten that, hadn't you? or rather, you 
 did not remember it, in your haste to rob me. But 
 it is mine, and this Dominion of Canada has recog- 
 nized my title to it. ... It startles you, doesn't 
 it?" 
 
 Ace Wadleigh bent forward in his chair and 
 stretched out one hand toward a package of papers 
 on the table in front of him; but his muscles re-
 
 14 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 laxed and the hand was withdrawn ere it had 
 touched the papers, and Wadleigh resumed his 
 former position, a slow smile twitching at the cor- 
 ners of his mouth. 
 
 He spoke for the first time, for until then he had 
 not betrayed by any other sign than the cold 
 gleam in his eyes, that he had heard the words ad- 
 dressed to him. 
 
 "You will find that nothing has been forgotten," 
 he said. His face might have been hewn from 
 marble in its utter coldness and calmness. "And 
 now, since you are no longer one of us, and because 
 it is my duty to preside at a meeting of the newly- 
 elected directors of the Manitoba & Juneau Rail- 
 road Company, I must request that you leave the 
 room." 
 
 Randall did not reply. 
 
 During a moment of tense silence he stared into 
 Wadleigh's eyes, and the gaze was returned with- 
 out a flicker or an evidence of flinching. 
 
 Then Randall stepped away from the end of the 
 table, crossed to his own roll-top desk, the top of 
 which was thrown back, and began with delibera- 
 tion to dismantle the pigeon-holes of their con- 
 tents. After a moment he turned and drew his 
 swivel-chair toward him from the end of the direc- 
 tor's table, and seated himself upon it, once more 
 giving his attention to his desk. He entirely ig- 
 nored the presence of others in the room, and there 
 was no haste in his movements as he worked. But 
 there was a mirror which hung against the wall 
 just above his desk, and from time to time he 
 glanced toward it, and thus he saw Wadleigh nod 
 significantly to Cuthbert, the newly-elected treas-
 
 A CRITICAL MOMENT 15 
 
 urer of the corporation. Cuthbert rose in his 
 place at the table. 
 
 "Mr. President," he said, "I move that the 
 board of directors of the Manitoba & Juneau Rail- 
 road Company be now convened, and that if there 
 is any person present who is not a member of that 
 board, he be requested to leave the room." He 
 hesitated an instant, and then added, with a slight 
 thrust forward of his chin: "And I suggest that 
 in case of the failure or refusal of such a person to 
 leave this room upon request, he be ejected." 
 
 There was a moment of silence. The directors 
 waited; Randall continued with his occupation, 
 imperturbably. The strain of the moment was in- 
 tense. Then Wadleigh spoke. 
 
 "You heard, Randall?" he said. 
 
 Randall made no reply. He bent forward over 
 his desk and pulled out one of the smaller draw- 
 ers beneath the pigeon-holes; and what he did then 
 was as if in the regular course of clearing out the 
 desk. He lifted a Colt automatic from the inte- 
 rior of that small drawer, held it in his hands for 
 a moment while he examined it, and then dropped 
 it negligently into his coat pocket. 
 
 The mirror over his desk told him that the sig- 
 nificance of his act had not passed unnoticed. Un- 
 easy glances were shot from man to man around 
 the directors' table. Only Wadleigh appeared to 
 be unimpressed. He left his chair and approached 
 Randall and the latter man sat very still indeed 
 while he waited. Wadleigh stopped at the end of 
 the desk. 
 
 "Will you go out, peacefully, Randall?" he 
 asked.
 
 16 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 "Yes; when I have finished with what I have to 
 do, here," was the slow reply. Then he leaned 
 back in his chair and whirled it slowly until he 
 faced the new president of the railroad company, 
 adding: "I will not go, under any circumstances, 
 until then." 
 
 "There are eight of us here, Dan," Wadleigh 
 said, with meaning. Randall took the gun from 
 his pocket, looked upon it meditatively for a mo- 
 ment, and returned it. 
 
 "That happens to be the precise number of pel- 
 lets in this pill-box," he said, and turned back 
 toward the desk again. 
 
 "Would you use that?" 
 
 "I shall protect myself and my property and 
 interest to the last ditch," was the quiet reply. 
 He spoke without turning his head. 
 
 One of the directors, Taggart by name, who had 
 been lumber- jack, fur-trader, and a hard-rock man 
 in his career, but who had become a successful 
 contractor in later years, sprang to his feet. 
 
 "You're not the only man who's got a gun on 
 him, Randall," he called out, savagely. "I guess 
 we've all got at least one. Here's mine right here 
 in my hand, and it's pointing plumb at you, too. 
 Now you climb up outa that chair and chase your- 
 self through that door, mister, and if you wiggle 
 a finger toward that pocket ' 
 
 "Sit down, Ben!" Wadleigh interrupted, 
 sharply. "None of that. It doesn't pay. Sit 
 down, I say, and put that gun in your pocket. Let 
 him finish what he is doing. It won't take long, 
 a-nd there's plenty of time." 
 
 Randall waited until Taggart had obeyed the
 
 A CRITICAL MOMENT 17 
 
 request of Wadleigh. Then he pulled down the 
 desk-top, snapped the lock, and turned his chair 
 slowly around until he faced them all. 
 
 "If one of you will open that door into the hall 
 so I can roll this desk out of the room, I won't! 
 trouble you any farther," he said, mildly. 
 
 "That desk is the property of the company," 
 Wadleigh remarked. "It cannot leave the 
 room." 
 
 "On the contrary, it is my personal property, 
 and it goes out with me, Ace." 
 
 Randall stood upon his feet, facing them. His 
 right hand again sought his coat pocket, and was 
 withdrawn with the automatic in its grasp. He 
 knew the men who were gathered around that di- 
 rectors' table. He knew, also, that half measures 
 would not "go" with them. 
 
 All of them save Wadleigh started to their feet, 
 and more than one hand moved toward a con- 
 cealed weapon; and Randall raised his pistol so 
 that it flickered from man to man, briefly. With- 
 out exception their hands dropped again to their 
 sides, their arms hanging straight downward. 
 Wadleigh alone had made no motions, and ap- 
 peared unimpressed. But Ace Wadleigh bore the 
 reputation of never changing countenance and of 
 never being in haste, under any circumstance. 
 
 "I have won some recognition among you for 
 markmanship," Randall said, coolly, "but I don't 
 think that any of us want an exhibition of it here. 
 It would be the height of absurdity. But, I shall 
 not put away this gun now until I and my desk are 
 safely outside of that door, and I shall not hesitate 
 to resent, with emphasis, the slightest sign of in-
 
 18 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 terference. If you force me to extremes well, in 
 that case it will be a matter of indifference to me 
 who gets hurt." 
 
 The moment was critical. 
 
 The slightest ill-advised movement by any man 
 in that room would have precipitated matters in- 
 stantly. Randall knew it; the men who faced him 
 realized it. Wadleigh alone seemed to be pon- 
 dering upon something that was quite foreign to 
 the menacing situation. His eyes had left Ran- 
 dall's face and sought the closed and locked desk. 
 There was something inside of it that he wanted, 
 he thought, and he had supposed it would be an 
 easy matter to get it by driving Randall from the 
 room. 
 
 But Wadleigh understood perfectly well per- 
 haps much better than the others, for he had a 
 much more thorough acquaintance with Randall 
 than they had that the desk could not be opened 
 again inside of that room without bloodshed; and 
 bloodshed was to be avoided at all hazards. So he 
 thought deeply, and swiftly; and evidently he be- 
 lieved that he saw a way by which his desires 
 might be accomplished. He shrugged his shoul- 
 ders; an emphatic gesture with him who rarely 
 gestured at all. 
 
 ' ' Very well, ' ' he said. ' ' You and the desk shall 
 leave the room together." 
 
 He turned upon his heel and strode toward the 
 door. His hand touched the knob, and clicked it 
 and at that precise instant somebody rapped 
 against the panel at the opposite side of it. 
 
 Had that rapping occurred an instant sooner, 
 before he had touched the door-knob, Wadleigh
 
 A CRITICAL MOMENT 19 
 
 might not have responded. As it was, he contin- 
 ued the turn of the knob that he had already be- 
 gun, and jerked the door open. Then he took a 
 quick step backward, and something very like a 
 gasp of astonishment escaped every man in that 
 room, except Randall, whose back was toward the 
 doorway. 
 
 Joyce Maitland, hooded and furred, stood at the 
 threshold. 
 
 The glow of the silent cold without was upon 
 her cheeks, the sparkle of the bright sun on the 
 frozen snow banks was in her darkly luminous 
 eyes, and health, vivacity, energy, and courage ra- 
 diated from her as she took one step forward and 
 paused uncertainly, amazed by the aspect of the 
 tableau she had interrupted. Seven men standing 
 around a huge table facing another man, and that 
 other with a weapon in his right hand, defying 1 
 them or menacing them. . . . Which? She did 
 not know. She could not determine. 
 
 Randall was the only one there who did not sus- 
 pect her presence. He had heard the tap at the 
 door, but he had no means of knowing that it was 
 not a prearranged signal anticipated by his com- 
 panions within the room, and he did not care, just 
 yet, to turn his eyes away from his watchfulness 
 over them. Of the seven who faced him there 
 were at least three who would not hesitate to take 
 advantage of his slightest inattention. He might 
 be shot down without compunction, in that room, 
 with eight reputable witnesses to testify to how it 
 had happened (?) and he with a gun in his own 
 hand. 
 
 Joyce Maitland 's first act of greeting when the
 
 20 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 door opened had been a nod to Wadleigh, brightly 
 bestowed; then her glances flew to the scene she 
 had interrupted. The glow in her cheeks did not 
 perceptibly lessen, but her eyes widened and her 
 lips lost their smile, as if she had some small con- 
 ception of what was going on. Then her ready wit 
 saved the situation. 
 
 "I hope I'm not intruding," she said; and Ran- 
 dall spun around on his heel and dropped the 
 weapon into his pocket as he faced her. The men 
 at the table sank upon their respective chairs. 
 Wadleigh stepped backward farther into the room, 
 and Joyce followed him. The door remained 
 wide open. Then she added: "Is it a rehearsal 
 of some sort?" 
 
 "Dan was giving us a lesson in the art of pre- 
 paredness; that is all," Wadleigh replied. "He 
 was demonstrating to us the facility with which a 
 man may draw, and perhaps use, a gun, in an ex- 
 tremity. He is moving his desk into another 
 room and my part of the work was to open the 
 door. . . . Taggart, if you and Cuthbert will lend 
 a hand I think we will roll the desk outside, now. 
 . . . You see, Joyce, Dan has an idea that there 
 are too many interruptions in this big office, so he's 
 going to flock by himself for a while." 
 
 Joyce Maitland's eyes rested for a moment upon 
 Randall's face. He made her no attempted apol- 
 ogy for the scene she had interrupted; he offered 
 no lame explanation. He did not speak at all, nor 
 did he look at her again after that first glance of 
 astonishment; and she was suddenly conscious 
 there had been no smile of pleasure from him at 
 seeing her, no welcoming expression in his eyes.
 
 A CRITICAL MOMENT 21 
 
 Taggart and Cuthbert, with the aid of Crosby, 
 the newly-elected secretary of the company, 
 pushed the desk into the hall. Another shoved 
 out the chair that belonged to it. Then Randall 
 put on his fur coat and cap and the laced boots 
 that were made to fit over his house-shoes. H 
 turned toward the door without another glance 
 toward Joyce. 
 
 But she stepped quickly to his side and rested 
 her hand upon his arm. 
 
 " What is it, Dan? What has happened? What 
 is happening?" she asked, putting one question 
 after another, quickly. 
 
 He paused with his hand on the knob of the 
 door, which had been closed when the desk and 
 chair were moved out of the room. There was no 
 harshness in his manner or his words as he an- 
 swered her; but there was distance, even though 
 there was the glimmer of a smile not a pleasant 
 one, quite in his eyes, as he spoke in reply. 
 
 "I am moving out," he said, "out of the com- 
 pany I have been in. And that term applies to 
 persons as well as to a railroad. My own stock 
 has been voted against me to-day, and you should 
 understand why that is so, better than I could tell 
 you." 
 
 Then he opened the door, passed into the hall- 
 way, and closed it after him.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 A Pair of Schemers 
 
 Dan Randall made a grievous mistake when he 
 went out of that room and left Miss Maitland no 
 choice but to hear and to accept the explanations 
 that were made to her by Ace Wadleigh and his 
 companions. 
 
 "It is just a foolish little flash of temper on the 
 part of Dan,' ' Wadleigh told her, soothingly, while 
 he brought forward a chair. "And that last re- 
 mark of his before he went out was an exhibition 
 of it. You see, Joyce, he permitted himself to get 
 angry about a misconception of his own, in regard 
 to the Lantowa cut-off; that eight and a half miles 
 of road that we are going to build over Magician 
 pass. You know about that, don't you?" 
 
 "I'm afraid that I don't know about it, Ace," 
 she replied. "I have never heard of it." 
 
 "There isn't very much to know, when all is 
 said. The point is that the distance from Janyer, 
 where we now are, to Magician, is fifty-six miles 
 by the present route; but Dan and I put our heads 
 together and figured on the pass over Lantowa 
 mountain. We decided that it was practicable, 
 and now the thing is in shape to reduce that fifty- 
 six miles to eight and a half. Then- ' ' 
 
 Joyce was palpably impatient, and she mani- 
 fested it that moment by interrupting him. He
 
 A PAIR OF SCHEMERS 23 
 
 had been talking rapidly with the too evident de- 
 sire to direct her thoughts away from the scene 
 she had just witnessed, while as a matter of fact 
 she was paying no attention to what he was saying. 
 
 "You quarreled," she broke in upon him. It 
 was both a question and an assertion. 
 
 "Well, yes. That is, Dan quarreled. I didn't. 
 These gentlemen here, and you know every one of 
 them, will assure you that Dan did all the quar- 
 reling, and that I didn't do any of it." 
 
 "Never mind that. What was the quarrel 
 about?" 
 
 "Joyce, when men undertake a great enterprise 
 such as this one is, it is not possible in all things to 
 rely upon the judgment of one man, or even two, 
 and so they institute a board of directors. The 
 persons who are in this room now including 
 yourself constitute that board. Wait a moment 
 until I finish explaining. Dan became angry at 
 the meeting, and resigned, not only from the 
 board, but from the presidency of the company. 
 We didn't like the manner in which he resigned, 
 and to teach him a lesson, we accepted the situa- 
 tion. When he saw that he had resigned himself 
 out of the board of directors, and the presidency of 
 the company, too, and that we had taken him at his 
 word, he was just plain mad; and then, when you 
 were elected to the board in his place, and I was 
 chosen as the president, Dan pulled his gun, and 
 threatened us all. And now, if you will take that 
 chair beside Mr. Cuthbert, I'll call the meeting to 
 order and we will proceed. If you require any 
 further explanations, they can be made after- 
 ward."
 
 24 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 She hesitated for the briefest instant. Then she 
 moved toward the door. 
 
 " No, " she said. ' ' You can proceed without me. 
 And I don't think that I care to be a member of 
 your board. I would be an obstacle rather than a 
 help to you." 
 
 She stepped swiftly toward the door, but Wad- 
 leigh had watched her narrowly during the entire 
 interview, and he reached it first without appear- 
 ing to be in haste. Indeed, he approached it so 
 naturally that he gave merely the impression of an 
 intention to open it for her to pass through. Still, 
 he managed to obstruct her way. He had no de- 
 sire that she should find opportunity just then for 
 an interview with Dan Randall. 
 
 But that was just what she did want, although 
 it did not occur to her that Wadleigh was endeav- 
 oring to prevent one. She saw only his wish to 
 have her remain; and so she stepped around him 
 and past him to the door, smiling as she did so, 
 and opened it; and as that was done, Wadleigh 
 breathed a sigh of relief. 
 
 Randall was not there. 
 
 The wide corridor was untenanted save by the 
 desk that had been rolled into it from the office of 
 the M. & J. R. R. office. That was there, backed 
 up against the wall at the opposite end of the cor- 
 ridor. Randall had gone. 
 
 Wadleigh held out both hands, palms upward, 
 and shrugged expressively for he could be as ex- 
 pressive as another when occasion called for it. 
 Just then he felt that it did. The girl who stood 
 beside him was the most important factor in his 
 entire scheme of successful personal aggrandize-
 
 A PAIE OF SCHEMERS 25 
 
 ment. He well knew that she could not be forced, 
 nor urged, nor led, nor coaxed, into the perform- 
 ance of any act; she could only be persuaded and 
 he relied upon his own powers of persuasion. 
 Wadleigh possessed unbounded faith in his own di- 
 plomacy. 
 
 "Dan has gone away," he said, before she could 
 speak. ' 'I suppose the sight of you, Joyce, cooled 
 him off a bit." 
 
 Three of the seven directors remaining in the 
 room had followed as far as the doorway, and 
 Wadleigh turned quickly toward them. They 
 could see that he closed one eye in a long wink, 
 when he continued to speak, and he went on with- 
 out an apparent interruption: 
 
 "He'll return presently, and be sorry for it all." 
 He swung around again so that he faced Joyce. 
 "And when he comes back, we will reinstate him 
 on the board, and I will step down and out of the 
 presidency, too, so that he can have his old place." 
 
 "Surest thing you know, Miss Maitland," said 
 Ben Taggart in his gruff voice, and with a big 
 laugh. "We'll put him right where he belongs. 
 Don't you get any wrong idee about that." 
 
 "Certainly we will," Wadleigh said, echoing 
 the laugh. "Ben, you and Cuthbert roll his desk 
 back into the room, in its old place; and when Dan 
 comes in we'll act just as though this thing hadn't 
 happened at all." He turned toward Joyce again. 
 "I'll tell you what we'll do; we'll re-elect him) 
 president and director before he gets back. Eh, 
 Ben? That will settle all that. ' ' 
 
 "You bet we will," was the chuckling reply 
 from the ex-lumberjack.
 
 26 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 Joyce Maitland extended both her hands toward 
 Wadleigh, and he grasped them, perhaps with 
 more enthusiasm than the occasion called for. 
 
 "That is so like you, Ace," she said, simply. 
 "You are always thoughtful and considerate for 
 others; and really, I shudder when I think what it 
 would mean to Dan if anything happened to upset 
 his plans. He has built so much upon them. Only 
 last evening " she paused abruptly; and Wad- 
 leigh was far too wise to ask her to continue. Be- 
 sides, he was a far-seeing person, and he already 
 knew about the interview to which she referred. 
 He had been an unsuspected eavesdropper to it, 
 himself, and it was because he did know about it, 
 that the directors' meeting and the betrayal result- 
 ing from it had been sprung upon Dan Randall 
 that morning. 
 
 He conducted her to the head of the stairs, for 
 the building which contained the executive of- 
 fices of the M. & J. R. R. Co. was only two stories 
 high and was made of lumber. It fronted upon 
 the "square," now deep with snow. Every build- 
 ing of any pretention in Janver looked out upon 
 the "square." 
 
 Joyce nodded brightly to him as she descended 
 the stairs, and he turned leisurely away; but the 
 next instant he sprang forward toward the office, 
 passed inside, and closed the door. 
 
 "Scatter, now, every one of you but Cuthbert," 
 he said. "I want him here with me. Get out on 
 the square. I don't want Joyce Maitland to have 
 an opportunity to talk with Randall. After to-day 
 it won't make any difference, but for to-day it must 
 be prevented. If they meet, and talk, interrupt
 
 A PAIR OF SCHEMERS 27 
 
 them. I don't care a hang how you do it. And 
 don't let him come back here, either, until I have 
 gone through that desk, and shoved it back into 
 the hall." 
 
 Taggart was the first man to seize his furs and 
 go; the others followed, one by one; but Wadleigh 
 paid no further attention to them. He had given 
 his orders, and he expected to be obeyed. He was 
 already busy with the lock of Randall's desk, seek- 
 ing to open it. But he was not wasting time by 
 trying keys. He had done that before. A lum- 
 berman's two-bitted axe, which stood in one cor- 
 ner of the room, was the key he used, and he forced 
 one of the edges of it beneath the lid of the desk 
 and pried upward. 
 
 The others had gone and Cuthbert was stand- 
 ing beside him when the hook-bolt of the lock 
 snapped and he threw the roll-top back into the 
 desk. 
 
 All of Wadleigh 's powers of self -repression were 
 needed then, for staring up at the two men from 
 the interior of the desk where Randall had left it, 
 was a sheet of paper upon which, in printed let- 
 ters, he had inscribed: 
 
 Thieves will break open this desk. 
 
 The thieves will not find what they seek. 
 
 Cuthbert 's little eyes glittered savagely and he 
 swore softly to himself; a Habit of his when he was 
 unduly roused. It betokened a dangerous mood on 
 his part, too. Wadleigh said nothing. He shut 
 down the lid of the desk again, without search- 
 ing it. 
 
 ' ' There is no use, ' ' he said, resignedly. ' ' Never 
 mind the desk. Let it stay where it is. Randall
 
 28 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 won't come back after it; or, if he does we'll see 
 about it when the time comes. I made just one 
 mistake at that meeting, Cuthbert. I should have 
 told Ben Taggart to shoot when he had the drop 
 on Randall." 
 
 "Yes; that would have been fine, wouldn't it, 
 with Miss Maitland blowin' in here two minutes 
 afterward? But you'd -a, slipped out of it, Ace, 
 with your smooth ways. What are you going to 
 do now?" 
 
 Wadleigh did not reply. Instead he crossed to 
 a window of the room and with both hands thrust 
 deeply into his pocket, stood for a time staring out 
 of it; and Cuthbert waited. He had very little 
 personal liking for Wadleigh, but he thoroughly 
 respected the powers of intellect which the new 
 president of the railroad possessed. 
 
 After a moment or two Wadleigh spoke without 
 turning. The subject of his remark was appar- 
 ently an extrinsic one. He demanded: 
 
 "What has become of that bum Gaffney? 
 Where is he?" 
 
 "Drunk. He's dead to the world. He was 
 sound asleep and snoring, two hours ago, down at 
 Thompson's, and Lightfoot was keeping watch. 
 He's safe enough." 
 
 "All the same we must get him out of the town 
 now. Right away, too. I wouldn't trust him, 
 Cuthbert, as far as I could throw a bull by the tail. 
 We've got to get him away from Janver before 
 another day. That's all there is about that." 
 
 "I'd like to see you do it or anybody else, 
 either," Cuthbert replied with a derisive chuckle. 
 "The road is blocked both ways from here, and
 
 A PAIR OF SCHEMERS 29 
 
 has been, for three days, as you know. If it 
 wasn't for that you couldn't have kept him here 
 at all, nor have done with him what you did do. 
 And you know that, too." 
 
 "All the same we've got to get rid of him." 
 
 "Well, then, you'll have to shoot him, or poison 
 him, or knock him on the head, or put him outside 
 to-night and let him freeze and I don't fancy that 
 any of them ways would be surpassingly healthy 
 for the fellow that done it." 
 
 "There's another thing that must be done, too. 
 Those deeds must be taken to Magician, and re- 
 corded." 
 
 ' 'All right, you take 'em. I ain't seen any air-o- 
 planes flying around Janver; not lately. And I 
 wouldn't know how to run it if I should happen to 
 trip over one on the Square. And there ain't no 
 other way to get to Magician till the plows work 
 their way through Rickett's canyon; not that I 
 know of." 
 
 "How about the pass? Couldn't it be done?" 
 
 "/ couldn't do it. It's sixty below up there, 
 right now." 
 
 "This affair has come to a head too soon." 
 
 "Well, whose fault is that?" 
 
 "Look here, Cuthbert, it's not yours, nor mine, 
 nor any person's. It's the fault of circumstance. 
 But it must be met just the same, and we've got to 
 meet it. Those deeds that Gaffney prepared for us 
 are ready to record. They've got to be recorded, 
 and that's all there is about that. Somebody has 
 got to go to Magician, over the pass, and take 
 Gaffney with him." 
 
 "What the "
 
 30 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 "And lose him on the way; see? There isn't a 
 better place on the footstool to lose a man and let 
 him perish, than on that pass between here and 
 Magician. Who can do it? 
 
 "Search me. I know that I won't. Ben might. 
 That's his long suit, and he's had more experience 
 at that sort-a thing than all the rest of us put to- 
 gether. And besides " 
 
 "And besides, you and Ben and I are the only 
 ones of the bunch who know the truth about those 
 deeds. Randall thought I had forgotten them. 
 He'll find out whether I forgot them or not. I had 
 them right there on the table in front of me when 
 he threw his ownership of that right-of-way at me; 
 and I come near to showing them to him, and bluff- 
 ing it out. But I wanted those other deeds of his, 
 first. They'll be the old ones when these are re- 
 corded, but the possession of them with these, is 
 rather important. They were in that desk of his, 
 too, and I happened to know it. Say, Cuthbert, 
 could Lightfoot make the pass, do you think?" 
 
 "Yes. Lightfoot could make the pass if any- 
 body could, but he could not do the rest of it, 
 Ace." 
 
 "Lightfoot and Ben Taggart could make it, and 
 take Gaffney with them and lose him up there." 
 
 Cuthbert leaned forward half across the big di- 
 rectors' table, towards his companion. 
 
 "Ace, you know as well as I do that Ben Tag- 
 gart ain't the man to do that business in Magi- 
 cian, ' ' he said, impressively. "He'd ball it up and 
 sprag it, somehow, when he got over there and 
 faced that slick article of a court clerk who'd be 
 askin' him a lot of questions. Sam Sutherland
 
 A PAIR OF SCHEMERS 31 
 
 and Dan Randall are as thick as flies when they 
 get together, and the minute that Sutherland sees 
 Dan's name signed to those deeds he's going to be 
 suspicious, if there's the least cause for suspicion. 
 He's bound to be so, anyhow, so long as you ain't 
 got them old deeds to Randall, to show him. He'd 
 never suspect a thing if you had them. But we 
 ain't got 'em. Randall's got 'em. That's what. 
 I didn't suppose they were in that desk, or I'd 
 never let him get away with it. You hear me! I 
 reckon when you decided to let him go, and made 
 Ben put up his gun, you thought you had schemed 
 out another plan to get 'em but where are they? 
 No, sir-ree! If anybody tries that fool trip across 
 the pass to Magician, you're the one that's got to 
 do it." 
 
 Wadleigh straightened himself, threw back his 
 head, unconsciously squared his wide shoulders, 
 and replied: 
 
 "Then I will do it. That settles it, Cuthbert. 
 I'll get there, too. Go out, now, and find Ben, and 
 send him here to me. Then wake up Gaffney and 
 take him and Lightfoot to Ben's shack, down by 
 the tracks. It's the safest place. You tell Light- 
 foot what he's got to do to take me over the pass. 
 He is the only man within five hundred miles of 
 here who's got any dogs, and we must go provi- 
 sioned for emergencies anyhow for three or four 
 days. Nobody knows what the conditions are, 
 over that pass. Don't say anything to Lightfoot 
 about Gaffney. I'll attend to that. We'll make 
 it appear, afterward, that Gaffney insisted upon 
 going, and the fewer that know the real truth 
 about it the better. Now find Ben and send him
 
 32 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 here. We'll meet you down at his shack in an 
 hour. Tell Lightfoot that we'll make the start as 
 soon as he's ready, and that he gets a hundred dol- 
 lars for the job." 
 
 Cuthbert hesitated for a moment. Then he 
 turned away toward the door; but he grumbled 
 audibly and angrily as he went: "Well, maybe 
 you can do it in the night, for it will be night be- 
 fore you get to the top of the pass, 'cause there's a 
 moon; but all the same 7 wouldn't do it, not for 
 the whole damned railroad; not me!!" Then he 
 passed outside and closed the door after him. 
 
 A moment later, it opened and closed again, and 
 Wadleigh, thinking that Cuthbert had returned, 
 raised his head and turned toward the door. 
 
 For once in his eventful life Ace Wadleigh was 
 startled out of his composure. 
 
 Dan Randall stood in the middle of the room, 
 facing him.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 The Fake Package 
 
 Ace Wadleigh possessed all of the courage that 
 should have belonged to a thoroughly good man 
 which he was very far indeed from being. His 
 ready acceptance of the dangers of the journey 
 over the Lantowa mountains was sufficient proof 
 of that. 
 
 He had seated himself at his own desk when 
 Randall entered the room. He remained seated 
 when he discovered who was there, although he be- 
 lieved that he courted serious injury, if not actual 
 death, by doing so. He understood, perfectly 
 well, that he was no match for Randall, physically. 
 His own strength was greater than most men's, but 
 Randall's approached the phenomenal. 
 
 "You have returned," Wadleigh said, coolly. 
 "Why?" 
 
 "I came merely to satisfy myself that you had 
 broken open my desk, to rob it! ... My God, 
 Ace, how is it that you can become, all in a mo- 
 ment it seems to me, such an unmitigated cur, 
 and scoundrel and thief? An hour ago I would 
 not have believed it, and I'd have come near to 
 killing any man who dared to suggest it. ... 
 
 "I see that you choose not to reply; also that you 
 elect to sit very still indeed upon that chair.
 
 34 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 Probably you realize that I am keeping my hands 
 from your throat only by a mighty effort. You 
 had best sit quiet. A single move by you might 
 make me forget myself. And you were my friend! 
 You! . . . What did you tell Joyce? . . . 
 
 "You'd better answer me, Ace, when I speak to 
 you; and reply to questions that I ask. If you 
 don't, I'll make you so answer that one." 
 
 "You have not seen her since she went out?" 
 Wadleigh replied, with a slight smile. 
 
 "No. I have been in the room across the hall, 
 waiting till you were alone." 
 
 "And you have not heard " 
 
 "I'm neither a spy, nor an eavesdropper, Ace, 
 What did you tell her?" 
 
 "I told her that you had resigned; that's all. 
 You might have heard you must have heard 
 the conversation. That part of it, at least, took 
 place in the hall. She was not surprised. You 
 weren't very far wrong when you told her that she 
 should know, better than you, why your own stock 
 was voted against you. It isn't your own stock, 
 and it never was your own stock, and Joyce Mait- 
 land did not mean that it ever would be yours from 
 the moment when you had it put in her name. 
 Now you've got the facts, and if you don't like my 
 version of them, go and ask her only I don't 
 think you'll get very much that is satisfactory to 
 you, from her, now." 
 
 Randall's fingers opened and closed, and opened 
 again. He took half a step forward toward his 
 tormentor, and withdrew it again. 
 
 "It's a wonder that I don't kill you, Wad- 
 leigh," he said, shortly; and if the truth be told
 
 THE FAKE PACKAGE 35 
 
 Wadleigh thought so, too. But he was a man who 
 was unafraid. That was his dominating power: 
 courage. 
 
 "Go to Joyce and ask her about it, if you like," 
 Wadleigh bluffed. "She won't hesitate to laugh 
 at you not now, that the mask is off. A man 
 who is living under a false name." 
 
 Randall interrupted him with a gesture. He 
 did not speak, but the gesture was sufficient. 
 Wadleigh understood it was safer to stop. He 
 realized that he was hovering above a powder 
 magazine with a lighted match in his hand. 
 
 "I'll end by hurting you if you continue in that 
 strain," Randall said, wearily, and he passed a 
 hand across his brow as if to brush something 
 aside from his vision. "I'm trying to control my- 
 self so that I won't; but you must not taunt me. 
 You never in your life faced the danger that con- 
 fronts you now, Ace. If this tension on my tem- 
 per should snap, you'd be in eternity in two min- 
 utes. I'd crush the breath out of your body with 
 these;" and he held out his hands with the fin- 
 gers of them bent and strained and threatening. 
 "You know it, too, so be careful. I'm pleading 
 for myself more than for you for I don't want to 
 kill you, Wadleigh. ... I have killed one man, 
 and that is enough. I know how it feels, after- 
 ward. . . . Have you told her, that?" He bent 
 forward, slightly, awaiting the relpy; and Wad- 
 leigh hesitated. He had not told her, but he had 
 refrained from it only because he was afraid to do 
 so, believing that Joyce would not be able to hide 
 her knowledge of it; but he wanted Randall to be* 
 lieve that Joyce knew.
 
 36 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 "No; I did not tell her but, she knows," he 
 lied, slowly; or believed that he did so. He was 
 wary and watchful, more than half expecting an 
 attack when he said that. But it did not come, 
 and he went on, for he could see that although 
 Randall's fingers were twitching, that now the 
 man was thinking more of Joyce than of him. 
 "She asked me about it. The mysteries concern- 
 ing your past troubled her. She pretended that 
 they did not, but they did. She wrote letters. I 
 don't know where, or to whom; but she wrote. 
 And she received answers. Joyce has discovered 
 that Dan Randall spells only two of your names, 
 and she knows what the last one is. She knows 
 
 that you are the one who No; I won't say it. 
 
 She knows why you dropped your last name, and 
 why you came out into this country. Do you want 
 me to go on?" Wadleigh was lying glibly 
 enough, now. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "She had letters, and files of old newspapers, 
 sent to her, and when she had mastered the con- 
 tents, she asked me about them. What could I 
 say? She had the proofs. What was the good of 
 my denying it? Any? I don't see it, if there 
 was." 
 
 "How long has she known about it? Tell me 
 that." 
 
 "How should I know? It has been some time, 
 I fancy. She sent for me and asked me about it 
 the day you went away, two weeks ago. Nobody 
 expected that you could get back here, after the 
 snow came. Nobody could have done it, but you. 
 I don't know how you did it. Any other man
 
 THE FAKE PACKAGE 37 
 
 would have perished in that storm, yesterday, but 
 you came through it." 
 
 "And it never occurred to you that I would do 
 that, did it?" Randall exclaimed. "You didn't 
 want me here. You thought I was in Carrolton, 
 and that I would be detained there indefinitely. 
 You banked upon my being absent when you in- 
 duced the other seven thieves to join you here to 
 hold that snap meeting of stockholders and direc- 
 tors, to put me out of business. And to think that 
 I came because I believed you would want me, 
 needed me! God, Wadleigh, it's a wonder that I 
 don't kill you!!" 
 
 Wadleigh left his chair and stood upon his feet. 
 He knew that the paroxysm of Randall's wrath 
 was past now, and that he was comparatively safe 
 from his former chum. He took the advantage of 
 a coward, knowing that his own weakness was his 
 strength. 
 
 "Drop that, Dan," he said. "I'm not afraid of 
 you, or of your heroics. There won't be any kill- 
 ing done here to-day. You're out of the company 
 now, and we don't want to have anything more to 
 do with you. The stock you have called yours 
 never stood in your name, and you can't prove that 
 you ever had any right to it. Try it if you believe 
 you can." 
 
 "Maybe I will try it, Ace, but not in exactly the 
 way you think I will." 
 
 "Try it, and be damned. You talked with 
 Joyce Maitland last night after you got back here, 
 over the telephone. Oh, I know all about it. It's 
 a pity you didn't go to see her instead of calling 
 her up on the 'phone. You'd have been spared
 
 38 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 some of the things that have happened to-day 
 maybe; anyhow, you'd have known about them a 
 little sooner. Joyce knows who you are, and what 
 you are, and she is through with you. You could 
 see that in her manner here, to-day, couldn't you? 
 Now, what do you want? What did you come 
 sneaking back here for, after you have been put 
 out?" 
 
 Randall did an unexpected thing, then. It sur- 
 prised even himself, he was so cool about it. 
 
 But Wadleigh had gone a step too far; and Ran- 
 dall knew that his own insane rage was past, and 
 that he could trust himself not to kill. He thrust 
 out his hands and seized Wadleigh 's arms, holding 
 them rigidly. Then he drew them together until 
 he could clasp both of the new president's wrists 
 with the fingers of one of his own hands. He held 
 them so, and Wadleigh knew how utterly futile it 
 would be to struggle. For a moment the man 
 came very near indeed to being afraid, although he 
 seemed to understand, as Randall understood, that 
 he would not be killed. 
 
 "I came here to make certain that you would 
 break into my desk," Randall said, speaking 
 slowly. ' 'There could be only one reason why you 
 would do that those deeds of mine." 
 
 "Well, what of it?" Wadleigh was still bluffing. 
 
 "You knew when I left here for Carrolton that 
 I went to Magician first because I wanted to get 
 those deeds. They are in my name, anyhow; in 
 Dan Randall 's name. ' ' 
 
 "The Dominion of Canada doesn't take kindly 
 to people who travel under fie " 
 
 ' ' Shut up. You knew that I brought them back
 
 THE FAKE PACKAGE 39 
 
 with me last night. You knew that I had not put 
 them into the safe. You decided that they were in 
 my desk, and you wanted them. But why? They 
 have been recorded. What good would they have 
 done you, if you had secured them?" 
 
 "I haven't said that I wanted them. You're 
 saying it. I don't want them as you will find 
 out if you live long enough. Let go of me, will 
 you?" 
 
 "I will when I have finished with you and I'm 
 pretty nearly through. Come over here." 
 
 With his one hand and despite the known 
 strength of Ace Wadleigh, Randall pulled him eas- 
 ily across the room toward a row of hooks fastened 
 to the wall. A braided leather quirt hung from 
 one of them. Randall took it down. 
 
 "Ace," he said, with deliberate calmness, "I'm 
 going to give you the worst thrashing you ever 
 had in your life with this quirt. See it?" He 
 raised it and struck Wadleigh across the thighs. 
 "Feel it?" 
 
 Ace did attempt to struggle, then, but he could 
 not escape, and the cruel quirt fell again and 
 again, until the victim's trousers were slashed and 
 rent, and the blood from the beaten man's legs 
 showed upon them in several places. The lash 
 was heavy and was made of braided rawhide. The 
 hand of the man who wielded it was heavier 
 still. 
 
 Nevertheless, Wadleigh uttered no sound of 
 lamentation. He was game, even under the stress 
 of that awful punishment. Most men would have 
 broken down and confessed under such a terrible 
 whipping, but he did not. Many would have cried
 
 40 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 out that they had lied, and stolen, and misrepre- 
 sented, and deceived, but he did not. Another 
 might have admitted that Joyce Maitland was in 
 utter ignorance of every one of the things he had 
 said she knew about, but Wadleigh did not weaken. 
 
 But he did struggle, and strike with his hands 
 upon the iron-like arms of Dan Randall. He could 
 not reach Randall's face. And the struggling and 
 the scuffling over the bare floor made considerable 
 noise, so that Randall did not know that the door 
 opened and that Ben Taggart strode into the room, 
 and halted, amazed by what he saw. 
 
 And Wadleigh pretended not to know. He did 
 not want to do anything to warn Randall of what 
 he knew must happen in a moment, for Ben Tag- 
 gart was big and brutal, and was almost as strong 
 in his muscles as Randall. 
 
 The former lumberjack paused only an instant. 
 Then he went swiftly forward with the silent tread 
 of a panther, and when Randall drew back the 
 quirt for another blow, he seized it and tore it 
 from Randall's grasp, turned it butt foremost, and 
 struck heavily, even as Dan was in the act of turn- 
 ing to discover what had interfered with him. 
 
 The butt end of the heavy quirt fell on the side 
 of Randall's head just above his left ear, and he 
 dropped to the floor like an ox that is struck by a 
 maul. 
 
 Wadleigh, in a frenzy of fury, because for once 
 in his life he was quite beside himself, sprang for 
 the quirt which Taggart threw aside as soon as 
 Randall fell, and he raised it to give back upon the 
 body of the insensible man the beating he had re- 
 ceived; but Taggart tore it from his grasp. Then
 
 THE FAKE PACKAGE 41 
 
 he tossed it to the floor beside the prostrate form 
 of Dan Randall. 
 
 "That'll do," he said harshly. "You can save 
 all that for another time. There ain't any to 
 spare, now. You'd better change your clothes and 
 wash up, Ace. You certainly do look some rum- 
 pled. Lightfoot is waiting' for us, and we've 
 brought that bum to his senses. The sled is 
 packed and the dogs harnessed. I'm goin' with 
 you, so get a move on." 
 
 Instead of doing as directed, Wadleigh dropped 
 upon his knees beside Dan. He thrust one hand 
 down inside of the leather waistcoat that Randall 
 wore, and pulled it out again containing a thickly 
 filled package that was tied with tape. 
 
 Feverishly, for him, he loosened the tape and 
 ran the contents of the package between his fin- 
 gers. 
 
 "The deeds!" he exclaimed. "Jove! this is 
 luck." 
 
 He started to his feet, forgetful of the lashing he 
 had received, and darted across the room to his 
 own desk, where, with skill and rapidity, he made 
 up a second package of the same size and thickness 
 as the one he had stolen, using papers of his own 
 which were of little or no account, and, in fact, giv- 
 ing small heed to what they were. 
 
 "What the blazes are you up to now?" de- 
 manded Taggart, who was watching him. 
 
 "Up to, man? I've got the original deeds; 
 don't you understand? They are made to Ran- 
 dall, from the original conveyors. All the deeds 
 that 'we've got are forged. Sutherland, who has 
 to record them, is Dan's friend. He'd suspect if
 
 42 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 we didn't have these; but when we show him all of 
 these, and tell him the story that I will tell him, 
 he'll record them without a murmur; and once re- 
 corded " 
 
 "But what are you doing now, that's what I 
 want to know?" 
 
 "I'm putting this fake package into his pocket 
 in place of the package of deeds. It is the same 
 size and shape, and is tied in the same wrapper, 
 and with the same tape. The deeds have been re- 
 corded and it isn't likely that he'll undo that 
 package again for weeks to come. He'll probably 
 take it to Judge Grayson and ask him to keep it in 
 his safe for him. That thrashing was the luckiest 
 thing that ever happened to me. Come on, now, 
 for I want to get out of here. You say that Light- 
 foot is ready?" 
 
 "Yes; and so's the bum." 
 
 "And you are going, too?" 
 
 "Surest thing you know, Ace. You'd never get 
 through without me; and that Gaffney, when he's 
 sober, is tougher than a pine knot. He might turn 
 on you. But he ain't likely to do much turning if 
 I'm along," he added, significantly. 
 
 "Can we make the trip to-night?" 
 
 "We'll make it by some time to-morrow, and 
 that'll be time enough," was the grim reply. 
 "That is, we will if we can get through at all. If 
 we're held up by the snows, there's grub enough 
 for us, and we'll make the pass sooner or later. 
 One thing is certain: Nobody else can get to Magi- 
 cian before we do." 
 
 "All right. You go on down to your shack. 
 I'll slip around to my quarters, and out again by
 
 THE FAKE PACKAGE 43 
 
 the back way, after I've made ready for the trip, 
 it'll be cold up there in the pass, to-night. Leave 
 the door open into the hall. Let Randall think 
 what he pleases when he comes to, and finds that 
 I have gone. He'll never know who hit him un- 
 less you tell him of it. There isn't a thing here 
 in this joint that I care a fig about, now. I've got 
 all that' I need at Carrolton. We're not likely to 
 blow back here for two weeks or more." 
 
 "/ ain't likely to blow back again for two 
 months or more, if anybody should ask you," said 
 Taggart, as they passed together from the office 
 into the wide hall, "but it's a cinch that you'll be 
 knocking at a certain door in this town, just about 
 as soon as Rickett's canyon is dug open. She's a 
 beaut, all right, Ace, and I don't blame you only 
 I always thought she liked Dan a heap better than 
 you. But maybe I'm wrong." 
 
 Wadleigh made no reply to Taggart 's remarks. 
 He scarcely paid attention to them. He was 
 thinking rapidly and deeply. 
 
 When they had passed beyond the storm-doors 
 to the street which fronted on the Square, Wad- 
 leigh gave Taggart a second package which he had 
 taken from his own desk in the office. 
 
 "On your way, Ben, leave this at Miss Mait- 
 land's door," he said. "If you should happen to 
 see her, just say that I sent it, and that there is no 
 answer; if you do not see her, just leave it. There 
 are things inside of that package which will settle 
 Dan Randall's hash with her, for good." 
 
 They parted, going in opposite directions.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 Life and the Right to Live 
 
 A moment afterward Joyce Maitland came out 
 of a store at the opposite side of the square and 
 crossed directly toward the office of the railroad 
 company, where she mounted the stairs. It was 
 evident that she had not seen either of the men who 
 had just come out. 
 
 She was surprised when she arrived at the top 
 of the stairs to discover that the office door was 
 ajar, and she went rapidly forward to it, and 
 passed inside. 
 
 For an instant she stopped, and her hand flew 
 to her bosom when she saw Dan Randall prone 
 upon the floor in front of her, but she did not cry 
 out; she only faltered and then went swiftly for- 
 ward toward him. 
 
 Her first thought was that he was dead, but even 
 as it came to her, he moved. 
 
 Then, as she bent forward to assist him, she 
 tripped over the quirt on the floor, and, in recover- 
 ing, she seized it, intending merely to cast it aside 
 out of the way. At that precise instant Randall 
 sat bolt upright, facing her. 
 
 One glance only he gave her, and then he leaped 
 to his feet as if he had not been hurt at all. Like aU 
 strong men, when stricken senseless, he recovered
 
 LIFE-AND THE RIGHT TO LIVE 45 
 
 suddenly and completely. He was in full posses- 
 sion of his senses the instant his eyes rested upon 
 Joyce Maitland, although he had been entirely ig- 
 norant of her nearness until then; and his first con- 
 scious glance had discovered her bending toward 
 him with the ugly quirt, butt foremost, in her 
 grasp, and with her face pale and drawn and 
 frightened, as if in terror of what she had done. 
 
 ' ' So ; it was you ! " he said. ' ' You have a heavy 
 hand, Miss Maitland." 
 
 "Why Dan " 
 
 "That quirt is mine, if you please. Give it to 
 me. You might take the notion to do more dam- 
 age with it." 
 
 "Why, Dan! Dan!! What in the world do you 
 mean?" she gasped, falling backward, away from 
 him, in her horror of comprehension of the mean- 
 ing of his words; but he took two steps toward her 
 and received the quirt from her unresisting grasp. 
 Then he looked around him for a sign of Wad- 
 leigh, and she watched him in amazement so utter 
 that it was silent. She could not speak. 
 
 "Your new partner has disappeared, Miss Mait- 
 land; and now that you know all about me, I think 
 you had better follow him. I have killed one man, 
 you know, and an utter brute like me might even 
 attack a woman. At least you might think I 
 would; you're quite capable of it. ... Oh, you 
 need not look so frightened. I wouldn't really 
 harm you, you know; but I'll tell you one thing. 
 It's this: I don't think I've quite killed Ace Wad- 
 leigh to-day, but if I ever hear that you are to be 
 his wife, I will do it. ... There, now; there! I'm 
 in an ugly mood, and you'd better go while there*
 
 46 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 is time. If you remain, I might be tempted to tell 
 you how utterly I loved you up to an hour ago 
 and how entirely I despise you, now. The door is 
 open. . . . Go, please." 
 
 She went. 
 
 Not a word of protest did she utter as she fled 
 from him through the open doorway and down the 
 stairs, and through the lower hall to the storm 
 doors and into the street, scarcely knowing what 
 she did. 
 
 She was conscious only of what she had just seen 
 and heard. She had found Dan Randall prone 
 upon the floor, and he had roused to consciousness 
 to accuse her of striking him down. 
 
 As she went on toward her own home, flaming 
 anger began to blaze in her eyes and to heave in 
 her breathing. She was hurt, wounded, angry, 
 mystified, and the mixture of sensations was too 
 much for her, so that when at last she did ar- 
 rive at her home she went straight to her own 1 
 room and threw herself upon the bed, and 
 wept. 
 
 Back in the railroad office, Randall found Wad- 
 leigh's desk open, and upon it was a forgotten sin- 
 gle sheet of paper upon which Randall's name, as 
 he always wrote his signature, had been written 
 and rewritten many times. Doubtless it had 
 fallen there while Wadleigh was searching for 
 papers with which to make up the fake package 
 that he had put into Dan's pocket to replace the 
 packet of deeds that he had stolen. 
 
 The sight of it brought Randall to his senses 
 to his saner senses. He knew that Wadleigh 
 could not have written those signatures; but some-
 
 LIFE-AND THE RIGHT TO LIVE 47 
 
 body had done it, and it had been done, in many 
 instances, nearly perfectly. 
 
 ' ' Forgery ! " he muttered, aloud. ' ' Why ! ! The 
 cut-off? By Jove!! Those old deeds that Ace 
 wanted!" He felt quickly at his breast, drew out 
 the faked package, breathed a sigh of relief and 
 returned it. Then he thought on: "They're of no 
 value in themselves, really, now that they are re- 
 corded; that is oh, well, I worked altogether too 
 hard to obtain them, to wish to lose them now. 
 . . . But what does this mean? What are they 
 trying to forge, with my name? Deeds? By ' ' 
 
 He stopped right there, stood like a statue for an 
 instant, and then rushed from the building, cram- 
 ming the sheet of foolscap into one of his pockets 
 as he went. Although he slowed down his pace 
 when he was in the street in order to avoid at-' 
 tracting undue attention to himself, he almost ran, 
 nevertheless, and he did not pause until he was 
 ringing the old-fashioned pull-bell at the door of 
 the house where Boniface Wadleigh lived, and was 
 cared-for, looked-after, and cooked-for by a 
 French- Canadian and wife, whom, as it happened, 
 Randall had recommended to his friend and con- 
 fidant more than a year before. ... It had hap- 
 pened when he and Wadleigh, sworn friends and 
 comrades, had gone to Janver together, deter- 
 mined to buy up for "next to nothing" the assets, 
 rolling stock, grades, rights of way, appurtenances, 
 etc., etc., of the very nearly defunct and scarcely 
 begun Manitoba & Juneau Railroad Company. 
 
 It is doubtful if, at that time, Wadleigh had 
 clearly understood that Jules Legarde had served 
 Randall as guide and companion in the far north
 
 48 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 for almost a year when Randall fled to the "silent 
 places" from an eastern city. He might not have 
 retained the services of Jules and his wife, other- 
 wise. However, it was Jules Legarde who opened 
 the door for Randall when he rang, and Jules, 
 of course, knew nothing of the rupture between 
 his present master and his former employer. 
 
 Jules was a true son of the North, with a quarter- 
 strain of Indian blood in his veins. He loved the 
 wild places and the silences, and he longed for 
 them every day of his life, contrasting the call of 
 them day by day with his great love for Yvonne, 
 who had consented to be his wife only on condition 
 that he give up forever the life of a trapper. And 
 Jules loved Dan Randall with a dog-like affection 
 that can be born only of such companionship as 
 they had shared in the wild places. When he saw 
 his former master at the door he expressed his joy 
 at seeing him again, much as a faithful dog might 
 have done. 
 
 But his quick perceptions discovered that some- 
 thing was wrong with his beloved "M'sieu." 
 
 "I want Wadleigh, Jules. Where is he?" was 
 Randall's abrupt greeting. 
 
 "Heem gone, m'sieu. Heem not here. . . . 
 V'ere? Je na sais pas. Heem come by back 
 door; heem go same vay. For sledge, mebby, 
 m'sieu. Heem put on furs. Oui. Thirt', mebby 
 forty minutes ago. Voila!" 
 
 For a moment Randall stared, not entirely com- 
 prehending. Then, in a flash it came to him that 
 Wadleigh might have fled from the office believ- 
 ing that Randall had been killed. 
 
 But would he have flown for such a thing?
 
 LIFE-AND THE RIGHT TO LIVE 49 
 
 Hardly. Wadleigh had never been one to be 
 frightened. What then? The deeds? The sheet 
 of paper containing the forged signatures of 
 Randall? There was something there. It meant 
 something, but what? 
 
 He seized Jules by both arms. 
 
 "Listen to me, Jules," he said, compelling him- 
 self to patient speaking. He realized that Jules' 
 sense of loyalty to his present employer would de- 
 mand a reason for what he might be asked to do 
 by his former master. "Wadleigh and I have 
 quarreled. He has wronged me. Some day I will 
 explain. Go, now, and find out for me where he 
 has gone, and with whom he has gone. Return 
 quickly. I will wait here. But be quick. I will 
 wait for you in his sitting room." 
 
 Randall entered the room which Wadleigh 
 called home, in Janver, and closed the door after 
 him. He stared around him at the confusion of 
 things scattered about the room, and at the clear v 
 evidences of a hasty departure. Then he began 
 to pick up one article after another, and examine 
 them, and at last, putting aside his scruples against 
 that sort of spying, and realizing that the end 
 justified the means and having already discov- 
 ered enough to know that the end would justify 
 his acts he seated himself upon the chair before 
 Wadleigh 's open desk. But even then he swung 
 the chair around until he faced the other way, and 
 made no effort to examine it. 
 
 He was still there when Jules announced his re- 
 turn by a timid knock upon the door, half an hour 
 later. 
 
 "Heeni gone with Lightfoot an' m'sieu Tag-
 
 50 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 garrr," he announced without preface. "Heem 
 take stranger, too a m'sieu Gaffney. Ovair the 
 Lantowa, by the pass, mebby. I do not know dat. 
 If eet ees so, they freeze, mebby. Eet is ver' cold 
 up dere, m'sieu." 
 
 Randall started to his feet. 
 
 He was a tall man and he towered high above 
 the quarter-breed. He rested his hands heavily 
 upon the shoulders of Jules, and said: 
 
 "My friend, you must find a way to take me over 
 the pass to-night, too. Can you do it? I know 
 that you can; and you must. The wires are down, 
 and so I must go. Tell nobody but Yvonne, and 
 warn her to tell nobody. How soon can you meet 
 me at White Lake, and be prepared?" He never 
 thought of questioning the willingness or the abil- 
 ity of Jules Legarde to do what he had asked, nor 
 did Jules hesitate in his reply. 
 
 "One, two, mebby free hours, m'sieu. I weel 
 be dere, tout-a-fait. But, remember, m'sieu, eet 
 ees cold; ver' cold, in the pass. Mooch furs you 
 weel need, certainment." 
 
 Randall nodded his head, removed his hands 
 from Jules' shoulders and started for the door; 
 but he paused midway and thrust a hand inside 
 his leather waistcoat, drawing forth the faked 
 package that Wadleigh had replaced there after 
 he had stolen the original contents of it. 
 
 "I shall not return to the square, Jules," he said. 
 "You will have to pass that way. Take this to 
 Judge Grayson, ask him to put it in his safe, and 
 keep it for me. But wait. Let me be sure " 
 
 He slipped the tape off, unrolled it and laid bare 1 
 the false papers it contained. Then stood quite
 
 LIFE-AND THE RIGHT TO LIVE 51 
 
 still, staring. At last, without a word, he 
 wrapped up the packet again, replaced the tape 
 and restored the whole to his pocket. Then he 
 spoke, but the words were addressed to himself, 
 rather than to his companion. He said: 
 
 "Robbed! My deeds stolen while I was insen- 
 sible. And Joyce knew she must have known. 
 Perhaps it was done with her approval. God!! 
 . . . Go, Jules. Meet me at the stone house, at 
 White Lake. We will have a night of toil ahead 
 of us; a night of intense cold. But we must fight 
 Death, in order to win Life, my friend. Life, and 
 the right to live."
 
 CHAPTER V 
 A Declaration of War 
 
 "Life, and the right to live!" 
 
 The quarter-breed felt, rather than understood, 
 the significance of the words that Dan Randall had 
 used in bidding him begone. 
 
 He stopped near the door and looked back.! 
 Randall had turned away, and was staring through 
 the window at nothing. Jules nodded his head 
 twice, sagely, contracted his massive chest and 
 shoulders in a significant shrug, then went softly 
 to his beloved master again and touched him ten- 
 tatively upon the arm. 
 
 Dan started, and turned swiftly, and seeing that 
 it was Jules who had touched him, he smiled. 
 That quick smile was an expression of affection 
 and confidence that is the result of absolute knowl- 
 edge. It exists between men only when they have 
 faced death together many times, and in many 
 forms, and have lived together among the soli- 
 tudes, and amid the vast spaces, and mysterious, 
 endless distances. 
 
 "What is it, Jules?" he asked, and reached out 
 and rested a hand upon the quarter-breed's shoul- 
 der. 
 
 "I know," was the low-toned reply, and Dan 
 understood that Jules referred to the present diffi-
 
 A DECLARATION OF WAR 53 
 
 culties; that somehow the man knew more about 
 them, or suspected more, than was apparent. 
 "Een one minute I go. Bimeby, you meet me at 
 the stone house near the lac. C'est bon. But, I 
 have thees to say, m'sieu. Dose be ver' bad men. 
 I know. M'sieu Wadleigh, heem worst of all, be- 
 cause heem not true. Heem mak' the lie all the 
 time. Heem live the lie. Just now they all down 
 at the cabin of m'sieu Tagarrr. I theenk so, 
 m'sieu. Anyhow I go dat way. But, you tell 
 Jules this. Has le m'sieu Wadleigh try to steal 
 the railroad from m'sieu? Non? I suspect. I not 
 know. You tell to me, eef that be so. ' ' 
 
 "Yes, Jules. He has stolen it already or 
 thinks he has." 
 
 "Heem, an' dose othairs? Tell me that?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Bon," said Jules, with an emphatic nod of his 
 head. "They not get it; non. Merci, m'sieu. I 
 go now. Bimeby you come too. I be ready." 
 And he passed from the room, closing the door 
 after him. Yvonne, his wife, waited in the ad- 
 joining room. 
 
 Randall, left to himself, quickly recovered his 
 poise. In the interval that followed after Jules 
 went from the room, he thought deeply, and he 
 tried to think logically. 
 
 The right-of-way across the Lantowa mountain 
 range, over and along Magician pass, belonged to 
 him by right of purchase, had been paid for with 
 his own money, and it must not be wrested from 
 him by fraud, by forgery, or by force. He would 
 fight every inch of the way, he would face what- 
 ever opposition might be brought against him, no
 
 54 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 matter what the odds, he would confront cunning 
 with cunning, and, if necessary, force with force. 
 
 A map that he had made with his own hands 
 hung against the wall above Wadleigh's desk, and 
 he crossed the room, tore it from its fastenings, 
 and laid it open upon the table. 
 
 He rested a finger upon the spot which indicated 
 Janyer; he touched his thumb to the point where 
 Magician was located, across the mountain, in the 
 valley beyond it; an insignificant distance as com- 
 pared with the line of the present railroad which 
 he followed with his eyes upon the map. 
 
 The existing railroad wound and twisted its 
 sinuous way for many miles up the valley, until 
 it could find a tortuous course through Rickett's 
 canyon, now impassably blocked with snow, and 
 thence, like a running snake, it glided in many 
 loops and curves down the other side of the moun- 
 tains to Magician. 
 
 The route was like an inverted letter U, with 
 Janver at one end of it, and Magician at the other. 
 The space between Randall's thumb and finger, 
 where they rested upon the map, was merely the 
 distance straight across between those two points 
 but it was across the Lantowa mountains by 
 Magician pass, and it would be both difficult and 
 costly, as well as dangerous, to build a railroad 
 there. 
 
 Then, without removing his hand from the map, 
 he dropped the end of his little finger upon a dot 
 which represented the thriving town of Allerton, 
 twice as far toward the west, as Magician was 
 toward the east, from Janver. Allerton was on 
 the line of the Pacific & Hudson Bay railroad,
 
 A DECLARATION OF WAR 55 
 
 which from there made a long detour toward the 
 south and east, around the southern spur of the 
 Badger mountains, and thence northeasterly, to 
 Lonecamp, which was forty miles south of Magi- 
 cian. From Carrolton, which was the present 
 western terminal of the Manitoba & Juneau rail- 
 road, to Allerton, on the line of the P. & H. B., a 
 distance of sixty miles, Randall had intended to 
 extend his own road. The two places were now 
 connected by stagecoach. The contemplated ex- 
 tension from Carrolton to Allerton would give the 
 M. & J. a splendid connection from the west. But 
 the loop thus made around the northern end of the 
 Badger range, by way of Carrolton, to Allerton, 
 would be almost as tortuous, and much longer, 
 than the loop through Rickett's canyon, between 
 Janver and Magician. And as he looked upon the 
 map before him, he instantly saw a way by which 
 both the difficulties could be overcome. He dis- 
 covered a method by which he could render the 
 present line of the Manitoba & Juneau railroad, 
 which Wadleigh, Taggart, and the others, had 
 stolen from him, practically worthless. If a rail- 
 road could be built over Magician pass, then why 
 not construct another one through the Badger 
 range, by way of the Black gorge? He smiled, 
 folded the map, and put it in his pocket. 
 
 Randall raised his head, still smiling, and a pho- 
 tograph of Wadleigh stared at him from the op- 
 posite side of the room. He scowled, and then 
 banged his fist down upon the table, replying 
 aloud to the insolent stare in the pictured face. 
 
 "I'll beat you to it, Ace, as surely as I've got 
 muscles to work with, and brains to direct them,"
 
 56 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 he said. "I'll beat you to it, and I'll fight every 
 inch of the way with every weapon that you use, 
 dollars, fists or guns. I'll fight every one of your 
 bunch of thieves to a knockout finish, and until 
 you haven't a frazzled fringe left for a foothold." 
 
 He raised his clenched fist and shook it, and 
 added: 
 
 "And I will win, too."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 With Dog-Like Devotion 
 
 Jules Legarde, product of the silent places and 
 the mysterious distances, was simple-minded, 
 faithful, honest and true. He did not lie, he had 
 never stolen, and he was utterly ignorant of the 
 arts of deception as they are practiced in civilized 
 communities. All his life, since Yvonne was a 
 child and had been left as a charge upon him by 
 her father, who had been alike his mentor and 
 teacher in the great white spaces, Jules had toiled 
 for her. She had been his religion and the goal of 
 his ambitions. When she grew to womanhood, 
 and was ready for the wifehood for which Jules 
 had waited so patiently, she had no thought of de- 
 nying him. But she did make it a condition of 
 their marriage that he should forsake the life of 
 a trapper, and Jules had harbored no mental res- 
 ervation in the promise he then made to her. 
 
 But, although he could abandon the north, the 
 solitudes, the snows, and the dangers that beck- 
 oned to him, he did not and could not give up his 
 longings for them; and Yvonne knew that he did 
 not. She gave her silent approval to his unspoken 
 plan of retaining his well-trained huskies, and she 
 knew (and said not a word about it) that as soon 
 as the snows came, he loved to steal away from his 
 home for a day, or two, or three days at a time to
 
 58 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 pass the interval with his dogs, and amid the si- 
 lences. She knew of the secret place over near 
 White Lake where he kept the dogs hidden away 
 from prying eyes and curious tongues. They were 
 the one remaining link between him and the life 
 he had loved but which he would have aban- 
 doned over and over again for love of her. 
 
 The year that Jules had passed among the dis- 
 tances as guide and companion to Dan Randall had 
 been the last of his absences. After that, he and 
 Yvonne were married, and it had been Dan's gen- 
 erosity that had made their marriage possible so 
 soon. Thus there was an added tie to bind the af- 
 fections of both to Dan. If Jules saw Deity and 
 worshipped God through the eyes and soul of 
 Yvonne, Dan Randall came next in his regard. 
 
 To Yvonne, Dan was ' ' The M ' sieu. ' ' When she 
 made use of the the title she uttered it reverently. 
 Her belief in him was unbounded; her devotion 
 was absolute and she loved Jules none the less 
 in that she so worshipped Dan. Jules was an insti- 
 tution. He belonged to her; was father and broth- 
 er to her, as well as her husband. 
 
 But in her reverential soul, and in every throb 
 of her loyal heart, she adored Dan Randall, and 
 she did not in the least know that she did so. For 
 no human woman could have been purer, and gen- 
 tler, and truer, in every thought and act and hope, 
 than Yvonne Legarde. It was never passion that 
 she felt for Randall. It was adoration. And 
 she, unsoiled spirit that she was, would not have 
 known the meaning of either word, and would not 
 have cared to differentiate between them had she 
 been told.
 
 WITH DOG-LIKE DEVOTION 59 
 
 So, when Jules, in passing from the house to 
 do Randall's bidding, said to her in his simple, 
 straightforward way, "M'sieu, he have need of 
 me. We cross Lantowa by the pass, to-night. Eet 
 ees for m'sieu, a last resort. M'sieu Wadleigh 
 have heem offend. How? Je ne sais pas. We 
 go by the Magician pass. You, Yvonne, are not 
 to tell," she merely nodded her pretty head in ac- 
 quiescence. Then, while he was hastily collecting 
 articles here and there to take with him, she be- 
 thought herself, not of the dangers to be encoun- 
 tered, but of the difficulties, and asked: 
 
 "But, Jules, can you cross by the pass, to-night, 
 do you think?" 
 
 "Eet ees fait accompli," he answered, and 
 passed out at the door. 
 
 Yvonne nodded her pretty head, and seated 
 herself on the edge of a chair, to think. It was 
 indeed as good as done to cross Lantowa moun- 
 tains by Magician pass in the dead of winter and 
 so soon after the storm, since M'sieu willed it, 
 and Jules said it. 
 
 She started hastily to her feet when, a few min- 
 utes later, a door opened and Randall appeared 
 at the threshold. 
 
 "M'sieu," she said, quickly, and courtesied with 
 natural grace. The warm blood leaped in her 
 veins and dyed throat and cheeks and brow, al- 
 though she was unconscious of it. 
 
 "Jules has gone?" Dan asked her, glancing 
 about the neatly kept room. 
 
 "Yes, m'sieu." 
 
 "Did he tell you where we are going, Yvonne?" 
 
 "Across the mountain by the pass. Yes, m'sieu.
 
 60 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 Eet will be ver' bad ovair the pass thees night. 
 Will ms'ieu be seated?" 
 
 "No; thank you. I must be on my way. If by 
 any chance Mr. Wadleigh should return here, you 
 are not to tell him that I have gone away, 
 Yvonne." 
 
 "No, m'sieu." 
 
 "I have been losing my friends to-day, little 
 one," he said, stepping forward and taking both 
 her hands in his and looking down upon her with 
 his whimsical, kindly smile. She was twenty 
 years younger than Jules, and nearly five years 
 his own junior, and he felt toward her as if she 
 were a child. "But I still have you you and 
 Jules." 
 
 "Yes, m'sieu. Toujours forever," she replied 
 with an emphasis that flashed in her darkly bril- 
 liant eyes. 
 
 "Thank you," he said, knowing that the reply 
 was sincere. "Are you quite willing that I shall 
 take Jules across the mountain with me to-night? 
 . . . that I shall take him away from you?" 
 
 "Jules is yours as I am, m'sieu," she replied, 
 simply. She would have thought nothing of start- 
 ing upon that wild journey with him, herself, had 
 he called upon her to do so. 
 
 "I shall not live in Janver again, Yvonne; not 
 for the present," he said, releasing her hands and 
 retreating to the shelf, where he rested one arm 
 upon it. And then he added, hastily: "Don't look 
 so frightened. I am not going away. Only, I 
 shall not live in the town. I have been thinking, 
 while I waited in that other room for the time to 
 pass, where I would live. There are reasons why
 
 WITH DOG-LIKE DEVOTION 61 
 
 I shall not care to remain in Janver, and yet I 
 must be near. ... Do you know of the little 
 stone house beyond White Lake that is built into 
 the side of the mountain near the entrance to the 
 pass? It is there Jules keeps his dogs, and where 
 he hides himself away, sometimes." 
 
 "Yes, m'sieu. I have been there when Jules 
 did not know it, to mak' it clean for heem when 
 he should go again." She spoke with a fascin- 
 ating touch of accent, and her English was usually 
 very good. But there were times when she lapsed 
 into the polyglot of her husband, who mixed 
 French, English and Indian together with de- 
 lightful unconcern. 
 
 ' 'I shall go there to live, when I return. I shall 
 move all of my things over there as soon as it is 
 possible." He sighed. "I wish they were there 
 now, and that you were my little housekeeper, 
 with good old Jules to look after and watch over 
 us both." He smiled down upon her. 
 
 "Yes," she said, and did not 'smile. "Eet 
 would be nice, m'sieu," she added, and 
 looked up quickly at him with an unasked ques- 
 tion in her eyes. "Eet ees as good as done," 
 she concluded, smiling at him. The unasked ques- 
 tion had been answered in her own thought, and 
 already she had determined what she would do 
 while the m'sieu was absent. 
 
 "I shall need you both," Randall went on, "to 
 take care of me, and to help me in all that I will 
 have to do. I would be alone, indeed, without 
 you and Jules to stand by me, just now. And the 
 stone house will be just the place for me, because 
 it is so near to the pass. As soon as the snow
 
 62 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 melts, and disappears, I shall be very busy. 
 Would you like to live there "with Jules and me, 
 little one?" 
 
 "Yes, m'sieu." 
 
 "Perhaps it is not right for me to take you 
 away from Mr. Wadleigh, but he has little need 
 of you now, and I will have much. I doubt if he 
 would wish to keep you on, anyway, knowing, as 
 he does, that both of you are my good friends, and 
 will remain so. You will not feel sorry to leave 
 him, and to come to me?" 
 
 "No, m'sieu. He ees not good, like you. He 
 ees bad. He has bad thoughts, like the wolves, 
 when the snow is deep and the game is scarce. 
 See; when Jules is not here, and I am alone in 
 the house with m'sieu Wadleigh, I keep this" 
 she* pulled one of the smallest of the hunting; 
 knives that Jules used, from its sheath, and 
 showed it to him, and as she returned it to its 
 hiding place, she added: "Twice, m'sieu, I have 
 had to hold it in my hand when he has talked to 
 me." 
 
 Dan merely nodded. He understood, but he 
 chose not to manifest more than his approval of 
 her attitude. 
 
 "There is something that I want you to do for 
 me, and at once, Yvonne," he said, and held out a 
 key toward her. "You know the small leather 
 trunk that is mine? It is in the corner of my 
 room, near the bed, at Judge Grayson's house, on 
 the Square. Get it, and hide it away somewhere 
 no matter where. Mr. Wadleigh might seek to 
 get possession of it. The judge might let him take 
 it away. Bring it here, if you like, temporarily.
 
 WITH DOG-LIKE DEVOTION 63 
 
 Only do not leave it there. My very life, or more, 
 might some day depend upon the contents of that 
 trunk. You will get it, and hide it for me? I 
 shall not have time." 
 
 "Yes, m'sieu," she replied, with quiet emphasis. 
 
 "Behind the trunk is a large roll of papers 
 they are maps, and tracings, and blue-prints; I 
 shall want them, also. On the shelf in the closet, 
 there is a locked tin box. Care for that, too. The 
 other things, the books, and all that, you can leave 
 where they are until I return or until Jules shall 
 return without me in case I am detained. I will 
 have no friends here, after to-day, but you and 
 Jules. I tell you of it because I want you to 
 understand how thoroughly I must rely upon you 
 both. Remember, you are to tell nobody where I 
 have gone." 
 
 "Not mademoiselle Joie, m'sieu? (Yvonne could 
 never quite master the name of Joyce, but hitherto 
 the French word for joy had seemed to fit in with 
 her ideas of Miss Maitland, and she invariably 
 called her so.) 
 
 "Miss Maitland least of all," was the quick re- 
 sponse, and Dan swung upon his heels ancl left the 
 house without a backward glance. The introduc- 
 tion of Joyce's name, and the thought that she 
 would not care whither he had gone, quenched for 
 the moment all thought of his other affairs; the 
 maps, and blue-prints, and papers, and the con- 
 tents of the leather trunk.
 
 CHAPTER VH 
 
 Randall's Renunciation 
 
 White Lake, across which was the appointed 
 rendezvous with Jules, was nearly eight miles 
 away by the traveled road, which followed the 
 course of the railway for part of the distance; but 
 it was somewhat less than half that distance if one 
 chose the short cut over the ridge and across the 
 river at the opposite side of it, which was now 
 frozen solid. The stone house to which Dan had 
 referred in his talk with Yvonne, was beyond the 
 lake, and above it a mile, more or less, south of 
 the entrance to Magician pass. 
 
 Dan seized upon an extra pair of snowshoes that 
 belonged to Jules, and carried them in his hands 
 until he was well outside of the town. He 
 stopped to adjust them when he was close to the 
 top of the ridge, for he well knew that there were 
 treacherous spots in the flinty crust on the snow. 
 
 The wind was blowing half a gale and the air 
 was bitterly cold, but Dan was accustomed to 
 that and minded it not at all, although he did pass 
 around to the lee side of a boulder while he fas- 
 tened the snowshoes to his feet. When he raised 
 his head after he had finished with the rawhide 
 thongs, he was facing Janver. Directly in the line 
 of his vision was the house in which Joyce Mait-
 
 RANDALL'S RENUNCIATION 65 
 
 land lived, the largest and the most pretentious 
 one in the town. 
 
 Randall stiffened in his tracks at the sight of it, 
 and with the thought of all that the four walls of 
 it inclosed. 
 
 His dead and buried hopes were there in the per- 
 son of Joyce Maitland. She had been the incen- 
 itive of all of his ambitious hopes and aims that 
 had come to life again, through her, after his re- 
 turn from that year among the solitudes of the 
 frozen north with only Jules Legarde for a com- 
 panion and friend. 
 
 It all came back to him while he stood there 
 gazing across the bleak and desolate waste of/ 
 crust-bound snow that intervened between it and 
 him. He had not meant to return to civilization 
 when, with Jules, he had made his way out from 
 the Great Slave and Great Bear lake country to 
 obtain new supplies, and in order that Jules might 
 ascertain that all was well with his ward ancb 
 charge, Yvonne. 
 
 "Some day, mabby," Jules had told him then, 
 "la petite Yvonne she say she will marry me; dat 
 is what her papa say he want, when he die in my 
 arms eight years ago. She was leetle mademoi- 
 selle, den ssso high. Now, she is w'at you call 
 un young lady; she have growed up. She have 
 been to school with the factor at de post, an' now 
 she at Janver, where she have learned all they can 
 teach, an' I know dat she wait for me to be my 
 good wife, like her papa want her to be. He was 
 my friend, just de same age as me, m'sieu, so la 
 petite Yvonne she is like she was my own leetle 
 girl. But, it is bettair dat she marry me Jules
 
 66 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 who is old enough to be her papa, than she tak* 
 up weeth somme bad young man like dose fellers 
 in de settlements. ... So, m'sieu, we go out, now. 
 We will go far to the south to Janver, in Sas- 
 katchewan, where Yvonne waits for me. I will 
 give her the money*you pay to me, and den I come 
 back into de north with you, m'sieu, for un more 
 year an' then, mabby, I have earned enough." 
 
 That was why Dan Randall had ventured as far 
 south as Janver, but with no intention whatever 
 of remaining longer than was necessary to see 
 Jules married to his Yvonne, for he had already 
 decided in his own mind that the two shouldtnot 
 be compelled to wait another year or more because 
 of the need of sufficient money to wed. 
 
 Then, Chance, or Fate, Destiny or Circumstance 
 whatever one may please to call it had inter- 
 vened in Dan Randall's plans. Winter, very 
 much earlier than usual, had set in fiercely while 
 they were still two hundred miles northwest of 
 Janver on the Wabiscaw river; and two days later, 
 in a raging tempest of wind and snow they had 
 come upon Joyce Maitland, hopelessly lost and on 
 the verge of perishing, seated disconsolately and in 
 despair beside the body of her half-breed guide, 
 who had accidentally shot himself to death. And 
 Dan had loved Joyce from the moment when he 
 picked her up in his arms, carried her to safety, 
 wrapped her in warm blankets, and poured hot 
 tea into her to bring her back to life. 
 
 In Janver he had found Boniface Wadleigh, a 
 former chum, a lifelong friend in whom he had no 
 hesitation in confiding for the two had not met 
 for years, and Wadleigh had not, until then, heard
 
 RANDALL'S RENUNCIATION 67 
 
 about the tragedy in Randall's life that had driven 
 him into the wastelands of the Far North. 
 
 Wadleigh, an adventurer by character and from 
 choice, held a nominal position as the acting mana- 
 ger of the nearly defunct M. & J. railroad; he had 
 succeeded in impressing Randall with its possibili- 
 tiesand it had ended by Randall's financing 
 Wadleigh 's scheme; by his purchase of the rail- 
 road company's stock; by his inducing Joyce Mait- 
 land to consent to hold all but the directors' shares 
 of the stock, in her name; and finally by the climax 
 of affairs that had been brought to a showdown 
 that very day, through the treachery and dishon- 
 esty and underhand machinations of Boniface 
 Wadleigh. 
 
 It had been only because of Joyce Maitland, and 
 his great love of her, that Randall had decided to 
 stay, and to invest, and to put forth every atom 
 of his great energy in the development of the 
 railroad. It had been his excuse, made silently to 
 himself, for clinging to that fringe of civilization 
 instead of returning at once to the Great Slave 
 region, whither every other impulse than that one, 
 beckoned him; and then, as time had passed, and 
 nothing had happened to startle him from his 
 sense of security, the tragedy in his past from! 
 which he had fled to the North, had faded to but 
 little more than a memory which confronted him 
 only from time to time only when he was alone, 
 and got to thinking about Joyce, and his love for 
 her, and realized that, as an honorable man, he 
 could never ask her to be his wife while he con- 
 tinued to live under a name that was, in reality, 
 only half of his own full name.
 
 68 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 But he had believed that Joyce knew that he 
 loved her and realized that there was a reason 
 which would be presently explained why he had 
 not declared himself; and he had also believed, as 
 implicity as he believed in God, that Joyce loved 
 him until the events of that day which was now 
 almost at an end. 
 
 The awakening had been terrible; it was still 
 horribly unbelievable and benumbing when he 
 stood in the lee of the boulder at the crest of the 
 ridge and gazed across the waste of windswept 
 snowdrifts at the house that was her home. 
 
 "It is renunciation, Joyce," he murmured in- 
 audibly, moving his lips to form the words, but 
 making no sound. "It is my awakening but I 
 had rather, much rather, have dreamed on, in- 
 definitely. ... I might almost think it was retri- 
 bution, if I did not know my own justification 
 for what I did. I would not have run away, I 
 would not have forgotten my own surname and 
 have sought to hide myself forever from the past 
 
 if I had committed a wanton crime; but " he 
 
 caught his breath, shook his head, clenched his 
 fists, and half turned his back to the valley with 
 its cluster of houses; nor did he turn his gaze 
 again in that direction. 
 
 If he had done so he would have seen Joycei 
 rush from her home into the road and wave fran- 
 tically toward him with the white worsted house- 
 shawl that she tore from her shoulders. She was 
 bareheaded and unfurred against the intense cold, 
 but she stood there waving, and calling to him at 
 the top of her voice until a woman ran from the 
 house after her and pulled her reluctantly into it
 
 RANDALL'S RENUNCIATION 69 
 
 again just at the moment when Dan Randall 
 squared his shoulders, and, without turning about 
 for another glance toward Janver, disappeared 
 over the crest of the ridge. 
 
 Joyce had called to him, beckoned to him, be- 
 sought him; but he did not know it; and he strode 
 away seeing only the picture of her that was up- 
 permost in his mind that picture that she had 
 made when she stood in front of him in the office 
 of the railroad company, with the heavy quirt, 
 butt foremost, in her grasp the quirt with which 
 he believed she had struck him down in defence 
 of Ace Wadleigh. 
 
 His thoughts were bitter, indeed and, as 
 against Wadleigh, revengeful. 
 
 "I'll build the Cut-Off," he said aloud tothe 
 wastes and winds as he plodded on toward the 
 stone house near White Lake, for the habit of 
 thinking aloud grows upon men who pass much 
 time among the frozen solitudes. "I will build two 
 of them. One, across Magician pass, and another 
 one through the Black Gorge of the Badgers, from 
 Janver to Allerton. I will build them, and oper- 
 ate them, if it takes every dollar I own, and every 
 ounce of energy and strength that I possess. I will 
 build them and I will put the present M. & J. 
 railroad so out of business that its stock certifi- 
 cates won't be worth that much wrapping paper. 
 Wadleigh, and Taggart, and Cuthbert, and the 
 rest of them can have the M. & J. . . . We'll see. 
 We will see what comes out in the wash. I have 
 been asleep, and dreaming, but I'm awake now. 
 . . . Oh, yes," he added, a few moments later, "I 
 am quite awake, now quite."
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 Joyce 
 
 Joyce had not remained very long face down 
 on her bed in a passion of tears after the scene 
 with Dan at the M. & J. office. She started to her 
 feet when there came a rap at her door and the 
 package that Ace Wadleigh had sent by the hand 
 of Taggart was delivered to her. 
 
 She tore it open, believing for the moment that 
 it was something from Dan, but she- found, instead 
 that it contained a mass of newspaper clippings 
 and a typewritten document from Wadleigh, 
 which purported to be an explanation of them. 
 
 She did not. need to read them to know what 
 they were about. She knew already. She had 
 known, almost from the beginning, although nei- 
 therDan Randall nor Ace Wadleigh had suspected 
 her knowledge. 
 
 But the packet, arriving as it did, and in the 
 manner it did, enlightened her upon many of the 
 puzzling occurrences of the day. She read enough 
 of Ace Wadleigh's typewritten statement to recog- 
 nize the animus of it, although it was clothed in 
 the softest speech and phrase which that master of 
 sophistry could command. She was at the win- 
 dow trying to think out the incomprehensible 
 aspect of it all when she saw Dan ascending the
 
 JOYCE 71 
 
 slope toward the summit of the ridge, and intui- 
 tion, rather than judgment, told her instantly 
 whither he was bound. So she ran outside and 
 waved to him, and called aloud to him in vain. 
 
 When the- woman pulled her into the house and 
 began to rub her ears and nose and cheeks with 
 coarse, rough, but kindly hands, Joyce knew that 
 she required no such attention. The blood that 
 was coursing so madly through her veins, the ex- 
 citement and the eagerness that was stirring with- 
 in her, would more than overcome the brief ex- 
 posure to the frost. She broke away and ran to 
 her own room again, and it did not take her long 
 to wrap herself once more in the furs which en- 
 veloped her from head to foot, and to go forth 
 with all speed toward the house where Ace Wad- 
 leigh lived. There were a hundred questions, and 
 more, which she had determined to ask him with- 
 out delay. But when she got there the house was 
 deserted. Yvonne had lost no time in going about 
 the directions that Dan Randall had given her. 
 
 The door was not fastened. Nobody thought 
 of locking doors, in Janver. Joyce raised the 
 latch and entered; and she knew, the instant she 
 crossed the threshold, that Dan had been there. 
 She saw upon the floor where he had been stand- 
 ing while he talked with Yvonne some tiny shreds 
 of the Turkish tobacco which he alone in all that 
 community used in his pipe, and in the occasional 
 rolling of cigarettes; and she found on the hearth, 
 where he had flung it, unlighted, when he had 
 gone out so suddenly, the cigarette itself. 
 
 Joyce crossed to the door that opened upon 
 Wadleigh's part of the house, and tapped against
 
 72 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 it. Receiving no answer, she pushed it open, and 
 entered, and the condition of the room, evidencing 
 as it did every sign of a hasty departure, told her 
 acute senses and quick intuition much that had 
 happened and suggested much more that, might 
 still happen. 
 
 "What is the meaning of it all?" she asked 
 herself, inaudibly. Then she wheeled sharply at 
 the click of the latch of the outer door. 
 
 She thought that the newcomer might be Wad- 
 leigh, and for an instant was paralyzed by the> 
 thought of his finding her there. But she heard 
 something fall to the floor of the other room with 
 a heavy thud, and she stepped quickly into the 
 doorway to discover Yvonne, who was looking 
 down upon a small leather trunk, which she had 
 evidently just brought into the house; and, though 
 really small, it looked much too large for the little 
 French woman to have carried on her back. Joyce 
 had never seen the trunk before, so she did not 
 recognize it as the property of Dan Randall. 
 
 Yvonne, with the instinct of wildness that was 
 inherent in her, sensed the presence of another! 
 person, and turned. An hour sooner she would 
 have greeted Joyce with a warm smile of wel- 
 come, but now, with that last remark of the m'sieu 
 still in her mind, her eyes remained cold and un- 
 compromising, and there was the suggestion of a 
 frown between her brows. M'sieu had said: 
 "Miss Maitland least of all"; and Yvonne remem- 
 bered not only the words, but the tone of them. 
 
 Joyce did not ask the question that had been 
 in her mind. The presence of the leather trunk 
 and the attitude of Yvonne as she bent over it,
 
 JOYCE 73 
 
 brought forth a different one. For she had seen 
 Dan Randall crossing the ridge, and she already 
 knew about the devotion which this pretty little 
 French woman and her husband, Jules, gave to 
 him. She spoke, therefore, impulsively. 
 
 "Are you going away, Yvonne? and with Mr. 
 Randall?" she asked, rather breathlessly. 
 
 Yvonne nodded. Her brilliant eyes, now some- 
 what sombre in their expression, stared unwink- 
 ingly and uncompromisingly into the eyes of Joyce 
 Maitland. 
 
 "Where are you going?" 
 
 Yvonne did not respond to that question by 
 so much as a gesture, and Joyce, looking upon her, 
 vaguely wondered how it was that a face so pretty 
 and usually so animated, could take upon itself 
 such stolidity of expression. She went on: 
 
 "He has already gone. I saw him. He was 
 crossing the ridge toward White Lake, and the 
 pass. He was fastening snowshoes to his feet. 
 Surely, Yvonne, he is not thinking to cross Lan- 
 towa now?" 
 
 No answer. No change of expression. Nothing 
 at all from Yvonne. 
 
 "Won't you answer me? Please tell me where 
 Mr. Randall was going. . . . What is the matter 
 with you, Yvonne? You have always liked me 
 or seemed to. You have been kind to me. . . . 
 Please tell me what it all means, won't you?" 
 
 "How, mademoiselle, should Yvonne know 
 where m'sieu may go? M'sieu does not consult 
 Yvonne about hees business." She had found 
 her voice at last. 
 
 "But he has been here," Joyce cried out. "I
 
 74 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 know that he has. See!" She picked up the 
 discarded cigarette from the hearth and held it 
 out toward the Frenchwoman; but Yvonne only 
 shrugged her shoulders in a gesture which meant 
 nothing at all. "Why do you bring that leather 
 trunk into your house? Whose is it? Please 
 tell me what I wish to know, for I am sure that you 
 can, if you will" 
 
 Yvonne was silent. More, she did not offer her 
 guest a chair. Never before within the knowl- 
 edge of Joyce had the pretty little Frenchwoman 
 been guilty of a breach of etiquette. 
 
 "Where is Mr. Wadleigh?" Joyce asked, after 
 another moment. "Has he gone away, too, over 
 that terrible mountain?" 
 
 Yvonne started. Mademoiselle had really 
 guessed, then, the destination of m'sieu; or per- 
 haps he had told her, or sent word to her. But 
 the question was a safe one. Yvonne could reply 
 to that, and she did so, volubly. 
 
 "Heem? Bah!!" she exclaimed, and the scorn 
 in her voice and contempt in her eyes when she 
 referred to Wadleigh spoke volumes. She felt, 
 too, that she had no need to restrain herself upon 
 that subject. Was she not leaving, and at once, 
 as soon as she could get her things together, the 
 house of m'sieu Wadleigh? for the young woman 
 had no thought of awaiting the return of her hus- 
 band and the m'sieu to make the change for which 
 permission had Deen granted her for which she 
 had prayed in the silence because she had not 
 dared to ask it. She had determined while Ran- 
 dall was talking to her that the stone house at 
 White Lake should shelter her that very night,
 
 JOYCE 75 
 
 and she had lost not a moment of time in secur- 
 ing the leather trunk, and in procuring the serv- 
 ices of one of her own countrymen in the town to 
 assist her in making the change. Presently, as 
 soon as mademoiselle should have gone, she would 
 return to the room of m'sieu for the tin box, and 
 the papers, and the roll of blue-prints and tracings 
 that stood in the corner. "Heem!!" she said, 
 with her characteristic shrug. "I do not know 
 where heem go. I not care. Heem come to the 
 back door, like a t'ief in the night. Heem entre, 
 heem put on hees furs, and heem go out again,, 
 also like one t'ief. Then, bimeby, as mademoiselle 
 say, the m'sieu come here. M'sieu go too. But 
 not like the other one. Not like one t'ief. And 
 now I go, ver' soon. . . . Apresvous." It was a 
 hint, none too delicately given, for Joyce to take 
 her departure, and Joyce read it correctly, and 
 realized, also, that it would be utterly useless to 
 seek for further information from Yvonne, whose 
 attitude gravely disturbed her. 
 
 Only yesterday Yvonne had kissed her hands, 
 and had laughed outright with gladness when in 
 return she had kissed the Frenchwoman on the 
 cheek. Only yesterday, at the slightest sign of 
 pain or sorrow, Yvonne would impulsively have 
 thrown her arms around the girl whom she knew 
 the m'sieu loved so well; but now it was all 
 changed. 
 
 Joyce could not understand it in the least. So 
 many things had happened since the moment of 
 her entering the office of the railroad company 
 that afternoon, and she could not find a logical or 
 a reasonable explanation for any of them.
 
 76 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 But the American girl had pluck, and she was 
 possessed with the courage of her convictions. She 
 was brave to fearlessness where real danger was 
 concerned, was inured to the cold and the hard- 
 ships of the North, and she did not hesitate when 
 the conviction of impending calamity came upon 
 her in that moment, to decide for her what she 
 should do. 
 
 There had been a quarrel of some sort between 
 Ace Wadleigh and Dan Randall, and she was, 
 somehow, involved in it. That much she be- 
 lieved she knew. Wadleigh had stolen into his 
 own home "like a t'ief in the night," had taken 
 his furs, and gone, and therefore it seemed to her 
 that he had started, and with secrecy, to cross 
 Lantowa mountain by Magician pass. 
 
 And Dan had followed Wadleigh to his Tiouse, 
 had arrived there after the departure of Wadleigh 
 and had gone away again, with snowshoes; there- 
 fore, for some reason, he was following on the trail 
 of the man with whom he had quarreled. 
 
 To her quick mind there could be but one ex- 
 planation for that act, and the mere thought of 
 it frightened her horribly. She knew about that 
 violent temper that was Dan Randall's inheritance 
 she knew, too, to what lengths it would drive 
 him when it was thoroughly aroused, for she was 
 much better informed than either Randall or Wad- 
 leigh guessed of the terrible consequences of one 
 such experience of Dan's. 
 
 So she summed it all up in the decision that the 
 quarrel between the two men had urged the im- 
 mediate and secret departure of Wadleigh for 
 Magician, at the other side of the mountain; that
 
 JOYCE 77 
 
 Dan, having sought him at his home and found 
 him gone, had followed, and with the certain anger 
 in his heart that might lead to the death of one, 
 or both, if the two should get together in the moun- 
 tain pass. Added to Dan's other cause for anger 
 no matter what it might be, would be the terrible 
 rage of jealousy, and there is none other so fierce 
 and implacable. For Dan had said enough to 
 Joyce in his last speech with her at the office to 
 assure her of that much. 
 
 Her one thought, as she turned her back upon 
 Yvonne and ran from the house, was that she must 
 somehow get to the entrance to the pass before Dan 
 Randall could make it, although she realized, even 
 when the thought came to her, how impossible it 
 appeared to be. But she was determined to make 
 the effort, and there was just one way by which 
 it might be done. 
 
 The railroad was impassibly blocked, and fath- 
 oms deep with snow in the canyon through 
 the mountains, but it had been kept open as far 
 as Nelson, at the entrance to Rickett's canyon, and 
 there were locomotives in the round-house near 
 the station. One of them, at least, would have 
 steam, and it could take her as far as Bluerock, 
 which was the nearest approach the railway made 
 to Magician pass. There would still be two miles 
 and more to cover to the pass, but there were 
 snowshoes to be had, a-plenty, and she was fleet- 
 ness itself in the use of them. 
 
 The engineer whom she would find in charge 
 at the roundhouse was devoted to her. She al- 
 ways rode in the cab with him through Rickett's 
 canyon, in the summer time, and he had been de-
 
 78 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 lighted to show her the manner of starting, and 
 stopping, and curbing, and controlling the monster 
 of iron and steel that was so entirely responsive to 
 his slightest touch. Engineer Tom Rodman, taci- 
 turn, and grizzled by the frosts of years though he 
 was, had long ago succumbed to the charm of 
 Joyce Maitland, as all did who came in contact 
 with it; and Joyce knew and understood her power 
 without being in the least spoiled by it. 
 
 Rodman was not beside his engine, nor any- 
 where near it, when she got there. She called 
 many times to him, but he did not reply. But the 
 big, metallic steed was there. It stood in its 
 place, resting, while it pulsed and throbbed like 
 a live thing that breathed with the regularity of 
 heart beats. 
 
 Joyce ran hither and thither calling to Rodman, 
 but he was temporarily across the tracks in a place 
 where there was a glowing fire and warmth and 
 cheer, looking over the shoulders of a man who 
 was playing cards with three others ; and his fire- 
 man was beside him. Neither of them heard the 
 voice of Joyce Maitland calling to them. 
 
 In her excitement and eagerness Joyce sprang 
 upon the step of the cab and lifted herself into it. 
 A glance at the steam guage reassured her. She 
 closed the door of the fire-box. A look ahead along 
 the rails told her that the switches were correctly 
 set, and she remembered all that Rodman had 
 taught her. She knew also that the track would 
 be clear, and that she had nothing to fear on that 
 account. Without an instant of hesitation she 
 opened the throttle with a gentle touch and let 
 the steam into the cylinders, and the great ma-
 
 JOYCE 79 
 
 chine moved forward as softly as the tread 
 of a wild animal upon the snow, and without a 
 jar. 
 
 Joyce peered ahead of her along the gleaming 
 rails, keen-eyed and alert, while the engine crawled 
 from its stall in the round-house, and out across 
 the locked turn-table which had been set for its 
 ready accommodation. It was the only locomo- 
 tive with steam up on that division, as Joyce well 
 knew. 
 
 Every switch was as correctly set as if each; 
 one had been specially thrown for her sudden ex- 
 tremity. She saw them, and was glad; and she 
 opened the throttle little by little, but rapidly, 
 nevertheless, so that by the time the locomotive 
 arrived at the main line track and swung out upon 
 it, Rodman's engine was going well, and gaining 
 speed with every plunge of the pistons. 
 
 There was only a lone young woman at the 
 throttle in the cab, but she was a determined one, 
 and she believed that she had a duty to perform 
 which was far greater than any she had ever faced 
 before. She went about it as the locomotive went 
 about its part of the performance with ever-in- 
 creasing energy and life; and presently Joyce 
 had no idea of the rate of speed they had attained 
 she was fairly flying down the main line track 
 toward the goal of her present ambition: the small, 
 deserted station called Bluerock, used only in the 
 summer time, situated two miles from the en- 
 trance to Magician pass. 
 
 She had forgotten all about snowshoes and was 
 reminded of the fact only when she discovered a 
 pair of them that belonged to Rodman tied fast
 
 80 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 beneath the roof of the cab. She would take them 
 down, presently, and use them. 
 
 Once she climbed down from her perch to open 
 the furnace door and feed several shovelfuls of 
 coal to the fire, and when she mounted to the 
 driver's seat again she was amazed by the speed 
 they had attained; for there was a slight down- 
 ward grade from Janver, until the rails ran along 
 beside the bank of the river. 
 
 It was eight miles to Bluerock. She was amazed 
 when she came upon the place so quickly. It 
 seemed to loom before her as soon as she climbed 
 back upon Rodman's perch after feeding the fire. 
 But she understood the air, and how to use it, 
 that being one of the things that Rodman had 
 taught her, and she came to a stop at the end of 
 what would have been the platform of the station 
 had it not been many feet deep under the snow. 
 Deliberately she backed her iron horse to a better 
 place for dismounting, opened the door of the fire- 
 box to deaden the fire, and, with the snowshoes in 
 her hand, jumped down. 
 
 And then, when she had adjusted the snowshoes 
 properly to her small feet, she noticed for the first 
 time that the daylight was fading and that dark- 
 ness would soon be upon her. 
 
 Winter days are short in the far northwest, but 
 Joyce was undaunted, and without a backward 
 glance she started across the snow toward the 
 mouth of Magician pass.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 At the Devil's Pulpit 
 
 Much happened on Lantowa mountain during 
 the wild winter's night that followed. 
 
 Ace Wadleigh and Ben Taggart, with the Indian, 
 Lightfoot, for guide, had a good hour's start of 
 Dan Randall and Jules, and that much advantage 
 at the beginning of the trip across Magician pass 
 meant a lot. It meant for one thing that the men 
 who were conspiring to deprive Randall of all that 
 he had struggled so hard to obtain and who intend- 
 ed now to rob him of all he possessed, had passed 
 over the easiest part of the trail and approached 
 the beginning of the climax of their hazardous 
 journey, while Dan and Jules were at the com- 
 mencement of it. 
 
 Also, with the going down of the sun behind the 
 Badger range across the valley to the west of Jan- 
 ver came not only black darkness, but also the 
 sudden and unheralded beginning of another vio- 
 lent storm. Even Jules had not foreseen that 
 storm which swept down upon them from the north 
 with almost the suddenness of a lightning stroke, 
 and he shook his head doubtfully when it burst 
 upon them in all its fury at the moment when 
 they entered the first defile of the pass. 
 
 "Heem ver' bad; dat storm, m'sieu," he said
 
 82 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 to Dan, as they were starting on again, after hav- 
 ing been compelled literally to stop in their tracks 
 by the force and fury of the first onslaught of the 
 wind. "Here, eet ees nothing; but up dere 
 sacrrre!" 
 
 "Wadleigh is a good bit ahead of us, Jules," 
 Dan replied, gesturing toward the plainly marked 
 trail that the others had left behind them, and 
 which was becoming rapidly obliterated before 
 their eyes by the darkness, as well as by the storm. 
 In another five or ten minutes it would entirely 
 disappear, as if men and dogs had never passed 
 that way since the beginning of the world. They 
 had come upon it a hundred yards back, for Wad- 
 leigh and his companions had approached the gate- 
 way through the mountains, from the railway 
 tracks near Bluestone, while Dan and Jules arrived 
 from the opposite direction, toward White Lake. 
 
 Jules nodded his head. He had studied that 
 trail when they first came upon it, but he had made 
 no remark concerning it. He had not been told 
 how much or how little his beloved m'sieu knew 
 concerning that other expedition over the pass. 
 Jules was not one to volunteer unnecessary in- 
 formation, but he could read the signs? of, a trail 
 with the same clearness and exactitude that 1 would 
 have applied to Dan with the printed page of a 
 book before his eyes. 
 
 "Who has Wadleigh got with him?" Dan asked, 
 presently. Jules replied without hesitation, for 
 he knew how to answer as perfectly as if he had 
 seen them with his own eyes. 
 
 "M'sieu Taggarrr, Lightfoot with heem sled, 
 and seex dogs and ze bum," he said, and shouted
 
 AT THE DEVIL'S PULPIT 83 
 
 at his own faithful creatures to urge them onward. 
 A terrific gust of wind charged with millions of 
 particles of frozen snow broke upon them from the 
 upper end of the defile and shut off further oppor- 
 tunity for speech for many minutes; but it lulled, 
 presently, as it had begun, and while the dogs 
 shook their shaggy coats and lapped up tonguesf ul 
 of freshly fallen snow, Dan repeated the last two 
 words that Jules had used. 
 
 "The bum? Who is he? Whom do you mean, 
 Jules?" 
 
 ' 'Heem called Pete Gaffney, m'sieu. Heem one 
 beeg drunk. What for they breeng heem wit* 
 dem? I do not know what for. But et ees not 
 good. No, m'sieu. Heem wear boots wit' heels. 
 Heem freeze, mabby. Heem drunk, too, mabby, 
 an' not understand." He ended with an expres- 
 sive shrug of his wide shoulders. 
 
 Ten minutes later they stopped again, and Jules, 
 having shouldered and fought his way through 
 what appeared to be an impenetrable wall of snow, 
 led the dogs into a cavernous recess among the 
 rocks where they were temporarily sheltered from 
 the fury of the storm that raged harmlessly over 
 their heads. 
 
 "We rest ici," he announced, calmly. "No good 
 go on, now. Too dark. Get lost, mabby. Bime- 
 by the moon, heem shine behind the clouds; give 
 light just one leetle bit." 
 
 "Can we make it, Jules?" Dan asked, anxiously. 
 
 "For sure, m'sieu. We will do eet, coute qu'fi- 
 coute. Yes, m'sieu. But now, for a time, we rest. 
 Afterward, we make much haste. Ah, ze weend, 
 heem blow for sure."
 
 84 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 The cold was intense even within that sheltered 
 nook among the rocks, and it was not long before 
 the practical Jules roused Dan from a sleepy leth- 
 argy into which he was falling, shook him roughly, 
 and announced: 
 
 "Aliens, m'sieu! We go on. Go to sleep now, 
 nevair wake up. The moon, heem wayway be- 
 hind theem clouds, but heem light, just a leetle bit; 
 heem bore t 'rough dem so we see 'nuff, mabby." 
 
 The dogs whined protestingly, but the start was 
 made, and for an hour after that they toiled on- 
 ward and upward amid the smother of the falling 
 snow, which would have filled the defile and effec- 
 tually have impeded their further ascent had it 
 not been that the direction of the wind, as well as 
 the fury of it, cleared the gulch of the white 
 tempest almost as fast as it fell into it. The moon, 
 thickly veiled behind the storm clouds, still found 
 some means of lessening the profundity of the 
 darkness, rather than of dispelling it. They could 
 see dimly the outlines of the cliffs above them 
 against the sky whenever for an instant the flying 
 snow was blown away, or was lifted. 
 
 For the most of the time they stumbled dog- 
 gedly onward, keeping to the course by the in- 
 stinct of the dogs, and by reason of the long ex- 
 perience of Jules Legarde, developed under even 
 worse conditions than that one. Nor would it 
 have been possible for them to get very far out of 
 their route, owing to the narrowness of the defile 
 through which they were passing. Still, there 
 were many treacherous places to guard against 
 and avoid. The mountain torrents, which spring- 
 time after springtime for untold ages had been
 
 AT THE DEVIL'S PULPIT 85 
 
 deepening and widening Magician pass, had left 
 many a crevasse and jagged depth in its course, in 
 which lurked certain death if one should wander 
 over the edge of one of them. 
 
 It was far into the night when they arrived at 
 Devil's Pulpit; aptly named, because it stood at 
 the head of the defile up which they had been toil- 
 ing, facing it. In the summer time one might 
 climb hazardously to the top of it and from there 
 look down through the twisted maze of rocks be- 
 neath the jutting cliffs on either side, to the spread 
 of green beyond it; and many a party had been 
 sheltered from a sudden shower beneath it, for the 
 ice and water of many centuries had worn out a 
 roomy hollow under the massive rock, and had left 
 it supported by three roughly-shaped natural pil- 
 lars. Sometimes, when there was a particularly 
 violent rain storm, the stage coach, which in sum- 
 mer crossed by the pass between Janver and Ma- 
 gician twice each week, had been driven be- 
 neath the Devil's Pulpit; and the six mules that 
 drew it, with the huge coach and passengers, found 
 ample room there for their accommodation. Be- 
 yond it, the pass was wide and open to the sum- 
 mit, where the mountains towered upward and 
 farther and farther away on either side. 
 
 It was the last stretch of climb beyond the Pul- 
 pit, and even more difficult than the way through 
 the gorge, and also the first half of the descent 
 beyond the summit of the pass, which Dan and 
 Jules dreaded most that night, although neither 
 had mentioned a word to the other concerning it. 
 
 Jules had determined to stop at Devil's Pulpit. 
 Wood in plenty was always cut and stored in the
 
 86 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 hollow during the summer, for there were many 
 cold days and nights at the beginning of winter, 
 before the snow came, when travelers across the 
 pass were glad to stop there to make coffee and to 
 warm themselves, before continuing the journey. 
 
 Oddly enough, Randall and Jules found the 
 place closed against them when they got there. 
 The wind had picked up giant handfuls of the 
 driving snow, and had packed it against the mas- 
 sive pillars, and around them, reaching out from 
 one to another until it had closed all three open- 
 ings. But Jules knew how to find the weakest 
 place in the snowy barrier, and with the short- 
 handled shovel that was part of the equipment 
 of the dog-sled, he soon tore an opening through it. 
 
 The dogs waited with impatience while he did so, 
 and they lurched forward through the breach the 
 moment it was big enough. But they stopped, 
 with the sled filling the narrow passageway as if 
 it were wedged there. They whined, and hud- 
 dled close together, and acted so strangely that 
 Dan, who knew something of the way of huskies, 
 wondered what had happened. 
 
 Jules knew, instantly, what had affected the 
 dogs. Every one of the eight was a personal pet, 
 and had been raised by him from puppyhood. 
 They were not like the animals we read about, 
 which are taught to serve and to haul heavy bur- 
 dens across the mountains, and are hammered and 
 kicked and cursed at, and sometimes eaten, when 
 other means of procuring food are not at hand. 
 Jules knew at once that there was a human being 
 there, and one who was a stranger to them; and 
 he called to them in French, and by their names,
 
 AT THE DEVIL'S PULPIT 87 
 
 one after another, while he worked with all his 
 might with the shovel, and so tore his way into 
 the hollow beside them. 
 
 "What is it, Jules?" Dan called out to him. 
 
 "A man, m'sieu. The bum, 1 1 'ink. Yes. Eet 
 ees the drunk. Can you come een?" 
 
 "Yes. . . . Where is he? Heavens! I thought 
 it was dark outside, but in here " 
 
 The striking of a light by Jules, who had hur- 
 ried across the hollow, interrupted further speech. 
 
 With quickness that was remarkable under the 
 circumstances, Jules kindled a fire with the dry 
 wood that he knew perfectly well where to find. 
 Then he ran back to the man who was lying in a 
 huddled heap upon the rock floor of the cavernous 
 place, and unceremoniously brushing Randall aside 
 listened at his breast for heart beats until he was 
 convinced that there was still the flutter of life 
 inside the man. Then he set to work with a will, 
 and as one who knew exactly what to do. 
 
 Dan assisted him where and however he could, 
 and once they had the satisfaction of seeing the 
 man open his eyes half way, but not to intelli- 
 gence, nor consciousness of his surroundings ; only 
 to a partial realization of the intense pain he was 
 suffering because of their efforts to bring him 
 back to life. Then he died. 
 
 "No use, m'sieu," Jules said, without emotion, 
 rising. "Eet ees la mort. He ees gone. Voila. 
 Eet ees for that he was made to come here." He 
 shrugged his shoulders and turned his back upon 
 the body, moving toward the fire, which was now 
 blazing merrily. 
 
 Dan hesitated a moment, then followed him, but
 
 88 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 with a backward glance toward the dead man as 
 he went. It had been their intention on reaching 
 the Devil's Pulpit to rest for an hour or more, to 
 make some coffee, and to eat a little of the food 
 they had brought with them, and then to take up 
 their journey again. 
 
 The dead man was merely an incident from 
 Jules' point of view. They had not been able 
 to save him, and had only succeeded in making him 
 sensible of one moment of excruciating pain, in 
 their efforts to revive him. But while Jules made 
 the coffee and Dan sat not too near to the fire, 
 watching, he found that the last remark that Jules 
 had made kept recurring to him: "Eet ees for that 
 he was made to come here."
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 The Dead Forger 
 
 When the coffee was ready, and the warm glow 
 of it pervaded their bodies, Dan asked: 
 
 "Why did you say that, Jules? Why do you 
 think that they brought him up here on the pass, 
 to desert him and let him freeze to death?" 
 
 Jules shrugged his shoulders before he replied. 
 Then he drained his cup and reached out for the 
 pot to refill it. 
 
 "Eet seem so to me, m'sieu," he said. "For 
 why deed they breeng the bum ovair the pass? To 
 keel heem; non? Eet seems so to Jules. He has 
 been ivre ver' drunk, m'sieu what you call para- 
 lyzedall the time seence m'sieu Wadleigh have 
 heem all the day at hees office, and all the night 
 afterward at la cabane. And all the time the bum, 
 heem write, write, write, ovair and ovair. Je ne 
 sais quoi for." 
 
 "Do you mean that he was at the office with 
 Wadleigh? this man this dead man whom you 
 call the bum?" 
 
 "Oui, m'sieu. Two, free days, apres you go 
 away." 
 
 "And at the house, in Wadleigh's room with 
 him? Writing?" 
 
 "Yes, m'sieu. And the sheets heem write,
 
 90 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 m'sieu Wadleigh heem tear up into leetle bits, so, 
 and so, and t'row away. But I, Jules, pick up 
 the pieces, every leetle bit and save them for 
 m'sieu. Yvonne, she have dem now for m'sieu. 
 The writing, all of eet, was like the same 
 which you, m'sieu, put at the bottom of the 
 cheque." Jules could neither write nor read, but 
 if once he had seen a signature, it was like the 
 track of an animal in the snow; he never forgot it. 
 
 "So," said Dan, and turned his head to glance 
 toward the dead man, "he was the forger who 
 wrote my name so many times on the sheet of 
 paper I found on Wadleigh 's desk. ... I am be- 
 ginning to understand, now," he added, turning 
 again to his companion. 
 
 He drank off the contents of his cup, arose, and 
 crossed to the body, which he began at once to 
 search, turning out every pocket as he found it, 
 and discovering nothing. Not until he had pulled 
 the last one out, and with the same result, did he 
 desist. Then, in silence, he returned to his place 
 near the fire. 
 
 Jules, who had watched closely his every act, 
 smiled .grimly, left his place, and crossed to the 
 body of the dead man. He bent above it, and un- 
 fastened one article after another of the clothing 
 that the man had worn, although it was all too 
 scant for protection against the bitter cold to< 
 which he had been exposed. Presently Jules bared 
 his left hand and thrust it down against the al- 
 ready stiffened body, and after a moment he found 
 what he sought a buckskin pouch-belt which 
 Gaffney had worn next to his skin. Jules carried 
 it to Dan and dropped it across his master's knees
 
 THE DEAD FORGER 91 
 
 without a word, then resumed his seat and poured 
 out still another cupful of the steaming coffee. 
 
 Dan regarded the belt wonderingly, touching it 
 with the tips of his mittens, tentatively. He re- 
 moved the coverings from his hands for a mo- 
 ment and felt along its entire length, satisfying 
 himself of two things; that it contained no coin, 
 but that there was something inside of it, never- 
 theless. 
 
 But he had not the time, nor the inclination, and 
 there was not light enough, to examine the con- 
 tents of the belt just then, even if the raging wind 
 and the bitter cold had not rendered such an act 
 impracticable. Jules had not stopped to unfasten 
 the buckle in removing the belt from the body of 
 the dead man, but had cut it with his knife, and so 
 Dan rolled and tied it together and hid it away 
 in one of the large pockets of the coat he wore be- 
 neath his furs. Then, while he sat quite still, pon- 
 dering upon this latest incident, Jules finished 
 his coffee, put away the things, bore the dead body 
 into a recess among the rocks, and covered it 
 firmly and effectively. 
 
 "En avant, m'sieu," he said, and Dan started 
 to his feet. 
 
 "Where are the others, Jules? Where are the 
 men who brought him this far, and who deserted 
 him, and permitted him to freeze?" 
 
 Jules waved his arm vaguely toward the east- 
 ward, and the summit of the pass; then, as if he 
 already knew what the ensuing question would be, 
 he replied to it before it was spoken. 
 
 * ' Yes, m ' sieu. We catch theem, ' ' he said. ' ' At 
 de top."
 
 92 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 "Let us hurry, then. But tell me, first, how did 
 you know that the dead man wore that belt around 
 his body, next to his skin?" 
 
 "M'sieu, men are like the animals. When the 
 stranger approaches too near the place where they 
 raise their young, or the cache where they keep 
 their food, they skulk about an' show their teeth, 
 an' growl ver' mooch. They not like, an' they 
 show they not like. An' the birds, when they have 
 young in the nests, flutter an' cheep-cheep-cheep 
 all around the place, like they was ver' fou; non? 
 Dees man, I see heem at Thompson's hotel, ver' 
 drunk. I see with heem, m'sieu Taggarrr, an' 
 m'sieu Cut'berrr; an' I see m'sieu Taggarrr slap 
 heem on ze shoulder, so; an' leeft him from hees 
 feet, so; an' the bum, he snarl like a bobcat pssst! 
 like that, and put hees han' here, so; an' I say 
 to myself, thees: Jules, mon ami, dat bum heem 
 haf moneybelt around heem, what haf no money 
 in eet. Cause why? He no spend money. Den 
 what for the belt? For somet'ngs heem theenk 
 worth more. Voila. I not remember eet again 
 not unteel I see you go to search hees pockets." 
 
 The violence of the wind had increased rather 
 than abated when they went forth again from the 
 shelter of the Devil's Pulpit, but the snowstorm 
 had lessened perceptibly, the clouds had lifted 
 somewhat, and the hidden moon succeeded in 
 forcing a little of its reflected light through 
 them. 
 
 It was the very force and strength of the wind 
 that assisted them most in their upward climb, for 
 it had packed the snow solidly where it fell, so 
 that frequently it supported men and dogs and
 
 THE DEAD FORGER 93 
 
 sled, where otherwise they would have sunk into 
 its depths out of sight. 
 
 They dug, and floundered, and fought their way 
 through, from rise to rise, sometimes gliding easily 
 and rapidly over a distance of an eighth of a mile, 
 or more, or less, and again they passed an hour in 
 covering less than half the same distance. 
 
 They had no thought of the time. It had been 
 dark at three in the afternoon. It would be light 
 again at nine in the morning, which would be the 
 hour for opening the clerk's office at Magician. 
 Dan Randall intended to be there, if possible, 
 when the office was opened.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 The Tragedy at Magician 
 
 At the divide the summit of the pass there 
 had been erected at some unrecorded time in the 
 past a hut of stones and logs. No windows nor 
 doors had been fitted to the openings left for 
 them, and so it had always stood open to every 
 storm of wind or snow or rain that had hurled 
 itself mercilessly that way. In the summer the 
 stage coach always halted there for a short rest. 
 
 When Dan and Jules, after four hours of cease- 
 less toil against the elements, during which they 
 had covered but little more than two additional 
 miles, approached the Summit house, as it was 
 called, Jules stopped the dogs while yet they were 
 forty rods from it. Then he put his lips close to 
 Dan's ear and shouted, for the velocity of the wind 
 up there rendered it almost impossible to hear a 
 spoken word. 
 
 "Ver' like dose men are dere," he said. "We 
 go fin' deem, you say, m'sieu?" 
 
 Dan pondered for a moment. 
 
 The mere thought of a period of rest, however 
 short, was inviting. It seemed to him that never 
 before had he been so worn. The thongs about 
 his ankles, which held his snowshoes in place, had 
 bitten through the buckskin leggings he wore and
 
 THE TRAGEDY AT MAGICIAN 95 
 
 the layers of woolen beneath them, until they had 
 galled into the skin; but so fierce was the cold on 
 the mountain that he was barely conscious of it. 
 He knew only that he was dead tired, that their 
 journey was not yet quite half made, and that the 
 descent of the pass on the opposite side of thei 
 mountains would be scarcely less difficult than the 
 ascent had been. 
 
 He knew, too, that they could not be far behind 
 Wadleigh and Taggart, with their Indian helper, 
 Lightfoot, and that Jules was probably right in 
 saying that very likely the men were even then 
 beneath the shelter of the Summit house, resting. 
 
 That moment of pondering was one of weighing 
 what he conceived to be his real duty, against his 
 inclinations; for every impulse within him urged 
 that he should surprise Wadleigh in the mountain 
 cabin, should charge him with the forgery which 
 Dan now felt certain had been committed, and 
 should openly accuse all of them of the deliberate 
 murder of the man Gaff ney. 
 
 But such an interruption would inevitably mean 
 a fight, and they would be three against two; and 
 somebody among them would be killed it would 
 have to be so, under the circumstances. 
 
 Nor did Dan Randall consider himself in such a 
 possibility. He had the feeling that is born in 
 some men: that he would live to accomplish what 
 he had set himself to perform. But he had killed 
 one man, before he dropped his last name and be- 
 came just Dan Randall, and the bitterness of it 
 was terrible; he did not care to repeat the horror 
 of it, and to endure again the unrest that followed 
 as a consequence.
 
 96 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 And there was Jules, with Yvonne awaiting his 
 return, and himself responsible for that safe re- 
 turn; and Jules would fight for him with all the 
 wiry strength he possessed and might be the one 
 to die. Moreover, there was the duty that had 
 called him over the Lantowa mountains in the bit- 
 ter cold and the greater task beyond it, that he 
 had set for himself. To build the "Janver Cut- 
 off" across two mountain passes through Badger 
 range by way of the Black gorge, to the westward, 
 and over Magician pass of the Lantowa the fruit 
 of his meditation and map-study while he had 
 awaited the return of Jules, in Ace Wadleigh's 
 room. 
 
 It was strange that he had never thought of that 
 before, with all its immense possibilities; stranger 
 still that he should think of it again, just then, at 
 the summit of Magician pass, while the wind 
 hurled itself against his tall body at the rate of 
 seventy miles an hour, with a temperature of fifty 
 below zero biting at his flesh and bones, and be- 
 numbing him. He bent his head and shouted back 
 to Jules: 
 
 "Is there a way around, that we can follow, and 
 pass them?" 
 
 1 ' Oui. ' ' Jules turned toward the dogs. ' ' Allez ! 
 Moosh! Ar-rrr!" he shouted at them, and they 
 started on again, bearing off toward the right, and 
 away from the house at the summit. "Eet ees 
 close to de house, but eet ees with de weend. They 
 weel not hear us." 
 
 They passed, presently, within a hundred yards 
 of the hut, and they could smell the smoke of a fire 
 that had been lighted there; and once Dan thought
 
 THE TRAGEDY AT MAGICIAN 97 
 
 that he caught a glimmer of its light through the 
 mass of driving snow, for up there at the top of 
 the pass it was as thick as a blanket. 
 
 Dan reached out and touched Jules on the shoul- 
 der; and the latter bent to listen. 
 
 "You go back, Jules, and find out what they 
 are doing. Then follow after me, quickly. I know 
 the way back to the trail. Moosh!" he cried at 
 the dogs, which had also caught the scent of the 
 fire, and would have turned toward it. 
 
 Dan knew that Jules would follow after, pres- 
 ently, when he had performed the duty assigned to 
 him, for the trapper could make greater speed 
 alone on his snowshoes than they were making 
 with the dogs and sledge. Indeed, they both might 
 have made better time across the mountains with- 
 out that impediment but for the fact that without 
 it they might never have succeeded in making the 
 crossing at all, and if disabled, must have perished 
 without the huskies, and the blankets, and provi- 
 sions, and tools that were packed on the sled. 
 
 Dan did know the way back to the trail, and 
 found it; and the fury of the wind lessened for a 
 time, so that he made fairly good headway down 
 the mountain Nor did he give another thought to 
 Jules until he had covered more than another mile, 
 and paused to speak to his companion, whom he 
 supposed was directly behind him by that time. 
 
 But Jules was not there, and he stopped, amazed 
 that he was not. But even as he hesitated, and 
 was on the point of turning backward, the figure 
 of Jules loomed through the snow, like some gi- 
 gantic thing approaching. 
 
 "C'est bon," he said, without pausing, and
 
 98 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 shouted at the dog-s. A moment later he added: 
 "Tout a la. They all dere, m'sieu. Je sui con- 
 tent. Non? Et vous? They sleep. We mak" 
 speed now, down de mountain." 
 
 It was difficult to talk in that wind. Dan heard 
 only sufficient to understand that Jules had found 
 Wadleigh and the others sleeping, and had Hurried 
 on. 
 
 It was daylight when they staggered across the 
 barren stretch that was between the foot of the 
 mountain and Magician, but lights still gleamed 
 from several windows, when, at last, they began 
 to pass by the outlying houses of the town. 
 
 Straight toward the center of it Dan led the way, 
 so exhausted that he could barely keep up the ef- 
 fort; and he made the last turn which would bring 
 them directly to the building where the clerk's 
 office was located, and where he expected to find 
 his friend, Sam Sutherland, on duty, at the office* 
 of registry. 
 
 But as he made that last turn he stopped; and 
 he put up one hand to his eyes as if to rub away 
 the vision of the thing he thought he saw a heap 
 of smouldering ashes above the ruin of what had 
 been the building he sought. 
 
 The fire had raged early on the preceding day, 
 evidently, or during the night before that, for the 
 driving snow of last night's storm had encroached 
 upon the rapidly cooling ashes in many places*. 
 Dan turned wearily away from the sight of it. ; 
 
 A man stepped outside of a door across the way 
 and called to him, then hurriedly retreated inside 
 again, for the cold was of the kind that bites like 
 an animal. The dogs had already stretched them-
 
 THE TRAGEDY AT MAGICIAN 99 
 
 selves upon the hard snow, utterly exhausted, but 
 Jules called sharply to them and they got up again. 
 
 "You go, m'sieu," he said to Dan. "I come 
 back bimeby, an' fin' you, apres I half cared for 
 de dogs. Sacrrrr-r! Eet ees ver' mooch colt." 
 
 Dan left him and staggered through the door- 
 way that was pulled open for him as he ap- 
 proached it. The man who had called to him was 
 an acquaintance. He told his news almost in a 
 breath, and Dan listened dully. 
 
 "Good heavens, man, do you mean to tell me 
 that you have crossed the pass from Janver 
 through the big storm of last night? And you 
 are alive to tell of it? You were looking for Suth- 
 erland, weren't you? Poor chap. There isn't 
 much left of him, now. He was burned up in the 
 fire, night before last. We didn't know, till after- 
 ward, that he was inside; but we couldn't have got 
 him out if we had known." 
 
 Dan sank down upon a bench that was near him. 
 The heat of the room, after the intense cold and 
 the utter fatigue that he had so long endured, over- 
 whelmed him but he comprehended in a vague sort 
 of way that his friend whom he had crossed the 
 mountain to see, had perished in the fire that had 
 destroyed the building in which had been regis- 
 tered all of the records for that part of the 
 province. 
 
 His informant brought him a glassful of white 
 whiskey diluted with much water, and made him 
 swallow it, while he went on with his information. 
 
 "Sam boozed too much, as you know, Dan," he> 
 said. "That night there was a card party and 
 Sam went away about three in the morning,
 
 100 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 drunker than usual. They think he fell against 
 the table, or something like that, and overturned 
 the lamp, and that he did not have sense enough 
 to pick it up and chuck it outside, in the snow. 
 Anyhow, the building was a seething furnace be- 
 fore anybody knew what had happened. And 
 afterward, they didn't find very much of him; 
 only just enough to know that he had been there. 
 Poor old Sam. He was a good chap too." 
 
 "And the records?" Dan asked, but without 
 particular interest. His utter weariness was too 
 profound. 
 
 ' 'Records ! ' ' replied Buxton. ' ' There aren't any 
 records, now."
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 "I Will Stay Here-and Fight' ' 
 
 The white-wheat whiskey which Randall had 
 swallowed, and the information which Buxton 
 gave him, roused him from the lethargy into which 
 he was falling. He started to his feet, and then 
 sank down again as Buxton came swiftly toward 
 him and began to remove the furs. Even Dan's 
 snowshoes were still fast upon his feet. Buxton 
 worked rapidly, but silently, while Dan was re- 
 covering his mental and physical poise, and the 
 wonderful recuperative power which Nature had 
 bestowed upon Randall asserted itself. 
 
 After a little time Buxton began and kept up a 
 running talk of immaterial information about the' 
 fire, and its consequences, but all the while the 
 salient facts that Sutherland was dead, and that 
 the records had been destroyed, were uppermost 
 in Randall's mind. 
 
 All record of the deeds which would give to him 
 the undisputed right of way over Magician pass, 
 had been burned, and the deeds themselves, which 
 had been recorded, and to which fact Sutherland 
 alone might have testified, were in the possession 
 of Wadleigh; and Wadleigh without doubt had 
 other deeds made out to himself, or to the M. & 
 J. railroad company of which he was now the 
 president, signed with Randall's name.
 
 102 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 Forgeries they were, to be sure; but and that 
 
 small word represented an uncertainty which was 
 exceedingly grave. 
 
 Might made right to a great degree in that 
 country, at that time. Saskatchewan was almost 
 out of the world; and Dan Randall, with all his 
 hopes and ambitions, was in Saskatchewan. 
 
 "The wires are down between here and Janver, 
 or I would have telegraphed," he said to Buxton, 
 presently, offering the first explanation of his^ 
 presence that he had suggested. "Let me under- 
 stand you now, clearly, Buxton. Were all the 
 records destroyed?" 
 
 "Everything, Dan." 
 
 "Then I will tell you something that you don't 
 know. Sutherland had just recorded for me the 
 documents which gave to me, personally, the right 
 of way to build a railroad over Magician pass, to 
 Janver. I secured them after a great deal of dif- 
 ficulty, and at considerable expense, and I have 
 kept very still about it because I did not wish the 
 information of what I was doing to leak out, until 
 it was accomplished. I did not want the C. P. and 
 the other big fellows to know what I was doing 
 until I was ready to have them know it." 
 
 "Well, you can get substitutes for the docu-i 
 ments, can't you, and have them properly recorded 
 at Regina?" Buxton asked. 
 
 "I don't know. I doubt it. . . . I think that you 
 are my friend, Buxton, and that I can depend upon 
 you as such. Can I?" 
 
 "Try me, old chap," was the hearty and instant 
 reply. "There is my hand on it. My best effort 
 goes with it, if you need me."
 
 "I WILL STAY HERE-AND FIGHT" 103 
 
 "Thank you, Bux. I was sure of it. Wadleigh 
 and I have parted. Last night, at the office in 
 Janver, I gave him a thrashing, but I did not know, 
 even when I did it, that he was quite as bad as 
 he is. Wait. He has stolen every one of the 
 documents which convey that route over the pass 
 to me. More than that, he has now in his posses- 
 sion, so I am convinced, forged deeds purporting 
 to be executed by me, which will rob me of it, if 
 they go through. He started over the pass before 
 I did, last night, with Ben Taggart, and Lightfoot 
 and they took with them the man who actually 
 committed the forgeries; the man who was the only 
 one who could have done it." 
 
 "Rather a mixed-up mess, isn't it, Dan? But 
 Wadleigh hasn't got in yet." 
 
 "No. Jules and I passed them at the Summit 
 house. Gaffney, the forger, we found dead, at the 
 Pulpit. He had frozen to death. There isn't any 
 doubt that Wadleigh intended that he should, and 
 took him over the pass with him for that purpose; 
 to get rid of him. This fire, happening as it did, 
 supplies a remarkable coincidence, Buxton. If it 
 weren't for the fact that Wadleigh made the effort 
 he did, to get here, I should be inclined to think 
 that he might be, in some way, responsible for 
 it." 
 
 "Good lord, man! Do you mean that? If he 
 is " 
 
 "Wait. We mustn't jump at conclusions." 
 
 ' ' No. You are right. But it will be short shrift 
 for Ace Wadleigh if I find out that that is so. Sam 
 Sutherland had his faults, but he was my friend. 
 Go on Dan. What else is there to tell me?"
 
 104 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 "I must go south this very day. Is the line 
 open to Lonecamp?" 
 
 1 'It was, until last night. They had just cleared 
 it from the last storm. But that one last night 
 must have filled it in again, worse than ever. It's 
 a safe bet that there won't be a wheel over the 
 road for three or four days, at the least." 
 
 "Nevertheless, I must go. I must get to Re- 
 gina." . 
 
 "Man alive, it's three hundred miles. It's fifty 
 from here to Lonecamp by the trail, a hundred 
 more to Saskatoon, and a hundred and fifty from 
 there to Regina. It would all be easy enough if 
 the railroads were open, but they're not. Besides, 
 what could you accomplish if you got there? You 
 haven't anything to record, according to your own 
 statement. And Wadleigh could chase along after 
 you as soon as the road is open and put it all over 
 you with the papers you say he's got. You can 
 bet your life on that! ' ' 
 
 "I can find competent lawyers there and they 
 will tell me what to do. I can file affidavits that 
 will act as estoppels. I can ' ' 
 
 "You can get yourself jolly well laughed at, 
 Dan, and that is all you can do," Buxton inter- 
 rupted. "You are helpless without the documents 
 that you say Wadleigh has stolen. You are still 
 more so, because of the forged documents, if the 
 forgeries are well done, as I imagine them to be. 
 And you tell me that the forger is dead. Besides, 
 I don't believe you could get through; and, if you 
 did, there would be a new record office started 
 here before you could get back, and Wadleigh 
 would get in ahead of you, with what he's got, and
 
 "I WILL STAY HERE AND FIGHT'* 105 
 
 your fat would be in the fire. And there's another 
 thing: Last night's storm was the last of the sea- 
 sonanyhow, that's what the weather sharps say 
 about it. The big thaw will hit us inside of a 
 week, and the rains will come, and Ace Wadleigh 
 will be on the mountain the minute he can get 
 there, if I know anything about his capabilities. 
 Stay here and fight it out, man." 
 
 "What have I got to fight with?" 
 
 "Your hands, and your brains; your muscles, 
 and your intelligence and your friends. And 
 you've got a heap of those. . . . Don't you realize, 
 Dan, that the big fellows are behind this? Ace 
 Wadleigh would never have undertaken this busi- 
 ness alone. He's got backing, and good backing, 
 he believes, behind him, or he wouldn't have 
 touched it with the end of a bull-whip. You can 
 bet your bottom dollar that old man Gregory is 
 engineering this deal, Dan. Stay here and fight 
 it out." 
 
 "Gregory!" Randall repeated, and started. 
 "The P. & H. B.?" 
 
 "Surest thing you know. At least that's the 
 way it looks to me. If I wasn't convinced of it 
 before, I would be now, after your suggestion 
 about the fire. Tell me this: Did Wadleigh know 
 that you were after that route over the pass, until 
 after you had got your hands on it?" 
 
 "No; nor anybody else. I worked that thing 
 entirely alone." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because, in the beginning, I wasn't at all sure 
 that I could get it, and I didn't care to be made 
 sport of if I failed. But the minute I had the thing
 
 106 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 cinched, I told him about it, and that I intended to 
 turn it over to the company." 
 
 "I see. Then you did not know that the P. & 
 H. B. people were only waiting for the snow to dis- 
 appear to start in on that very thing, themselves?" 
 
 "No. I had no thought of such a thing. Cer- 
 tainly I didn't know it, or guess it." 
 
 T< Ace Wadleigh knew it." 
 
 "Perhaps." 
 
 "I know that he did. He was here just before 
 that other storm. Gregory's secretary, Clifford, 
 dropped in upon us the same day. He had been 
 going over their own lines, he said, and came 
 around this way from Carrolton. The meeting 
 between them looked like an accidental one, and I 
 would have thqught it such if I hadn't been put 
 wise. They sat up together nearly the whole night 
 at the McDougall house and you can bet your 
 sweet life they didn't do that for the mere pleas- 
 ure they could find in each other's company; not 
 when one of them works for Gregory and is the 
 craftiest little cuss that wasn't born an Indian. 
 Sandy McPherson, who is the new clerk at the 
 McDougall, and who is an old acquaintance of 
 mine, heard Clifford say to Wadleigh, as the# 
 were bidding each other good-bye the next morn- 
 ing, that he'd meet him here as soon as the snow 
 melted, and go over the pass with him. If you 
 can see through a millstone with a hole in it, there 
 is one." 
 
 "You're right, Buxton," said Dan. "It was 
 the same night that Wadleigh got back to Janver 
 from that trip that I told him about what I had 
 done, and I thought he received the intelligence
 
 "I WILL STAY HERE- AND FIGHT" 107 
 
 with something like a shock. That explains it. 
 I wonder " 
 
 He stopped suddenly and thrust a hand into his 
 pocket to get the map that he had torn from the 
 wall in Wadleigh's room. But it came into con- 
 tact with something else that he had forgotten, and 
 he brought out not only the folded map, but also 
 the specie-belt which Jules Legarde had taken 
 from the dead man's body, on the mountain. 
 
 Dan gazed at it an instant, then laid it aside. 
 
 "I'll examine that belt, presently," he said. 
 "Jules took it from the poor chap we found at 
 Devil's Pulpit. Just now I have got something 
 else on my mind." He opened the folds of the 
 map and spread it across his knees, giving the op- 
 posite end of it to Buxton. Then he placed his 
 thumb and fingers upon it as he had done in Wad- 
 leigh's room in Janver. He rested his forefinger 
 upon Janver, put his thumb upon Allerton, and his 
 little finger upon Magician. The north side of 
 the map was toward Buxton. 
 
 "Look at the map, Bux," he said, his whole 
 mind intent upon the great project. "There is 
 Allerton, beneath my thumb. The P. & H. B. en- 
 ters Allerton from the west, and strikes out south- 
 easterly from there, around the south spur of the 
 Badger range, and by a crescent course finally 
 makes Lonecamp, which is directly south of Ma- 
 gician, where we are now. The B. S. & L. S. is 
 building an extension into Allerton from the north- 
 west, and will complete it and open it this summer. 
 Now look northeast from Allerton, to Carrolton, 
 which is the present terminal of the Manitoba & 
 Juneau, of which I was president, and which I con-
 
 108 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 trolled, until yesterday. We were going to build 
 into Allerton this coming summer, as you know. 
 Now look down along the existing line of the M. 
 & J. from Carrolton to Janver, and thence follow 
 an imaginary line across Magician pass to Ma- 
 gician. Don't you see that the cut-off will render 
 the present line around through Rickett's canyon 
 to Magician practically useless and that there will 
 not, after that, be any earthly need of building 
 into Allerton from Carrolton. The outlet from 
 Carrolton to the states by way of Janver and the 
 cut-off, and through Magician, and Lonecamp, will 
 be much shorter and better than the projected one 
 to Allerton, to connect there with the P. & H. B. 
 
 "But there is another point. What is the mat- 
 ter with another cut-off between Allerton and Jan- 
 ver, through Black gorge? Oh, it can be done. 
 I've been over the ground, and I know. I'm an 
 engineer, and I ought to know. Allerton and Ma- 
 gician are located directly west and east of eacli 
 other. Janver is on a straight line drawn from 
 one to the other, a third of the distance nearer to 
 Magician. From Allerton to Janver, around by 
 way of Carrolton, the distance is a hundred and 
 thirty-four miles. The distance between Allerton 
 and Janver by Black gorge is about thirty-five or 
 forty miles, as the road would run. The distance 
 from Janver to Magician by the present route 
 through Rickett's canyon is sixty-nine miles, but 
 the distance between the same points, by way of 
 the pass, will be about eighteen miles, including 
 the distance between Janver and Bluerock. So, at 
 the most, with those two cut-offs built, the haul be- 
 tween Allerton and Magician would not exceed
 
 "I WILL STAY HEEE-AND FIGHT" 109 
 
 sixty miles, whereas now, and with the projected 
 extension between Allerton and Carrolton it figures 
 up two hundred and three miles. There is the 
 map. Look at it, Bux." 
 
 "Holy smoke!" Buxton exclaimed. "You'd 
 drain every shipment from the northwest by the 
 B. S. & L. S. ! You'd force the P. & H. B. to aban- 
 don, almost, their line around the south spur of 
 the Badgers to Lonecamp, and you'd get all of 
 the Carrolton shipments." 
 
 ' ' That isn't all, either, Bux. Think of the riches 
 we are likely to uncover in that Black gorge proj- 
 ect." 
 
 "I have thought of it. I am wondering, now, 
 about another thing which perhaps you have not 
 thought about, Dan." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 "Why, man alive, you'll bankrupt your own 
 property! You'll put the M. & J. out of business 
 if you do all that." 
 
 "In the first place, Bux, that is precisely what 
 I intend to do; and in the second place, the M. & 
 J. is not my property, now. It has been stolen 
 from me, lock, stock and barrel." 
 
 ' ' But your stock, man. They couldn't steal that 
 from you." 
 
 "Yes, they could-and did." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "For reasons of my own, I had placed every- 
 thing in the name of Joyce Maitland. It is enough 
 for me to say, at present, and you will understand, 
 when I tell you that she has thrown all of it into 
 the lap of Ace Wadleigh. . . . There, there; I see 
 what is on your mind to say; but don't say it.
 
 110 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 The conspiracy has been a deliberate one, well 
 planned, and perfectly executed. I had sufficient 
 proof of it, yesterday. What you have told me 
 in regard to the meeting between Clifford and 
 Wadleigh, and the probable interest of Gregory 
 and the P. & H. B., in the matter, is only an added 
 circumstance. Old Lionel Gregory is Miss Mait- 
 land's relative, and Clifford, his secretary, would 
 readily become her slave if she asked it of him. 
 A moment ago you twice said to me, 'Stay here and 
 fight.' Well, I will stay here and fight to a fin- 
 ish. Do you want to go into the fight with me, 
 Bux?" 
 
 "I do if you will take me. I haven't much 
 money, you know." 
 
 "You've got brains, and pluck; and you're loyal 
 and square. And I can find the money. I know 
 how to do that. Will you stick?" 
 
 "To the last ditch, Dan." 
 
 "Knowing that Joyce Maitland is opposed to 
 us? Knowing that she is with the other side?" 
 
 "I'll stick, Dan, until the end," was the slow 
 reply, although Buxton's face paled somewhat 
 as he said it. 
 
 Their hands were still clasped in the closing of 
 the compact when the door was thrown open, and 
 Jules Legarde glided into their presence. He 
 closed the door quickly, and stood still, with his 
 back against it. 
 
 "M'sieu, hide yourself, bientot prompt. Those 
 men, Wadleigh et Taggarrr, are ici. They comme 
 to thees place now, to geet you, m'sieu. They haf 
 been to de police and swear you keel de bum 
 heem we find. They say you robbed also hees dead
 
 "I WILL STAY HERE-AND FIGHT" 111 
 
 body. I not heear mooch. Mais, they breeng de 
 body avec them, to Magicienne. Voila! Thejf 
 mak' de charge avoir de dessus. The officers they 
 come, maintenant. You hide. They tak' moi, 
 too, mabby, but Juler not care. YoUa tout!"
 
 Two Packets in Oilskins 
 
 Dan Randall started to his feet when Jules burst 
 into the room, and he understood instantly what 
 had happened. He could see it all, intuitively, 
 as plainly as if he had seen it actually. 
 
 One of the three men at the Summit house had 
 seen Randall passing, or had discovered Jules 
 when he returned to spy upon them. Taggart, or 
 Lightfoot, had gone back to the Devil's Pulpit to 
 find out if Gaffney had been rescued, or, in case 
 he had perished, if the body had been discovered. 
 Wadleigh had been astute enough to turn what 
 might have been a calamity for him into an ad- 
 vantage. They had found that Gaffney's pouch- 
 belt was missing, and that the body had been cov- 
 ered up with the cord- wood that was stored in the 
 hollow and so Wadleigh had brought the dead 
 Gaffney into Magician with him, had taken the 
 body straight to the mounted police, to charge 
 Randall and Jules with the crime of murder. The 
 irony of the circumstance was in the fact that not 
 one of them had suspected that Gaffney had worn 
 such a belt until it was too late to possess them- 
 selves of it. 
 
 The belt, which Randall had not yet examined, 
 was upon a chair beside him when Jules gave the
 
 TWO PACKETS IN OILSKINS 113 
 
 alarm. With a quick act of inspiration, he seized 
 it, doubled it in his grasp, and tossed it upon the 
 top of a row of shelves that lined one side of the 
 room. It dropped down behind some pasteboard 
 boxes which were there, and was hidden from 
 view. Buxton nodded, understandingly. Then 
 Randall sprang to the door, and put the bar across 
 it. He seized Jules by the arm and drew him 
 toward the back of the room, motioning to Bux- 
 ton to follow, and to listen. 
 
 "You must go, Jules, not I," he said, rapidly. 
 "You must get back to Janver. It must be done, 
 and you can do it. Can you do it?" 
 
 "Oui, m'sieu. But I will go alone. Without 
 the chiens. But why? ' ' 
 
 "You must get everything that is mine out of 
 the house where I have been living, and move 
 all of it to the stone house at White Lake. And 
 you must take Yvonne, and go there to live. But 
 most of all, you must find a way to get from my 
 office, on the square, the small leather satchel 
 which I brought back with me to Janver, night 
 before last. I left it on the floor behind the door 
 in the little room, off from the big office-room, and 
 I had totally forgotten it until this moment, when 
 I am in danger of arrest. It is that fact that has 
 brought it to mind. It is for that satchel that I 
 send you back. Get it at all hazards, and keep 
 it safely for me. Go, now." Dan opened the back 
 door of the building, and Jules passed outside, 
 murmuring as he went: 
 
 "Oui, m'sieu. Eet ees fait accompli." 
 
 There was a loud summons at the front door as 
 Randall and Buxton turned back again into the
 
 114 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 room, and the latter lifted his eyes to Dan's in- 
 quiringly. 
 
 "I am going to give them something to arrest 
 me for something real, Buxton,' ' Dan said, speak- 
 ing rapidly. "I will open the door. You keep 
 close to me. I shall attack Wadleigh the instant 
 he gets within my reach. But not for the purpose 
 of hurting him. Don't get that idea into your head. 
 There isn't a particle of animus about this. It is 
 all craft. Just craft, Buxton. I want to get those 
 forged deeds away from him. . . . All right! In 
 a moment!" he called out, loudly, to those outside 
 the door, who had redoubled their banging upon 
 it. "I know where he carries papers, and such 
 things, when he has them with him. I shall maul 
 him, and tear some of his clothing off of him, be- 
 fore the others can prevent it. If you should see 
 a garment, or a package of papers or anything 
 of the sort, fly across the room, GET IT; and keep 
 it, somehow. If I can get those forged deeds away 
 from him, we will be on even ground." 
 
 Randall stepped forward, swiftly, toward the 
 door. He threw down the bar, and opened it. 
 Wadleigh stood there, close beside the red-coated 
 representative of the law. Behind the two loomed 
 Taggart; and beyond him Lightfoot stood with 
 folded arms. 
 
 As Dan had anticipated, it was V7adleigh who 
 pushed forward when the door was opened. Ran- 
 dall used all of his great strength in the consum- 
 mation of what followed, and so quickly did he 
 act that there was not time nor opportunity for 
 interference. 
 
 He seized Wadleigh and jerked him into the
 
 TWO PACKETS IN OILSKINS 115 
 
 room; he kicked the heavy door shut in the faces 
 of the others. He tore at Wadleigh's furs, ripping 
 the hood and the coat off of him in a twinkling. 
 Then he struck him full in the face with the pad 
 of his hand, and as Wadleigh fell, Dan reached 
 down inside of the torn waistcoat, seized a pack- 
 age that was there, wrapped in oilskin, and hurled 
 it toward the far end of the room. And in the 
 confusion incident to the attack, together with the 
 blinding blow in the face, Wadleigh was totally 
 unaware of his loss. 
 
 Dan released his hold at the same moment he 
 struck the blow and secured the packet of papers. 
 He threw Wadleigh backward and away from him, 
 and into the grasp of the red-coated policeman 
 who had opened the door again and entered the 
 store. 
 
 Dan straightened himself, folded his arms, and 
 said, coolly: 
 
 "I am sorry, Sergeant Hurley. I'm afraid that 
 I did not realize the fact that you were present. 
 But the attack was not without provocation, Ser- 
 geant. Wadleigh has broken every law of friend- 
 ship with me, and last night, he, with Taggart and 
 Lightfoot, committed a deliberate murder. 
 He " 
 
 "You're an infernal liar, Randall, an* you know 
 it!" Taggart interrupted. 
 
 "Silence!" ordered the policeman. "Mr. Ran- 
 dall, you are under arrest. There are sworn 
 charges fiTecL against you and I fear that just 
 now you have given occasion for further charges, 
 for an apparently unprovoked assault upon Mr. 
 Wadleigh."
 
 116 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 Wadleigh, who had been assisted to his feet by 
 Buxtpn, and who was now readjusting his torn 
 clothing, cried out suddenly, and sprang like an 
 enraged cat toward Randall; but he was thrust 
 back again by the sturdy sergeant. 
 
 "He has robbed me, as well as assaulted me!'* 
 Wadleigh called out, white with fury. 
 
 "The man is mad," said Dan, shrugging his 
 shoulders. 
 
 "He has stolen my papers my deeds. I had 
 them, wrapped in oilskin, in this pocket. He took 
 them when he attacked me just now," Wadleigh 
 insisted; and he began at once to search about on 
 the floor for the packet. Lightfoot and Taggart, 
 and even Buxton, assisted him. They pulled out 
 boxes and peered behind them. They sprang over 
 the counter that occupied one side of the long 
 room, and searched on the floor behind it. They 
 looked along the shelves where the packet might 
 have been hurled in the struggle. And then Bux- 
 tpn uttered a shout that called their united atten- 
 tion toward him. 
 
 He was standing before the open door of the 
 huge stove that heated the big room. He pointed 
 at the fire that burned within it, fiercely hot. 
 Something was there, blazing merrily, and curling 
 beneath the great heat, and it needed only a glance 
 to determine that it had once been a packet of 
 papers wrapped in oilskin that was now being so 
 rapidly consumed. 
 
 Wadleigh leaped forward as if to thrust his hand 
 into the fiery furnace. He withdrew it, scorched. 
 He seized upon an iron poker and attempted to 
 throw the burning papers from the fire with it
 
 TWO PACKETS IN OILSKINS 117 
 
 and failed. He grasped a pair of tongs from the 
 zinc under the stove, and attempted to lift them 
 out, but the object crumbled, and fell apart, and 
 burned the more fiercely. 
 
 Wadleigh stared at the sight of it, recovering 
 his coolness,, and already trying to plan how he 
 might overcome such a disaster. He had no idea 
 that Randall suspected what the papers had been. 
 Taggart cursed loudly, and roundly, and he rushed 
 forward and planted his huge fist squarely in Ran- 
 dall's face before anybody suspected his intention. 
 
 Dan staggered backward under the force of the 
 blow, which would have stunned another man. 
 
 The act, and the smarting effect of it, roused 
 all of the fury that was latent in his naturally 
 violent temper. He forgot the surroundings, and 
 the power of the Northwest Mounted Police which 
 was present in the person of Sergeant Hurley. He 
 was, on the instant, uncontrollable, and beyond the 
 power of self-control. 
 
 He sprang upon Taggart, and thev clinched, 
 evenly matched in size, almost so in strength. 
 They rolled upon the floor tearing at each other, 
 Taggart enveloped in his furs, Randall stripped 
 down to his house clothing. The others, even 
 Wadleigh even the sergeant looked on in 
 amazement at the unlooked-for struggle of the 
 two big men. 
 
 Then the sergeant made an effort to separate 
 them, to tear them apart; but Taggart 's foot dealt 
 Hurley an unintentional blow which sent him 
 spinning backward, across the floor. 
 
 Randall somehow got his right hand inside the 
 furs at Taggart 's throat, and the ex-lumberjack's
 
 118 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 jaw fell open as he gasped for breath. But Dan 
 only squeezed the harder, and Taggart was grow- 
 ing black in the face when the others rushed in 
 upon them in a body, and tore Randall loose. 
 
 Then it was, when they were endeavoring to re- 
 store Taggart to his senses, that a second packet, 
 also wrapped in oilskin, fell from Taggart 's per- 
 son to the floor, unnoticed by all save Sergeant 
 Hurley, who picked it up, and dropped it into his 
 pouch-bag. 
 
 Why he did that he perhaps could not have told, 
 save only that he wished to bring the existing 
 scene to a close as soon as possible. The packet 
 he had found could wait. He turned toward Dan, 
 who was recovering, slowly, from the effect of 
 his rage. 
 
 "Randall, put on your furs and come with me," 
 he ordered. 
 
 Dan looked first at him, then around at Buxton, 
 half stupidly. 
 
 "Go ahead, old chap," Buxton said, stepping 
 forward and putting a hand upon Dan's shoulder. 
 "The charge, whatever it is, won't amount to any- 
 thing I'll see you through." 
 
 With a deep drawn sigh Randall recovered. 
 
 "Oh, yes," he said. "I had forgotten. All 
 right, Buxton, and thank you. Sergeant Hurley, 
 I am at your service and I beg your pardon, too, 
 for appearing to resist your authority. I did not 
 mean it so." 
 
 "Well, I'll tell you one thing that 7 mean, Dan 
 Randall," Taggart shouted. "I'll get your ever- 
 lastin* goat for this! Yeh can bank on that. I'll 
 have the courage out of you first, and the life out
 
 TWO PACKETS IN OILSKINS 119 
 
 of you before I'm done with you, or my name's not 
 Ben Taggart," the bully panted at Dan from the 
 chair where he was slowly recovering from the 
 effects of the choking he had received. 
 
 Randall made no reply. He adjusted his furs, 
 and, after a moment, followed the sergeant from 
 Buxton's store. 
 
 Wadleigh and Lightfoot went along. 
 
 Buxton, left alone, stared at the fire in the stove, 
 poked at the cinders, thoughtfully; and, oddly 
 enough, he chuckled audibly.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 A Conspiracy That Failed 
 
 No human being not inured to the intense cold 
 of the North, and who had not experienced a life- 
 long training in endurance and sustained effort, 
 would have dared to undertake the task that Ran- 
 dall set for Jules Legarde that fateful day. Much 
 less could there have been hope of success in the 
 undertaking for a person less thoroughly equipped 
 than he, for the task. 
 
 The word "failure" was not contained in Jules' 
 lexicon. His ready reply to any task which his 
 beloved master might set for him was, invariably, 
 "Eet ees fait accompli," and his simple, direct, 
 loyal soul could have comprehended no other 
 climax. 
 
 When he was so summarily thrust from the rear 
 doorway of Buxton's store, and commanded to 
 fight his way over Magician pass again, before he 
 had been given time to recover from the great ef- 
 fort of the preceding night, there was no thought 
 in his mind of the hardships to be endured, or of 
 the fatigue that he must have felt because of what 
 he had already accomplished. Over there, across 
 the mountains, were duties to be performed. That 
 was all. 
 
 The dogs he did not want. He knew that he 
 could make the journey much quicker without
 
 A CONSPIRACY THAT FAILED 1211 
 
 them, particularly, now that it was daylight. Jules 
 knew how to fight his own way through the snows 
 quite as well as they did. For the return he would 
 need no tools nor emergency accessories, such as 
 had been necessary for the night-trip, and with 
 the m'sieu to care for. 
 
 His snowshoes had been strapped to his shoul- 
 ders when he entered the store. He knelt beneath 
 the shelter of the shed and adjusted them as soon 
 as Buxton closed the door after him. Then, just 
 at the moment when Randall, inside of the store, 
 seized Wadleigh to tear the furs oif of him in order 
 to procure the packet of deeds, Jules sped away 
 through the crisp morning air toward the moun- 
 tains. 
 
 Jules had fortified himself with food since his 
 arrival at Magician. His first care had been for 
 the dogs; his second, for himself. Then, returning 
 to Buxton's store, where he knew he would find 
 the m'sieu awaiting him, he had come upon the 
 knowledge of the sworn charge which Wadleigh 
 and the others were making against Dan Randall. 
 
 Now, when he faced the journey across the 
 mountain pass again his spirits were strong, his 
 powers of endurance were not in the least im- 
 paired, and, save for the predicament which con- 
 fronted his master, his heart would have been 
 light and happy. For, was not little Yvonne over 
 there, at the other side of the mountain, awaiting 
 him? 
 
 As for Randall's predicament ah, bah! That 
 would amount to nothing, he told himself. He 
 had the same faith in m'sieu that he had in him- 
 self; and both were infinite.
 
 122 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 It was nearly eleven o'clock in the forenooni 
 when he set out. By three in the afternoon, or 
 soon after that hour, it would be dark again. But 
 he only shrugged his massive shoulders and went 
 on the faster, when he thought of that. He had 
 covered greater distances in less time, and had 
 surmounted even more formidable obstacles in do- 
 ing so. He was as fleet as a hare, on snowshoes, 
 when the going was to his liking. 
 
 Had Jules, by any chance, known about the ad- 
 venture that Joyce Maitland had undertaken the 
 preceding evening, he would not, even then, have 
 hastened his movements by so much as an added 
 effort. Long years of experience had taught him 
 the limits of sustained exertion in travelling 
 through the cold and snow. He had learned the 
 lesson of husbanding his strength. Yet, he, as 
 well as Yvonne, had read between the lines in the 
 open book of love between Dan Randall and Joyce. 
 
 Never once, as he sped forward, did he pause for 
 breath, nor to look backward over the path he had 
 followed. His effort was On, on, on, with never 
 a halt nor a hesitation, and with speed that was 
 amazing. 
 
 Within the store, Burchard Buxton stood quite 
 alone, by the time that Jules had achieved the be- 
 ginning of the pass. 
 
 He stood before the glowing fire in the stove, 
 looking down upon the white cinders of the packet 
 that had been consumed, and he chuckled again 
 and again at some vision which seemed to shape 
 itself into definite outline among the red-hot coals. 
 
 But not for long. It would have been apparent 
 to one observing Buxton, just then, that he was
 
 A CONSPIRACY THAT FAILED 123 
 
 determining 1 some perplexing question, and that, 
 ere long, he solved it to his own satisfaction; for 
 not many minutes had passed after the departure 
 of Randall in the custody of the sergeant, before 
 he sought his own furs, donned them, and went 
 out. 
 
 Randall had just completed the relation of his 
 account of the night on the mountain, and the find- 
 ing of Gaffney's body, when Buxton entered 
 the station. The officer in charge, with Wad- 
 leigh's sworn statement in his hand, remarked, 
 dryly: 
 
 "Your account of the affair seems sufficiently 
 clear, Mr. Randall. Save for two apparently 
 minor circumstances, it agrees with this statement 
 of Mr.Wadleigh's." 
 
 "Permission has not been given me to examine 
 that statement, sir," Randall replied. "I might 
 answer it more to the point if I knew what it con- 
 tained." 
 
 "All in good time." 
 
 "What are the two circumstances to which you 
 refer, if I may ask?" Randall inquired. 
 
 "One of them is the absence from the room, 
 now, of the man who accompanied you over the 
 mountain one Jules Legarde. Where is he?" 
 
 "I have sent him back to Janver, captain." 
 
 "When did you do that?" 
 
 ' 'A few moments only before the arrival at Bux- 
 ton's store, of Sergeant Hurley, to put me under 
 arrest." 
 
 "Why did you send the man back to Janver so 
 soon after he had made the perilous passage across 
 the mountain with you?' '
 
 124 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 ' 'Because of an important matter that I had for- 
 gotten, in the haste of my own departure, yester- 
 day." 
 
 ' 'Will you state, under oath, that his going away 
 at this time had nothing to do with the grave 
 charges that have been laid against both of 
 you?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. And, captain, if I may suggest a 
 thought to you, is it likely that I would have sent 
 him away, in the face of such charges as these, if 
 it had occurred to me that I would need him to cor- 
 roborate my statements to you?" 
 
 "No. Are you willing to tell me exactly what 
 the business is that you sent him upon?" 
 
 "Yes." Randall turned for an instant toward 
 Wadleigh, and there was the glint of a fleeting 
 smile in his eyes as he continued, still addressing 
 the major. "Mr. Wadleigh and I have been oc- 
 cupying the same offices, in Janver, as you know. 
 I had only just returned to Janver, from Carrol- 
 ton, when the necessity arose that sent me here. 
 I had brought back with me a small satchel, which 
 I left behind the door in my office. The satchel 
 contains letters, documents, and other personal ef- 
 fects, that are valuable to me. They might like- 
 wise interest Mr. Wadleigh, considering the pres- 
 ent strained relations between us. But they are 
 my private, personal property, and I sent Jules 
 Legarde to get the satchel. That is the only part 
 of his errand which could interest any person 
 present in this room." 
 
 "This dead man was called Peter G-affney. Did 
 you know him?" 
 
 "No. I had never even heard of him until
 
 A CONSPIRACY THAT FAILED 125 
 
 Jules Legarde, in a conversation between us be- 
 fore we started across the mountain, referred to 
 him as the 'bum.' " 
 
 "He was still living, when you found him at 
 Devil's Pulpit?" 
 
 "Alive, but not conscious. He died, almost at 
 once. I regretted that we attempted to revive 
 him. He recovered only sufficiently to be con- 
 scious of suffering. Then he died." 
 
 "Did you examine the body of the dead man, 
 Mr. Randall?" 
 
 "No. I did search through his pockets, if that 
 is what you mean." 
 
 "Did you remove anything from them?" 
 
 "I did not. There was nothing to remove. If 
 Gaffney's pockets had contained anything of 
 value, or of interest, it had been removed before we 
 found him." 
 
 "Did you take away a pouch-belt which Gaff- 
 ney is said to have worn, strapped around his 
 waist, inside of his clothing?" 
 
 "I did not. There was such a belt, I believe. 
 Jules discovered it after I had gone through the 
 dead man's pockets and found them empty. He 
 cut it from the body, and brought it to me." 
 
 "What did you do with it?" 
 
 "I threw it from me. I could not say exactly 
 where it fell. Doubtless a careful search would 
 rediscover it." Dan did not regard it as neces- 
 sary, under the circumstances, to state exactly 
 when and where he had thrown away the belt. 
 
 "Do you mean that you threw it away without 
 having examined it, Mr. Randall?" 
 
 "I do mean exactly that. I felt of it, on the
 
 126 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 outside, discovered that it contained no coin, and 
 decided that it was empty and worthless." 
 
 "But it might have held paper money, or docu- 
 ments of value, eh?" 
 
 "It might have. I cannot say as to that. I did 
 not search. But, considering the general appear- 
 ance of the m*n who had worn it, I should regard 
 it as extremeiy doubtful that he carried anything 
 of value on his person." 
 
 "Will you swear that Jules Legarde has not 
 that belt in his possession?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. I will swear that he did not have it 
 in his possession for more than a moment, that he 
 passed it directly to me as soon as he had removed 
 it from the body, and that his hands did not again 
 touch it. Also, that I threw the belt away from 
 me, as I have stated, and that Jules does not know, 
 even now, that I did so, for he did not see the act. 
 And now, sir, will you permit me to make a further 
 statement in connection with the finding of Peter 
 Gaffney, at Devil's Pulpit?" 
 
 "Certainly. What is it?" 
 
 "It is not likely that Mr. Wadleigh, or Mr. Tag- 
 gart, or the 'breed' who is called Lightfoot, will 
 deny that they took Gaffney over the pass with 
 them. They cannot deny that the man was im- 
 perfectly clad for such an adventure, and that his 
 life was as good as sacrificed the moment they per- 
 mitted him to start out with them on such a jour- 
 ney. Gaffney 's death was the result of exposure. 
 You know what Magician pass is like, as well as I 
 do, or better, on such a night as last night was." 
 
 The red-coated official nodded his head with 
 emphasis. Randall went on:
 
 "If any person other than himself is responsi- 
 ble for his death, it is the man, or the men, who 
 permitted him to start on that journey. I quite 
 agree with the charge, as made in this case, inso- 
 far as the word murder is used. But the charge 
 should apply to the men who took him to Devil's 
 Pulpit; not to those who found him there, dying." 
 
 The grizzled official in the red coat smiled 
 grimly. He leaned partly across the low table at 
 which he was seated, and began slowly to remove 
 some paper wrappings from an article that he held 
 in his hand. Randall watched him with interest, 
 for he had no notion what the package might con- 
 tain. 
 
 After a moment a sheathless hunting-knife was 
 revealed, and the captain, after lifting it in his 
 hand and balancing it for a moment, extended it 
 toward Randall. 
 
 "Take this in your hand, look at it closely, and 
 tell me if you recognize it, Mr. Randall," he said. 
 
 Dan accepted it, held it before his eyes, studied 
 it carefully, then laid it down upon the table. In- 
 stead of replying directly to the officer, he turned 
 half around and looked at Wadleigh, then at Tag- 
 gart, and 'then at Lightfoot. Then he returned 
 his gaze to the red-coated official. 
 
 "Well, sir?" the officer asked. 
 
 "I recognized the hunting knife the instant you 
 removed the wrapping from it," Randall replied. 
 "It is one that formerly belonged to me. I gave 
 it to Mr. Wadleigh, several months ago. I have 
 not seen it since. May I ask what the hunting 
 knife has to do with the present inquiry?" 
 
 "It was found in the body of the dead man. He
 
 128 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 had been stabbed through the heart with it," was 
 the slow reply. 
 
 ' ' Precisely, ' ' Randall said, quickly. ' ' The dead 
 man had been. The living man had not been 
 stabbed. Nor could the knife have been used 
 upon him until hours after he was dead. I sus- 
 pected something of this sort, sir, the moment you 
 unwrapped that paper. I assume that this is the 
 other circumstance to which you referred a little 
 while ago. Is it so?" 
 
 "Yes/' !. V! 
 
 "Then, sir, you need only to examine the 
 weapon, to convince yourself of the truth of what 
 I say." 
 
 "I have examined it," the officer said. 
 
 Dan Randall, forgetful for the moment that he 
 was a prisoner under charges, wheeled upon his 
 accusers, stared at them, one after another, and 
 then turned abruptly back again. 
 
 "A moment ago I might have charged Ace 
 Wadleigh with instigating this attack upon me," 
 he said; "but he is much too smart to have made 
 such a blunder as this one is. Taggart has too 
 much sense, too, to father such a fool-effort to cre- 
 ate a murder charge. And one would suppose 
 that Lightfoot's training would have kept him 
 from doing so. But, sir, it is as plain as day that 
 one of the three used that knife upon the body of 
 Peter Gaffney. Not while he was alive. Not 
 while the body still remained at Devil's Pulpit. 
 But since it has been brought here, to Magi- 
 cian. What is your own opinion of the matter, 
 sir?" 
 
 "My own opinion need not be stated at the pres-
 
 A CONSPIRACY THAT FAILED 129 
 
 ent time, Mr. Randall. It is sufficient that there 
 is not enough foundation for the charge that has 
 been made against you to hold you. Not only 
 your own relation of the circumstances, but this 
 sworn statement that I hold in my hand, exoner- 
 ates you. You are discharged from custody, so 
 far as the death of Peter Gaffney is concerned. 
 There is still another charge against you, however. 
 I will take that up presently." 
 
 ' ' Very well, captain. I thank you.' ' 
 
 "Before we dismiss the present question," the 
 grizzled old captain of the N. W. M. P. continued, 
 "1 have one more thing to say concerning it. I 
 address each of you three white men, in saying 
 what I do." 
 
 "Very well, sir," Dan replied. Wadleigh and 
 Taggart remained silent. Indeed, their continued 
 silence during the examination had surprised Dan 
 throughout it. 
 
 "The charge, the methods followed in making 
 it, the haste made by both parties in crossing the 
 pass last night, the scene which occurred at Bux- 
 ton's store a little while ago the entire list of cir- 
 cumstances, in fact, suggest to me that there is dis- 
 tinct animus behind this affair. It is not within 
 my province, however, to investigate that. But it 
 is within my province, and it is also my duty, to 
 say this: I do not think, Mr. Randall, that you 
 should hold either Mr. Wadleigh, or Mr. Taggart, 
 accountable, wholly, for this charge against you 
 which I have now dismissed. It so happens that 
 I personally saw that hunting-knife in the posses- 
 sion of the 'breed,' Lightfoot, three weeks ago, in 
 Janver. I quite agree with you in your opinion
 
 130 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 that neither Mr. Wadleigh nor Mr. Taggart, even 
 had they been so disposed, would have committed 
 such a blunder as the presence of that blade in the 
 dead body of Gaffney would suggest. Personally, 
 I doubt their disposition to do so. 
 
 "But" the captain leaned forward, partly 
 across the table again "there can be no doubt 
 that Lightfoot could explain the circumstance of 
 the knife, if he cared to do so. The whole matter 
 is up to you, Mr. Randall. If you care to make a 
 charge against Lightfoot, I will hold him for trial. 
 Otherwise " 
 
 "Let him go, captain, ' ' Randall interrupted. ' ' I 
 might suggest that he was only a tool, who had 
 blundered in carrying out his instructions; but I 
 could not prove it. If any inquiry at all should 
 follow upon this one, it should originate with the 
 proper authorities, and should deal only with Gaff- 
 ney's presence on the mountain, and with the fact 
 that he was deserted, while still alive, at Devil's 
 Pulpit." 
 
 The captain tapped the affidavit with the tips of 
 his fingers. 
 
 "That is included in this sworn statement," he 
 said. "It appears, here, that Gaffney had fool- 
 ishly started out alone, to cross the pass, that the 
 deponents came upon him after they had entered 
 the defile, and that they had no other course at the 
 time than to take him with them, and that, when 
 they left him at the pulpit, they were convinced 
 that he would be comparatively safe until their re- 
 turn; also, that they provided him with blankets, 
 fire, and food. To have brought him on, across 
 the mountain, would have meant certain death to
 
 A CONSPIRACY THAT FAILED 131 
 
 him. Have you anything to say as to all that, Mr. 
 Randall?" 
 
 ' ' Nothing, sir. ' ' Randall realized how useless it 
 would be to attempt denial of those false state- 
 ments. 
 
 "You have the power to make a request of the 
 government that such an investigation as you sug- 
 gest shall be made." 
 
 "I do not care to exert it, captain." 
 
 The grizzled veteran nodded. He motioned to- 
 one of his men who was in the room. 
 
 "Take Lightfoot away until I have opportunity 
 to examine him alone," he ordered. To the oth- 
 ers, he added: ' 'I cannot permit what he has done 
 to pass entirely unnoticed." Then, when Light- 
 foot, without a protest, had been taken from the 
 room, he addressed Wadleigh. 
 
 "Mr. Randall attacked you, in Buxton's store," 
 he said. "Sergeant Hurley, Mr. Buxton, and 
 Mr. Taggart, saw him do so. Randall is not 
 likely to deny the act. Sergeant Hurley has the 
 power to press the charge against him, but it does 
 not become his duty to do so, unless you require 
 it. At the time of the attack, you made the state- 
 ment that Randall had robbed you during the 
 struggle. What are your wishes in regard to this 
 matter, Mr. Wadleigh?" 
 
 Ace Wadleigh stepped forward quickly. 
 
 All the craft and subtlety of which he was mas- 
 ter had returned to him. He had been silent so 
 far, because he had paid little or no attention to 
 what was said. He had been thinking, planning, 
 plotting, scheming, all unmindful of what was go- 
 ing on around him. He was cool, complacent,
 
 132 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 self-contained, and eminently resourceful, again. 
 He had foreseen what was coming, and was pre- 
 pared. 
 
 " Captain Badmington," he said, with a slow 
 smile, "I will make no charge against Mr. Ran- 
 dall. I most earnestly request Sergeant Hurley 
 not to do so. ... Mr. Taggart feels the same way 
 concerning a subsequent incident at the store, I 
 am sure. I also wish to withdraw the statement 
 I made concerning a package of papers which I lost 
 at the time, and which, in the struggle, was hurled 
 through the open door of the stove, into the fire, 
 and destroyed. I can understand, now, that that 
 incident was the result of accident. All in good 
 time I will be able to establish the fact of my pos- 
 session of those papers, of my ownership of them, 
 and of their contents. Will you please take cog- 
 nizance of what I say in that regard?" 
 
 "Yes," the officer replied. 
 
 "Also, publicly, I apologize to Mr. Randall for 
 the assertion I made that he had robbed me. 
 Likewise, I am now convinced that Randall's 
 statements concerning the death of Gaffney are 
 substantially correct. I ask, if you please, that 
 the entire matter be dismissed including that one, 
 whatever it may be, against Lightfoot." 
 
 The old captain smiled behind his mustache and 
 beard. He shot one quick and comprehensive 
 glance at Buxton; and Buxton nodded, slightly. 
 
 "Dismissed," the captain said, shortly. "Light- 
 foot will, however, remain in custody until noon, 
 to-morrow. That's all."
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 Dan Randall's Error 
 
 Dan Randall returned with his friend Buxton to 
 the store. 
 
 It was not the habit to lock doors in Magician. 
 Buxton, when he went outside to seek Randall, had 
 merely closed the door after him, nor had he 
 waited to seek the pouch-belt of the dead Gaffney, 
 which Dan had hurled to its hiding place behind 
 the pasteboard boxes along the topmost shelf. He 
 considered that to be as safely hidden where it 
 was, as in another place. 
 
 Two customers had entered the store while he 
 was absent, and had waited. Time was the least 
 valuable of assets in that climate, after a storm 
 like that one of the preceding night. Two or three 
 acquaintances had dropped in, also, to keep warm, 
 and to chat. Their presence would have pre- 
 cluded further intimate conference between Ran- 
 dall and Buxton, for the time being, even had Ran- 
 dall gone inside with his friend. 
 
 But, during the five minutes' walk between the 
 barracks and the store, they had talked rapidly. 
 Randall asked: 
 
 "Bux, when I tore that packet of deeds away 
 from Ace, and chucked it toward you, or tried to, 
 did I throw it into the fire?" 
 
 "Must have," was the laconic reply.
 
 134 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 "Huh! Why didn't you yank 'em out again? 
 Don't you think it could have been done in time to 
 save them? Eh?" 
 
 "Oilskin burns rather freely, Dan. And that 
 was a hot fire, if anybody should ask you about it. ' ' 
 
 "I know. Still it does seem as if enough of 
 the deeds might have been saved to prove what 
 they were. However, I suppose it was all for the 
 best. Anyhow, Ace Wadleigh and I are standing 
 on even ground, now." 
 
 Buxton did not reply at once. Then he said: 
 
 "The odds, as they stand, are rather in your fa- 
 vor, don't you think, Dan?" 
 
 "How so? It looks to me like a stand-off." 
 
 "Well, the people from whom you secured the 
 patents and deeds will give you new ones, won't 
 they?" 
 
 "I don't know about that. I'm not sure of it, 
 by any means, particularly since you told mo about 
 the big fellows being hot-foot after that very same 
 right of way.'" 
 
 "You can bring them into court, can't you, and 
 make them swear that they did grant you the pat- 
 ents, and sell you the property, and all that sort 
 of thing?" 
 
 "I don't know. The same objection holds- 
 provided that old Gregory and his agents have 
 been after the same property. There is another 
 circumstance to be considered, too." 
 
 "What one?" 
 
 "Didn't you hear what Ace said to the cap- 
 tain?" 
 
 "Sure I did." 
 
 "Well, across the mountain, in Janver, Ellery
 
 DAN RANDALL'S ERROE 135 
 
 Cuthbert and Orme Crosby are no doubt prepared 
 to swear to any statements that Wadleigh and 
 Taggart will make." 
 
 "What has that got to do with it?" 
 
 "This: What good will it do me to establish 
 the fact that such deeds were given to me, if, on 
 the other hand, Wadleigh, Taggart, Cuthbert, and 
 Crosby all swear that I transferred the whole out- 
 fit, hook, line, bob, and sinker, to the company? 
 They are four against one. The records are 
 burned. Poor old Sam was burned up with them, 
 and he was- the only man who could have stood by 
 me in that respect, in this emergency. And that 
 isn't all, either." 
 
 "What else, Dan?" 
 
 "The 'what else' looks to me like pretty nearly 
 the whole thing, Buxton." 
 
 "How so? What is it?" 
 
 "It happens to be a young woman by the name 
 of Joyce Maitland," Randall replied, with slow 
 emphasis. 
 
 They were within a dozen paces of the store 
 steps. Buxton stopped in his tracks, compelling 
 Randall to stop also. 
 
 "Do you mean to tell me, Dan, that Miss Mait- 
 land will uphold the things that those fellows will 
 say, and do, and swear to? Are you such an in- 
 fernal ass that you don't know that she cares more 
 for your little finger than she does for " 
 
 "That will be about all, Buxton," Dan inter- 
 rupted, coolly. "I can't reckon with what I 
 thought, or didn't think; not now. I've got to 
 look facts in the face. I'll stare them out of coun- 
 tenance if it can be done. But, can it?"
 
 136 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 "What do you mean by 'looking facts in the 
 face?' Tell me that," Buxton demanded, hotly. 
 
 "Haven't I told them to you already?" 
 
 "Maybe you haven't told me all of them. If 
 you have well, you'd be several different kinds of 
 a jackass to take for granted all that you have 
 seemed to take." 
 
 "I didn't tell you quite all of it, Bux," Randall 
 replied, with infinite sadness in his voice. 
 
 "Then tell me the rest of it right now." 
 
 "I have already told you that I gave Wadleigh 
 a thrashing with a leather quirt that hung in the 
 office. I did not tell you that while I was holding 
 him with one hand and thrashing him with the 
 other one, Joyce Maitland came into the office. I 
 did not tell you that she came up behind me, be- 
 fore I suspected that she was there, grabbed the 
 quirt, yanked it out of my hand, and struck me 
 with the butt-end of it, did I?" 
 
 ' 'No. You didn't tell me that. It is hard to be- 
 lieve, too, Dan." 
 
 "It's true, every word of it." 
 
 "Goon. What else?" 
 
 "She knocked me senseless, that's all. When 
 I came to I don't know how long a time it was; 
 two or three minutes, I suppose she was still 
 there, with the quirt in her right hand, butt fore- 
 most. She seemed rather startled by what she had 
 done. I suppose she thought for a moment that 
 she had killed me." 
 
 "Where was Wadleigh?" 
 
 "He had gone. He had remained in the room 
 long enough to search my pockets, to abstract the 
 packet of deeds, and to substitute a fake package
 
 DAN RANDALL'S ERROR 137 
 
 for it. I suppose he called to her to follow him 
 when he ran away, but she was probably too slow 
 in doing so to suit him. Oh, what's the use, Bux? 
 All of that stock of mine stood in her name, and 
 she gave Ace the power to vote it. That was 
 enough, of itself. The rest of what happened was 
 only a natural sequence to what had already been 
 done." 
 
 Buxton shook his head slowly, then went on, in 
 silence, toward the store steps. 
 
 But Randall caught him by the arm for yet an- 
 other instance. 
 
 " Listen, Bux," he said, incisively. " There are 
 just two things upon which I am entirely deter- 
 mined. Ace Wadleigh shall not win the right of 
 way. That's one. Ace Wadleigh shall not have 
 Joyce Maitland. That ' s two. And he shan ' t have 
 her, not if I have to kill him to prevent it." 
 
 Dan turned about and strode away in the direc- 
 tion from whence they had come. 
 
 Buxton entered the store. 
 
 Randall had not gone far when he turned about 
 and retraced his steps untillhe stood beside the still 
 smouldering* debris of the building wherein his 
 cherished records had been destroyed; and with 
 them the one friend in all that country who could 
 have supplied the evidence to prove Dan's owner- 
 ship. 
 
 Sad-eyed, but sternly, he gazed upon the par- 
 tial wreck of his ambition, and so was quite un- 
 conscious of the silent approach of another, who 
 came to a stop only a few paces distant. 
 
 Presently, however, he sensed the nearness of 
 another person, and turned to look upon the
 
 138 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 mask-like, but coldly handsome face of Ace Wad- 
 leigh. 
 
 For a time which seemed longer than it really 
 was the two men stared into each other's eyes. 
 Just what the emotions of each might have been 
 during that brief interval it is impossible to say. 
 The fact was that neither of tb^m expressed any 
 emotion at all. 
 
 Wadleigh was the first to speak. He spoke 
 slowly, coldly, almost without expression, and 
 quite as if he were reading off the words instead 
 of giving them original utterance. With implac- 
 able resentment, he said: 
 
 "I saw you come here. I followed, because I 
 had something to say to you. It is this : I have not 
 forgotten, and I will not forget, the incident that 
 happened in my office in Janver yesterday after- 
 noon." 
 
 Dan had intended not to speak to Wadleigh; to 
 ignore the man. But the reference to that scene 
 in the office followed so closely upon what he had 
 just been saying to Buxton that he could not re- 
 frain from replying. 
 
 "I don't think that either of us is likely to for- 
 get it," he replied; and he began to turn away, in- 
 tending to leave Wadleigh where he was. But 
 Wadleigh said: 
 
 "Wait a moment." 
 
 Dan waited, without speaking. 
 
 "For every lash of that whip I shall make you 
 pay dearly, and with compounded interest, before 
 I am through with you, Randall. No doubt you 
 would have kept it up until you had killed me if 
 you had not been interrupted as you were. But
 
 DAN RANDALL'S ERROR 139 
 
 the big end of the whip was heavier than the lash, 
 and the arm that wielded it was almost " 
 
 Randall made one quick step forward toward 
 his tormentor. Wadleigh stopped his speech with 
 the sentence he would have uttered incomplete. 
 Had he been permitted to finish it, Randall would 
 have known that it was Taggart who had struck 
 him down not Joyce Maitland. Ace Wad- 
 leigh did not know, then, that Joyce had returned 
 to the office after her departure from the scene of 
 the directors' meeting. 
 
 Wadleigh seemed to shrink backward, away 
 from the glare in Dan Randall's eyes, although he 
 did not move from his position. It was his spirit 
 that shrank. Randall was dangerous at that mo- 
 ment, and Wadleigh knew it. 
 
 "If you so much as utter her name, I'll kill you 
 now with my hands, Wadleigh," Dan said; and he 
 meant every word of it. "She was there, with the 
 quirt in her grasp, standing over me, when I 
 opened my eyes. You had gone away. I never 
 thought you were a coward until I knew that you 
 had done that." 
 
 A great light burst upon Ace Wadleigh. His 
 lips relaxed almost into a smile as he compre- 
 hended the meaning of Randall's words. He 
 caught at the cue readily. 
 
 "I supposed that she would follow me," he said, 
 and actually smiled. Unctious glee was in his 
 heart and soul, then. 
 
 "She saw you rob me of the old deeds," Ran- 
 dall went on. "She saw you replace them with 
 worthless papers, and she made no objection. 
 You were foolhardy to dare to follow me here, and
 
 140 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 face me, if you knew that I knew that. But I 
 don't believe that you did know it." 
 
 "No. I did not know that." Wadleigh actu- 
 ally grinned as he said it. 
 
 The expression was maddening to Randall. 
 
 He covered the two or three remaining paces be- 
 tween him and his tormentor in one cat-like spring. 
 His gloved hands were thrust forward to seize 
 upon Wadleigh, when the latter, whose hands 
 were in his side pockets, shot through the fur coat 
 he was wearing, and Randall felt the sting of the 
 bullet as it grazed the flesh of his thigh. 
 
 For the second time that day Dan Randall lost 
 his temper.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 Dan Randall's Ultimatnm 
 
 What might have been a tragedy ended almost 
 farcically. 
 
 The coat worn by Wadleigh had been handled 
 somewhat roughly once before, that same day, in 
 Buxton's store. The fastenings upon it were not 
 secure. They broke entirely loose in Randall's 
 grasp, and Wadleigh was literally twisted out of 
 the garment by the strength of Dan's attack. He 
 reeled backward, straight into the arms of Ser- 
 geant Hurley, who had discovered the two men to- 
 gether, and was rushing forward to prevent the 
 very thing that had happened. 
 
 The coat remained in Randall's grasp, but he 
 flung it from him toward the ruins of the burned 
 building, and such was the force of his effort that 
 the garment was sent whirling through the air, al- 
 most to the middle of the heaped-up debris; to the 
 very center of the still smoking ruins. 
 
 Dan controlled himself with an effort. 
 
 The sight of Ace Wadleigh, coatless, and held 
 tightly in the arms of the red-coated representa- 
 tive of the law, helped him to do that. Possibly 
 a humorous twinkle in the eyes of the sergeant 
 helped a little, too. 
 
 "Hurley," Dan said, "this quarrel was not of
 
 142 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 my seeking. Wadleigh followed me to this spot 
 and forced it upon me. If you arrest one of us 
 you must take both. And if you do not take either 
 of us, let me advise you to warn that man to keep 
 away from me." 
 
 "I'll warn you both to keep away from one an- 
 other," the sergeant replied. "If there is a repe- 
 tition of this scene, or anything like it, I'll send 
 you both down to Regina for trial. Leave us, Mr. 
 Randall. Mr. Wadleigh, you'd better recover 
 your coat if you care to save it. Who fired that 
 pistol?" 
 
 "Nobody," Randall replied quickly. "You 
 thought you heard one, Sergeant. Nobody was 
 hurt." 
 
 "Oh. Very well. Go away, Randall and be 
 good." 
 
 Randall turned away toward Buxton's store. 
 Wadleigh hastened to recover his coat of fur. 
 Sergeant Hurley shrugged his shoulders, and 
 went on about his business. 
 
 From inside the store nothing whatever had 
 been observed of the incident. Buxton and the 
 five men who were there were gathered about the 
 stove, and Randall, feeling disinclined to joining 
 in with their conversation, turned about when he 
 had closed the door after him and looked out 
 through the window in the upper half of it. 
 
 What he saw arrested his attention at once. 
 
 Wadleigh had gained the middle of the ruin, 
 had recovered his coat and was in the act of 
 thrusting his arms into the sleeves, when some- 
 thing that he saw among the ashes where it had 
 fallen seemed to catch his attention and hold it.
 
 Randall saw him bend forward with an eager 
 gesture when the coat was only half way on, saw 
 him retain that attitude for a time, then glance 
 hastily around him with quick turns of his head. 
 
 Apparently satisfied, Wadleigh wrapped his 
 frogless coat around him and hurried away from 
 the ruin without so much as a backward glance 
 toward it; but Dan, from the window, continued to 
 gaze at the spot he had left, wondering what it 
 could be that Wadleigh had seen that had so in- 
 terested him. 
 
 "Buxton, come here a moment," he called out; 
 and when Buxton paused beside him at the win- 
 dow, he added, in a low tone which the others 
 could not hear: "I just had another little run-in 
 with Ace. Never mind about the particulars. Do 
 you see that spot over there among the ruins, 
 pretty close to the middle, where the smoke is a 
 trifle thicker and bluer than in other places?" 
 
 "Yes. What about it?" Buxton replied. 
 
 "I intended to throw Wadleigh about to that 
 spot when I grabbed him a few minutes ago. In- 
 stead, I threw his coat there. He fell out of it, or 
 got out of it, somehow. When I came away, he 
 went after it. Bux, he found something there, be- 
 sides the coat. And whatever it was that he found, 
 he didn't take it away with him. Do you suppose 
 it is possible that those records were not quite all 
 burned up?" 
 
 Buxton shrugged his shoulders without reply- 
 ing. He stood silently beside Randall studying 
 the ruins with knitted brows. 
 
 "The safe wasn't big enough to hold half of the 
 record-books," he remarked, presently. "Those
 
 144 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 that could not be stowed inside of it were arranged 
 in racks along the wall, at either side of it. Re- 
 member, Dan?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I was trying to remember which books were 
 kept in the racks, and which in the safe. I can't 
 doit. Can you?" 
 
 "No; because I never knew." 
 
 1 'Well, big record books like those were do not 
 bnrn very freety. They char; and the corners and 
 edges of them turn to cinders, but you know." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "It is barely possible " He did not com- 
 plete the sentence. After a moment he spoke 
 again. 
 
 "You stay here and keep store a little while," 
 he said. "I am going down the street to see the 
 old captain. There ought to be a guard placed 
 over those ruins." 
 
 Buxton seized his furs and hastened outside into 
 the biting air again. Randall watched him go, 
 meditatively. And then, just within his range of 
 vision, twenty rods or more distant, Taggart and 
 Wadleigh appeared from the direction of the bar- 
 racks. 
 
 Dan saw Buxton meet them, and pause, facing 
 them. He could see, although not distinctly, ow- 
 ing to the slanting vision that he had through 
 the small window in the door, that they ap- 
 peared to be talking rather heatedly. Then all 
 three went rapidly toward the smouldering ruin 
 of the Record Office building. 
 
 Dan, who still wore his furs, although he had 
 loosened them when he entered the store, tight-
 
 DAN RANDALL'S ULTIMATUM 145 
 
 ened them around him again, and went outside. 
 
 He stopped on the steps, and, through the keen, 
 frosty air, he could hear the voice of Burchard 
 Buxton quite plainly. He was saying: 
 
 "I'm not saying that it isn't all right, Wad- 
 leigh. Perhaps it is. But if you and Taggart in- 
 tend to do any searching among those ruins, with- 
 out due authority, I am going to stand by, and see 
 what you find, and what you carry away." 
 
 It was Taggart who wheeled upon Buxton and 
 stopped him in the middle of the roadway. 
 
 "It's goin' to be mighty unhealthy f'r you, 
 Burch Buxton, to butt into this here business," 
 he said. "If you know what's good f'r you^ 
 you'll keep y'r hands off 'nit. See? We ain't " 
 
 He stopped. 
 
 Across the street, Randall was slowly approach- 
 ing the group. Taggart and Wadleigh discovered 
 him at the same instant. Buxton, perceiving that 
 something was happening behind him, turned 
 about also. 
 
 Dan approached quietly, and leisurely, and no- 
 body spoke until he was quite near. 
 
 "Go ahead with your errand, Bux," Dan said, 
 quietly. "I will see to it that nobody does any 
 digging in those ruins, until you get back. Go on, 
 Bux. There won't be any fuss here, unless these 
 two thieves start one"; and he smiled into the 
 faces of the two men. 
 
 Taggart took one quick step toward him, but 
 Wadleigh seized the ex-lumberjack's arm and 
 pulled him back, and for the space of half a min- 
 ute the four men stared at each other in utter si- 
 lence.
 
 146 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 It was a tense interval, too. 
 
 What the outcome of it might have been if there 
 had been no interruption cannot be guessed at. 
 But Buxton, who had stepped up beside Randall, 
 and was facing down the street more than the oth- 
 ers, saw, approaching them, the very red-coated 
 officer he had been seeking. 
 
 "Here comes Captain Badmington," he said, 
 quickly. And knowing that there would be no 
 further trouble he started away from the others to 
 meet the captain. 
 
 "I'll take this opportunity to say something to 
 both of you," Randall said, in a low tone, the mo- 
 ment Buxton had gone. "You'd best listen to me, 
 too. You both know that I had all the papers nec- 
 essary to give me that right of way across the pass. 
 You both know that Ace Wadleigh stole them from 
 me, and when and how he did it. You both know 
 that the official records of them were burned in 
 the fire that destroyed this building. I know, 
 now, that Peter Gaffney had forged my name to 
 documents which purported to transfer that right 
 of way to you. I know that Gaffney's death was 
 a deliberate murder. Some day, somehow, I shall 
 find a, way to prove it. We all know that I tore 
 the stolen papers from Wadleigh (and perhaps 
 the forged ones, also) during that tussle in the 
 store, and that they flew into the stove and were 
 burned. Well, so far as all that is concerned, we 
 stand on even ground. I've got the right on my 
 side, because I am the real owner of the property. 
 It is mine, and I'm going to hold onto it. Neither 
 you, nor old Lionel Gregory, nor anybody else, 
 can get it away from me unless I'm dead first.
 
 DAN RANDALL'S ULTIMATUM 147 
 
 Ace, you know something about what you're up 
 against when you tackle me in this manner. Tag- 
 gart does not know; he only guesses at it; but you 
 can tell him all that he doesn't know. You'd bet- 
 ter warn him. You can have, and you may keep 
 until it rots, the Manitoba & Juneau railroad, and 
 everything that goes with it. I will not raise a 
 finger to get it back until I want it; and when I do 
 want it, I'll buy it of you for a song. Now, I'm 
 not going to threaten you, but I am going to tell 
 you something. If you two, and your followers, 
 male or female, get in my way, I'll break your 
 hearts first, your pocketbooks next, and your 
 necks afterward. And that will be about all for 
 the present. If there is any digging done among 
 those ruins, now, it will be done under the observa- 
 tion, and by the permission, of the Northwest 
 Mounted Police." 
 
 Dan Randall turned abruptly and re-entered the 
 store.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 A Touch of the Tempest 
 
 Joyce Maitland never doubted that she would 
 be able to intercept Dan Randall at the entrance 
 to Magician pass. 
 
 If her judgment was at fault in that respect, it 
 was because she figured his possible speed over the 
 crust, on snowshoes, by what she might have done 
 herself under like circumstances, and she did not 
 take into proper consideration his greater strength 
 and powers of endurance; also, she had heard and 
 seen enough at the home of Yvonne to convince 
 her that there was a rendezvous arranged some- 
 where, between Dan and Jules, and that Dan 
 would be delayed because of it; and, lastly, be- 
 cause of the speed she made in running the loco- 
 motive from Janver to Bluerock, thus so greatly 
 shortening the distance she had to travel, as com- 
 pared with what she knew Dan would be obliged 
 to cover, she harbored no doubt of her ability to 
 intercept him. 
 
 That she did not succeed we already know. 
 I As a matter of fact, although she was not aware 
 of it, she arrived at the entrance to the defile very 
 shortly after Dan and Jules had passed that way 
 with the dogs and the strong but light sled with its 
 burden of shovels, blankets, and other necessaries
 
 A TOUCH OF THE TEMPEST 149 
 
 for sustaining life, in the event of an emergency. 
 
 When the first frenzy of that terrific storm 
 swept down from the mountains that first out- 
 pouring of the full savagery of the elements which 
 drove Dan and his companion into the niche for 
 shelter Joyce was less than an eighth of a mile 
 behind them. Had she but known it, or had they, 
 how differently might all things concerning this 
 history have been told. 
 
 Had Joyce travelled so much as ten rods farther 
 than she did, before the storm burst upon her, she 
 must have come upon their tracks where they 
 bowed in from the direction of White Lake; but 
 which became entirely obliterated within a mo- 
 ment after that first blast of wind and snow. 
 
 It waa better that she did not find the trail, for 
 had she done so, she must have struggled onward 
 in the hope of overtaking them; and so she would 
 have perished. 
 
 As it was, that wild tempest befriended Joyce 
 Maitland. WTiile seeming to threaten her, it spared 
 her. Although utterly terrifying in its sudden on- 
 slaught, it really was her savior. 
 
 The fury of it was appalling. In the grasp of it 
 she was as helpless as a chip of wood in midstream, 
 sweeping onward toward the rapids. She had no 
 strength to contend against it, or even to with- 
 stand it; and not being weather-wise, it is not 
 strange that it found her entirely unprepared. 
 Even Jules Legarde had not anticipated the force 
 and fury of it, as we know. 
 
 Joyce was swept off her feet in a twinkling. 
 
 The mysterious, but awful power of the wind 
 seized upon her as if with giant hands, and yet, as
 
 150 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 it proved, with gentle touch, and rolled her over 
 and over before it, through the blinding snow, and 
 the intense darkness that had fallen with it. 
 
 The storm came from the direction of the Badger 
 range, across the valley where stood the thriving 
 town of Janver. It lifted itself over the top of the 
 Ridge where Joyce had discovered Dan from the 
 window of her room, putting on his snowshoes. It 
 dipped from there across the Little Lantowa river 
 bottom, and whirled into the mouth of Magician 
 pass, much as a volume of water will pour into a 
 funnel which has been made ready to receive 
 it. 
 
 Thus, Joyce was borne up the defile, instead of 
 being swept out of it. Thus, had there been no 
 obstruction in the way, she might have been car- 
 ried to the very spot where Dan and Jules had 
 sought temporary shelter. 
 
 But the god of the winds, with fingers that fash- 
 ioned things mightily, and well, rolled her over 
 the snow like a stray straw, until, with an eccen- 
 tric twist of the tempest, she was lifted around the 
 protecting end of a huge boulder, and tucked away 
 beneath the overhanging lee side of it, as snugly, 
 and as entirely out of the wind, as if she had been 
 thrown into a cavern under the mountain. 
 
 Joyce was breathless. She was frightened; and, 
 because she was frightened, half stunned, and only 
 semi-conscious for a time. 
 
 For a space that cannot be reckoned by minutes 
 or seconds because they might have been few or 
 many, she made no attempt to move. She laid 
 perfectly still where the giant hands of the wind 
 had put her; and those same unseen hands, as if to
 
 A TOUCH OF THE TEfVIPEST 151 
 
 take advantage of the opportunity, packed parti- 
 cle after particle of the driving snow round about 
 her resting place, until she was walled in as safely 
 and securely, and as cozily, as it is possible to 
 imagine. 
 
 By the time that Joyce had recovered her think- 
 ing powers sufficiently to have acted, and to have 
 made use of her muscles, she also became wise 
 enough to know that it was infinitely better that 
 she should remain quite still, just where she was, 
 sheltered from the fury of the storm, and with the 
 protecting blanket of wind-packed snow tucked 
 snug and warm around her. 
 
 She could hear, faintly, through the friendly 
 barrier that shielded her, the roar of the storm as 
 it swept on up the canyon. She knew that out 
 there the cold was intense, that certain death 
 stalked boldly abroad, or lurked in waiting for the 
 unwary and she knew also that she was tempo- 
 rarily safe within the shelter into which the wind 
 had tossed her, and that the heat of her own body 
 within the tempest-made thermo envelope of snow 
 eliminated all danger of freezing for the time be- 
 ing. Later, there would be the task of escaping 
 from the perils that threatened, of which the pres- 
 ent and clamorous pangs of hunger were not the 
 least to be considered. 
 
 Joyce Maitland was strong and able. In the 
 East she would have been called a girl-athlete. 
 She was the personification of health and energy. 
 She was accustomed, and therefore inured, to the 
 cold. She was thoroughly and warmly clad from 
 the top of her prettily fur-hooded head to her fur- 
 clothed legs and feet, and her young and splendid
 
 152 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 body, glowing with youth, and hope, and strength, 
 and promise, gave off heat enough of its own, in- 
 side the furs and snow, to protect her, so long as 
 she could remain within that secure retreat. 
 
 She was thoroughly familiar with the character 
 of those sudden mountain storms that are like sum- 
 mer squalls of rain and wind in their spasmodic 
 fury, but which rarely last for long. She knew 
 that this was one of them, and that it would prob- 
 ably pass away with the coming of another day. 
 
 There was snow within reach of her hand if she 
 became thirsty, and she would not seriously re- 
 quire food for many hours to come. 
 
 Thus, lying there under the shelter of the rock, 
 she reasoned it all out, conscious of the fact that 
 she was quite sufficiently warm and would keep 
 so; and she knew, too, that somewhere within her 
 bower of snow there was a slight opening through 
 which the air was filtering to her, so that she was 
 in no danger of suifocation. 
 
 Oddly enough, one of her greatest comforts 
 throughout her extremity was the belief that the 
 violence of the storm would have driven Dan Ran- 
 dall and his companion to seek shelter, and that 
 they could not be very far away from her own se- 
 cure haven. 
 
 Then, drowsiness stole over her, and realizing 
 that it was not of the dangerous kind that precedes 
 freezing, she gave way to it, and slept. 
 
 The wild storm of that tempestuous night af- 
 fected still another one of the persons who (all un- 
 thinkingly to herself) was to play a great part in 
 the successful outcome of the Janver Cut-off. 
 
 Yvonne.
 
 A TOUCH OF THE TEMPEST 153 
 
 She was a child of the snows. She had been 
 bora in midwinter, on the shore of Lake La Martre, 
 which is midway between the Great Slave and the 
 Great Bear lakes, where the cold was intense, and 
 where there was probably not another human be- 
 ing than her own father and mother within hun- 
 dreds of miles when she came into 'the world; and 
 winter after winter, afterward, until she was al- 
 most a young woman, Yvonne had gone northward 
 with her parents in the provision-laden canoe, to 
 return with them in the spring time when they 
 brought the annual crop of furs to the post. 
 
 When Joyce left her, and sped toward the rail- 
 way station and the roundhouse, bent upon the 
 suddenly conceived errand, Yvonne merely 
 shrugged her pretty shoulders and tilted her chin 
 a trifle, and went about the rest of her preparations 
 for the move she intended to make that very day. 
 
 Already she had spoken to her friend, Pitou 
 Rondil, who would help her to get the things she 
 had decided to take with her across the ridge and 
 the valley beyond it, to the stone house at White 
 Lake. Already she had got the articles from the 
 room of m'sieu, at the house of the judge, and had 
 taken them to Pitou. Very soon Pitou would be 
 at the door with his homemade sledge and his 
 tough and wiry little horse. For the crust was 
 hard and firm along the way that they would go. 
 
 But, when Yvonne had packed the few articles 
 which she intended to take with her from Ace 
 Wadleigh's house the few things that were liter- 
 ally her own, and Jules' and had stepped outside 
 the door to look for the approach of Pitou, shei 
 stood facing the great Badger range to the west of
 
 154 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 Janver; and she saw what Jules, and Dan, and 
 Joyce had failed to see; the sullenly angry and 
 threatening bank of inky clouds that was rushing 
 down upon them from the northwest. 
 
 Yvonne's first thought was one of regret, for ex- 
 perience told her that the projected removal of her 
 things that day was impossible now. But, with a 
 shrug of her shoulders and a shake of her pretty 
 head she dismissed it, and returned inside. 
 
 Her second thought was one of concern. She 
 wondered at what part of the pass the m'sieu and 
 Jules would be when the coming storm should 
 strike; and she shrugged again, with infinite faith 
 in those two, no matter what the storm might 
 threaten. 
 
 But she went to the door again, after a time, to 
 look at the clouds, and she saw how they had 
 spread themselves out over the valley; she felt the 
 ominous pressure of their nearer approach. 
 
 Pitou arrived with the first blast of the tempest. 
 
 With him, also, it was a foregone conclusion that 
 there would be no journey to White Lake that eve- 
 ning. He decided that he would not even attempt 
 to return to his own cabin, at the opposite side of 
 the town, while the storm raged, and so he housed 
 his sturdy little horse and sled in the lean-to be- 
 hind the house, and went inside. 
 
 "Ver' bad, dat wind," he said, apologetically, 
 much as if it were his own fault. 
 
 Yvonne nodded. She was disappointed, but she 
 was practical. She understood how impossible it 
 was that they should proceed with their plans. 
 
 "Eet ees ver' much mauvais temps, petite," he 
 added, presently. "Ver' bad for la ma'm'selle,
 
 A TOUCH OF THE TEMPEST 155 
 
 no?" Pitou was bending near the fire, nibbing 
 his hands together. 
 
 Yvonne, who had crossed the room to one of the 
 windows, turned about, suddenly. 
 
 ' ' What is that? What did you say, Pitou?" she 
 demanded rapidly, in French. 
 
 "Ma'm'selle, Joie; she take la voiture a vapeur 
 from ze roundhouse, and run away avec il. Oui; 
 vraiment. Just now. One leetle while ago. Eet 
 ees ver' colt outside, petite. She freeze-up, 
 mabby. Je suis tres triste. Non? And thou, also, 
 petite? You sorry, too, mabby?" 
 
 ''But, I do not understand," said Yvonne, still 
 speaking in French, refusing to mix her words. 
 "What did mademoiselle Joie do? Tell me the 
 truth." 
 
 "Je ne sais quoi, for true. She tak ze engine. 
 She run away avec it. Not go ver' far. No. Eet 
 ees not possible. Bluerock, mabby. Mais, for 
 why?" Pitou shrugged his wide shoulders in a 
 gesture of dismissal. 
 
 "Listen to me a moment," Yvonne exclaimed, 
 under her breath, still speaking in good French, 
 for she wished Pitou thoroughly to understand all 
 that she said. "Is it true that mademoiselle 
 Maitland took the locomotive from Tihe house 
 where they keep them, and ran away with 
 it, toward the mountain? And that she went 
 alone?" 
 
 "Oui, petite; eet ees true," Pitou replied. 
 "They go after her, maintenant. They get up 
 steam een another one. But, dat tak' mooch time; 
 non? Tom Rodman, heem gone half casse, al- 
 ready," and Pitou touched his forehead signifi-
 
 156 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 cantly to indicate Rodman's condition of half- 
 crazed anxiety. 
 
 Yvonne clasped her hands together before her, 
 and stood so for a moment, in deep thought. 
 
 It was all clear to her upon the instant why 
 Joyce had stolen the engine, and why she had gone 
 with it down the track toward Bluerock and the 
 pass over the mountain, to Magician. 
 
 It was because m'sieu had gone that way. 
 
 Yvonne would have done the same thing herself, 
 under like circumstances. She understood. She 
 comprehended. Her intuition had already told 
 her that there had been a quarrel of some sort be- 
 tween Joyce and Dan. "Perhaps, after all, ma'm'- 
 selle Joie loves him," she was thinking, while she 
 recalled, not without regret, that she had been an- 
 gry with madamoiselle that day, and had treated 
 her badly. Yvonne was sorry for it, then. 
 
 It was strange how suddenly Joyce Maitland 
 rose again to favor in the heart and mind of the 
 little French woman with this information that 
 old Pitou had brought to her out of the storm; nor 
 was she one whit unmindful of the peril that Joyce 
 must be encountering at that very moment, and of 
 the new dangers she would have to encounter with 
 every added instant of time. 
 
 The heart of Yvonne throbbed madly, then. 
 Ma'm'selle had done exactly what she, herself, 
 might have attempted under like circumstances. 
 Suddenly she understood and activity returned 
 to her. She sprang toward old Pitou, seized his 
 arms, thoroughly startling the old man by her ve- 
 hemence. 
 
 "She must be saved!" she cried out. "Ah, the
 
 A TOUCH OF THE TEMPEST 157 
 
 m'sieu would die, if la Joie should freeze to death 
 out there. He would nevair forgive Yvonne. 
 Non. Nevair. She must be saved, Pitou. You 
 hear me? She must be saved. I, Yvonne must 
 save her, and you, Pitou, must help me."
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 The Tracks in the Snow 
 
 With trembling haste Yvonne began to don the 
 outer clothing which she knew that she would need 
 to face the storm that was now raging outside. 
 Her pretty face was drawn into hard lines of de- 
 termination, her eyes were wide and serious, and 
 her whole demeanor was that of one who is about 
 to assume a task that is already hopeless, but 
 which, nevertheless, shall be performed. 
 
 Old Pitou watched her out of his small, beady 
 eyes. Twice, while she was thus employed, he 
 shook his grizzled head, slowly. At last, when 
 she was nearly ready, he put himself between her 
 and the door, and stood there with folded arms 
 until she looked toward him and discovered his 
 attitude. 
 
 She understood it, too. She knew, herself, that 
 she should not venture into the storm, and she saw 
 instantly that Pitou intended to prevent her from 
 doing so; by force, if necessary. 
 
 "I must go," she told him, as if he had already 
 put his objection into words; but he shook his 
 head. 
 
 "Non, non, Yvonne," he said, in reply. "Eet 
 ees la mort. La tempete ees ver' bad. You freeze, 
 too, mabby. For why you go, petite? You theenk
 
 THE TRACKS IN THE SNOW 159 
 
 you sav' La Joie? But, non. Eet ees not pos- 
 sible. You will stay here, avec moi, petite." 
 
 There was such quiet determination in the at- 
 titude of the old man that Yvonne knew that he 
 would not permit her to pass. Moreover, she 
 knew that he was right in refusing to do so. 
 Nevertheless, she sought to argue with him. Pitou 
 only shook his old head the more firmly when she 
 had finished with a torrent of words in which she 
 sought to convince him that it was her duty to 
 make the attempt to save Joyce Maitland, and that 
 m'sieu would never forgive her if she sat quietly 
 inactive while the girl he loved was freezing to 
 death out there, in the storm. 
 
 Pitou kept his place between Yvonne and the 
 door. 
 
 "For why you go?" he demanded again. 
 "Parceque you theenk to save her from the tem- 
 pete, and the cold. Eet ees too late for dat. Eef 
 she freeze, she already freeze now. Non? For 
 true eet ees so. Bimeby, mabby, when the wind 
 have stopped, you can go. Je alle avec toi, then. 
 I go, too. Mais, maintenant? Sacrrrrre! Deja, 
 eef la ma'm'selle freeze, she ees dead by now. But, 
 mabby she fin' somme place cacher; somme leetle 
 place to hide herself unteel the tempete ees gone." 
 
 Yvonne did not reply to him. She remained as 
 she was, facing Pitou, as yet undecided whether to 
 attempt to force her way past him, or not. He 
 went on again with his arguments. 
 
 "Eef petite will theenk about eet, un leetle mo- 
 ment, just for the sak' of old Pitou. La ma'm'- 
 selle, she tak' la voiture a vapeur, ze engine, an' 
 run away with eet. Already, maintenant, long
 
 160 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 while ago, she get to Bluerock, mabby, an' start 
 for the pass. Tres bien. Mabby she fin' the 
 m'sieu et Jules; mabby they fin' her. But, thou? 
 Een thees storm, you fin' theem? Non!" 
 
 Yvonne began slowly to lay aside her wraps. 
 
 She had been convinced even before she made 
 the attempt to start out into the storm that it 
 would be useless, and she knew how utterly im- 
 possible it would be for her to find any trace of 
 Joyce, even if she were there, at the entrance to 
 the pass. Every track that the girl might have 
 made would now be obliterafed and, if Joyce had 
 succeeded in finding some sort of shelter from the 
 fury of the wind, as Pitou suggested, and had 
 enough judgment to pack the snow around her, she 
 need not freeze, clad as Yvonne knew her to be, and 
 with the health and endurance that Yvonne knew 
 her to possess. 
 
 So she seated herself in a chair near the window 
 and listened to the roar of the gale as it shrieked 
 past the house; and Pitou, perceiving that Yvonne 
 had abandoned all thought of going, for the time 
 being, filled his short pipe, lighted it, drew a chair 
 close to the fire, and smoked and drowsed, and 
 presently dreamed about other tempests of like 
 character through which he had passed when there 
 had been next to no shelter at hand to protect him. 
 
 After a time, Yvonne left him there, asleep near 
 the fire, and went to her own room, where she 
 tossed and turned in uneasy sleep until a sudden 
 cessation of the tempest's violence roused her. 
 
 The storm ended as it had begun. It had blown 
 out its fury, and dawn was at hand. 
 
 Yvonne peered into the kitchen and discovered
 
 THE TRACKS IN THE SNOW 161 
 
 that Pitou had disappeared. She did not doubt 
 that he had been gone a long time, and she knew 
 that he would return, presently, with such news 
 as might be obtained at the railway station. 
 
 While she was preparing breakfast she went 
 frequently to the door and looked for him, for she 
 was impatient now to be gone. At least she could 
 search for ma'm'selle Joie, whom m'sieu loved, 
 and she prayed silently, but with all her heart 
 and soul in her prayers, that Joyce might have 
 been spared. 
 
 The news that Pitou brought to her, presently, 
 was meager indeed. 
 
 Tom Rodman had made the run to Bluerock and 
 return. The engine that Joyce had taken without 
 permission was there. That was all. It had been 
 impossible for them to continue the search. They 
 had barely been able to get back to Janver. But 
 they were now getting out the plows. They would 
 fight their way to Bluerock; and after that after 
 that they would do the very best that could be 
 done. 
 
 Yvonne's was a prophetic soul. 
 
 While she put the steaming coffee and the hot 
 breakfast before Pitou her heart became suddenly 
 light, as if she could even then peer intuitively 
 into that safe space under the rock which the snow 
 and wind had transformed into a secure cachette 
 for Joyce Maitland. 
 
 Her abounding faith in m'sieu, which was in all 
 things infinite, gave her faith, also, in the things 
 that were his, and in the hopes and wishes that he 
 held dear. Her own adoration for Dan had made 
 her quick to know of the boundless love he felt for
 
 162 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 Joyce, and she did not believe for a moment that 
 le bon Dieu would permit the beautiful American 
 girl to perish in the storm that had raged through- 
 out the night, but which was now past and gone, 
 as if it had never been. 
 
 But the storm had rendered it impossible for 
 Pitou 's little horse to draw the laden sledge to 
 White Lake that day. Both knew that there would 
 be places beyond the backbone of the Ridge where 
 the drifts would be deep indeed, and soft, and im- 
 passable for all of the heavier creatures save man 
 himself, supported by snowshoes. 
 
 However, Yvonne took the time, before start- 
 ing, to pack the things upon the sled, that it might 
 be in readiness against her return. 
 
 Then, within an hour after daylight, they set 
 out. 
 
 Pitou accompanied Yvonne wholly as a matter 
 of duty and affection. The purpose of their er- 
 rand he considered entirely hopeless. Personally, 
 he would have shrugged his shoulders, and waited, 
 until the thaws came, before searching for the 
 frozen body of Joyce Maitland. Then they would 
 be able to find it quickly; now it seemed to him like 
 a useless as well as a hopeless task. 
 
 Even he, experienced as he was, had not real- 
 ized the full violence of the storm, and had not cor- 
 rectly estimated the difficulties they would en- 
 counter in making the short cut across the ridge 
 to White Lake. 
 
 Pitou did not consider it far. An hour, two hours, 
 perhaps, he thought entirely sufficient for the trip. 
 Yvonne agreed with him in that. Nevertheless, at 
 the end of two hours they had not accomplished
 
 THE TRACKS IN THE SNOW 163 
 
 half the distance, and it was very nearly five hours 
 after they came away from the house in Janver be- 
 fore they arrived at the entrance to Magician pass. 
 
 There Pitou came to a stubborn halt. 
 
 "Que voulez vous, Yvonne?" he exclaimed, 
 querulously, and the old man was rarely that, par- 
 ticularly with the wife of Jules. "Eet ees almos' 
 nuit. Ma'm'selle is freeze a la mort, vraisem- 
 blablement; pourquoi non? Maintenant it will be 
 dark before we can get to the stone maison, at lac 
 .la Blanc. Venez. We go back." 
 
 Yvonne did not even pause to reply. She hur- 
 ried onward, and Pitou, perforce, followed after 
 her, mumbling as he went, until, presently, he 
 heard her cry out with an expression of mingled 
 surprise and joy. 
 
 The old man hastened to her side. .She was 
 pointing downward at the snow, but the quick 
 eyes of Pitou had already discovered tracks there; 
 tracks that had been made since the storm of last 
 night; tracks which might have been made only 
 a very little while before Yvonne discovered 
 them. 
 
 Pitou bent down over the trail that had been 
 left. To his practical sight there was as much 
 individuality about the track left by a snowshoe 
 as that of the trotting fox or the triangular im- 
 print of a hare. 
 
 This one he recognized the instant he examined 
 it. More than once he had traveled through the 
 snows beside those same snowshoes. Old Pitou 
 and Tom Rodman, the engineer, were great 
 friends. 
 
 "Eet ees m'sieu Rodman who have gone by
 
 164 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 here, petite," he said, straightening himself again. 
 "I know de track of the soulier gauche. I mended 
 dat shoe, moi-meme." 
 
 ""And did he come down out of the sky, then, to 
 make the trail here, where it is?" Yvonne de- 
 manded, in French, and with fine scorn of Pitou's 
 woodcraft in her voice and attitude. "See. The 
 trail does not start at the entrance to the pass. 
 But, there. Do you see? Beneath the rock." 
 
 She fairly flew across the space between her and 
 the boulder beneath which Joyce had found shel- 
 ter. A mere glance into the recess out of which 
 Joyce had dug her way finally convinced both of 
 them who it was that had rested there. 
 
 The trail of Tom Rodman's snowshoes, which 
 Joyce had taken from the cab of the engine, led 
 directly up the pass toward the summit. 
 
 With a little exclamation of delight at the dis- 
 covery they had made, Yvonne turned, and would 
 have followed it, had not the strong arms of Pitou 
 seized upon and held her tightly. 
 
 "Non, non, petite," he said, with finality in his 
 tone. "Eet ees night. Soon eet weel be ver* 
 dark. Alors, you can't see the trail to follow eet. 
 Eet ees ver' colt oop dere, even now. Bimeby 
 eet be more colt. An' la ma'm'selle, she start 
 long ago, mabby. Bientot, she get to Devil's 
 Pulpit. She rest, there. She mak' fire, mabby. 
 There is food there, aussi. She cook eet. We 
 cannot go on, now. II n'y faut plus penser, pe- 
 tite." 
 
 The great burden of it all was that Yvonne knew 
 that Pitou spoke only the literal truth. Very soon 
 it would be black darkness in the canyon of the
 
 THE TRACKS IN THE SNOW 165 
 
 pass; much too dark for any hope that a trail could 
 be followed, although it was true that the tracks 
 could lead only in one direction. 
 
 Yet, Yvonne's loyalty to her beloved m'sieu re- 
 sented bitterly the thought of turning back 
 now. 
 
 The trail had been found. It had been made by 
 Miss Maitland. Somewhere, up there in the pass 
 ahead of them, Joyce should be found. Suppose 
 something had happened to ma'm'selle, and she 
 could not make Devil's Pulpit in time? 
 
 With sudden decision Yvonne wrenched herself 
 free from the clinging grasp of old Pitou and 
 darted away from him, up the pass; but in her 
 haste she tripped one of her snowshoes beneath the 
 toe of the other one, and fell; and the old man, 
 smiling in grim humor, seized upon her, lifted her 
 in his arms, and bore her away in the direction of 
 White Lake, despite her struggles. 
 
 Nor did he put her down again until they were 
 a long distance beyond the entrance to the pass, 
 and darkness had really fallen upon them. He 
 knew, then, that she could not return alone, and he 
 set her gently down upon her feet beside him. 
 
 But Yvonne was angry, and would not respond 
 to his apologies, and so, presently, he started on, 
 and she followed, and after a time they came 
 safely to the door of the stone cottage where Dan, 
 Randall had determined to make his home. 
 
 Both halted abruptly, then, and both were 
 amazed by what they saw. 
 
 From a side window which had been invisible 
 as they approached the house a light streamed out 
 upon the snow; and it shone upon tracks that
 
 166 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 passed beneath that window, showing that some- 
 body had lately passed that way. 
 
 Pitou grasped Yvonne's arm, as a signal for si- 
 lence. With cat-like tread he passed on to the 
 tracks under the window, and examined them. 
 Then he straightened up with a glad cry, and 
 called out lustily: 
 
 "Jules! Jules!" 
 
 The doorway was flung open on the instant. 
 Jules stood beyond the threshold. A warm fire 
 glowed within the house. Amazed pleasure was 
 in Jules' eyes when he saw who it was that had de- 
 manded admittance. 
 
 Yvonne rushed forward, not into his arms, as he 
 had expected, but past him, into the room, search- 
 ing eagerly around it, everywhere, for another per- 
 son. Then she turned to face her husband. 
 
 "Where is ma'm'selle Joie?" she demanded. 
 "She is here? N'estcepas?" 
 
 "Ici? Ifon. Pourquoi?" Jules replied, spread- 
 ing out his hands and hunching his broad shoul- 
 ders. "La ma'm'selle ees een Janvers; non? For 
 why you ask me dat, Yvonne?" 
 
 Yvonne explained. She told of everything that 
 had happened since Jules' departure, omitting 
 nothing, and ended with a description of the trail 
 that had led up the canyon, which Pitou would not 
 permit her to follow. 
 
 At the end of it, Jules shrugged his shoulders 
 again, outwardly undisturbed by all that he had 
 heard. But he reached for his outdoor garments, 
 and his snowshoes, notwithstanding. 
 
 ' 'I comme across from the pass to White Lac by 
 short cut, an' so not see ma'm'selle on the trail.
 
 THE TRACKS IN THE SNOW 167 
 
 Mabby she get to lutrin du diable before la nuit. 
 Bientot, I fin' her, mabby. I go back there, main- 
 tenant. Toi stay here, Yvonne. Et toi, Pitou, 
 aussi," he said, with simple directness, and went 
 out into the night again, alone.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 Some Freaks of Fortune 
 
 Jules Legarde had crossed the Lantowa moun- 
 tains by Magician pass twice within twenty-four 
 hours, yet he started forth again to cover once 
 more a third of the distance and return without a 
 regret for the great fatigue he must have felt. All 
 of his energies and resources were fixed upon the 
 one thought that the young woman, whom he knew 
 his master loved, was in danger, and that he must 
 rescue her. 
 
 Old Pitou would have accompanied him, and, 
 indeed, did follow him outside the door. But 
 Jules ordered the elder man to stay where he was. 
 
 "I not know when I comme back, Pitou," he 
 said, "but you, eef you wanta help, go back to Jan- 
 ver as soon as eet ees le jour, an' to the office of le 
 chemin de fer, on the square. You weel fin' behin' 
 la porte, een the leetle office, un sachet, so big"; 
 and he demonstrated the dimensions of the satchel 
 with his hands. "You breeng dat sachet ici, to 
 Yvonne, tres bientot, an' you tell her, celer il to 
 hide eet ver' queeck." 
 
 Then he went swiftly away into the night. 
 
 The stone house under the mountain near White 
 Lake was well provisioned. Jules had already pro- 
 vided for himself, and eaten, when his wife and old
 
 SOME FREAKS OF FORTUNE 169 
 
 Pitou arrived. Yvonne very quickly prepared a 
 second hearty meal. 
 
 She had overheard the directions that Jules gave 
 to Pitou, and she added her own to them when the 
 old man returned indoors. They were merely that 
 he should procure assistance from among some of 
 his own people in Janver, if that should be neces- 
 sary, and bring the laden sled with him when he 
 came back to the lake. 
 
 It was characteristic of her that she did not per- 
 mit herself to worry over the possible fate of Joyce 
 Maitland, who was in the hands of God, and who 
 would be spared or would perish, according to His 
 will. She knew that Jules would do everything 
 that was possible to be done. 
 
 Meanwhile, across the mountains, in Magician, 
 other things were happening. 
 
 For one thing, there had been no thought in the 
 minds of Captain Badmington or Sergeant Hurley 
 that the "breed" would have any idea of attempt- 
 ing to evade the temporary confinement to which 
 the captain had sentenced him. That the Indian, 
 who had a quarter-strain of French blood in his 
 veins, would seek to escape, was not even thought 
 of. Nor would Lightf oot himself have thought of 
 such a thing but for Ben Taggart. 
 
 But Taggart had made a disquieting discovery 
 since the occurrences of the scene at Buxton's 
 store. 
 
 Wadleigh, before their departure from Janver, 
 had given him the forged deeds and other papers 
 and documents that went with them, to carry. 
 They had been wrapped in protecting oilskin, also, 
 and Taggart believed that he Iiad deposited them
 
 170 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 safely inside of the sheepskin jacket that he wore 
 under his furs. 
 
 The packet had disappeared or he had left it 
 behind him; and Taggart could not remember, 
 positively, that he had brought it with him. 
 
 If he had left the packet behind him, he knew 
 exactly where it was, for he distinctly recalled 
 having put it down upon a chair beside him, in his 
 shack near the railroad and he did not remem- 
 ber, to a certainty, that he had picked the packet 
 up again and stowed it away in his jacket. 
 
 It was not to be thought of that he should return 
 across the pass. Wadleigh needed him in Magi- 
 cian. Every circumstance connected with their 
 schemes demanded his continued presence there. 
 But the forged deeds were extremely important, 
 just then; they were vital, in view of the destruc- 
 tion of the official records, and the death of Suth- 
 erland, the only man who could have made any 
 sworn statement concerning the rightful owner- 
 ship of the right-of-way. There was, now, no offi- 
 cial who could deny the authenticity of the forged 
 documents. 
 
 Already Taggart had determined as soon as the 
 hearing before the captain was over to send Light- 
 foot back across the mountain to get them; and so, 
 when the Indian was led from the room to be im- 
 prisoned, although it was only for a few hours, 
 Taggart was much more concerned about the cir- 
 cumstance than was Lightfoot himself, and he fol- 
 lowed after the Indian as soon as it was possible 
 for him to do so. 
 
 No key had been turned upon the prisoner. The 
 surrounding hills, the deep snow, and, more than
 
 SOME FREAKS OF FORTUNE 171 
 
 all else, the direct orders of the captain of the 
 N. W. M. P., were considered as bars quite suffi- 
 cient to hold him. Lightfoot was merely thrust 
 into a small room by himself and told to remain 
 there until he was wanted. After that, he was 
 left to his own devices. 
 
 So Taggart had no difficulty in going to him. 
 
 What the directions were that Taggart gave to 
 him need not be told here, for we already know 
 that the packet which Taggart had lost was safely 
 reposing in one of the pockets of Sergeant Hur- 
 ley's uniform. The fact that Hurley had tempo- 
 rarily forgotten its existence does not now con- 
 cern us. 
 
 But the consequence of those orders was, that 
 very soon after Taggart paid his hasty visit to the 
 Indian, and talked with him in his own dialect, 
 Lightfoot glided from the room, and by skulking 
 along devious ways and resorting to crafty meth- 
 ods which only an Indian could have employed 
 successfully that day, managed to gain the out- 
 skirts of the town, unseen, and then, by keeping 
 the drifts and the foothills between him and the 
 houses and streets of Magician, to remain so, un- 
 til he was hidden from view beyond the eastern 
 entrance to the pass. 
 
 It was nothing to Taggart that Lightfoot, by his 
 act, had defied the power of the North West 
 Mounted Police, and would have to pay dearly for 
 it; that, instead of one day, or part of one, in nom- 
 inal confinement, he would probably be imprisoned 
 for months. And the promise of money, and white 
 whiskey, overcame any scruples that Lightfoot 
 might have had.
 
 172 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 The Indian came upon the trail of Jules Le- 
 garde at the beginning of the pass, and recognized 
 it as perfectly as he would have known Jules' fea- 
 tures ; and he followed not too fast, thereafter, for 
 he had no wish to overtake the man ahead of him. 
 
 There was no friendship between Jules and 
 Lightfoot. The former felt nothing but contempt 
 for the latter. Lightfoot envied, and therefore 
 hated, Jules. Once, almost a year ago, Jules had 
 put the fear of death into Lightfoot 's heart for 
 having dared to raise his eyes toward Yvonne, in 
 an expression which Jules had not liked; and so 
 Lightfoot hung back upon the trail, governing his 
 own speed by that which he believed Jules to be 
 making. He thought, too, that Jules would be 
 likely to turn aside toward White Lake at a point 
 midway between Devil's Pulpit and the foot of the 
 pass on the west side of the mountain, for every 
 one of the by-paths and devious ways among 
 those hills was as well known to Lightfoot as to 
 Jules. 
 
 It was Lightfoot 's plan to hurry onward by the 
 very shortest way into Janver, as soon as Jules 
 should turn aside from the main trail across the 
 mountain. Thus, he would avoid the man ahead 
 of him; and he would go at once to the offices of the 
 railroad company, on the square, and get posses- 
 sion of the small black satchel that m'sieu Randall 
 had described to Captain Badmington at the hear- 
 ing. After that he would go after the small 
 packet which m'sieu Taggart had forgotten. 
 
 Such were his orders, in part. There was also 
 another one, which concerned a certain young 
 woman who was supposed to be still in Janver.
 
 SOME FREAKS OF FORTUNE 173 
 
 But that was to come afterward after Lightfoot 
 had stolen the small black satchel, and had re- 
 covered the packet of papers wrapped in oil- 
 skin. 
 
 The Indian felt the importance of the confidence 
 that had been reposed in him by Taggart, and he 
 looked forward, also, to the unholy joy he would 
 find in the white whiskey he was to receive, and 
 the money that was coming to him if he succeeded, 
 which meant more white whiskey, and many more 
 unholy joys. 
 
 When he descended from the summit house 
 toward Devil's Pulpit, he held back, believing that 
 Jules might stop there, to rest and feed. But 
 Jules had not done so. 
 
 Half way between the pulpit and the bottom of 
 the pass, Lightfoot came to the place where Jules 
 had turned off through a narrow gulch that drifted 
 from the south side of the canyon. It was the 
 shorter cut to which Jules referred in his talk with 
 Yvonne and Pitou at the stone house. 
 
 Night and darkness were not much more than 
 an hour away when Lightfoot arrived at that 
 point, and he speeded up a bit. He had spied 
 upon Jules enough, in the past, to know of the 
 rendezvous near the lake, and he thought that 
 surely the Frenchman would stop there to rest, 
 and eat, and so would enable him to get to Janver 
 first. Then, half a mile farther down the pass, 
 just around an oblique bend in the canyon, the In- 
 dian came to a sudden halt. 
 
 In front of him, not fifty yards from where he 
 stopped, and stretched at full length upon the 
 snow, asleep, or senseless, or dead, was the furred
 
 174 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 figure of a woman whom he instantly recognized. 
 
 That first glance at her satisfied him that she 
 had been entirely alone. No trail but her own led 
 up to that spot where she had fallen. The Indian 
 hurried forward, and bent over the unconscious 
 form of Joyce Maitland. 
 
 He discovered at once that she was alive, and 
 that the intense cold had not yet begun to bite at 
 her nose and cheeks and lips, which were the only 
 parts of her person exposed to it. His training 
 told him that she had only just fallen, unconscious, 
 when he Found her; that she could not have been 
 there more than a very few moments. 
 
 And that was true. 
 
 Had Joyce been able to keep up the struggle a 
 few minutes longer than she had done, she would 
 have rounded the bend in the canyon and come in 
 sight of the pulpit, and so would have been con- 
 scious, and unafraid, and quite able to protect her- 
 self, when she would have met Lightfoot. Or, had 
 Jules gone on down the canyon instead of turning 
 aside through the short cut toward White Lake, he 
 would have met her at about the moment when 
 she had dug her way out from beneath the boulder 
 that had sheltered her so snugly through the pre- 
 ceding night, for it had been late in the day when 
 Joyce awoke and dug her way out from under the 
 rock into the open air. 
 
 She was thoroughly familiar with the geog- 
 raphy of the pass. She knew the time, too, by the 
 slant of the sunlight among the crags along the de- 
 file, and she realized that the hour was much too 
 late for her to hope to return to Janver before 
 nightfall, even had she possessed the necessary
 
 SOME FREAKS OF FORTUNE 175 
 
 strength and endurance. Moreover, she had been 
 almost twenty-four hours without food, and she 
 had undergone so much that her vitality was 
 sapped to the point of exhaustion. 
 
 She knew that the pulpit, half way up the pass 
 to the summit, was the nearest refuge. She knew 
 that there was wood there with which to build her- 
 self a fire, and that food and coffee were always 
 cached beneath that safe retreat. That was why 
 she did not turn back to have met Yvonne and 
 Pitou. 
 
 So she left her shelter under the rock too soon 
 for them to find her, too late to encounter Jules, 
 and just in time to fall, from faintness and exhaus- 
 tion, in the path of the approaching Lightfoot, and 
 less than five minutes before he appeared. 
 
 The fates played strange pranks with her for- 
 tunes that day and the one preceding it; and dur- 
 ing many that were to follow it. 
 
 The Indian, Lightfoot, first looked to see that 
 her nose and cheeks were not beginning to freeze. 
 Satisfied of that much, he covered them securely 
 from further immediate danger in that respect. 
 Then he lifted her in his arms, for he was as pow- 
 erful, almost, as Jules Legarde. 
 
 For an instant, after that, he faced toward the 
 pulpit, which he also knew to be the nearest shel- 
 ter. But he shook his head and turned away from 
 it again. 
 
 She was lost. Somebody would seek her. The 
 pulpit would be the first place where she would be 
 sought. 
 
 The third part of the instructions that Taggart 
 had given him concerning the things he was to do,
 
 176 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 and which seemed to him the most important, was 
 here, at hand; had met him half way. 
 
 So Lightfoot turned his back upon the pulpit, 
 and, with Joyce Maitland in his arms, smiled 
 craftily at the thought of what he determined, 
 then, to do.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 The Great Change 
 
 The "great change" came some time during the 
 night that followed. 
 
 It is spoken of by different names in various 
 sections of the great Northwest, between the for- 
 ty-fifth and the sixtieth parallels: The "great 
 change," the "Chinook," or the "big thaw." 
 Weather-wise persons in Magician and Janver had 
 41 smelt" it, even before the last storm. Buxton 
 had prophesied it to Randall soon after his arrival 
 from across the pass. 
 
 In effect, the "great change" might be likened 
 to the throwing open of furnace doors to scatter 
 abroad the heat that has been confined; to meet 
 and overcome the cold that has for many months 
 locked up everything with snow and ice. 
 
 The "great change" is wonderful. The snow 
 and ice melt, and shrink, and disappear before it. 
 Canyons, gulches, ravines, gullies, hitherto impas- 
 sable, and bound up in flint-like ice are trans- 
 formed into torrents of rushing waters. Huge\ 
 rocks, immense boulders, uprooted trees, barriers 
 of silt and clay, are picked up like straws and 
 moved from their former positions, mowed down, 
 and washed away. Great trees are undermined, 
 and felled. Nature does its annual houseclean-
 
 178 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 ing. Old trails are closed and barred; new ones 
 are opened. Topography alters its details, al- 
 though it rarely changes its character. 
 
 During a week after that night, Magician pass 
 was not a pass at all, through which anything alive 
 could travel. Whole sections of the M. & J. R. R., 
 between Bluerock and Nelson, and again between 
 Nelson and Magician, were torn away by the floods 
 of water that poured down upon them from the 
 mountain sides. Between Janver and Carrolton, 
 it was the same. 
 
 Everywhere, telegraph poles were prone upon 
 the ground, wires were down, and useless, traffic 
 was entirely paralyzed, business was dead, nothing 
 was doing. 
 
 Everybody waited. 
 
 But then, everybody was accustomed to waiting 
 during the first days of the "great change," while 
 Nature was housecleaning. There was always 
 such opportunities to do things, after it, that every 
 one could afford to wait, with complacency, and 
 with certainty. 
 
 Over at Magician, Dan Randall waited, with 
 what patience he could summon to his aid, passing 
 his days with Buxton, planning for the campaign 
 that was to begin so very soon; making ready for 
 the greatest fight of his life; preparing to pit his 
 all against Wadleigh, and Taggart, and the others 
 even against the great Lionel Gregory, him- 
 self. 
 
 Wadleigh and Taggart waited, also; but with 
 manifest impatience. They kept their counsel, 
 and they avoided Randall. 
 
 Some digging and delving and searching had
 
 THE GREAT CHANGE 179 
 
 been done among the ruins of the record office; but 
 it had been done by the police, and whatever had 
 been found, if anything at all, the police had kept 
 to themselves. 
 
 That night when the big thaw came that same 
 night when Jules Legarde toiled wearily back up 
 the pass in search of Joyce Maitland hours after 
 Lightfoot had discovered her and borne her away 
 that same night when old Pitou took Yvonne to 
 the stone house at White Lake Dan Randall 
 climbed upon a step-ladder, as soon as Buxton had 
 closed and locked his store door, and brought down 
 from the topmost shelf the pouch-belt which 
 Peter Gaffney had worn about his body when he 
 died. 
 
 Dan had felt that something was inside of it 
 when Jules passed it to him at Devil's Pulpit. Mild 
 curiosity, nothing more than that, led him to a 
 further examination of it. Already he had won- 
 dered at himself for having misled Captain Bad- 
 mington in regard to it. 
 
 But the thing that he did find when he searched 
 the belt, and when, at last, he comprehended the 
 full significance of his discovery, left him staring; 
 not so much at the roll of many sheets of thin, 
 parchment-paper that he held in his hand, as into 
 the fire that burned, red hot, in the stove. Buxton, 
 perched upon the counter opposite him, with his 
 briar pipe tilted between his jaws, remarked, 
 dryly: 
 
 "I had forgotten all about that thing, Dan, or 
 I'd have taken a look at it myself, while you were 
 outside. What have you found?" 
 
 Randall raised his head, slowly. Then he got
 
 180 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 upon his feet and took a turn down the length of 
 the store and back before he replied. 
 
 "I have found something that is rather wonder- 
 ful, Bux," he said. "I don't think I can deny, 
 after this, that there is a destiny that shapes our 
 ends; mine, anyhow. There is the roll. Read it, 
 when you care to do so. Not now, though. For 
 the present I prefer not to think about it save, 
 only, of the main fact of what it means to me. 
 Lock it up in your safe for me after you have read 
 it. I am going outside for a little air." 
 
 "Is it about the railroad, or the cut-off, Dan?" 
 Buxton asked, accepting the roll that Randal) 
 held out toward him. 
 
 "No. It concerns only me and that dead man 
 who was called Gaffney," Randall replied, and 
 took his furs and went outside into the cold. The 
 great thaw was yet some hours in the future. 
 
 Across the mountain, in Janver, Jules Legarde 
 waited, also, and it was indeed a bitter time of 
 waiting for him. Never before in all his life had 
 the stolid patience within him, that was his great- 
 est characteristic, been so tried. 
 
 Jules had not found Joyce Maitland that night 
 when he had gone back to the pass in search of 
 her, as we already know. He had gone back by 
 the short cut as he had come out of it. It was 
 a much shorter route, and brought him into the 
 pass about midway between the pulpit and the 
 place where Yvonne and old Pitou told him that 
 they had come upon the place that had sheltered 
 her. 
 
 It had been much too dark in the canyon for him 
 to attempt to follow a trail, but he never doubted
 
 THE GREAT CHANGE 181 
 
 that Joyce would have been able to reach the pul- 
 pit, and that he would find her there. Accord- 
 ing to Yvonne, there had been ample time for 
 the ma'm'selle to do that before darkness 
 fell. 
 
 He traveled so rapidly and the darkness was 
 so intense that he had neither time nor opportunity 
 to find the snowshoe trail that Lightfoot had left 
 so plainly marked upon the snow in his descent 
 of the canyon. 
 
 But at the pulpit, when he found that Joyce 
 had not been there, he made himself some torches 
 several of them and started out again, believ- 
 ing then that he would find her somewhere in the 
 snow, frozen. Thus, almost at once he came upon 
 the trail of Lightfoot. 
 
 Jules was convinced, then, that Joyce had been 
 saved. He recognized the imprint of the Indian's 
 snowshoes, exactly as Lightfoot would have known 
 his; and he did not like the Indian, nor did he 
 understand why Taggart's servant had followed 
 him so soon across the mountain pass. But even 
 Lightfoot, bad as he doubtless was, could not do 
 otherwise than give aid to Ma'm'selle Joie; and 
 surely Lightfoot had found her. 
 
 Jules sped down the pass with all the speed he 
 could muster to his aid. 
 
 He trailed the torch behind him, occasionally 
 flaring it above his head to make sure of the trail, 
 and to know where the two had met, and so came 
 at last upon the spot where Joyce had fallen, and 
 where the Indian had found her. He read each and 
 all of the signs as plainly as if they had been set 
 down in type before an educated man; and what
 
 182 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 he saw, and read, amazed him at first, then startled 
 him, then angered him into sudden fury. He could 
 have killed Lightfoot at that moment. 
 
 "By gar! ' ' he said, aloud. ' 'Dat homme, Light- 
 foot, heem fin' ma'm'selle here, after she have fall 
 down. Alors, heem tak' on* hees snowshoes, an* 
 hers, aussi; an' heem put his own shoes ovair hees 
 back, an' heem put hers on hees pieds, so dat he 
 mak' de track like ma'm'selle 's. By gar, heem 
 think heem fool Jules? Non, non. All that, it 
 mean mauvais beaucpup ver' bad I theenk, 
 mabby-so. For why did Lightf oot go off dat way 
 by de ledge? Not for ma'm'selle 's good, heem do 
 dat No. Ver' well, I go, too. Je suis las; but, 
 I go, too, jus' sam'." 
 
 The ledge to which he referred, and along which 
 he knew that Lightfoot had borne Joyce in his 
 arms, afforded, in the summer time, a short-cut 
 pathway to the station at Bluerock, if one was 
 afoot in the pass, and cared to take it. Just now, 
 it was, or should have been, impassable. 
 
 Jules did not pursue that route very far. Be- 
 fore he came to the end of the ledge, he encoun- 
 tered a barrier of snow and ice which effectually 
 stopped him, and in the darkness he could not de- 
 termine whether it had fallen across the trail 
 after Lightfoot had passed the spot with Joyce in 
 his arms, or if it had crashed down upon them and 
 buried them both beneath it. 
 
 But he did know that he could go no farther 
 by that route, that night, or that next day, or per- 
 haps for weeks to come, for his experience told 
 him that the big thaw was at hand, and it would 
 be utterly impossible to find Lightf oot 's trail
 
 THE GREAT CHANGE 183 
 
 if, indeed, there should be one after the dawn of 
 another day. 
 
 It was with a heavy heart, indeed, that he aban- 
 doned all further effort to rescue Joyce Mait- 
 land. There was literally nothing that could be 
 done. With a heavy sigh he turned back. La 
 ma'm'selle was in the keeping of le bon Dieu, 
 now; Jules could do no more. Perhaps the In- 
 dian had managed to save her; perhaps they had 
 both been buried beneath the crashing ice 
 and snow. There was nothing left to do but 
 wait. 
 
 He was nearly spent when he started to fight 
 his way back to the little house near White Lake, 
 and he chose the route by way of the mouth of the 
 pass, which was less difficult than by the shorter 
 cut that he had used before. 
 
 Half an hour later, when he issued from the pass 
 at the entrance, and turned toward the left, he 
 stopped short, sniffing the air, much the same as 
 dogs will do when the breeze bears a remembered 
 scent to them. 
 
 ' ' Le grand degel, ' ' he murmured.' ' ' Eet ees the 
 chinook weend, for vrais. To-morrow, when the 
 day come, I cannot go to Janver. Tres bien. I 
 will go now." 
 
 Thus, instead of returning to White Lake, and 
 Yvonne, he bravely turned toward Janver, and it 
 was a weary Jules, indeed, who stumbled, when it 
 was nearly daylight, into the dismantled kitchen 
 of the house from whence he had started out, 
 barely thirty-six hours before. Yvonne had taken 
 everything that was rightfully her own, and 
 Jules'. The place was almost bare.
 
 r 
 184 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 But even then the faithful fellow did not rest. 
 The time had not come for that. 
 
 He waited only long enough to make a fire and 
 brew some strong tea, which he swallowed at a 
 gulp. Then he set out for the square to get the 
 little black satchel from the office of the railway 
 company. 
 
 He admitted himself at the front door with the 
 key that Randall had given to him. It was still 
 dark, outside, although day was almost at hand. 
 He wished to perform his errand and to return 
 to the house to rest before the dawn should break. 
 
 Jules stepped inside, and turned about to close 
 the door and fasten it after him, and as he did so, 
 that sixth sense which is acquired by men who pass 
 their lives in the open, warned him; but the warn- 
 ing came too late. He felt a human presence* 
 close to him. He half turned to meet it. And 
 then the blow fell. 
 
 Jules Legarde had arrived too late. Somebody 
 was there ahead of him. 
 
 And that somebody, whoever it was, had heard 
 his approach, and had laid in wait behind the 
 door, and had struck a murderous blow in the 
 darkness. 
 
 The door opened and closed again, softly, after 
 the blow fell. Somebody passed noiselessly out- 
 side; and Jules was stretched at full length, sense- 
 less, an inert mass upon the floor.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 Things Begin to Move 
 
 Dan Randall waited at Magician for the torrents 
 of water from the melted snow to sweep clean the 
 mountainsides and make them ready for the cam- 
 paign he intended to begin. He waited with ex- 
 pectancy, and determined resolve; waited, know- 
 ing nothing of the things that had happened, and 
 were happening, at the other side of the mountains. 
 
 Ace Wadleigh and Ben Taggart waited at Ma- 
 gician, also, and for the same things to come to 
 pass. They waited apparently in sullen silence, 
 and plotted and schemed while they waited. 
 
 Jules waited, too, in Janver, for that blow in the 
 dark did not disable him. Consciousness returned 
 to him, and soon after it was light he dragged! 
 himself through the hallway and up the stairs, and 
 finally into the deserted offices of the railway com- 
 pany, admitting himself with Randall's key. 
 
 The satchel was not there. Jules was not sur- 
 prised that it was not. He had been thinking! 
 deeply while he made his way up the stairs. After 
 a time, when he was somewhat rested, and had 
 partially recovered from the immediate effects of 
 the stunning blow that had fallen upon him, he 
 went outside again, and returned, almost unno- 
 ticed, to Wadleigh 's house.
 
 186 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 He waited there; for it was as impossible for him 
 to go back to the stone house at White Lake, now 
 that the great thaw had come, as it was for Pitou 
 to come to Janver for the laden sled, as Yvonne 
 wished him to do. 
 
 Cuthbert, Crosby, one Masterson, and the re- 
 maining three directors of the railway company, 
 passed most of their time of waiting at Thomp- 
 son's hotel; and somewhere, if her life had been 
 spared, perhaps Joyce Maitland waited, too, 
 Everybody was waiting. Dame Nature, alone, 
 was doing things. 
 
 Jules Legarde was the first to brave the dan- 
 gers of Magician pass. He started out to make 
 the trip on the morning of the sixth day after the 
 thaw. 
 
 There were many more dangers to face than 
 when he had gone over the pass with Randall. 
 The great peril of intense cold was almost elimi- 
 nated; a thousand new ones had succeeded it; but 
 Jules faced them all, as he had done before, im- 
 perturbably. He stopped at the stone house at 
 White Lake, on his way, and stayed there thirty 
 minutes, or less. Night had fallen when he ar- 
 rived at Magician, and announced his presence by 
 a gentle tapping against the rear door of Bux^ 
 ton's store, out of which he had passed on his 
 errand just one week earlier. 
 
 It was Dan who opened the door for him. Bux- 
 ton had gone out, and Randall was alone. 
 
 "I have not been impatient, Jules," Dan said, 
 as he admitted him. "I knew that you would get 
 to me as soon as it could be done. I did not look 
 for you before to-morrow or the next day. Well?"
 
 THINGS BEGIN TO MOVE 187 
 
 "Eet ees mauvais news, m'sieu, dat I breeng. 
 Ver' bad, m'sieu. Ver' bad theengs have happen. 
 You will feel dat Jules have not done hees devoir," 
 Jules replied, sadly, and with a forlorn shake of 
 his head. 
 
 "Do you mean that the satchel was not there, 
 where I told you?" Randall demanded. 
 
 "Oui; but more. De sachet ees gone. De 
 theengs you weesh me tak' to White Lac, theem 
 still at de maison of m'sieu Wadleigh, in de shed. 
 But, ole Pitou et Yvonne, they get them bientot, 
 mabby-so, an' tak' them to de lac. . . . Mais- 
 more, m'sieu." 
 
 "What more, then? Tell me the worst, first." 
 
 "Ma'm'selle ees gone, aussi." 
 
 "Whom do you mean? Miss Maitland?" Dan 
 asked coldly. 
 
 "Oui, m'sieu." 
 
 "Where has she gone? How did she go away? 
 Nobody can get out of Janver yet, if it is as bad 
 there as here. Where has Miss Maitland gone?" 
 
 "Je ne sais pas, m'sieu. C'est fini, mabby-so. 
 Peut-etre eet ees la mort. Mabby she ees dead, 
 by now. Mabby hot. Mabby Lightfoot, when he 
 fin' ma'm'selle in de pass, manage, somehow, her 
 to save." 
 
 "Lightfoot!? He is here, locked up, at the bar- 
 racks?" 
 
 "Non, m'sieu. Pardon, but eet ees not so. Heem 
 tracks on de mountain, in de pass, that nuit. Jules 
 saw them, for vrais. But, I tell you what Jules 
 theenk, now, m'sieu." 
 
 "Be quick, then." 
 
 "Listen, m'sieu. I go, dat nuit, to de office of
 
 188 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 de chemin de fer, for de sachet. Bet ees morn- 
 ing, but eet ees nuit, aussi bien. I go inside. 
 Somebody already there. He hit Jules on de head 
 beeng! so. Jus' like that. Alors, when I wak' 
 oop, eet ees still ver' dark. I go oop de stairs to 
 de office. De sachet ees not there. I fin' fresh 
 snow in de room. Somebody hav' been there; 
 non? Tres bien. WhoTiav' been there, alors, eef 
 eet ees not Lightfoot, for Lightfoot hav' just 
 comme ovair de mountain. Ver' well. Eef eet 
 ees Lightfoot who hav' been there to tak' away 
 de sachet, then Lightfoot, heem escape from de 
 snow-slide. You see, m'sieu? Parceque, eef de 
 Indian escape, so did ma'm'selle escape. For 
 vrai; non? Oui." 
 
 "What is it that you are telling me, Jules?" 
 Dan asked, wearily. "Miss Maitland was not out 
 in that storm that night. What has Lightfoot got 
 to do with it all? What are you saying about 
 snow-slides. Begin at the commencement of things 
 and tell me clearly." 
 
 "Ma'm'selle was out in de storm, m'sieu, for 
 true. Oui. She see you cross de top of de ridge, 
 when you start to fin' me at de lac. She try to 
 call to you from de maison where she live, but 
 you not hear her. Bien, she go to Yvonne. She 
 fin', there, dat you have gone for sure, an' that 
 m'sieu Wadleigh have gone, aussi. Alors, she 
 run to de roun' house where de engines are kept. 
 She steal one. She ride to Bluerock. She tak' 
 de snowshoes of Tom Rodman. That mauvais 
 storm, eet catch her in de pass, but she fin' shelter 
 under a rock. . . . Yvonne an' Pitou they start 
 to fin' her, next jour. They fin' where she slept,
 
 THINGS BEGIN TO MOVE 189 
 
 safe an' warm. But she have wak' up, an' gone. 
 Eet ees then almos' dark. I comme down dej 
 mountain ver' soon from thees side, past de pul- 
 pit. Eef I hav' keep on dat way, I fin' ma'm- 
 *)selle; but I tak' de short cut to de lac. I no^ 
 fin'. Lghtfoot, heem comme after me. Heem 
 go on down de pass, past where I turn off by de 
 short cut. Heem fin' her where she hav' fall 
 down. Heem pick her up; heem carry her away 
 by dat path along de ledge. When I get to de 
 stone house by de lac, Yvonne she tell me all thees 
 things. Then I go back. I fin' de tracks in la 
 neige, an' where the snow have slide down ovair 
 de ledge. I cannot pass that way. Mabby they 
 buried een la neige; mabby not. Alors, I go on 
 to Janver." 
 
 Jules stopped. 
 
 Slowly, little by little, Dan comprehended the 
 full meaning of all that had been told to him; but 
 and the pity of it he misunderstood what Joyce 
 Maitland's purpose had been in braving the storm 
 of that terrible night. 
 
 ' 'Joyce saw me cross the ridge," he said, slowly, 
 more to himself than to Jules, who nevertheless 
 was listening to every word. "You say she tried 
 to call to me, but I do not think that she did. 
 Then she ran to Wadleigh's house; but not to find 
 Yvonne. She went there to find Wadleigh." 
 
 "Peut-etre," Jules murmured. 
 
 "But Yvonne told her that Ace had gone away, 
 and that I had gone after him, and she stole the 
 engine and went after him, to save him from 
 me." 
 
 "Non, no, m'sieu. To save you."
 
 190 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 "To save me? From what? From whom? 
 From Wadleigh?" 
 
 "Mabby to save toi from toi-meme," Jules sug- 
 gested, mildly. 
 
 ' ' To save me from myself? Oh, no. But to 
 save Wadleigh from me? Yes." 
 
 "An', maintenant, mabby ma'm'selle is lost, 
 herself. You not care for that, m'sieu? That 
 mabby ma'm'selle ees out there, een the 
 snow " 
 
 Dan turned his eyes toward the faithful servant 
 and there was such utter misery in the depths of 
 them that Jules stopped midway in what he was 
 about to say. He came to an abrupt pause, and 
 hung his head, half in shame that he had dared 
 to take such liberties with m'sieu's affairs. 
 
 "Joyce is not dead, Jules," Dan said, softly. 
 "If she were dead, I would have known it. For 
 her soul is mine, and in death, it would come to me. 
 No; she is not dead. You say that Lightfoot 
 found her? Then Lightfoot saved her. Hush, 
 now. Buxton is coming. You need say nothing 
 of all this, to him." 
 
 Buxton came in at the front door. 
 
 "Hello, Jules," he said. "I am glad that you 
 are here. Mr. Randall will need you, and at once, 
 I think. Dan, I have just found out something 
 of interest. Lightfoot escaped from the barracks 
 a week ago to-night, and started across the pass 
 within an hour or so of the time you sent Jules 
 away." 
 
 "I know. Jules has just told me as much," 
 Dan replied. 
 
 "Hurley told me about it, only a few moments
 
 THINGS BEGIN TO MOVE 191 
 
 ago. He made a remark about it which made me 
 sit up and take notice." 
 
 "What was it?" 
 
 "That he does not believe that Lightfoot would 
 have thought of going away on his own account. 
 He was quite comfortable where he was. Which 
 means that Taggart, or Wadleigh, or both of them, 
 sent him, doesn't it?" 
 
 "Very likely." 
 
 "They heard you tell the captain why you had 
 sent Jules away. They jumped at the conclusion 
 that the little satchel must have contained some- 
 thing of value so they sent Lightfoot to get it. 
 . . . Did you get it, Jules?" 
 
 "Non, m'sieu." 
 
 "Then Lightfoot must have got to it, first; eh?" 
 
 "I theenk so, m'sieu." 
 
 "Dan, I don't know what was in that satchel, 
 but I do know that you wanted it. If Lightfoot 
 got it, he will take it to Taggart as soon as pos- 
 sible. That is why I was so glad to see Jules." 
 
 Randall nodded. He was silent for a time, and 
 the others waited. Then he turned to Jules, and 
 said, slowly: 
 
 "I want you to pay careful attention to what 
 I shall say, now, Jules. This may be the last op- 
 portunity I shall have, for some time to come, to 
 give you instructions." 
 
 "Oui, m'sieu. For anytheeng you say, Jules 
 ees ready to serve m'sieu." 
 
 "I know. Mr. Buxton and I have been getting 
 ready for what is to come. We have interested 
 some of the men in Magician in my affairs. Mr. 
 Buxton has selected others, whom we are paying,
 
 192 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 to fight on our side. Some of the people will be 
 here within a few moments to talk things over. 
 I wish you to remain and hear all that is said. Do 
 you understand?" 
 
 "Oui, m'sieu. But why you want Jules to hear 
 all dat?" 
 
 ''Because, the moment we can get into the pass, 
 we are going to begin work there. Because I am 
 going to fight every inch of the way, if necessary, 
 to get it, and to hold it, and to keep others out 
 of it, and I want you to understand exactly what 
 is necessary to be done in order to accomplish all 
 that." 
 
 "Oui, m'sieu." 
 
 "Everywhere along the lines of all the railroads, 
 washouts have destroyed the grades, torn up rails 
 and ties, ripped out culverts and bridges, and 
 wrecked things, generally. By to-morrow morn- 
 ing construction gangs will be started out both 
 ways from here, both ways from Janver, and south 
 from Carrolton, and north from Lonecamp, on the 
 M. & J. The P. & H. B. people will have their 
 gangs out by this time, in both directions from Al- 
 lerton, and from Lonecamp. And the B. S. & L. 
 S. outfits probably began work on that new line 
 they are building into AUerton, two or three days 
 ago. They haven't got these hills to fight, over 
 there." 
 
 "Non, m'sieu." Jules did not in the least un- 
 derstand what was coming, but he did know the 
 man who was talking, and he was well aware that 
 Randall never talked idly. 
 
 "Mr. Buxton and I have figured that by to- 
 morrow night, or the night of the day following,
 
 THINGS BEGIN TO MOVE 193 
 
 there should be between two and three hundred 
 men at work along the line of the P. & H. B., be- 
 tween Allerton and Lonecamp, and another hun- 
 dred men within reaching distance of Allerton, 
 to the west. Then, northwest of Allerton, on the 
 new line, the B. S. & L. S. should have at least two 
 hundred men at work within a distance of sixty 
 or seventy miles. Now, Jules, listen closely." 
 
 "Oui, m'sieu." 
 
 "There will be, therefore, approximately, five 
 hundred men at work experienced men within 
 forty-eight hours from now, within the radii that 
 I have named. I have already sent out men of 
 my own to find them, and to hire them for double 
 the pay that they are now receiving. To-night I 
 will send out more men, and to-morrow still more. 
 I intend to hire those construction men away from 
 the P. & H. B., even if I have to pay them three 
 times what they are now getting, in order to put 
 them to work over Magician pass for me. Mr. 
 Buxton has found men who will go after them and 
 hire them for me. By doing that, I will not only 
 get the men I need, but I will cripple old Lionel 
 Gregory so badly that he won't have a leg left to 
 stand on." 
 
 "For why do you tell Jules all thees, m'sieu? 
 Je ne sais netting 'bout all these theengs." 
 
 "Because I want you to understand the impor- 
 tance of the thing you must do to help me, Jules." 
 
 "Oui, m'sieu. Tres bien." 
 
 "Along the M. & J., from here around through 
 Rickett's canyon, to Janver, and from there to 
 Carrolton, there will be another two hundred men 
 at work as soon as they can get on the job."
 
 194 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 "Oui." 
 
 "Until a week ago they were my own men. To- 
 day, more than half of them would come to me if 
 I raised a finger, and would do it without promise 
 of increase of pay. But, with that, I believe that 
 nearly all of them will desert Taggart and Wad- 
 leigh. That makes about six hundred men, all 
 told, that I think I can get. Jules, by one week 
 from to-day I want to have every man- jack of that 
 six hundred in Magician pass, at work, or on 
 their way there to go to work'.' 
 
 "Say, Dan " Buxton interrupted, but Ran- 
 dall turned sharply upon him. 
 
 "You wait, Bux, until I have finished with 
 Jules," he said. "Now, Jules, unless you can 
 start back, to-night, to find Lightfoot unless you 
 do find him, and so recover possession of that little 
 satchel, and bring it to me, or to Mr. Buxton 
 unless you get it to me, with its contents by, or 
 before, the time I have named, the whole business 
 that I have been talking about won't amount to so 
 much as a feather duster in a blast-furnace. Do 
 you get me?" 
 
 "But why not, m'sieu?" Jules asked, quietly, 
 and apparently unmoved by Randall's vehemence. 
 
 "BECAUSE THAT LITTLE BLACK SATCHEL CONTAINS 
 THE MONEY THAT I WILL NEED TO PAY THOSE MEN; 
 THAT'S WHY?" 
 
 "For heaven's sake, Dan!" Buxton began again. 
 "Do you mean to say " 
 
 "I mean to say exactly what I have said, Bux. 
 That little black bag is the throttle of this steam 
 engine, and we've got to get our paws on that, to 
 run it."
 
 THINGS BEGIN TO MOVE 195 
 
 "But, Dan, there is just one question that I 
 have to ask, right now." 
 
 "Out with it, then." 
 
 "What about material to build with? Rails 
 and ties, and spikes, and fish-plates, and about ten 
 thousand other things like that. Eh? What 
 about it?" 
 
 "This, Buxton. The material is right where I 
 can lay my hands on it. It is mine, and my money 
 bought and paid for it. Ace Wadleigh and Tag- 
 gart will call it stealing, but I never heard yet 
 that a man could steal his own property, and be 
 convicted for doing so. Oh, I'll beat them to it, 
 Bux, don't you worry. We'll build the Janver 
 Cut-off, and we'll have it in operation before snow 
 flies to make another winter."
 
 CHAPTER XXH 
 
 Preparing for the Contest 
 
 The meeting at Buxton's was over. 
 
 Jules had remained quietly at one side while 
 Dan Randall was giving out his instructions and 
 general directions to the men who came to the 
 store that night to enlist under his banner, and, 
 apparently, he had paid no attention to what was 
 said or done. But Dan knew that not a word had 
 escaped the vigilant shrewdness of the faithful 
 Frenchman 
 
 The entire success of Randall's plans depended 
 upon two things, and two only, now that the title 
 to the property would be brought into question, 
 and that Ace Wadleigh's claim would be supported 
 and backed by the rich and powerful Gregory, 
 with all the force and power of the P. & H. B. and 
 the B. S. & L. S. railroads. Gregory practically 
 owned the former. Certainly he controlled and 
 directed its affairs; and it was authoritatively un- 
 derstood that his word was law in the affairs of 
 the latter. And the two things upon which de- 
 pended the success of Dan's enormous undertak- 
 ing were: The recovery of the black satchel and its 
 contents, and the winning over of the men from 
 those two companies and the newly organized M. 
 & J. to the employ of Dan Randall and the Janver 
 Cut-off.
 
 PREPARING FOR THE CONTEST 197 
 
 Randall had not spoken idly when he had said 
 that half the men of the M. & J. would rush to him 
 if he so much as raised his finger. He had been 
 their master since the road was rehabilitated. 
 They knew him, and liked him, and believed in 
 him. 
 
 Nobody has ever yet been able to determine what 
 quality it is that some men possess which makes 
 them " natural born leaders." But that there is 
 such a quality, and that men, en masse, recognize 
 it instantly and flock to its standard whenever op- 
 portunity offers, is not to be denied. 
 
 Dan Randall possessed that quality. 
 
 More than a year before, at the time when the 
 M. & J. was under construction through Rickett's 
 canyon, the "bully" of the hard-rock men, when 
 he was paid off and was about to take his departure 
 with his fighting crew to seek other jobs, said to 
 Dan, in parting: 
 
 ' ' Weil, good-by, misther Randall. Whanever ye 
 want my husky-boys to worrruck for ye, all yez'll 
 have to do will be to sind worrrd. Sure, there 
 ain't wan av 'im that wouldn't go plumb to hell 
 f 'r ye, if ye should ask it includin' me own self." 
 
 Just.no w, at the critical moment in Dan's affairs, 
 he knew quite well that in every gang of men in 
 the employ of the two railroads he would have to 
 fight, there was many an individual who had 
 worked for him in the past, and who would, there- 
 fore, be not only willing, but eager, to come back 
 to him. 
 
 He knew that those men among the gangs who 
 had not actually worked for him, had heard off 
 him, and had talked about him, and that not much
 
 198 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 argument would be required to induce them to 
 leave their present jobs to come to him particu- 
 larly with the promise of increased pay. 
 
 Moreover, he believed that the men actually in 
 the employ of the M. & J. would bitterly resent the 
 fact that he had been deprived of the presidency 
 of the road, and of the power that went with that 
 office. He believed that they would be more than 
 half inclined to go on strike the moment they heard 
 about it. This was another point on which he 
 counted. 
 
 Above all things else, he knew that he could not 
 hope to build the cut-off unless he could induce 
 nearly all of those men of the three railroads to 
 forsake the jobs they had, AND TO COME TO HIM. 
 
 To the lay mind, which has not been up against 
 such a proposition, this method of procedure may 
 seem unfair BUT, in railroad construction, every- 
 thing is fair which wins out. Dan Randall knew 
 that, too, and intended to make the most of it. 
 
 So, the time of waiting after the coming of the 
 great thaw had not been an idle, or a wasted time. 
 
 Many a trusted messenger had been selected here 
 and there, largely through the advice and assist- 
 ance of Buxton, and had been sent out to prepare 
 the way, even before it was thought possible that 
 the messengers could get through. And so it hap- 
 pened that Dan's plans were well started at the 
 time when Jules appeared from across the moun- 
 tains. 
 
 That night, after the meeting at Buxton's store, 
 other men were sent out, and the short speech 
 which Dan made to them at the close of the meet- 
 ing is worth recording.
 
 PREPARING FOR THE CONTEST 199 
 
 1 'I am in this fight to win," he said. "I expect 
 every one of you to be loyal to me. Mr. Buxton 
 and I anticipate entire loyalty; or otherwise, you 
 would not have been selected for this work. But, 
 if there is one among you who has now in the back 
 of his mind a disloyal thought, or an idea of any 
 form of treachery to me, for bigger pay, or for any 
 other reason, he had better resign now, before he 
 starts, for I shall not forgive nor forget such an 
 act, and I shall show no mercy whatever to any 
 man who commits such an act. That's all. You 
 know what you've got to do, and that I expect each 
 one of you to do it. You know what your pay will 
 be, and what the extra rewards will be if you suc- 
 ceed. I don't expect you to work miracles, but I 
 do anticipate very few failures. I'll overlook and 
 forgive failures, or partial failures, but the man 
 who turns traitor to me had better never come 
 within reach of my arm again." 
 
 It was midnight when the meeting broke up. 
 
 Jules got up from his corner and stood before 
 his beloved master. 
 
 "Je suis ready, m'sieu," he said, simply. 
 
 "You may start in the morning, as soon as it is 
 light, Jules," Dan replied to him. 
 
 "I weel start maintenant, m'sieu. The morn- 
 ing may be too late. I must fin' Lightfoot; non? 
 An' I mus' get de sachet. Ees eet not so, m'sieu?" 
 
 "Yes, Jules." 
 
 "Mais oui, alors. I go now. Lightfoot, heem 
 likely be on hees way down here already, to fin' 
 m'sieu Taggart. Tres bien. Eef heem come, 
 Jules meet heem, somewhere, mabby, avec the 
 sachet."
 
 200 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 "Very well, Jules. Go now, if you like." 
 
 1 'An' eef I fin' heem, I kill heem, mabby?' ' Jules 
 inquired, placidly. Buxton, who was listening, 
 smiled. Dan shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "No. Not unless it is necessary." 
 
 "But, I am to get the sachet anyhow, non?" 
 Jules insisted. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then I breeng heem the sachet to you, 
 m'sieu?" 
 
 "Yes; as soon as possible." 
 
 "An' I not return unless I breeng dat sachet?" 
 
 "No. Unless you know to a certainty that it 
 has already been delivered into the hands of Tag- 
 gart or Wadleigh. In that case " 
 
 "Een dat case I get heem anyhow. Non?" 
 
 "If you can. Yes." 
 
 "Tres bien. I get dat sachet, bientot, m'sieu. 
 Eet ees fait accompli. Mais, m'sieu, dere ees un 
 theeng plus." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 Jules hesitated. He had been told to say noth- 
 ing concerning Joyce in the presence of Buxton. 
 But still, before he went out, he felt that he must 
 refer to the possibility of finding her with Light- 
 foot and detained by him. 
 
 "I spik of that place where Lightfoot went out 
 of the pass by the ledge, when the snow-slide fall 
 down, ' ' he said, diplomatically. ' 'What weel Jules 
 do, m'sieu, eef heem fin' dat feller what was weeth 
 Lightfoot when dat neige comme down? Mabby 
 dat feller hav' need of Jules. Non?" 
 
 Randall was silent a moment. Then he said 
 slowly:
 
 PREPARING FOR THE CONTEST 201 
 
 "Jules, I am sending you out to get that satchel, 
 and the things that were inside of it when I left 
 it behind the door in my office. Get it, and get 
 what was in it. I don't care how you get it; but 
 get it. You may use your own judgment, and act 
 as you think best, about everything else that may 
 happen. 
 
 "Merci, m'sieu. Merci beaucoup. That ees 
 all." 
 
 He went out into the night without another 
 word. When he had gone, Buxton turned to Dan. 
 
 "What the dickens was Jules talking about?" 
 he asked, puzzled by what had been said about the 
 snow-slide. "Did Lightfoot take somebody over 
 the pass with him when he escaped from the bar- 
 racks?" 
 
 "No. But it appears that he met somebody, or 
 found somebody, in the pass, when he was almost 
 to the other side of the mountain. Jules found 
 the trails." 
 
 "Who was it? Do you know?' ' 
 
 "It was not any man that Jules knew, evi- 
 dently," Dan replied, evasively. "Apparently the 
 trail was made by the snowshoes of Tom Rodman, 
 the engineer, but it isn't at all likely that Rod- 
 man was wearing them at the time. Somebody 
 had taken them without his permission, prob- 
 ably." 
 
 Buxton was chipping tobacco from a plug, and 
 dropping it into the hollow of his hand for his 
 pipe. He stopped and fixed his eyes upon Ran- 
 dall. 
 
 "Whoever it was, you know. And for some 
 reason you don't want to tell me," he said. "Is
 
 202 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 that quite fair, Dan? We ought to be quite frank 
 with each other. Who was it? ' ' 
 
 "It was Joyce Maitland, Bux." 
 
 "Good God!" Buxton said, not irreverently. 
 "How did she get there?" 
 
 Bandall shook his head, and made no reply.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 The Last Night of Idleness 
 
 Buxton was seated upon the counter, his legs 
 danglfng and swinging idly. He rolled the tobacco 
 between the palms of his hands and filled his pipe 
 and lighted it before he spoke again. Then, very 
 quietly, he said: 
 
 "Don't you think, Dan, that you'd better tell 
 me all about it. I do. I want to know, and you 
 want me to know. You see, old chap, we can't 
 work together unless well, unless we work to- 
 gether. That's about the size of it." 
 
 "I have told you all that I know, Bux," Randall 
 replied, as quietly. "That is, all save the news 
 that Jules brought to me about Joyce being out in 
 the snow. And the account of that which Jules 
 gave me, wasn't very clear. It was apparently all 
 that he knew, though." 
 
 "Tell me again, then. I wish to be quite clear 
 about it. I want you to be quite clear about it, 
 too, and I don't believe that you are now." 
 
 "I think I am." 
 
 "Of course you do. Nobody is denying that. 
 You love Joyce, don't you?" 
 
 "I do more's the pity of it." 
 
 "Well, so do I; and this is the first time that I
 
 204 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 have confessed it in words, even to myself. And 
 I don't say 'More's the pity of it.' All the same I 
 know that in my own case it is hopeless. She 
 wouldn't love me in a thousand years. Your case 
 isn't hopeless, only, you happen to be too blind, 
 just at present, to realize that important fact. Now, 
 go ahead, and tell me the story from beginning to 
 end. Only, tell me first about that part of it which 
 has to do with the information that Jules brought 
 to you." 
 
 "I'll try, Buxton." 
 
 "Go ahead. I won't interrupt.'* 
 
 "Jules tells me that Joyce saw me when I 
 crossed the top of the ridge on my way to meet him 
 at White Lake. I stopped there for a moment to 
 put on my snowshoes. I think that I gestured to- 
 ward the house. He says that she ran outside to 
 call to me. If she did so, I neither saw nor heard 
 her. The latter would be impossible, anyhow." 
 
 "Naturally." 
 
 ' 'Well, she evidently put on her furs at once, and 
 went to Wadleigh's house. I had come from that 
 direction. She probably thought I had been there 
 to see Ace which was partly the fact. There isn't 
 any doubt, in my mind, that she was aware of the 
 fact that he had already started to cross the pass. 
 She knew all about the row that had happened be- 
 tween Ace and me. She knows something about 
 my temper. She put two and two together, and 
 she made a rough guess of it that I had started out 
 after Ace Wadleigh. And, she knew that if I 
 had started out after him I would get him. And 
 she knew mighty well what that would mean or 
 supposed she did."
 
 THE LAST NIGHT OF IDLENESS 205 
 
 "Go on." 
 
 "She found Yvonne at the house. Yvonne 
 must have told her enough, or admitted enough, 
 to confirm Joyce in her theory that I had started 
 out on the trail of Ace Wadleigh to overtake him 
 and have it out with him." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "When Joyce left Yvonne, she went to the sta- 
 tion. Since the big snow, we have kept only one 
 locomotive fired, for emergencies. Tom Rodman, 
 pur chief engineer, was not there, evidently. Tom 
 is a great friend of hers. He has taught her a 
 lot about running an engine at one time and 
 another. Joyce didn't find Rodman, but she found 
 the engine and she ran it out of the roundhouse 
 herself." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "That's as near as I can get at it. The switches 
 were probably set all right." 
 
 "But, why? Why, man, why?" 
 
 "Great heaven, Bux, could there be more than 
 one reason why? To overtake Wadleigh and 
 warn him; or to intercept me, and so prevent me 
 from following him and killing him. That's why." 
 
 "To prevent you from following Ace Wadleigh 
 and killing him yes. But it was ten thousand 
 times more to prevent you from committing the 
 deed than to save him from being the victim of it, 
 Dan Randall." 
 
 "Rot!" 
 
 "Go ahead. What happened after that?" 
 
 "I don't know. Nobody knows, but Lightfoot^ 
 and Joyce herself." 
 
 ' 'What do you know? What did Jules tell you?"
 
 206 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 "Yvonne and old Pitou went in search of her 
 after they found out that she had taken the engine 
 from the roundhouse. They found her trail, and 
 also a hole under a rock where she had slept in 
 safety through the storm of that night. They 
 figured that she had already made Devil's Pulpit, 
 They knew that there was food and fuel there. 
 They thought she would be safe till another morn- 
 ing. It was too late for them to follow her that 
 night. They went to the stone house at White 
 Lake. They found Jules there. He had passed 
 the pulpit, and knew that Joyce had not been 
 there, so, tired as he was, he started out again to 
 find her." 
 
 "Dan, Jules is the bravest and most faithful 
 human being I ever knew," Buxton exclaimed, 
 warmly. 
 
 "He is. Jules is Jules. All is said with that." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "He found Lightfoot 's trail, first. Then he 
 found where the Indian had come upon Joyce. She 
 had fallen down, apparently. Lightfoot changed 
 Rodman's snowshoes that she was wearing to his 
 own feet, lifted her up, and carried her away; and 
 don't you see that Joyce must have been alive 
 and practically unharmed, or he wouldn't have 
 done that! He'd have left her where he found her, 
 otherwise. He's an Indian." 
 
 "I understand you. Go on, Dan." 
 
 "You know that pathway over the ledge, half 
 way down the canyon from the pulpit, don't you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Lightfoot carried her out that way. Jules 
 took the trail. But just where that big stump
 
 THE LAST NIGHT OF IDLENESS 207 
 
 stands you remember it the snow had slid down 
 over the ledge, and had made it impassable. Jules 
 couldn't go any further. He turned back. There 
 wasn't anything else to do." 
 
 "No." ' 
 
 "He hit the Chinook wind when he struck the 
 mouth of the canyon. He knew that the thaw was 
 on, and that if he waited until the next day he 
 might not be able to get to Janver. He was after 
 that satchel. So, instead of returning to the lake, 
 he made straight for Janver. Somebody hit him 
 a blow on the back of his head when, a little before 
 daylight, he let himself into the building. When 
 he came to, and crawled up the stairs to the office, 
 the satchel was gone. 
 
 Buxton nodded. 
 
 "Jules put two and two together again," Dan 
 continued. "He figured it out that Lightfoot was 
 the only one who could have been there at that 
 time, to hit him, and also the only one who would 
 have had any reason to hit him, being there. And 
 so, if Lightfoot was there, he escaped the snow- 
 slide. If he escaped it, so did Joyce." 
 
 "Go on. That isn't all." 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Jules was tied up in Janver, after that, as 
 everybody else was tied up, wherever one hap- 
 pened to be. But he found out several things." 
 
 "What for instance?" 
 
 "Joyce had not been brought back to Janver, 
 so Lightfoot had hidden her away, somewhere else 
 and " 
 
 "Good heavens, man, hasn't it occurred to you 
 that she might be might be "
 
 208 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 "No, it hasn't. She can't be. She is not dead, 
 or I would know it. I know that she is alive, just 
 as well as I know that you are alive, Burch Buxton. 
 If she were dead, if anything had happened ten 
 her 7 would know it. That's all." 
 
 "What would induce Lightfoot to hide her 
 away, anywhere, and hold her. I'd like to know. 
 What the devil " 
 
 "Wadleigh would. Taggart would, if he 
 thought he could get one on me by doing it. You 
 don't suppose that the satchel business was the 
 only commission that Taggart gave to Lightfoot 
 when he sent him over the mountains, do you? 
 Taggart didn't know what that satchel contained. 
 He was only curious about that. I had said that 
 it was valuable to me, that was all. He wanted to 
 get possession of it on general principles. But 
 you can bet your bottom dollar that the most im- 
 portant errand that the Indian had to do when 
 he was sent over the mountain was to carry 
 some sort of message of information to Joyce Mait- 
 land." 
 
 "But, great Jehosephat, Dan! Why would 
 Lightfoot carry her away and hide her " 
 
 "He didn't hide her."' 
 
 "But you just now said that you thought he had 
 done that very thing. And don't you realize the 
 danger that Joyce would be in, alone in the moun- 
 tains with such a double-dyed scoundrel as that 
 Lightfoot is? Why, Dan " 
 
 "Hold on a minute, Bux. I have thought it all 
 out. I thought it out in about a minute, as soon 
 as I knew about it. She isn't hidden away any- 
 where without her own consent. She is as safe
 
 THE LAST NIGHT OF IDLENESS 209 
 
 with Lightfoot, under the circumstances, as she 
 would be with you or me. Lightfoot is acting* 
 under orders, and Joyce is giving these orders just 
 now. You can bet on that." 
 
 "Dan, for a man who is uniformly sensible, and 
 sometimes really brilliant, you can on occasion, be 
 more different kinds of a damf ool than any person 
 I ever happened to meet . You think that Joycei 
 has betrayed you, while all the time " 
 
 "Wait, Bux. I've got to interrupt you again." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "I came down from Carrolton after that other 
 storm, when nobody Wadleigh, and Taggart, and 
 Joyce, least of all believed for a moment that I 
 would even attempt to get through, let alone 
 make it'.' 
 
 "Well, you did make it." 
 
 "Yes. I made it. An engine took me from Car- 
 rolton to Powelton to a point about two miles 
 this side of it, where we ran into drifts that were 
 as solid as rocks. From there I fought and dug 
 and shoveled my way through as far as Hopesend, 
 which, for the first time in my life, I thought was 
 well; named. I stayed there twelve hours, and 
 started on again. I made Corinseca, somehow, and 
 from there I cut across into Janver. I got in at 
 night too late to go to see Joyce at her home. 
 But I called her up on the phone. Got that ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I told her a lot of things over the telephone 
 that I should have kept to myself principally 
 about the Cut-off. Get me?" 
 
 "Of course I understand you." 
 
 "Well, put this into your pipe and smoke it. The
 
 210 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 information which I gave to her over the wire that 
 night, which nobody else knew anything about, was 
 in the possession of the whole Wadleigh-and-Tag- 
 gart bunch at the stockholders' and directors' 
 meeting the next day. And it could not have been 
 in their possession if Joyce Maitland had not told 
 it all to Ace. That information was used against 
 me. My stock in the company, which stood in the 
 name of Joyce Maitland, and for which I held 
 proxies, was voted against me by Ace Wadleigh, 
 who held later proxies from her, which also re- 
 voked those which I held. Later, she appeared at 
 the meeting, and when she understood that I had 
 been ousted from everything that concerned the 
 company, she seemed quite well satisfied that it 
 was so. Still later, when I was giving Wadleigh 
 the thrashing that he so well deserved, she entered 
 the office behind me, jerked the whip from my 
 hand, and struck me senseless with the butt of it. 
 Later still, when she saw me crossing the ridge, in 
 pursuit of Ace, as she supposed, she started out to 
 save him from me. And still later, when I encoun- 
 tered Wadleigh at the ruins of the record office in 
 this town, he admitted to me that it was Joyce 
 who had knocked me down with the quirt-butt. 
 Now, Buxton, that is very nearly the whole 
 story. It isn't quite all of it, but it is enough. 
 And now I'll tell you exactly how I feel about 
 it all." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "I love Joyce Maitland. She, deep under the 
 surface of things, loves me. On the surface she 
 does not and just now it is only the surface of 
 things that she is seeing. Wait. Don't interrupt
 
 THE LAST NIGHT OF IDLENESS 211 
 
 me. I want to get this business out of my system, 
 for the present. Afterward, we will not refer 1 
 to it." 
 
 "Go on." 
 
 "Just what Wadleigh has said or done to con- 
 vince her that she does not care so very much for 
 me, and which makes her believe that she does 
 care a whole lot for him, I don't know. Only this: 
 She knows, or thinks she knows, about that past of 
 mine. She knows, now, that I came to this part of 
 the world a fugitive from justice, and that I hid 
 myself away in the Great Slave lake country, with 
 only Jules for company because of that fact. What 
 she did not know, or did not find put for herself, 
 Ace has told her, or helped her to discover. What 
 she doesn't know, now, and what / did not know, 
 myself, until I searched that belt which Jules took 
 from the body of the dead man at Devil's Pulpit, 
 is well, it might have served to change her atti- 
 tude. As the case stands now, Joyce has selected 
 her own course. She can follow it just as far as 
 she likes, but after a time she will find that it is a 
 pretty rough road which she has elected to travel. 
 And now, Buxton, we'll drop this subject, if you 
 please. I'm going to build a railroad over Ma- 
 gician pass, and I'm going to begin it at once. 
 I'm going to build another one through Black 
 gorge, and I'm going to begin that one, mighty 
 bientot, as Jules would say." 
 
 "There is just one thing more that I wish to 
 say before we leave the subject," Buxton said 
 rather sharply as Randall left his chair and moved 
 away across the floor. 
 
 "Say it, and have done with it," Dan replied.
 
 212 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 1 'What if Joyce Maitland is in trouble? What 
 if she is dead? What if Lightfoot " 
 
 Randall wheeled upon Buxton. 
 
 "Great God, man, don't you suppose that I have 
 thought of all that?" he cried out. "Not one of 
 tEe things you would suggest is possible without 
 my certain knowledge of the fact. This is not 
 superstition. It is heart-knowledge. I would 
 know. Deep down in her heart and soul, Joyce 
 Maitland is just as much a part of me as if we had 
 been married to each other a thousand years ago 
 and had passed every minute and second of the 
 intervening time together. Just now she is the 
 victim of Ace Wadleigh 's deceptions and lies. 
 Very well, let her get her fill of them. Let them 
 both go the limit. But she knows, and Wadleigh 
 knows, for I have told them both this: He shall 
 not have her. She shall not become his wife. If 
 their affairs ever progress as far as that point, 
 Buxton, I'll kill Ace Wadleigh. That's all. Now, 
 drop it." 
 
 "But " 
 
 "Drop it, I say. I'm going to build that cut-off 
 and all hell shan't stop me."
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 Beginning the Fight 
 
 The busiest man on earth for the next ten days 
 was Dan Randall. 
 
 The feats of travel he accomplished were amaz- 
 ing. The ability to organize and execute that 
 he demonstrated was wonderful, and almost unbe- 
 lievable. The tasks which he performed, the de- 
 tails that he met and mastered, and the stunts 
 he set for himself, and did, were miraculous. 
 
 Men flocked to him from whatsoever source they 
 were sought and asked. 
 
 Hard-rock men, skinners, linemen, mere laborers 
 with more or less experience as the case might be, 
 bosses, foremen, bullies hard-boned, square- 
 jawed, iron-thewed, giant-muscled, fighting men, 
 all flocked to Dan Randall's summons in pairs, 
 and trios, and quartettes, in dozens and in scores. 
 
 They came from the line of the P. & H. B. in 
 squads and gangs. From points to the eastward 
 of Lonecamp, all the way around the southern 
 spurs of the Lantowas and the Badgers to Aller- 
 ton toward the west, they abandoned their jobs and 
 hastened to join the forces of the man they liked 
 to work for; and they brought reports that still 
 others were coming in from points west of Aller- 
 ton.
 
 214 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 More than two hundred more, all told, came 
 from the new line of the B. S. & L. S. that was un- 
 der construction from AUerton, northwest to Ki- 
 chen-kah. 
 
 Whole companies of men who had been working 
 for the M. & J. (Randall's own property until it 
 was stolen from him, as we have seen) threw down 
 their tools at his call and picked them up again 
 to start upon a joyous, and sometimes hilarious, 
 inarch across the mountains and ravines and gul- 
 lies and streams, to help to build the Janver Cut- 
 off, and to fight for it with all the savagery of pri- 
 mordial men, if they should be called upon to 
 fight. 
 
 The details of how these men were found, and 
 informed of Dan's need of them, are not neces- 
 sary. 
 
 The messengers and agents selected by Randall 
 and Buxton to do the preliminary work of finding 
 and engaging the services of those toilers did their 
 work well and quickly. The men who were sought 
 responded with enthusiasm. They flocked to him 
 as with one accord; and whenever there was one or 
 more who hesitated they were easily and quickly 
 persuaded by the others. 
 
 With advance money in their pockets, and the 
 promise of double pay, and sometimes triple their 
 ordinary wages, on the job and with the prospect 
 of working under such a man as Big Chief Ran- 
 dall, as he was fondly called by many of them 
 there was no hesitation 
 
 They started. They got there, too. 
 
 Wherever it was possible they impressed loco- 
 motives and flat cars into their service, and forced
 
 BEGINNING THE FIGHT 215 
 
 the engineers and trainmen to do their will and to 
 take them as far as the rails were in condition. 
 At wash-outs (which they were supposed to be 
 there to mend) they deserted the lines of graded 
 roadway and took to the hills and ravines for short 
 cuts. It was like a rush for the gold fields in the 
 old days. 
 
 Skinners mounted their mules, and dragged their 
 scrapers, bottoms up, after them; and often helped 
 along the hated "hard-rockers" as if they were 
 brothers, instead of the sworn enemies they al- 
 ways were when on the jobs. 
 
 Scores of other men of all classes and sorts, went 
 all the way afoot; and there was almost every na- 
 tionality under the sun represented among them. 
 
 Some of them fought their way from points near 
 Allerton, through the Black gorge, and across the 
 Janver valley and the ridge, to the western en- 
 trance to Magician pass. Some came down by 
 way of the ripped-up, washed-out line of the M. & 
 J. from Carrolton on the one hand, and Nelson on 
 the other, to the same point. 
 
 Many more came up through the Janver valley 
 from the southern bow of the P. & H. B. and others 
 came south from toward Rickett's canyon, or north 
 from Lonecamp and below there, into Magician, 
 and so to the eastern entrance to the pass. 
 
 Buxton deserted his store and went over the pass 
 to receive the men at the western end of it, with a 
 half dozen of well-selected helpers to aid him. Ran- 
 dall took charge at the eastern end, near Magician, 
 because that was the point where trouble was most 
 likely to occur. 
 
 But it was not the wonder of securing the ser-
 
 216 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 vices of the workers so much as the marvel of hav- 
 ing the material at hand to work with, that was 
 most amazing among Dan Randall's accomplish- 
 ments, at that time. He had proved himself to 
 be a remarkable planner and organizer during 
 those ten days which followed upon the departure 
 of Jules Legarde from the store in search of 
 Lightfoot and the little black bag. 
 
 He had very long ago foreseen part of the pres- 
 ent emergency, and the contest that must come 
 with it. Not precisely in the shape it had taken, 
 for then it had never even remotely occurred to 
 him that his own railroad company with Ace 
 Wadleigh and the others would be among his op- 
 ponents. 
 
 But he had anticipated a fight with old Lionel 
 Gregory and the P. & H. B. people, and he had in 
 every possible way made ready for that fight. In 
 doing so he had builded better than he knew. 
 
 If he had really anticipated exactly what he 
 would have to meet and overcome when things 
 came to a show-down, caution and care might have 
 overleaped themselves, and more than likely he 
 would not have been half so well prepared as he 
 was. All through the preceding summer and fall 
 Dan had been getting ready to build the Cut-off. 
 He had worked secretly and kept his affairs to 
 himself. 
 
 He had ordered from the East and had had 
 shipped to convenient points, ties, and rails, and 
 spikes, and fish-plates, and axes, and picks, and 
 shovels, and giant powder, and dynamite, and ful- 
 minating caps, and fuses, and drills, and sledges, 
 and stationary engines and boilers, and dynamos,
 
 BEGINNING THE FIGHT 217 
 
 and wire, and lamps, and mules and horses, and 
 oxen, and carts and all of the general parapher- 
 nalia and what-not that is required to construct a 
 railroad, whether it be long or short. 
 
 He had managed to make it appear that all of 
 the material was destined for use in making gen- 
 eral repairs on the existing line of the M. & J., 
 and for the construction of the proposed and here- 
 tofore much talked-about extension between Car- 
 rolton and Allerton. 
 
 It was merely a happy accident that Dan had 
 not taken Ace Wadleigh and Taggart into his con- 
 fidence concerning those shipments. It had never 
 occurred to him that both men would not be in 
 with him, up to their ears, when the time came 
 for the actual building of the Cut-off. He had in- 
 tended to make their fortunes, as well as to add 
 largely to his own. 
 
 But it had been his own money that bought and 
 paid for the stuff, just as it had been his owm 
 money that had financed and put upon its 
 feet again, the very nearly defunct M. & J. E. at 
 the time he had invited 'Wadleigh to go in 
 with him. 
 
 Dan's only idea in preserving secrecy concern- 
 ing the purchase and receipt of the material had 
 been to keep the knowledge of it from old Gregory 
 and the P. & H. B. people; and Dan was a thorough 
 believer in the idea that if you reveal a secret to 
 one person you tell it to all the world. 
 
 So even Ace Wadleigh had not known about it. 
 And so even Joyce Maitland had not known about 
 it. And also, the shipments being many, and the 
 points of delivery being likewise as many, the
 
 218 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 actual quantity of the material had not been sus- 
 pected, and, if any of it had been noticed at all, 
 it was supposed to be for general repairs and for 
 ihe extension. 
 
 Fate, destiny, whatever one pleases to call it, 
 had done the rest. Luck, maybe. 
 
 For surely it was luck that had induced Dan 
 Randall to dig and fight his way for more than 
 sixty miles through the snow of the last greati 
 storm but one, in time to be present in Janver at 
 the directors' meeting which had so glibly voted 
 him out of his own property and possessions. 
 
 Luck, and love; for it had been the strong desire 
 to see Joyce Maitland and to hear her voice that 
 had induced him to take his life in his hands to 
 make that hazardous journey. He had known, too, 
 that if he did not make it when he did, there would 
 be little hope of his getting through for weeks to 
 come. 
 
 And so he had arrived in Janver the night be- 
 fore the meeting; too late to see the girl he loved, 
 but not too late to converse with her over the tele- 
 phone. The fateful consequence of that conver- 
 sation, and of the stockholders' and directors' 
 meeting of the M. & J. R. R. Co., we already know. 
 
 The workers, as fast as they arrived on the job, 
 were divided into "camps," and "gangs," and 
 "squads," each one with its accredited leader, 
 whom Dan selected, and these were sent out again 
 to hustle-in the piled-up material from the several 
 depots where it had been delivered. 
 
 One of these depots was a station twelve miles 
 south from Magician, on the M. & J.; another was
 
 BEGINNING THE FIGHT 219 
 
 Fairview, fifteen miles to the north. Still another 
 one was Bluerock, across the mountains, near Jan- 
 ver. All three were within comparatively easy 
 access to the two ends of the pass over which the 
 Cut-off was to be constructed. 
 
 At the very beginning-of-the-end of the time of 
 waiting to be exact, on the very morning follow- 
 ing the departure of Jules in search of Lightfoot 
 Wadleigh and Taggart decided to "beat it" for 
 Allerton, at which place they had good reason to 
 know that Gregory would show up at the first pos- 
 sible moment. And considering the general con- 
 dition of affairs it was important that they should 
 consult with him at once. 
 
 The idea that Randall would find it possible to 
 start things moving without delay did not occur 
 to either of them. That Dan would have the har- 
 dihood and the sand to seize the piled-up material 
 that had been collected at the various points was 
 not even thought of. They did not know nor sus- 
 pect Randalls' resources financially as well as 
 mentally, and they anticipated nothing more 
 serious than a fight in the courts over the title to 
 the property and right of way across the pass, and 
 old Gregory's known methods were such that they 
 only smiled complacently to themselves whenever 
 they stopped to consider that point. 
 
 Gregory would win out in the courts. Never 
 once had they any doubt of that. And while he 
 was winning, he would also have his men and his 
 money working. The end would, therefore, be the 
 same, whether Randall should succeed in proving 
 his claims, or should not. 
 
 "We'll get down the line somehow, to-morrow,"
 
 220 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 Wadleigh had told Taggart. "Randall can't do 
 a thing here, now, any more than we can." 
 
 "All the same," Taggart replied, "we don't 
 know what the red-coats have dug up, out-a them 
 ruins, Ace. It seems to me that one of us ought 
 to stay right here, on the job. There ain't only 
 one of us needed in Allerton." 
 
 1 'Nonsense. You can leave all that part of the 
 business to old Gregory, safely. He will know 
 just what to do. In the meantime I'll put a flea 
 into the ear of Badmington and Hurley that they'd 
 better go mighty slow till they hear from the old 
 man." 
 
 They got as far as Holdup without much diffi- 
 culty. There they learned that below Holdup, and 
 in several places between there and Lonecamp, 
 were washouts and bad places, which would make 
 it impossible for an engine to get through for sev- 
 eral days to come. So they took horses. 
 
 Before they reached Lonecamp, they began to 
 hear disquieting rumors. 
 
 The men who should have been at work along 
 the line between Holdup and Lonecamp were not 
 where they should have been. They had deserted. 
 They had taken their tools and had marched away 
 and there did not seem to be any definite in- 
 formation as to where they had gone, or why they 
 had insisted upon going. 
 
 At places where gangs of twenty, or fifty, men 
 should have been busily at work, repairing the 
 roadbed there was nobody. 
 
 "It looks like Randall's work," Taggart said, 
 when they were still half a day out of Lonecamp. 
 Wadleigh shook his head and said nothing. But
 
 BEGINNING THE FIGHT 221 
 
 he pushed on toward the junction with the P. & 
 H. B., which was the southern terminus of 
 his own road, with all the haste he could com- 
 mand. 
 
 At Lonecamp he found the information he 
 sought in an entirely unexpected and a distinctly 
 disturbing manner. 
 
 They had abandoned their horses at a small sta- 
 tion fifteen miles to the north, and had come in on 
 a hand car which they had had to work them- 
 selves; and because of the difficulties they had en- 
 countered and the muscular strain they had been 
 compelled to undergo, and the natural disquiet 
 they both felt, they were neither of them in the 
 best of humors. 
 
 As they pumped their hand car toward the sta- 
 tion at Lonecamp, both realized at the same in- 
 stant that there was a disturbance of some sort at 
 the roundhouse across the tracks, and they has- 
 tened in that direction. There they quickly found 
 an answer to every question that had been puzzling 
 them. 
 
 Two hundred or more men had formed a circle 
 around two of their number, who were stripped to 
 their waists and fighting each other as cats or dogs 
 might have fought. The spectators were shouting 
 encouragement to their respective champions, 
 urging them on with joyous cursings while near 
 at hand a steamed-up locomotive stood panting, 
 coupled to a day-coach. 
 
 Then, high above all the noises and shouting, 
 Wadleigh heard one vociferous voice cry out: 
 
 "Go to it, Mike, you red-headed bobcat! 
 Get him. Kill him. Give him the heel! It's us
 
 222 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 f 'r the Cut-off, if you win! An' it's me for the 
 Cut-off, anyhow. Hurrah for Big Chief Dan, an' 
 the Janver Cut-off. Yell, damn ye! Yell!" 
 Wadleigh knew, then, what the matter was.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 The Fight at Lonecamp 
 
 Wadleigh and Taggart arrived upon the scene 
 just in time for the finish. 
 
 The pitched battle between the two bullies was 
 over, had been won and lost when they got there, 
 and the victor the one whom his admirer among 
 the onlookers had called Mike turned his grimy 
 and blood-stained face, of which one eye had been 
 effectually closed and the other one nearly so, first 
 in one direction and then another. 
 
 "Sure, if there's anywan here who wants a bit 
 av th' same medicine, now's the time to get it," 
 he said. "If there's anny P. & H. B. skinner: 
 standin' around fhat wants a lickin' step up to th' 
 captain's office, says I." 
 
 Nobody responded. 
 
 "Aw, come down off'n the perch, Mike. Didn't, 
 they say they'd let us have the engine, an' no ques- 
 tions asked, if you licked Thibault? So, what's 
 the " 
 
 The protester stopped. 
 
 No one had seen the approach of the two who. 
 had arrived on the hand car. The excitement at 
 the close of the battle had been too intense for 
 them to take note of its coming. 
 
 Seven out of every ten in that crowd knew Ace
 
 224 iUP AGAINST IT 
 
 Wadleigh by sight. There was not one there who 
 did not instantly know Taggart and there were a 
 good many who had, in times gone by, felt the 
 weight of Taggart 's hands, and the strength of his: 
 muscles, for he had always been a bully of bullies. 
 
 It was Wadleigh who stepped forward, first, but 
 Taggart came up beside him, and said, in a low 
 tone, before Wadleigh could speak: 
 
 "You'd better let me handle this bunch, Ace, 
 I knew 'em better 'n you do. ... What's goin' 1 
 on here, boys?" he added, raising his voice and 
 addressing the crowd generally. 
 
 A dead silence followed the question. 
 
 Every pair of eyes in the throng that had gath- 
 ered to witness the fight was turned upon the new-' 
 comers; and, as if the presence of these two men 
 demanded it, the two factions of that throng drew 
 apart and faced each other, very evenly divided 
 as to numbers. Wadleigh and Taggart stood to- 
 gether between the two factions, confronting Mike 
 Reardon, the victor of the fight. Thibault, the! 
 loser, was still in a groggy half stupor, on the 1 
 ground. 
 
 Reardon grinned, although the grin was a literal 
 facial contortion. 
 
 "Maybe ye can see f'r yerself wot it's about, 
 Ben Taggart, if ye '11 take a squint at Thibault," 
 he said. "He thought he could lick me me! 
 Well, there's the answer. Look at him." 
 
 "But, what is it all about?" Taggart insisted. 
 "What are you doing here, Reardon? Thibault 
 belongs to my own outfit; but you, and the best 
 part of that bunch behind you, are P. & H. B. 
 What ?"
 
 "Not on your life we ain't P. & H. B., Taggart. 
 We've sunk our last drill, an' shot our last blast 
 
 f'r ole Lyin' Gregory. We're on our way to ", 
 
 he stopped. 
 
 "Well, where to, Reardon?" 
 
 "That, I take it, is none uh y'r dommed busi- 
 ness, Taggart. An', say! There ain't anny wan 
 of my bunch that likes ye anny too well, so ye'd 
 best not be shootin' off y'r mouth just now, too 
 much to suit 'em." 
 
 Taggart 's reply was characteristic of him. 
 
 Like lightning his big right arm was drawn 
 backward and then shot forward, and his fist 
 caught the half-blinded fighter squarely on the 
 least injured of the two cheek bones. And Tag- 
 gart 's fist was not light when it landed in that 
 manner. 
 
 Reardon went down. 
 
 He had not expected the blow It is doubtful 
 if he could have seen it sufficiently well to have 
 avoided it, had he done so. 
 
 It would have been far better, under the circum- 
 stances, had Taggart permitted Wadleigh to do 
 the talking. Diplomacy would have accomplished 
 much more with the men, in their present mood, 
 than Taggart 's tactics. 
 
 And Taggart 's act angered every one who saw 
 it, even to the men who, otherwise, would doubt- 
 less have sided with him. But to knock down, 
 thus brutally, the victor of the battle that had just 
 been waged, and him half blind from the effect of 
 Thabault's blows, was more than their sense of 
 fair-dealing would stand for. 
 
 A dozen men from the line-up on Reardon's side
 
 226 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 rushed forward the instant the blow fell and the 
 little shouter who had yelled encouragement to 
 Thibault only a moment before was first among 
 them. 
 
 It was he, perhaps, who saved Taggart from a 
 terrible beating at the hands of the crowd, for he 
 dived at his legs, tripped him, and dragged him 
 down before the infuriated men could reach him 
 with their hands and fists. 
 
 The men who had lined up on the opposite side 
 made a half-hearted effort to rescue him, but suc- 
 ceeded only in getting their heads punched, for, 
 while the two factions had been about equally di- 
 vided previous to Taggart 's act, the cowardly blow 
 had made many of Reardon's former opponents 
 transfer their sympathies. Fully half of the num- 
 ber who had championed Thibault sprang instantly 
 into opposition of Taggart, and all that Taggart 
 represented. 
 
 Wadleigh and Taggart were hustled to one side, 
 forced through the open door of an empty freight 
 car, and, despite their protestations, were told to 
 stay there; or, if they didn't, they'd wish they 
 had. 
 
 Ace Wadleigh had not lost his mental poise for 
 a moment. He saw, and read between the lines, 
 the true meaning of what was happening. 
 
 The fire-up locomotive, with the coach attached 
 to it, the gang of men from down the line of the 
 P. & H. B., which numbered nearly a hundred,, 
 their evident desire to get north, toward Magician, 
 the plain fact that in order to do so they were 
 about to take forcible possession of the engine and 
 car, and were opposed by a mingled group of P.
 
 THE FIGHT AT LONECAMP 227 
 
 & H. B. men and M. & J. railroad men, told the tale 
 quite plainly to him. 
 
 He stepped to the open door of the freight car 
 and called aloud to Reardon, whom he knew, per- 
 sonally, and in whom he recognized the leader of 
 the deserters. 
 
 Reardon had not entirely recovered from Tag- 
 gart's blow, but he was on his feet, nevertheless. 
 He moved forward, somewhat unsteadily, toward 
 the freight car. 
 
 "You hold y'r gab f'r a minute, Wadleigh," he 
 said, thickly. "I've got something that I want-a 
 say to Ben Taggart. Afther I've said it, I'll talk 
 to you, mebby." 
 
 Taggart thrust his own bulk forward into the 
 car door. 
 
 "Well, what have you got to say to me, Rear- 
 don?" he demanded. "Just some of the same old 
 threats, 'cause I handed you one? Eh?" 
 
 "Just that, Ben Taggart an' a little more of 
 it, mebby." 
 
 "Go on, then, an' say it. Get it put-a your sys- 
 tem," Taggart laughed aloud, derisively. 
 
 "It ain't much. Ye won't heed it. But it's 
 comin' true." 
 
 "Oh, is it?" 
 
 "It's this: I'm goin' to pay ye up f'r what ye 
 done to me, just now. That wasn't no square 
 blow. You'n me never did come to a clinch. Tag- 
 gart, but I've always thought I could lick ye, an' 
 some day I'm going to do it. An' whin I do, God 
 help ye! That's all. Now, Ace Wadleigh, what 
 have you got to say about it?" 
 
 "This," Wadleigh replied. "I am now the
 
 228 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 president of the M. & J. That engine and car over 
 there across the tracks is my property. I can see 
 that you and your men are determined upon taking 
 them and using them. If you do that, you will do 
 it by force, and riot, and theft, and I will hold you 
 accountable. It may be that you have the courage 
 to defy me, and my protest, but dare you defy the 
 law? Dare you defy the authority of the North- 
 west Mounted Police? Answer me that. For that 
 is precisely what you and your men will be up 
 against." 
 
 For one instant Reardon hesitated. 
 
 He turned his battered head hastily from side to 
 side to get an idea of the thoughts of his followers. 
 A storm of hoots and jeers came to him hoots 
 and jeers at Wadleigh, and Wadleigh's words. A 
 score of the men turned and clambered into the 
 waiting car. Two, who had qualified as engineer 
 and fireman, jumped into the cab of the engine, 
 and one of them pulled the whistle-cord, emitting 
 a shrill blast of defiance at Wadleigh's words. 
 
 "I guess, mebby, ye've got y'r answer, Wad- 
 leigh," Reardon replied, with a grimace. 
 
 "Think again, Reardon. You will regret it.'* 
 
 "Aw, go to hell!" was Rear don's reply as he 
 turned away. 
 
 "Wait a moment," Wadleigh called after him. 
 Reardon stopped, but he did not turn. Instead he 
 addressed his own men. 
 
 "Pile in, boys," he said. And he watchedJ 
 them until almost to a man they had done so. Then 
 he turned toward Wadleigh again. 
 
 "Listen here, to me, Ace Wadleigh," he said. 
 "We ain't afraid uh you, nor of y'r one hoss rail-
 
 THE FIGHT AT LONECAMP 229 
 
 road.^ As for the police we'll deal with them 
 when we get to 'em. As f'r us, we're bound f r 
 Magician pass, under orders, an' we're goin' to 
 worrrk f'r a man! I guess, mebby, ye don't 
 know the meanin' of that worrrd anny too well, 
 but if you and Taggart show up, up there at the 
 pass, we'll show ye what it means all right. As 
 f'r the engine an' carrr, faith I won the use of 
 them in a fair fight wid Thibault an' even you can't 
 deny that he's in charge down here, and he's got 
 the say of what shall be done wid th' rollin' stock, 
 in the absence of written orders to the contrary. 
 An' it's me that knows that there ain't another 
 blessed thing here that belongs to the M. & J. 
 The rails, an' the ties, an' th' hull bloomin' busi- 
 ness around here is all the property of the P. & 
 H. B., an' you only have the use of it because it's 
 the junction, and aw, what's the use. To hell 
 wid ye, Wadleigh; an' you, too, Taggart." 
 
 He wheeled and climbed upon The engine. 
 
 "G'wan!" he ordered. "Don't ye see what's 
 comin'?" 
 
 He pointed up the road toward the more thickly 
 settled portion of Lonecamp, and all could see that 
 many people were approaching the scene at the 
 roundhouse, and in front of those who were coming 
 were two red-coated officers. Somehow, the news 
 of the disturbance had reached the village. 
 
 Wadleigh, from his raised position inside the 
 freight car, saw them also, and he believed that he 
 knew a way to stop the engine, which at that in- 
 stant started forward. 
 
 He took a flying leap from the open door of the 
 car.
 
 230 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 Twenty rods distant there was a switch, and he 
 knew that if he could reach it before the engine 
 did so he could derail the locomotive and ditch 
 it. 
 
 The distance he had to go to reach the switch 
 was less than half that which the engine had to 
 travel, and the chances were in his favor when he 
 made the effort. 
 
 But Reardon saw the act, and understood what 
 it meant. 
 
 Half blind as he was, he did not hesitate. He 
 knew that if Wadleigh should get to the switch in 
 time the engine would have to pull up, and that 
 every man of his party would be placed under ar- 
 rest forthwith. 
 
 "Open her up, Wink!" he shouted at the man 
 who held the throttle. Then he climbed through 
 the front of the cab, and ran over the boiler until 
 he dropped upon the cow-catcher. In his right 
 hand he held a stick of the terrible dynamite to the 
 use of which he was so accustomed that it 
 amounted, in his hands, to little more than a play- 
 thing. 
 
 Wadleigh reached the switch while the now 
 speeding engine was yet a dozen yards away from 
 it. He half turned his head to discover just how 
 near to him the locomotive had got before he at- 
 tempted to throw the lever. 
 
 Reardon had figured upon that very act. He 
 was prepared for it. 
 
 He was standing upright on the cow-catcher, 
 clinging with his left hand to the headlight and 
 brandishing the stick of dynamite in his right 
 ha^d, when Wadleigh turned.
 
 THE FIGHT AT LONECAMP 231 
 
 "If ye touch that switch, I'll blow ye to hell, 
 Wadleigh!" Reardon yelled at him. 
 
 Wadleigh saw, and understood. He hesitated, 
 if only for an instant; but that instant was all that 
 was required. 
 
 The onrushing engine was gaining speed with 
 every plunge of the pistons. There were only the 
 tender and the single car attached to 'it. With a 
 roar, and the rapid spitting of the exhausts, engine 
 and tender and car flew past him and out upon the 
 track that led away toward the north and Rear- 
 don, with a loud laugh of derision, tossed the stick 
 of deadly stuff to the ground, at Wadleigh 's feet, 
 knowing that the slight jar would not explode it. 
 
 "See how near ye come to goin' where ye be- 
 long, Wadleigh?" he shouted. 
 
 The engine, and the car with its hundred odd 
 passengers, flew onward. Reardon clambered 
 back into the cab. 
 
 "Wink," he said, to the acting engineer, "when 
 ye cross the bridge over Bear creek, slow up an* 
 stop her about a hundred feet beyant it. Faith, 
 they'll be gittin' out another engine an' follyin' us, 
 if ye don't." 
 
 "What are ye goin' to do, Mike?" the man 
 asked him, uneasily. 
 
 "Sure, Wink, if ye don't know, ye won't be held 
 accountable for it, will ye? An' if there ain't anny 
 bridge there to cross, f 'r thim that takes after us, 
 they can't folly, can they?" Reardon replied, as 
 he reached into his kit for more of the dynamite.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 The Voices Over the Wire 
 
 Midnight. 
 
 A chain of electric lights gleamed brightly 
 along the entire length of Magician pass, from the 
 Y-shaped entrance at the eastern end of it to the 
 narrow, small-end-of-the-horn-gateway-to-the-can- 
 yon, at the Janver side of the mountain. 
 
 If an "old-timer" had been dropped down there 
 suddenly and without warning, and with no in- 
 formation of what was going forward, he would 
 have stood appalled. 
 
 In the glaring arc-lights, the flare of the forges, 
 and the light of the gleaming camp fires and cook 
 fires, human figures flitted about, horses and mules 
 labored, the clatter of rock-drills echoed and re- 
 echoed among the crags and rocks, the voices of 
 teamsters sounded raucously upon the night air. 
 The general din made by hundreds of laboring 
 men at work told plainly enough that some great 
 enterprise as going forward with all the energy 
 and speed that the will of a determined leader 
 could bring to bear upon the occasion. 
 
 The Janver Cut-off was being built with a speed 
 and energy that was phenomenal. 
 
 The scene of the small fight between two men, at 
 Lonecamp, was only one of many which were
 
 THE VOICES OVER THE WIRE 233 
 
 similar in character, toward every point of the 
 compass from which either end of the pass could 
 be approached. And they came, willing and eager, 
 from all directions at once, for Randall seemed 
 to have imparted his own superlative energy to 
 every one of the hundreds of men who flocked to 
 his support, and to work for him. 
 
 Many were sent to bring in the stored material 
 from the various depots; others began with their 
 picks, and spades, and scrapers, their drills and 
 their dynamite, almost before there was time for 
 them to catch their breath from their journeys. 
 
 The great rock-bound grotto at Devil's Pulpit 
 was turned into an engine room for dynamos and 
 cable machinery. Wood was stripped from the 
 mountainsides for fuel, and within ten days from 
 the time of that fight at Lonecamp, the real work 
 of blasting and digging, of leveling and filling-in, 
 of grading and remodeling the entire character of 
 the pass, was begun. 
 
 Directly across either - end of the pass Dan 
 erected a fort-like barricade, as soon as the mate- 
 rial for the construction of the road had been 
 brought into it, and no person was permitted to go 
 in, or out of, either of those two inclosures, with- 
 out a written pass from him. 
 
 Nor did outsiders discover that there were such 
 things as barricades at the ends of the pass until 
 days after the actual work of the construction of 
 the road over the mountain was begun. 
 
 The reason for this is obvious. 
 
 The men who worked for Dan had been drawn, 
 without an exception, from the employees of the 
 three railways already mentioned; and their de-
 
 234 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 sertion of their former employers had so crippled 
 the opening up of those roads that they had been 
 rendered practically helpless. 
 
 It is true that Wadleigh, after the scene down 
 at Lonecamp, had been made to understand only 
 too well what was going on; and that he had left 
 Taggart to hasten on to Allerton to see old man 
 Gregory, while he himself had lost no time in get- 
 ting back to Magician with as little delay as pos- 
 sible. 
 
 But even when he returned there he was help- 
 less. 
 
 There was nothing that he could do. 
 
 The forces that he would have worked with, the 
 leverages which he might have brought to bear 
 against Randall, were all at the opposite side of 
 two ranges of mountains. 
 
 The railroads were impassable, telegraph wires 
 were still working irregularly and inaccurately, 
 and he was as helpless to interfere with this mas- 
 terly preliminary stroke of Randall's, as a man at 
 one end of a telephone wire is powerless to punch 
 the fellow who sasses him at the other end. 
 
 Day by day Wadleigh had seen squads of men 
 arrive, and go into the pass; and he knew that 
 many of them had been workers along the line of 
 what he now called his own road. 
 
 And he had seen them come out again, and re- 
 turn, later still, with the hoarded-up materials. 
 He knew, by implication, that the same sort of 
 thing was taking place over at the opposite end 
 of the pass, near Janver. He realized that Ran- 
 dall was thoroughly provided with material, as 
 well as with workers to use it. For once,
 
 THE VOICES OVER THE WIRE 235 
 
 Ace Wadleigh knew himself to be utterly power- 
 less. 
 
 He tried haranguing the workers as they ar- 
 rived. They laughed at him, and jeered him 
 and incidentally told him some unpleasant truths 
 about what they thought of him and the place 
 they considered a suitable destination for him and 
 his belongings. 
 
 He sought Captain Badmington, and Sergeant 
 Hurley, and begged them to interfere; but those 
 two officers shrugged their shoulders and replied 
 that they would gladly do so if he would show 
 them sufficient authority for the act. He threat- 
 ened them with dire consequences, and the wrath 
 of Lionel Gregory, if they insisted upon keeping 
 their hands off, but they only smiled and repeated 
 what they had already said. 
 
 Nevertheless, they did keep their hands off. 
 
 Personally, they both favored Randall, and, 
 while they would not have hesitated to do their 
 duty on that account, they nevertheless refrained 
 from attempting anything that was not, quite 
 plainly, their duty. 
 
 Wadleigh finally succeeded in getting a wire 
 through to Regina, with a full account of the pro- 
 ceedings, and begged that peremptory orders be 
 forwarded from there to Captain Badmington; and 
 he received the curt reply that Captain Badming- 
 ton was perfectly competent to attend to the mat- 
 ter on the ground, and that no such orders could 
 be sent by telegraph, in the absence of more ex- 
 plicit grounds for forwarding them. 
 
 He begged the great Lionel Gregory, by tele- 
 graph, to use his influence with the Canadian au-
 
 236 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 thorities to bring about the immediate interference 
 of the all-powerful N. W. M. P. ; and Gregory did 
 try. But Mr. Gregory had no better or more ex- 
 plicit information on the subject than Wadleigh 
 could offer, himself, and hence nothing could be 
 done save in the regular, red-tape manner, and 
 entirely according to stereotyped legal procedure. 
 
 Meanwhile Randall was saying nothing and 
 sawing wood. 
 
 During that time of enforced inaction on the 
 part of Gregory, Wadleigh, Taggart and others, 
 and of the crippled railroads and wires, Randall 
 succeeded in accomplishing all of the necessary 
 preliminary work of his big enterprise. 
 
 He got his men, his topis, his materials, and 
 everything that he needed, on the spot, and he 
 built forts at either end of the pass, to protect and 
 hold it and he was resolved to hold it against all 
 comers, until that railroad across the pass was 
 completed, no matter what might happen there- 
 after. 
 
 But things do have an end or the beginning of 
 one. 
 
 The B. S. & L. S., the P. & H. B., and the M. & J. 
 railroads brought in other men from outlying 
 points, and the several lines succeeded at last in 
 getting their railroads into fairly good working 
 order. 
 
 Thus old Gregory came at last to Magician. 
 
 Taggart, in the meantime, had crossed the Bad- 
 ger Range, through Black Gorge, to Janver and 
 Taggart had collected before he started, and had 
 taken with him, nearly two hundred daredevil 
 fighting men of his own selection. For Taggart 's
 
 THE VOICES OVER THE WIRE 237 
 
 method was to use force first, and the law, after- 
 ward, and he meant to fight and force his way into 
 Magician pass, if he could get into it in no other 
 way. 
 
 Nor had Gregory been idle in that respect. 
 
 His crafty old brain had been plotting and plan- 
 ning ceaselessly during all the time that Wadleigh 
 was burning the wires with information of what 
 was going on. The great man had done some of 
 the same sort of burning, although his operations 
 might better have been called "pulling wires," 
 rather than "burning" them. Nor did he ride 
 into Magician in his special car, unattended. 
 Within an hour or so after him, there arrived an- 
 other special which brought three hundred more 
 workers and fighters, if they should be called 
 upon to fight. 
 
 He had about the same ideas for an attack at 
 the eastern end of the pass as Taggart had consid- 
 ered for the western end of it. Gregory and Tag- 
 gart had understood each other fairly well before 
 they separated. 
 
 Also, and not to be belittled, Gregory took with 
 him to the scene of operations, full legal authority 
 to order a halt upon the work that Randall was 
 rushing forward. He had only to have his papers 
 duly served, to render Randall an outlaw if he 
 should refuse to obey their mandates. 
 
 But it was one thing to have the influence to ob- 
 tain the papers, and quite another thing to serve 
 them properly, and to enforce them, after they 
 were served, as we shall see. 
 
 That is why this chapter began with the word 
 Midnight.
 
 238 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 "or it was midnight between two certain dates, 
 when Gregory and Wadleigh, at one end of the 
 pass, and Taggart and Cuthbert and Crosby at the 
 other end, set out with their followers at their 
 heels to serve the original papers on the one hand, 
 or certified copies of the same on the other. 
 
 They had figured it out that Randall could have 
 no warning of what was coming. 
 
 They reasoned that the man who was building 
 the Cut-off that was to bankrupt one railroad and 
 bring another one figuratively to its knees, would 
 be taken unawares, and would not hesitate to show 
 himself, as he had done inevitably, when called 
 upon. Neither of the leaders doubted that the 
 papers would be served on Randall at one end of 
 the pass or the other, that night. 
 
 As a matter of fact, Dan had ridden into Magi- 
 cian that very morning exactly as he had done 
 many times since the beginning of his operations 
 in the pass, and they believed that they would 
 find him as unprepared for their coming as they 
 had anticipated and hoped. 
 
 Dan, however, had sources of information at his 
 command which they did not suspect. He was al- 
 ways an apostle of preparedness. 
 
 Midnight, therefore, of that particular date, 
 found Dan Randall seated inside of a shanty that 
 he had erected for his own use at the Devil's Pul- 
 pit. The interior of that room closely resembled, 
 to the educated eye, the office of a train dispatcher 
 and a telephone exchange combined. 
 
 Telegraph and telephone wires ran into it from 
 both directions. Keys and sounders, and relays, 
 clicked noisily upon the big square table, and there
 
 THE VOICES OVER THE WIRE 239 
 
 was an operator beside each sounder, and a man 
 with a head-piece receiver fast to his ears at each 
 of the telephones; and all of them seemed to be 
 writing all the time, furiously, as if their lives de- 
 pended upon what they were doing. 
 
 At the desk where Randall was seated, a dicta- 
 graph stood close by, so that it would speak di- 
 rectly into his ear when the switch was thrown in 
 upon it. 
 
 Did you ever hear a dictagraph speak into a 
 room? It is like a man talking, voice and all. It 
 is astounding and uncanny, but very real. 
 
 Both hands of the clock against the wall pointed 
 at exactly midnight when one of the telephone op- 
 erators threw in the dictagraph switch, and Bux- 
 ton's voice from the western end of the pass, 
 sounded in that shanty room as plainly as if he 
 had been present in person. 
 
 "Taggart and his men are coming,'* he said. 
 4 'They are now more than half way here fromi 
 Bluer ock station. Any orders?" 
 
 "Keep them out, that's all," Dan replied. 
 "Keep them out, no matter how you do it." 
 
 Then, after a moment another voice spoke into 
 the room, quietly, and to the point. This one from 
 the eastern end. 
 
 "Wadleigh and his bunch are coming," it said. 
 "They're about half way between here and Ma- 
 gician. Should be here in fifteen minutes. Any 
 orders, chief?" 
 
 1 'Yes. Keep them out at any cost. I'm coming 
 right down to you." 
 
 Two minutes later he started for the Magician 
 end of the pass.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 First Blood 
 
 A hundred yards from the eastern end of the 
 pass the two hundred and more men who were led 
 by Ace Wadleigh and old Lionel Gregory, came to 
 a halt. 
 
 Three of their men who had been sent on in ad- 
 vance, as scouts, returned, and that same Thibault 
 who had met with such summary punishment at 
 the hands of Mike Reardon, at Lonccamp, re- 
 ported. 
 
 "They're ready for us, Mr. Wadleigh," he said, 
 with a grim smile. "There ain't no such thing as 
 gittin' past that fort of theirs, tonight, unless 
 they're willin' to let us do it. Not nohow." 
 
 Gregory came up beside Wadleigh. Thibault 
 faced them. Behind him were the two remaining 
 scouts. 
 
 "What's the matter?" Gregory demanded, 
 querulously. "Why don't we go ahead? What 
 are we waiting here for? Who gave the order to 
 halt?" 
 
 "I did," Wadleigh replied, sharply. "I told 
 you that Randall would be prepared for us, Mr. 
 Gregory," Wadleigh replied. 
 
 "Well, he dare not keep us out of the pass. It's
 
 FIRST BLOOD 241 
 
 a public highway over the mountain. Besides, 
 I've got the papers " 
 
 "But you haven't served the papers yet," 
 Wadleigh interrupted, with a slow smile. 
 
 "That's precisely what we're here for to serve 
 them, isn't it?" 
 
 "Yes; but first we must find somebody to serve 
 them on. And that particular 'somebody' hap- 
 pens to be Randall, himself. Mr. Gregory, the 
 plain fact is that we've got to fight our way to hint 
 before we can serve them. He isn't likely, now, to 
 step out here in front of us, and show himself. It 
 seems pretty certain that we can't get to him to- 
 night. We'll have to wait till morning to do 
 that." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Ask Thibault. He will tell you." 
 
 The old man faced about. 
 
 "What's the matter, Thibault?" he demanded. 
 "What 'sin the way?" 
 
 "It's a regular fort, sir," Thibault replied. 
 "They have built it straight across the end of the 
 pass, where it begins to narrer. That's what." 
 
 "What kind of a fort? It isn't anything that 
 we can't get past, is it?" 
 
 "I reckon it is, sir anyhow, between now an' 
 daylight." 
 
 "We've got almost three hundred and fifty men 
 here with us, and every one of them has my per- 
 sonal promise of extra pay if they have to do any 
 fighting. Most of them would rather fight than 
 not. We can knock that fort, as you call it, to 
 smithereens, can't we, Thibault? You've got 
 some dynamite with you, haven't you?"
 
 242 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 ' JJure I have, Mr. Gregory, an' plenty of it, at 
 that. But, all the same " 
 
 "Well, use it; and use plenty of it, too." 
 
 Thibault turned his eyes upon Wadleigh as he 
 replied: 
 
 "All right, sir. I'll do it if that's the orders." 
 
 He made as if to turn away, but Wadleigh 
 stopped him. 
 
 ' 'Wait, Thibault,' ' he said. "Tell us just what 
 sort of a fort it is, and exactly what you think you 
 are up against." 
 
 A group of two score or more of the foremen, 
 bosses, bullies, and head fighting men of the at- 
 tacking party, had come forward and gathered 
 around them, and they pressed forward eagerly to 
 hear what Thibault might have to say. 
 
 "It's the kind that ain't easy to git past," Thi- 
 bault replied. "It's a double string of logs, head 
 high an' more, laid one on top of another, an' filled 
 in with dirt an' rocks an' things, between 'em, all 
 the way across. An' what's more " 
 
 "It won't stand up against dynamite, will it?" 
 Gregory burst in, impatiently. 
 
 "Not if you can git the dynamite to it, it 
 won't," was Thibault 's reply. 
 
 "Well, it's your business to get the dynamite to 
 it, isn't it?" 
 
 "Let Thibault finish with what he was telling, 
 Mr. Gregory," Wadleigh suggested, and nodded 
 to the man to continue. 
 
 "They've put up three strings of seven-foot 
 barbed- wire fence outside of the fort itself, sir," 
 Thibault informed them. "An' between them, 
 they have zigzagged a lot more of the barbed wire.
 
 FIRST BLOOD 243 
 
 An' then, just now, when me an' the other two of 
 us crept up toward it, they sung out to us to keep 
 our hands off . That ' s all. " 
 
 "And you kept them off, eh? You're a fine lot, 
 you are." 
 
 "Mebby, sir, you'd like to go out there yourself 
 an' try to put a pair o' nippers onto them wires,'* 
 Thibault said, grimly. "It might do for you, but 
 it wouldn't be healthy f'r me. Not this evenin'." 
 
 One of the fighting bullies who had kept him- 
 self in the background until then pushed forward. 
 
 1 'Aw, come on! " he exclaimed. "What's eatin' 
 you, Thibault? Let's rush 'em." 
 
 Others, who had crowded up after him, took up 
 his cry. 
 
 "That's the talk!" somebody yelled. 
 
 "Come on, boys," another man shouted. 
 
 It was an unruly crowd. 
 
 The men who comprised it had gone there with 
 the expectation of some sort of a scrap, and they 
 did not care to be denied merely because of the 
 physical cowardice of one or two. They had gone 
 there to commence work, at good pay, and they 
 were ready to begin. 
 
 A murmur arose among them. They pushed 
 forward, and the murmur grew into hoarse shout- 
 ings. They crowded past their leaders, and be- 
 gan to move forward, at first slowly, then with 
 more haste which finally increased to a run. They 
 were charging upon the barricade that Thibault 
 had only partly described. 
 
 Gregory was pleased by the demonstration, and 
 did not seek to hide the fact that he was so. He 
 encouraged them with nods of his head, and a thin
 
 244 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 smile upon his thinner lips. His voice could not 
 be heard, there were so many others to drown it 
 out. 
 
 Ace Wadleigh stepped to one side with a shrug 
 of his shoulders, and one of his slow, enigmatical 
 smiles upon his face. He was satisfied, too, for he 
 knew that it must come to a down-and-out fight in 
 time, and he was quite willing that it should begin 
 without delay. 
 
 Wadleigh knew the character of the men whom 
 Gregory had engaged, and he knew also that they 
 would not fight at their best unless they were first 
 thoroughly enraged. A little scrap now, and a 
 few of them hurt, or killed, would do that. 
 
 Thibault drew aside with him, shrugging, also. 
 He had no taste for what was coming. 
 
 Like a rioting horde the mob rushed forward 
 past their leaders, yelling as they went, and they 
 approached to a point within a few yards of the 
 outermost stretch of barbed wire before there was 
 a sound from beyond the fort. 
 
 There they halted, dismayed. Their line 
 swayed for a moment, and then was still. 
 
 Out of the darkness, directly in front of them, 
 flashed a triple row of electric lights which threw 
 into brilliant illumination the entire surrounding 
 scenery, rendering everything as plainly visible as 
 if it were midday, and at the same instant a single 
 volley of rifle shots from the top of the barri- 
 cade, bore to the attacking party a warning 
 which brought every man among them to a stand- 
 still. 
 
 Not that a bullet was aimed at them. Not 
 that a man was wounded or injured in any way.
 
 FIRST BLOOD 245 
 
 The projectiles had sped harmlessly over their 
 heads. 
 
 But the sound of that volley was sharp, emi- 
 phatic, and filled with menace of what might fol- 
 low it if it were unheeded. 
 
 The line halted, wavered, stood still and waited. 
 
 Directly in front of it, extending across the en- 
 tire width of the rock-bound entrance to the pass, 
 stretched the first barrier of barbed wire; and be- 
 yond that were others, as Thibault had described 
 them. 
 
 Truly, the men who held the pass against them 
 were prepared. 
 
 Lionel Gregory, small, weazened, thin-lipped, 
 fox-eyed, alert, and with his fighting mettle (tried 
 and proved many a time before that night, in other 
 railroad fights that he had encountered) now thor- 
 oughly roused, pushed himself forward into the 
 open space between his men and the barbed-wire 
 barrier. 
 
 He stood within the full glow of the many 
 lights, and he held up one hand, for silence. 
 
 "Who is it that dares to stop us at the entrance 
 to Magician pass?" he called out, addressing the 
 barricade of logs, and those who were hidden be- 
 hind it, for as yet not one of Dan Randall's men 
 had shown himself. 
 
 There was no answer. 
 
 Not a human voice replied to him. 
 
 Away off, from somewhere on the mountainside, 
 the howl of a wolf sounded dismally. It was the 
 only response he received. 
 
 He waited a moment, then wheeled about and 
 faced his own men.
 
 246 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 "Who among you have got nippers with which 
 to cut these wires?" he demanded. 
 
 A dozen pairs of them were thrust forward 
 toward him on the instant. He accepted two of 
 them, and motioned to Wadleigh, who approached 
 nearer to him. 
 
 ' ' Come, ' ' he said. ' ' Those men behind that fort 
 will not dare to molest us." 
 
 "I'm not so sure about that," Wadleigh replied. 
 "Still " 
 
 "Are you afraid?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Come on, then. We'll take this length of the 
 wire fence, between these two posts. You take 
 that end of it ; I '11 take this one. Are you ready? ' ' 
 He put one of the two pairs of nippers into Wad- 
 leigh 's hand. "Come on." 
 
 "Wait a moment," said Wadleigh. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "I don't think that they will permit us to cut 
 the wires, Gregory." 
 
 "No? Why not? What will they do to stop 
 us?" 
 
 "You heard those rifle shots, didn't you?" 
 
 "Yes. Good lord, man, you don't suppose that 
 they'll dare to shoot us, do you?" 
 
 "I do if you ask me. ' ' 
 
 "Well, I don't. If you're afraid, Wad- 
 leigh " 
 
 "I'm not afraid. I'm only cautious." 
 
 Without further objection he turned away and 
 strode, nippers in hand, toward the other end of 
 the length of wire between the two posts. And, in 
 the meantime, Lionel Gregory wheeled around in
 
 FIRST BLOOD 247 
 
 his tracks and stretched out his hand toward the 
 topmost wire, with the nippers opened, and ready 
 to bite it in two. 
 
 "Stop that!" The sharp command came from 
 the top of the log fort. "Don't touch that wire, 
 Gregory." 
 
 The president of the Pacific & Hudson railroad 
 company halted in his act, with the nippers almost 
 touching the wire. He looked toward the sound 
 of the voice. Wadleigh paused, and looked, also. 
 Everybody looked in that direction. 
 
 The tall figure of a man whom nobody recog- 
 nized because he wore a handkerchief tied over 
 his face so that it effectually concealed his fea- 
 tures had risen from behind the barricade, and 
 now stood with leveled rifle in his grasp, and with 
 the muzzle of it aimed directly at Lionel Gregory. 
 
 "Drop them nippers! Drop 'em, I say!" came 
 the second command. 
 
 The grasp of Gregory's fingers upon the offend- 
 ing nippers relaxed, and they fell to the ground. 
 He had not spent the best part of his years in the 
 West and Northwest for nothing. He knew when 
 to obey a command of that sort; he understood per- 
 fectly well just what it might mean not to do so. 
 
 "Drop yourn, too, Wadleigh. You won't need 
 'em," was the next order; and Wadleigh obeyed, 
 as Gregory had done. "Now, about face, both of 
 ye, an' march back to where ye came from. This 
 ain't no pink tea party we're holdin'." 
 
 Again the two men obeyed the command. 
 
 "Oh, hell!" a voice from the throng of men be- 
 hind Wadleigh and Gregory, shouted. "They 
 wouldn't shoot. They wouldn't dast do it."
 
 248 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 Then came jeers, and cat-calls, and lurid curs- 
 ings, from among the men; and they began to 
 grumble, and to mill, like cattle after a partial 
 stampede. 
 
 And then the unexpected, the inevitable, the 
 unfortunate thing, happened. 
 
 From somewhere in that crowd that had fol- 
 lowed Wadleigh and Gregory from Magician, the 
 sharp, quick bark of a revolver crashed upon the 
 night air, and the solitary figure at the top of the 
 log fort swayed for an instant, then crumpled 
 backward into the obscurity behind it. 
 
 The first blow of the actual fight had been 
 struck. The first blood had been shed. Perhaps 
 the first life had been taken. 
 
 Even Wadleigh was appalled by what had hap- 
 pened. He had not meant that the first shot 
 should come from his own side. He had not in- 
 tended that any shot should be fired at all if the 
 pass could be won without it. 
 
 But he stood his ground, there under the light 
 of the electrics, although he fully expected that 
 the very next instant would bring down a crash- 
 ing volley of rifle shots from behind the fort, in 
 which he might be the very first one to fall.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 The Effect of the Shot 
 
 The volley did not come. 
 
 A silence like the stillness of death reigned 
 along that mountainside for the space of a mo- 
 ment or two, and then it was broken by the distant 
 howl of the wolf that had seemed to jeer at Greg- 
 ory only a short time before. 
 
 In that interval Wadleigh recovered himself; 
 so also did Gregory. Both were brave men in the 
 face of actual danger. Both knew that the danger 
 was very real just then. 
 
 They turned their backs toward the fort, and to 
 the guns they knew must be leveled at them at 
 that instant; and it was the shrill, piping voice of 
 old Lionel Gregory that shouted to his own hire- 
 lings: 
 
 "Back! Back, I say! Every one of you! Fall 
 back! If there is another shot fired from this out- 
 fit, I'll see that the man who does it HANGS !" 
 
 Perhaps his voice, and the words he uttered, 
 reached to those men who were hidden behind the 
 fort. Possibly they did not. At all events there 
 was no hail of bullets from beyond the barricade, 
 and the men outside of it obeyed the command of 
 the little man who was so great in their eyes, in 
 all else save size.
 
 250 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 They fell back, gradually at first, then precipi- 
 tately, and they kept going until they were well 
 beyond the rim of the hills, beyond a line that 
 might have been drawn between the two points of 
 the letter Y, which formed the eastern entrance to 
 the pass. 
 
 Gregory followed after them. 
 
 Wadleigh stuck close to his side, waiting. For 
 Ace knew how to wait, and when to wait. He 
 much preferred to play second fiddle just then. It 
 would be time enough for him to lead afterward. 
 
 And he meant to lead, finally. He had intended 
 that from the beginning. Now, more than ever, 
 he was determined to do so. 
 
 Behind them the electric lights that had illumi- 
 nated fort and wire fences, went out. Night 
 reigned again where, but a moment before, all had 
 been as light as day. 
 
 Not a sound, not a protest of any sort, had come 
 from the force that guarded the entrance to the 
 pass. The men behind the piled-up logs might as 
 well have been dead, so far as any manifested evi- 
 dence of their being alive was concerned. 
 
 Nevertheless, those men were very much alive, 
 and it was no lack of fighting spirit that kept them 
 quiet. Far from it. 
 
 It was the presence of their leader, on the spot, 
 at the crucial moment, that held them, and that 
 continued to hold them when every one, had he 
 followed his own individual impulse, would have 
 retaliated in kind. The comparatively peaceful 
 scene might have resolved itself into a veritable 
 slaughter. 
 
 Dan Randall had started down the pass from
 
 THE EFFECT OF THE SHOT 251 
 
 the pulpit, at once, after the receipt of the tele- 
 phone message which had warned him of the ap- 
 proach of the Wadleigh and Gregory forces. He 
 had waited only just long enough to speak again 
 to Buxton, at the western end. 
 
 "Our information is, in effect, that Taggart will 
 fight his way inside, with powder, if he can't get in 
 without it," he said. "But I know that you can 
 take care of your end, Bux. I must go down to the 
 east end. Ace and old Lionel are coming. I am 
 giving you only these directions: Keep Taggart 
 out. Don't let him inside. That is all." 
 
 His rugged little mountain horse took him 
 swiftly over the course, for the electric lighting 
 used for the night shifts made the pass almost as 
 light as day. Still, by doing the best he could, 
 he arrived behind the logs of the fort only just in 
 time to hear that pistol shot, and to catch in his 
 arms the man who was the victim of it. 
 
 He saw, too, what the others of his men could 
 not see and had not seen, and that was that Mike 
 Reardon for it was he was not killed; had not 
 been even seriously wounded. 
 
 In fact, Mike was not so much as stunned. 
 
 The bullet had grazed the side of his head, un- 
 balanced him, and knocked him from his perch on 
 the topmost log, that was all; and he shook him- 
 self out of Randall's grasp almost as soon as the 
 latter seized upon him. 
 
 "Keep the men still, Mike," Randall ordered, 
 with rare presence of mind. "Quick. Tell them 
 that you're all right." 
 
 Reardon did so. 
 
 He stood upon his feet, and waved his arms at
 
 252 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 the men who were on the point of rushing forward 
 to pour a storm of bullets upon those outside. 
 
 "Niwer touched me!" he called at them. 
 "Wait. Faith, I done that to make 'em think 
 they'd kilt me. See?" 
 
 They stopped. They waited. They chuckled. 
 They laughed aloud with suppressed sounds of 
 their mirth. Reardon turned and grinned at Ran- 
 dall. 
 
 "Sure, 'twas a smarrrt rap alongside av th' head 
 that I got for it, all the same, chief," he said. "It 
 felt more like a wallop from Ben Taggart's fist, 
 than anything else, so it did." 
 
 Randall sprang toward one of the peep-holes be- 
 tween the logs, and peered outside. 
 
 "They are falling back," he said. "Order the 
 lights switched off. We won't need them, now." 
 
 "Then there won't be anny more fightin' this 
 night, I'm thinkin'," Reardon replied as he turned 
 and waved one of his hands to convey the neces- 
 sary order. 
 
 "No. I hardly think so. Judging from their 
 actions, they're frightened at what has happened." 
 
 "What about the mornin', do you think?" 
 
 "There will be something doing then, I suppose. 
 Heaven knows what." 
 
 "Harrrk a minute, Mr. Randall." 
 , "Well?" 
 
 "Can't ye hear them drills a singin', up there in 
 the pass?" 
 
 "Surely." 
 
 "Don't ye think that ole Lyin' Gregory can hear 
 'em, too?" 
 
 "Yes. I think so."
 
 THE EFFECT OF THE SHOT 253 
 
 "Then him, an' that snake Wadleigh ought to 
 know that we're keepin' busy; eh?" 
 
 "Of course. They know, now, that I have got 
 the pass, and that I mean to hold it. They know, 
 since they saw those lights, that I have dynamos 
 and wires, and arcs, and incandescents in plenty, 
 and that we are running night shifts." 
 
 "An' all that means, don't it, that they know, 
 too, if they don't get inside here before they're 
 much older they might as well stay out altogether? 
 Hey?" 
 
 "You bet your life they do, Mike." 
 
 "Faith, thin, they'll be afther gittin' inside to- 
 morrer if they can do it." 
 
 "Very likely." 
 
 "What's doin' over at th' other end of the pass? 
 D'ye know that?" 
 
 "Taggart is there with about two hundred, or 
 more, of his followers." 
 
 "Aye; an' they're a bad lot. I know the kind 
 he'd pick. Mebby Mr. Buxton is afther havin' a 
 bad time of it, by now, chief. ' ' 
 
 "All the same, they won't get past Buxton," 
 Randall replied, with confidence. 
 
 "Mebby not. I don't think they will, either. 
 But there'll be some dead min over there, by now, 
 or I don't know Ben Taggart's ways an' I think 
 I do." 
 
 "Wait, Mike. I'll go to the telephone, and find 
 out what is happening." 
 
 1 'What's the use, sir? Let 'em alone. Mr. Bux- 
 ton '11 report whin it's over, an' what you don't 
 know about it in the meantime won't hurrrrt ye. 
 Hark, now. What's that?"
 
 254 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 A shout, and then a second one, came to them 
 from outside the barricade. 
 
 "They be lookin' for a parley- voo, I reckon," 
 Reardon said, with a grin. Apparently he had 
 forgotten all about the blow of the bullet upon the 
 side of his head. But he was accustomed to hard 
 knocks and minded them not at all unless they 
 deprived him of the power to use his great 
 muscles. "What are ye goin' to do about it, 
 chief?" 
 
 "Nothing," calmly. 
 
 "Eh? Not a dommed thing?" 
 
 "Nothing at all. I'm not going to hear them. 
 Pass the word along, Mike. I don't want a sound 
 to go out from here. Not one, except the rattle of 
 the drills, up in the pass. They're welcome to that 
 sound." 
 
 "Begorra, that's good. Sure, that's a peach av 
 an idee. Nothin', says you. Nothin', says I. 
 Nothin', says the bunch av us. Trate 'em wid con- 
 tempt, says you. Let 'em think we're asleep, says 
 I. Faith, that's bully." Then, to the men who 
 had drawn near, he added: "Not a sound out of 
 ye, men. We'll give 'em all they're wantin', 
 afther breakfast." 
 
 Again the voice came to them from the darkness 
 outside the fort, and this time Randall recognized 
 it. Ace Wadleigh was there, in person. 
 
 "Hello, there, inside the fort!" he called. 
 
 Then he waited, and, after a time, repeated his 
 summons once more. 
 
 "Begorra, that'll puzzle the head off'n him, so 
 it will," Reardon chuckled. "Mebby he'll be 
 afther thinkin' that the bullet he shot at us killed
 
 THE EFFECT OF THE SHOT 255 
 
 the hull outfit; eh? Sure, he's sayin' something 
 now. Listen." 
 
 , "If you are there, Randall and we are sure 
 that you are you had best answer my hail," 
 Wadleigh called at the top of his voice, and then 
 waited once again. 
 
 "Then listen to me," he called again, at last. 
 "Mr. Lionel Gregory, president of the Pacific and 
 Hudson Bay Railroad Company, is here with me. 
 He is standing beside me now, and approves of 
 all that I say. Do you hear me?" 
 No answer. Wadleigh went on yet again: 
 "I have made proper declarations, and filed 
 them with the authorities, that the rights of way 
 across Magician pass belong to the Manitoba and 
 Juneau Railroad Company, of which I am now the 
 president, and that they have been destroyed by 
 fire. Also, by the authority of the board of direc- 
 tors of my company, vested in me at our last meet- 
 ing, I have agreed, under certain conditions, to 
 transfer all of those rights to Mr. Lionel Gregory, 
 and others. Together, we have applied to the 
 proper authorities to have you and your followers 
 restrained from taking possession of Magician 
 pass, and we have with us the regularly drawn 
 and attested official papers, so commanding and 
 restraining you. I shall, now, personally, force 
 my way past these barbed-wire tangles, and at- 
 tach the said papers to the logs of the barricade 
 behind which you are concealed; which act, I am 
 instructed, will constitute a sufficient service, 
 which, in its turn, if disobeyed, will render you, 
 and each of your followers, collectively and indi- 
 vidually, OUTLAWS. Do you hear me, now?"
 
 256 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 "Sssshhh! Don't answer," said Randall, seiz- 
 ing Mike Reardon's arm as the latter moved as if 
 he were about to reply. 
 
 "Faith, I'd like to push his face in for him, so 
 I would, chief. Brandin' me an outlaw, indade!" 
 
 ' ' Keep still. He isn't through, yet. ' ' 
 
 Nor was he. After a short pause, Wadleigh 
 continued: 
 
 "In the morning, as soon as it is light, if you 
 have not taken heed of the authority of this Do- 
 minion, as expressed in the aforesaid papers, we 
 shall storm the barricade you have caused to be 
 erected, and we shall take possession of Magician 
 pass by due authority of law, using sufficient force 
 to do so, if found necessary. I shall now affix the 
 aforesaid papers as I have stated." 
 
 "Sure he's long-winded enough about it," 
 grumbled Reardon. "Do you think he'll do it?" 
 
 "Do what?" Randall asked. 
 
 "Crawl up here in the dark and tack thim 
 papers to the forrrt?" 
 
 "I think he is quite capable of attempting it, 
 Mike." 
 
 "What then? Will the thing worrrk?" 
 
 "No. We don't have to go outside to get the 
 papers, do we?" 
 
 "But, ain't he the wan to go back to the others 
 an' swear that you stepped outside to git 'em, an' 
 that he handed thim to ye, an' that ye took 'em all 
 right? Wouldn't he make that kind of an affy- 
 davit, as quick as he'd slit y'r wizen f 'r ye, if y'r 
 back was turned?" 
 
 "He might do that, Mike. I had not thought 
 of that."
 
 THE EFFECT OF THE SHOT 257 
 
 "Then, begorra SAY! Thim papers ain't of 
 no account if they don't git to you, are they?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 For a moment after that Eeardon was silent, 
 deep in thought over some problem that had oc- 
 curred to him. Then, with a wry smile, and a sly 
 wink, he said: 
 
 "Chief, this head av mine is hurtin' like blazes. 
 Sure I plumb forgot it until this very minute. 
 Will ye wait here till I come back? I have me 
 doubts about that spalpeen's tryin' that dodge he's 
 been talkin' about. I'll be back in a jiffy." 
 
 Dan smiled, not at all deceived by Mike Rear- 
 don's words and manner. 
 
 "Go ahead, Mike, if you want to," he said. 
 "I'd go, myself, only, if he should happen to be 
 there with the papers, it would amount to a serv- 
 ice of them. But don't do anything that you'll be 
 sorry for afterward." 
 
 "Divil a fear av that, chief," Reardon replied 
 as he went swiftly away. "If Ace Wadleigh 
 comes inside av thim wires, to serve thim papers, 
 he won't have anny to serve by the time he gits 
 here an' he won't be goin' back again to make 
 anny affydavit about 'em, afterward, either. You 
 hear me."
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 The Live Wires 
 
 Randall watched the departing figure of Rear- 
 don with a grim sort of smile in his eyes, which it 
 was too dark for others to see, for the boss bully 
 of the. hard-rock men had not deceived his chief by 
 that subterfuge about a pain in his head. He knew 
 very well indeed that Big Mike intended only to 
 go outside of the fort, and to capture, if he could 
 do it, Wadleigh, or anybody else who might dare 
 to approach near enough to the log barrier to tack 
 papers against it. 
 
 Dan, however, had other secrets concerning the 
 defences of Magician Pass that were shared only 
 by Buxton, and his engineers. They were parts 
 of his general system of preparedness for the 
 building of the Janver Cut-off, for he had foreseen 
 many difficulties, although not exactly the condi- 
 tions by which he was then confronted. 
 
 He had not purchased his dynamos, and his wire, 
 and the special boilers and the entire electric plant 
 that was now installed in the pass, without inten- 
 tion to utilize their resources for offence and de- 
 fence in case of attack. There are other things 
 which a plant like that one can dp than merely to 
 supply power and light for carrying on the work. 
 He had known before he made his purchase almost
 
 THE LIVE WIRES 259 
 
 a year before, that physical protection inside the 
 walls of Magician pass was quite likely to be 
 vastly important before the work was finished. 
 Only, then, he had reckoned solely upon the ani- 
 mosity and venom of Lionel Gregory. It was 
 God's mercy that he had not revealed all of these 
 plans to Ace Wadleigh. 
 
 Gregory and the other "big fellows" he had 
 realized from the start, would fight him and he 
 had known that they would fight to a finish and 
 without mercy, as soon as they realized that he in- 
 tended to build the Cut-off at all hazards. They 
 would not hesitate to drive him out of the pass 
 with bullets and dynamite, if there were no other 
 means of accomplishing it. And so, he had de- 
 termined not only to get into the pass, but to stay 
 in it after he got there. 
 
 No sooner was Mike Reardon's back well 
 turned than he made his own way hastily through 
 the inclosure, and a few rods up the pass itself, to 
 what he called the East Station, which was merely 
 a small building of logs to inclose an office, the 
 telephone, and an electric switchboard. 
 
 Dan was wondering, as he went onward, if Ace 
 Wadleigh would indeed have the hardihood to at- 
 tempt in person to nail the summonses, or the in- 
 junctions, or whatever the legal papers were, to 
 the fort. 
 
 He hoped so. He hoped that it might be Wad- 
 leigh. And he had his own reasons for indulging 
 that hope. 
 
 There were two young men in charge of the 
 Station. They belonged in Magician, and had 
 been selected for their present occupation, by Bux-
 
 260 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 ton. One of them had a telephone receiver 
 clamped fast to his head; the other was seated 
 within reach of the several telegraph keys. Both 
 understood the manipulations of the electric 
 switchboard which was within their reach. 
 
 Dan looked at his watch as he entered the sin- 
 gle room of the cabin. 
 
 He stopped in the middle of the floor with his 
 eyes fixed upon the dial, waiting, apparently, for 
 an estimated interval to pass. 
 
 Presently he returned the watch to his pocket, 
 and, stepping forward quickly, moved the switch 
 that was marked 7 on the board. Then he turned 
 and addressed one of the young men. 
 
 "Tom," he said, to the telegraph operator, "I 
 will take your wires for you until you return. I 
 want you to go outside for me." 
 
 "Yes, sir," Tom replied, starting to his feet. 
 
 "Go to gate 2. Step outside, and close it after 
 you. Tell the guard inside, not to put the bar 
 across until you return." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Wait, just outside of the gate, for Rear don. 
 You will probably hear him before you see him. 
 If he calls out do you know his voice?" 
 
 "Everybody knows Big Mike's voice, Mr. Ran- 
 dall." 
 
 "If he calls out, blow your whistle. You have 
 yours with you?" 
 , "Yes, sir." 
 
 "After you have blown it, so that I can hear it 
 here, mind you, call to Reardon. Say that"! want 
 him, and whatever or whoever he has got with him. 
 That's all, Tom. Hurry."
 
 THE LIVE WIRES 261 
 
 The young man went away on a run. Randall 
 turned to his companion. 
 
 "Give me the reports, Philip," he said; then 
 corrected himself. "But, no. I'll attend to those 
 later. You may tell me if there is any news from 
 the West Station." 
 
 "They are fighting over there, sir." 
 
 "Now? Fighting yet?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. At the last report I got, over the 
 phone." 
 
 "How long ago was that?" 
 
 "Twenty minutes," Philip replied, glancing 
 toward the dollar clock that hung against the wall. 
 
 "Anybody hurt?" 
 
 "Mr. Buxton got a bullet through his hat when 
 he got on top of the fort to talk to Taggart. That 
 is the nearest. Our men have been using blanks, 
 as you directed. But Taggart has found that out. 
 The last report was that Taggart was getting 
 ready to rush things." 
 
 "All right. Tell them, over there, to use the 
 switch, if they have not done so already. And 
 then " 
 
 He stopped. 
 
 The shrill blast of a whistle came to them. Dan 
 sprang to the switchboard, and turned back No. 
 7 to its former position. Then he stood quite still 
 for a moment, waiting. Presently he strode across 
 the floor to the door of the cabin and threw it open, 
 and in the dim light he could see a figure running 
 toward him. 
 
 In a moment more the boy called Tom arrived, 
 breathlessly. 
 
 "All right, Mr. Randall," he called out, as soon
 
 262 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 as he was near enough. "Reardon is inside, now, 
 and the gate is barred. He's got a prisoner; and' ' 
 young Tom grinned ''big Mike is fighting 
 mad." 
 
 While Tom was talking Randall stepped swiftly 
 back to the switchboard, and again threw in 
 No. 7. Then he passed outside without another 
 word. 
 
 Near the middle of the inclosure, where a single 
 incandescent light supplied very little illumina- 
 tion, he could see Mike Reardon who was sur- 
 rounded by nearly a score of the defenders of the 
 fort. 
 
 Mike was swearing lustily, and picturesquely; 
 but all the time he was holding fast to a man he 
 had brought inside of the fort with him: his pris- 
 oner. 
 
 A glance sufficed to inform Randall that the 
 prisoner was not Ace Wadleigh, and he was con- 
 scious of a vague regret that he was no!. Randall 
 drew backward into a deeper shadow, and called 
 softly to a man who was passing. 
 
 "Tell Reardon not to forget his duty in regard 
 to the papers, if there are any," he said, and the 
 man hurried away to obey. Then Randall 
 laughed, softly, for he could hear, quite plainly, 
 Big Mike's reception of the instructions. 
 
 "T'ell wid him an' his orders," Mike roared 
 out. "Faith, it's dead I am, this minute, entirely. 
 There's a million volts av that dommed stuff inside 
 uh me. An', look at HIM!" He pointed toward 
 his prisoner who was writhing spasmodically upon 
 the ground. "Sure, when I grabbed him, I got it, 
 too. The chief might-a told me."
 
 THE LIVE WIRES 263 
 
 Randall called out to the hard-rock man: 
 
 "I'll be inside the station, Mike, when you're 
 ready to come to me." 
 
 "I'm ready now, chief," the big fellow shouted 
 in reply, startled because his not too respectful re- 
 marks had been overheard. 
 
 "Come along, then, and bring your man." 
 
 TEe others made way for Reardon. He bent 
 forward and jerked the prisoner to his feet. Then, 
 with force that was anything but gentle, but which 
 was sufficiently persuasive, he led the man, unre- 
 sistingly, to the cabin. 
 
 "There wa'n't no papers on him, chief. Not a 
 paper,' Mike said, as he closed the door behind 
 himself. 
 
 "That's a lie. I did have " The prisoner 
 
 got only that far in what he wished to say when 
 the flat of Big Mike's hand fell across his face, and 
 effectually closed his mouth. 
 
 "It's him that's doin' th' lyin', chief," Mike 
 said with a grin. "Sure, I searched him through 
 an' through, an' there wasn't a dommed paper on 
 him. . . . Ain't that so, ye scum of the earth? 
 
 Tell the chief it is, or I'll " he raised his big 
 
 fist and held it menacingly over the prisoner's 
 head. 
 
 The captive, who was evidently nothing more 
 than a "skinner" by occupation, and who had 
 doubtless been selected for the work of tacking the 
 papers against the fort because of his lack of im- 
 portance, looked first at the threatening fist, then 
 at the savage visage of Big Mike, and nodded. 
 
 "Say it," said Mike. "Don't nod it." 
 
 "I didn't have no papers," the man replied.
 
 264 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 "Faith, that's all we want of you. What shall 
 I do with him, chief?" Mike asked. 
 
 "Send him up the pass. Tomlinson will put 
 him to work. You're a skinner, aren't you, my 
 man?" 
 , "Yes, sir." 
 
 "You'll get double pay, here. Do you want to 
 stay and go to work on the morning shift?" 
 
 "Betcher life I do, sir." 
 
 "Do you think there are any more like you, out 
 there, who would wish to do the same thing if they 
 had a chance?" 
 
 "More'n half of them would, if anybody should 
 ask you, sir. There's a whole bunch of them that 
 would desert and come to you in a minute, if they 
 dared, or if they had half a chance," was the quick 
 and eager reply. 
 
 "Very good. We will try to give them an op- 
 portunity. Take him away, Mike. Send him up 
 to Tomlinson." 
 
 Reardon reached out and rested his hand upon 
 the door. Then he paused. 
 
 "I guess you heard what I said outside, there, 
 a little bit ago, chief," he said, half sheepishly. 
 ' 'I didn't mean it. But I was mad. How the hell 
 was I to know that you had about twenty million 
 volts of electricity burnin' up them wires when I 
 grabbed onto this gazabo, who couldn't let go of 
 the wan that he was holdin' onto? Sure, I got it 
 me ownself, t 'rough him, an' I reckon they heard 
 me yell, plumb to the Great Slave. If you'd-a told 
 me, chief " 
 
 "You know it now. That's enough, isn't it?" 
 
 "Mebby it is, sir. I reckon mebby that's what
 
 THE LIVE WIRES 265 
 
 you was thinkin' about, when you didn't seem to 
 care even if Lyin' Gregory an' his bunch did try 
 to cut them wires, under cover of the dark. Sure, 
 they couldn't cut 'em; eh?" 
 
 ''They might cut the barbed wire, Mike. That 
 is not charged. But if one of them should put a 
 .pair of steel nippers against the charged wires- 
 well, those wires are alive, that's all." 
 
 "An' it's thinkin' I am, that the wans that 
 touched thim, would be dead, at that." 
 
 "Not quite, Mike. But they would be uncom- 
 fortable, to say the least. And they might wish 
 that they were dead, for a moment. Go, now. I 
 have work to do, here."
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 War, to the Utmost Limit 
 
 Twenty-one days had come and gone since the 
 night when Dan Randall sent Jules away to take 
 the trail of Lightfoot for the recovery of the little 
 black satchel. AND, to find out what had become 
 of Joyce Maitland. . . . And not one word nor 
 message of any sort had been received from Jules 
 in all that time. Not one. 
 
 Dan's anxiety had been very great indeed al- 
 though, outwardly, he had given no sign of it. 
 
 Every minute of his time had been occupied in 
 the bringing in of his supplies and materials, in the 
 building of the forts at the ends of the pass, in the 
 installation of the electric system, and in the actual 
 beginning of the work of construction. 
 
 He had slept little, and that only at intervals. 
 Never, regularly. A few hours out of the twenty- 
 four, and rarely more than an hour or two at a 
 time, had been his utmost limit, and the strain was 
 beginning to tell upon him. 
 
 He had grown haggard and spare, and weary- 
 eyed; only, the keenness of his eyes had not dimin- 
 ished, nor had his wonderful grasp of detail and 
 his almost superhuman energy, grown less. 
 
 He was everywhere on the job at all times of 
 the day or night, and the men had grown to look 
 for him when he was least expected.
 
 WAR, TO THE UTMOST LIMIT 267 
 
 He had established a system of premiums by 
 which if one gang outdid another, within a speci- 
 fied time, it won a prize worth haying. He had 
 extended this feature even to individuals, and the 
 consequence of it all was that never within the 
 memory of any one of the workers had an enter- 
 prise gone forward with half the speed of the con- 
 struction of the Janver Cut-off. 
 
 Nor had he neglected Yvonne, at the stone house 
 near White Lake. She would have been left ut- 
 terly alone during that time, but for old Pitou, 
 whom Dan induced to remain with her until the 
 return of Jules. But now, that the actual pres- 
 ence of the enemy upon the ground at both ends 
 of the pass made it certain that the war had begun, 
 Dan realized that there would be but little possi- 
 bility of his going out of the pass again, until the 
 Cut-off was completed. 
 
 The funds that were contained within the little 
 satchel, he had not needed because the workers 
 in the pass preferred not to be paid off until the 
 job was finished; and then they would want all 
 that was coming to them, in a lump. And Dan had 
 dared, with bravery superhuman, to go ahead 
 without the funds to pay. His great faith in him- 
 self, his destiny, and in the future of the Cut-off 
 had compelled him to go on. 
 
 At the end of each seven days, every man had 
 received a due-bill of Dan's indebtedness to him 
 and those due-bills would have to be met and 
 cashed, in time. 
 
 Dan knew that without the satchel he could not 
 supply the cash. And he realized that unless he 
 had the cash ready to pay out, when the time came,
 
 268 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 every man among that motley crew would turn 
 upon and rend him, and all his works, and that he 
 would stand to lose the Cut-off at the very last mo- 
 ment, even after he had completed the building of 
 it. It was a great game that Dan Randall played; 
 a great gamble. 
 
 The men never doubted his ability to pay. They 
 preferred to receive no cash until they were 
 through with the job, and could go where it could 
 be spent. Money was no good to them unless there 
 were places provided to spend it. Among the 
 supplies stores were contained all things that any 
 one among them might require which Dan was 
 willing that they should have. Liquor was tab- 
 booed. 
 
 Thus, the recovery of the satchel and its con- 
 tents, was vital. 
 
 There were other resources which Dan could 
 command, but they were thousands of miles dis- 
 tant. The situation was such that they could not 
 be drawn upon in time to benefit them. 
 
 And Joyce. 
 
 But for Dan's soul-abiding conviction and faith 
 that she was safe and unharmed, he would have 
 thrown the Janver Cut-off and all that it meant to 
 him, and the black satchel and all that it contained, 
 to the eight winds of Tophet; to Perdition. 
 
 He had infinite belief in that unrecorded sixth 
 sense of his, of which Joyce Maitland was the 
 mainspring. He had complete faith, too, in Jules. 
 That faithful servitor would have been amazed 
 indeed if he had suspected that the very life, and 
 hope of success, and ambition for the future of 
 M'sieu rested upon his shoulders.
 
 WAR, TO THE UTMOST LIMIT 269 
 
 And Jules Legarde had variished. 
 
 Randall's means of getting information from 
 the outside was perfect. It was accomplished by 
 putting into effect one of the amazing plans that 
 had been perfected in his mind, almost a year be- 
 fore. The telegraph and telephone instruments 
 installed in Magician Pass, explained it. 
 
 Secret loops had been run into the pass from 
 telegraph and telephone wires that approached 
 the mountain from every side. If a message was 
 sent from Magician to Janver, or to Allerton, or 
 to any other point along the lines of the railroads, 
 the loops carried that message into the little house 
 at Devil's Pulpit, and the sounder voiced it, and 
 the man seated at the table wrote it down in the 
 form of a report which Dan read over at his leis- 
 ure. 
 
 He knew, of course, that sooner or later, the 
 loops would be discovered, and destroyed; but un- 
 til then they would serve him. 
 
 And so, he had known of the messages between 
 Wadleigh and Gregory, and Taggart, and others. 
 Thus he had been kept as well posted concerning 
 their movements, as they were informed them- 
 selves. He might have been the commander of an 
 army, or the arbiter of an empire, with such fa- 
 cilities. 
 
 He had hoped against hope that some of those 
 wires would ultimately provide him with news of 
 Joyce, and of Jules, and of Lightfoot. But they 
 did not. 
 
 All that he did learn in that respect was nega- 
 tive; but such as it was, it was also reassuring; 
 It was merely that Taggart and Wadleigh were as
 
 270 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 mystified concerning what had become of Light- 
 foot as he was; also, that it had been reported to 
 them that Joyce Maitland had disappeared, and 
 was supposed to have been lost in the last great 
 storm of the season. 
 
 Dan knew, positively, better than that. So he 
 told himself over and over again. 
 
 The place under the ledge where Lightfoot had 
 taken her out of the canyon, and where Jules had 
 feared that both might have been buried in the 
 sliding snow, contained no trace of either of them, 
 for Dan had lost no time in searching it, despite 
 his conviction that they had escaped. His heart 
 told him that she had escaped, and was unharmed. 
 
 Now, after three weeks, there were moments 
 when the fears of Buxton, as expressed by him 
 during their last interview on the subject, re- 
 turned to Dan, dismayingly. 
 
 Lightfoot was a scoundrel, after all. Lightfoot 
 was an Indian, and treacherous. Lightfoot was a 
 thief, a murderer, and all that was bad; and now, 
 because of his escape from the barracks at Magi- 
 cian, he was an outlaw. Lightfoot held Joyce 
 Maitland in his power a prisoner and it was 
 likely that he had determined not to return at all, 
 even to Taggart, knowing that he must face im- 
 prisonment if he did so. If Lightfoot had pos- 
 sessed himself of the contents of the satchel, and 
 held Joyce a prisoner in his power, what might 
 not he dare to do? 
 
 When Mike Reardon departed from East Sta- 
 tion, Dan read over the reports of the two oper- 
 ators, but found nothing of what he so eagerly 
 hoped for. Afterward he went about giving his
 
 WAR, TO THE UTMOST LIMIT 271 
 
 orders for the morning. Then he mounted his 
 horse and returned to the pulpit. 
 
 Up there the sounders were clicking merrily as 
 he entered the cabin that held them. Buxton ar- 
 rived from the western end of the pass, a few mo- 
 ments later. 
 
 "It's all over for the present, Dan," he said. 
 "I gave them the current. I had to give them 
 pretty nearly the full force of it before they made 
 up their minds that they had enough. They will 
 try dynamite, now." 
 
 ' ' Of course. We expected that. ' ' 
 
 "You haven't read over the last reports yet, 
 have you?" 
 
 "Not since I left the eastern end. Why?" 
 
 One of the operators passed a few sheets of 
 paper to his chief. Dan ran them over carefully, 
 then raised his head and smiled at Buxton. 
 
 "They're mad, aren't they?" he chuckled. 
 
 "Rather. Never mind that. Have you seen 
 that one which refers to Joyce?" 
 
 "Yes. I have it here, in my hand." 
 
 "Taggart thinks that she is here, in the pass, 
 with us. That's what he tells Wadleigh. And 
 that we've got Lightfoot, too. Now, Dan " 
 
 "Wait, Bux. We cannot do a thing, and you 
 know that we cannot. This information is reas- 
 suring, in its way, because it tells us that they* 
 know even less about her than we do." 
 
 "But, good heaven, man! What about Light- 
 foot? Have you thought of him? With all that 
 money, with all the whiskey he wants, with Joyce 
 as his helpless prisoner?" 
 
 "Yes, Bux, I have thought of all of it," Dan re-
 
 272 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 plied, very quietly. "Also, I have thought of 
 Jules. I am trusting to Jules Legarde." 
 
 One of the operators turned about in his chair 
 at that moment and passed a sheet of paper that 
 was covered with writing to Randall. Neither he 
 nor Buxton had paid any attention to the sound- 
 ers on the table. 
 
 Dan took the intercepted message and read it 
 rapidly. Then, as if controlling himself with a 
 great effort, he passed the paper in silence to Bux- 
 ton, and leaned back against the wall of the build- 
 ing with closed eyes, and firmly compressed lips 
 that spoke all too plainly of the anguish of mind 
 he was enduring. 
 
 Buxton read the message that had just come in, 
 aloud. It had been sent by Taggart from Blue- 
 rock, to Wadleigh at Magician. This is what it 
 said: 
 
 "Jules Legarde just captured here. Refuses to 
 talk, but I will make him talk if I have to roast 
 him. He came from toward White Lake. I have 
 heard of a hide-out of Randall's over that way. If 
 Jules won't tell where it is I will find it anyhow. 
 Must be something there. The Maitland girl, 
 maybe. Will find out. Randall has charged 
 wires at this end, to keep us out. In the morning 
 I shall use dynamite. Advise you to do the same 
 at your end. At daylight I will send men up the 
 mountain on both sides of the pass to blast away 
 every cliff and ledge where a shot can be put in. 
 You do the same. We can fill the pass full of 
 stones if we use enough juice. It is war now, and 
 I am going in to kill. No good fooling. Tell 
 Gregory to go back to Allerton, and to forget us,
 
 WAR, TO THE UTMOST LIMIT 273 
 
 for the present. We will need him and his influ- 
 ence, later, to get us out of the hole we dig. I am 
 going to blow that pass full of rocks, or blow every 
 man that is in there out of it, one or the other, or 
 both. Never mind the fort. Send your men up 
 along the top of the path, both sides of it, and pile 
 the whole line of it full of exploding dynamite. 
 Blow*Randall and his bunch out of it, or bury them 
 in it. We will start at daylight. When will you 
 start? Answer." 
 
 The answer came very soon after that. This is 
 what it was: 
 
 "Taggart, Bluerock: Happened to be here 
 when message arrived. Already decided Gregory 
 go to Allerton. He will protect us afterward. 
 Your plans are good. Had decided upon prac- 
 tically same thing over here. Will start at day- 
 light, both sides. You are nearer Pulpit. Attack 
 that first. Must be their headquarters. Jules has 
 a secret place somewhere near White Lake. 
 Yvonne must be there. Get her, too. Make both 
 talk if you have to use extreme force to do it. 
 Keep me informed. Make the Frenchman tell 
 what was in that satchel. He probably got to it 
 first. It is war, now, with no quarter asked or 
 given. Go the limit. Wadleigh."
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 The Dynamite Attack 
 
 None of the foregoing events had been permitted 
 to interfere with the noisy spatter of the drills at 
 work, the occasional roar made by the shooting of 
 a blast, the shouting of the teamsters, or the sing- 
 ing clang of rail upon rail as they were deposited 
 length by length along the line of the proposed 
 track. 
 
 Dan had planned from the beginning, that the 
 work of building the Cut-off should continue, as 
 far as possible, without interruption. He doubted 
 very much if the threatened dynamite attack 
 would stop his "boys" in what they were doing. 
 The prizes he had offered, and the premiums that 
 had already been won and lost by rival groups of 
 workers had accomplished much in pushing for- 
 ward the work. It was almost phenomenal in 
 what had already been done. 
 
 His watch told him that there would yet be 
 somewhat more than two hours of darkness. 
 Much may be accomplished in two hours of time. 
 Have you ever paused to consider how much may 
 really be done in one minute? 
 
 After the reading of the two messages Dan sat 
 very still and silent for a time while his compan- 
 ions watched and waited.
 
 THE DYNAMITE ATTACK 275 
 
 If the truth be told, it was not the threatened at- 
 tack from the tops of the surrounding cliffs that 
 concerned him most; it was the peril that he knew 
 Jules to be in at that moment; it was the awful 
 dangers that would threaten pretty little Yvonne 
 when the brutal Taggart should succeed in find- 
 ing the stone house at White Lake; and it was 
 more than all else his serious concern for Joyce, 
 now that he was practically certain that Jules had 
 returned without her. Still, the intercepted mes- 
 sages reported his capture as having occurred 
 when Jules was "coming from the direction of 
 White Lake." 
 
 "Did Jules return without Joyce?" Dan asked 
 himself. "Is it not more likely that she is even 
 now in the stone cottage with Yvonne?" 
 
 Dan was ever at his best in emergencies, and 
 when the first stunning effect of those two mes- 
 sages between Taggart and Wadleigh had passed, 
 he became at once his own cool, determined self 
 again. 
 
 1 'We've got to meet those dynamiters more than 
 half way, Bux," he exclaimed. "Come on." 
 
 At the door he paused and turned. 
 
 "Stick to your posts, boys, no matter what hap- 
 pens," he told the operators. Then, instead of 
 passing outside, he stepped back into the room, 
 and added: "Call up Rodgers, Conroy, Peters, 
 Purcell, Miron and Queed, at their respective sta- 
 tions. Do it now. Tell them that we are com- 
 ingthat / am. I want each of them to have 
 their hoisting tackle ready for use by the time I 
 get there. I want every man that's on the 'off 
 shifts' awakened and pulled out and in readiness.
 
 276 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 Have the hard-rockers armed with dynamite. We 
 will have to use some of that. Tell the teamsters 
 to take their whips. No guns. No firearms. Go 
 to it, now." 
 
 Outside the house he stopped again, seizing Bux- 
 ton by the arm. 
 
 "Wait a moment," he said. "Bux, I'm going 
 to take your end of this job. I want you to take 
 mine." 
 
 "You're the boss," was the brief response. 
 
 "All right. There's Rodgers, getting ready 
 now. He's got the message. See that his men 
 are properly equipped. Pick up Conroy's, and 
 Peter's, and Purcell's outfits, as you go along. 
 Use the hoist that is just beyond Purcell, at Sta- 
 tion 8, and the one next below it, at Station 9. 
 They are on opposite side of the pass. Do you get 
 me, Bux?" 
 
 "I know. All right. I understand." 
 
 ^t will take an hour to get the men to the top, 
 after you reach the stations." 
 
 "All of that." 
 
 "Let Rodgers take charge of one side of the 
 pass; you keep the other." 
 
 "That is precisely what I thought of doing." 
 
 "The rest of the directions I will give you, are 
 general." 
 
 "Stop Wadleigh and his men, on both sides of 
 the pass. That is all, isn't it?" Buxton asked. 
 
 "Practically. You will get there long before 
 he does. He has no idea that we are informed re- 
 garding their intentions. We'll throw a surprise 
 into them that will last them the rest of their 
 lives."
 
 THE DYNAMITE ATTACK 277 
 
 "We'll put the fear of death into some of them, 
 or I'm a Dutchman. But give me an idea of what 
 I am to do, Dan." 
 
 "You'll have to be governed by circumstances, 
 Bux; but here is what I have half planned to do, 
 myself, down the west end of the canyon. 
 
 "That is what I want to hear.'* 
 
 "I'll have Miron and Queed to help me; two 
 good men. Their outfits can be depended upon 
 to do good work, and to obey orders, too." 
 
 "You're right, there." 
 
 "We will get to the top of the cliffs by Miron's 
 hoist, and at Jules' short-cut. They're at oppo- 
 site sides. We'll march down along the line un- 
 til it begins to get light until we think that Tag- 
 gart's men may show in sight at any moment. 
 And then we will plant a string of mines. Do you 
 get me? A string of mines." 
 
 "Yes, Dan." 
 
 "Not too heavy ones, Bux; just heavy enough. 
 Kot too close to the cliffs, but far enough back 
 from the pass so that the blasts won't disturb the 
 walls of the canyon." 
 
 "I understand. I think I know the rest. ' ' 
 
 "Wait. One string of mines won't do. You'll 
 need three or four. They may think that the first 
 one is a bluff, intended to frighten them. Touch it 
 off before they get close enough for anybody to 
 get hurt. Send the whole string off one after an- 
 otherstaccato, so to speak a second or two 
 apart." 
 
 "And then ?" 
 
 "If they come on again, after the first shots 
 and if Wadleigh is on your side of the ravine, they
 
 278 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 will do that let them get a little closer before you 
 set off the second string." 
 
 "I see. And if they keep on coming after 
 that?" 
 
 "You will have to hurt some of them with the 
 third one, that's all. That will stop them. So 
 long, Bux. Good luck to you." 
 
 "Just one word more, Dan," 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "I know why you chose my end of the pass for 
 this work." 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "You intend, after you have driven Taggart's 
 men back, to go to the stone house at White Lake. ' ' 
 
 "Precisely, Buxton." 
 
 "Alone?" 
 
 "I don't know. That will depend upon cir- 
 cumstances. But I think so. ' ' 
 
 "You've got something else besides all this in 
 your mind, haven't you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "The rescue of Jules from Taggart's camp?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "That will be dangerous work, Dan." 
 
 "Not so very. But that is why I thought I 
 might do it better alone." 
 
 "I was thinking, Dan " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "This: That we might take a big force of our 
 men down to the west entrance, open the gates of 
 my fort, make a rush for it, and take Taggart's 
 camp by force." 
 
 "And leave anywhere from twenty to a hundred 
 dead men on the ground, as a consequence? No,
 
 THE DYNAMITE ATTACK 279 
 
 Bux, that won't do at all, only as a last effort, when 
 everything else has failed. Go, now. There 
 isn't any more time to spare. Don't forget one 
 thing." 
 
 "What thing?" 
 
 "If they should capture me if, for any reason 
 at all I should not be able to get back here to you, 
 you're boss." 
 
 Randall hurried away. For one instant Buxton 
 stood quite still, looking after him. Then he 
 wheeled about and started as hastily in the op- 
 posite direction. 
 
 And the drills still tapped, the great work went 
 onward. Not a man who was at work on the ac- 
 tive shift would be taken off for this adventure. 
 
 Randall found Miron, the foreman of his station, 
 prepared for him. It was the station next below 
 Devil's Pulpit, toward Janver. Oddly enough it 
 was located exactly at the spot where Lightfoot 
 had found Joyce Maitland unconscious in the 
 snow, nearly four weeks before that night. 
 
 The men on the off-shifts had been called from 
 their rest-houses. The remarkable thing about 
 them was that not one of them grumbled. They 
 understood what they had enlisted for, and they 
 were well paid for it. One and all were ready and 
 willing to obey Randall's orders. 
 
 There were a hundred and fifty of them. (Bux- 
 ton would have nearly twice that number, but 
 then, he was more likely to need them than Ran- 
 dall.) Dan divided them into two commands. 
 One he put under Miron for the north side of the 
 pass; the other for the south side he took charge 
 of himself.
 
 280 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 It did not take him long to tell them what they 
 were expected to do, and they received the in- 
 formation with cheers. 
 
 He divided his personal following into three 
 squads, placing each one under a foreman; and 
 then the men were taken to the tops of the cliffs, 
 and the march downward, to meet Taggart's men, 
 was begun. 
 
 When a third of the distance had been covered, 
 Randall ordered one of the squads to halt, showed 
 the men where to lay their mines, and explained 
 how he v/anted them placed. 
 
 "When you get that done," he directed them, 
 "stow yourselves away, and wait. There won't 
 be a thing for you to do until all the rest of us have 
 returned here, where you are now. If there is any 
 hand-to-hand fighting to be done, which I very 
 much doubt, it will be done right here. So you 
 won't miss anything." 
 
 Farther down he stationed the second squad in 
 the same manner, and with practically the same 
 orders. And he left the greater part of the third 
 squad there, also. He took only ten of the men 
 with him when he started on again. 
 
 Just as dawn was beginning to break, and the 
 gray was showing through the black, he arrived at 
 the spot he had selected for the shooting of the 
 first blasts. 
 
 Dan assumed that Taggart's men would be just 
 about beginning to move, by then. It would con- 
 sume half an hour or more for them to climb to 
 that spot. 
 
 He helped with his own hands to lay the three 
 small blasts that he had determined to send off;
 
 THE DYNAMITE ATTACK 281 
 
 three in line, fifty to sixty feet apart, at right an- 
 gles with Magician's pass. 
 
 There was a steep decline just below the point 
 he selected. When Taggart's men should begin 
 the ascent of it Dan meant to shoot the first of his 
 three mines. 
 
 He knew that the attacking party would be 
 startled and frightened, and more than likely they 
 would scatter and run for it. And, to accelerate 
 any such condition, he added a fourth, and smaller 
 blast to the list, by placing one stick of the dyna- 
 mite beneath a large, almost round rock, that hung 
 directly upon the edge of the brow of that sharp 
 decline. 
 
 The firing-batteries he directed the men to 
 carry back some distance among the trees, pre- 
 ferring to remain on watch, himself, to give the 
 first alarm of the approach of the enemy; and in 
 order that there might be no mistake, he went off 
 to one side, and hid himself behind a rock from 
 whence he could command the approach to the 
 mines, as well as be in a position to signal to his 
 own men. 
 
 Daylight grew brighter. Over in Magician, at 
 the eastern side of the mountains, the sun was 
 risen. A murmur of masculine voices floated up 
 to Dan Randall's listening ears. 
 
 He bent forward to look down upon them when 
 they should emerge from the edge of the woods 
 into the opening at the foot of that short hill, at 
 the top of which the mines were set and ready, and 
 over which the round boulder with one stick under 
 it hung suspended. He was smiling grimly while 
 he awaited Taggart's men.
 
 282 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 They came into view in single file. Taggart, 
 himself led the way. 
 
 At the foot of the short hill Taggart halted, and 
 waited for his men to come up beside him. Evi- 
 dently he believed the point had been reached 
 when he should give them their final instructions. 
 
 Nothing could have been better for Dan's pur- 
 poses. There were more than a hundred of them, 
 and they gathered around their big leader, milling 
 like a bunch of cattle, eager to begin the work of 
 devastation they had started out to do. 
 
 Randall watched and waited patiently until he 
 .saw signs of the end of the conference. Then he 
 lifted his arm and gave the signal to his own men 
 which would set off the first blasts in the war for 
 the possession of Magician pass.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 Stampeding the Enemy 
 
 Taggart's men had taken not more than two 
 steps forward when the first shot was set off. 
 
 They had started in an unformed line, without 
 order. Every man of them carried revolvers at 
 their hips, and each had a belt filled with car- 
 tridges. 
 
 In addition there were many who carried burlap 
 and canvas sacks over their shoulders, which Dan 
 knew were filled with sticks of dynamite. It is the 
 natural weapon of the hard-rock man. He knows 
 more about its uses than concerning any other 
 form of attack or defense. 
 
 Knowing it so well, he also had a wholesome 
 fear of it whenever he is not, himself, the person 
 who is using it. And as for the "skinners" and 
 other railroad workers they have had the dread 
 of it ground into them by years of battling and 
 fighting with the regular users of it. 
 
 If you have ever heard a gun go off behind you, 
 in the dark, when you were not expecting it, you 
 can realize something of the effect of that first shot 
 upon Taggart's men. If you have ever "jumped' ' 
 when somebody "booed" at you from behind a 
 door you can imagine how that bunch jumped 
 when that first stick of dynamite was shot off. 
 
 At first they huddled together, affrighted. Then 
 many of them started to run.
 
 284 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 They had begun to scatter by the time the two 
 seconds' interval had elapsed, although many still 
 held their ground, dominated by the voice of Tag- 
 gart, who was calling to them in his most brutal 
 and commanding tones. 
 
 Then the second shot. 
 
 It was more directly in front of the startled 
 group. The stones, and dirt, and limbs of trees, 
 that Dan's men had piled over it when it was laid, 
 were of a different character from the debris that 
 had covered the first blast. 
 
 They were hurled in every direction. A shower 
 of gravel and fragments of rock rained down upon 
 the slope, unpleasantly close to Taggart's men. 
 One small stone struck the foremost of the lot and 
 knocked him down. A huge limb of a tree tipped 
 over several others; but, apparently, without in- 
 jury to any, for they sprang to their feet and began 
 to scatter for distance and shelter. Taggart was 
 furious. He leaped in front of them. He yelled 
 at them, swore at them, and he did not hesitate to 
 use his big fists in his effort to quell the threatened 
 stampede. Then came the third shot and with 
 barely an interval to succeed it, the single stick 
 that had been laid under the boulder that stood at 
 the summit of the steep slope, was shot. It was 
 directly in front of the terrified men. 
 
 It was not powerful enough to rend the rock 
 under which it had been placed, but it lifted the 
 boulder several inches from its resting place and 
 sent it careening down the slope of the hill, di- 
 rectly toward the now thoroughly frightened and 
 panic-stricken men. 
 
 Even Taggart could not hold them then.
 
 STAMPEDING THE ENEMY 285 
 
 Even he had begun to feel, by that time, that the 
 locality was decidedly unhealthy. Besides, the 
 big rock was rolling down the hill, and gaining mo- 
 mentum with every turn it made. The men broke 
 and ran. Taggart, perforce, followed them. There 
 was nothing else for him to do. 
 
 They ran toward the direction from whence they 
 had come and at that instant there came a suc- 
 cession of three booming reports from the cliffs 
 at the opposite side of the canyon. 
 
 Boss Miron was beginning to get in his work. 
 
 Added to that, one of Dan's men mischievously 
 set off another single stick and after it there fol- 
 lowed two more thunderous reports from the oppo- 
 site side of the ravine. 
 
 Panic? Taggart could not have stayed his men, 
 then, had he tried; and he did not try. He proved 
 himself to be quite as good a sprinter as any of 
 them, for a short distance at least. 
 
 Dan Randall, watching them, laughed quietly. 
 He knew that but few of these men could ever be 
 induced to return; and he knew, also, that there 
 would henceforth be little occasion to fear a re- 
 newal of that form of campaign. Taggart 's bullies 
 would still fight, no doubt, in the open, and face 
 to face with visible foes. Nobody was better ac- 
 quainted with the general character of those men 
 than Dan Randall. 
 
 As soon as he saw the last one disappear among 
 the trees toward their camp, he rejoined his own 
 men and found them slapping one another on the 
 backs, slapping their own thighs in glee, cheering 
 among themselves in suppressed voices, laughing, 
 all of them.
 
 286 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 It had been a rout. . . . Nobody had been hurt. 
 
 Across the canyon, where Miron had been sent 
 to meet the other half of the attacking party, the 
 result had evidently been the same, for Mir on 's 
 men were cheering. 
 
 Dan held up his hand and called his men around 
 him. 
 
 "That was splendid," he said. "We sent them 
 backward on the run, and without injuring a man 
 among them. That is as it should be. Remember, 
 I will not have any bloodshed, or casualties, unless 
 it is utterly unavoidable; only, we will not give up 
 the pass, even if it has to come to that. 
 
 "Three cheers for Big Chief Randall!" one of 
 the men called out. 
 
 ' 'No, ' ' Dan interrupted. ' 'We haven't time for 
 that. There is no occasion for it, either. If there 
 are any cheers to be given, they should be for 
 every man among you. But there is no need for 
 cheers." 
 
 "Right you are, sir," the same voice called out 
 again. 
 
 "But, there is need for watchfulness; now, more 
 than ever," Dan went on. "Some of those men 
 will return. Taggart will send a few of the bravest 
 of them back again. He will try to accomplish by 
 stealth and craft what he just now failed to do. He 
 must be prevented." 
 
 "Sure." "You bet," etc., etc. 
 
 "He will send out scouts. They will doubtless 
 come singly, or in twos, and threes. They will 
 try to throw explosives into the pass, from the tops 
 of the cliffs. They will try to kill now. I want 
 you to go back to the other squads. I'll put Me-
 
 287 
 
 Tavish in command, for I am going in the other 
 direction, and I prefer to go alone. Mac, step out 
 to the front." 
 
 "Ay, sir." 
 
 "Select twenty men out of the whole outfit when 
 you get back to the others. Put them at the next 
 battery. Stay there yourself, in command. Keep 
 carefully on the watch for scouts from Taggart's 
 camp. Understand? ' ' 
 
 "I do, sir." 
 
 "If there is another attack, or the threat of, 
 one, meet it precisely as we met this one. Will 
 you do that?" 
 
 "I will, sir." 
 
 "Can I depend upon all of you to obey Mac, and 
 too do as I say?" he demanded of the others. 
 
 The shout that went up in reply to his question 
 was sufficient answer to it. He needed no other 
 assurance. 
 
 "I have a duty to perform which I must do 
 alone," he told them, then. "I can work better, 
 and accomplish more, unaided. While I am away 
 which will be cnly a few hours at most, I believe 
 Mr. Buxton is your boss." 
 
 He waved his hand toward them and turned 
 away; and they stood and watched him as he 
 swung down the side of the mountain, bearing to- 
 ward the south. If they wondered whither he was 
 bound there was not one among them who asked 
 the question of another. 
 
 Possibly each one had his own ideas as to Ran- 
 dall's destination based upon what that particu- 
 lar individual might have undertaken to do him- 
 self, if he were boss.
 
 288 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 Dan Randall was bound for the stone house at 
 White Lake, where, with every moment that 
 passed, little Yvonne might be compelled to face 
 the deadliest of perils for any woman; where it 
 was quite possible that he might find Joyce Mait- 
 land. 
 
 After that, he meant to rescue Jules Legarde. 
 
 That was why Dan Randall went away alone.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 Taggart 's Villainous Scheme 
 
 Taggart was furious when his men were routed 
 in that manner. 
 
 Before they had gone a hundred yards down the 
 hill toward his headquarters he began calling to 
 them, cursing at them, and using every effort in his 
 power to stay the tide of the stampede, but they 
 had covered almost a mile before they began to 
 lag and bunch together, and finally came to a stop. 
 
 Even then there were many of them who went 
 onward, determined that if they were to listen to 
 any talking, it would be after they had got back to 
 camp. 
 
 Taggart could not prevail upon any of them to 
 return to the attack. 
 
 They had had enough, and they said so, plainly, 
 and Taggart saw, presently, that it was no use to 
 urge. He gave it up. 
 
 "There's one thing plain,'* he told them. 
 ' ' There 's a traitor among you, somewhere. I ain't 
 makin' any guesses, because I don't know who it 
 is. But some day I'll find out, and if it's to-mor- 
 row, or a year from now, I'll deal with that man 
 myself; and I'll break every bone in his body, and 
 then some. You hear me ! " 
 
 Cuthbert and Crosby, at the camp, were in-
 
 290 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 formed of what had happened by the men who ar- 
 rived first informed, too, that the same thing had 
 happened at the opposite end of the pass. They 
 met Taggart half a mile outside of their camp. 
 
 "Crosby," Taggart said, "I want you to stay 
 here and take charge of things. And I want you, 
 Cuthbert, to go with me to White Lake. We'll 
 take that Frenchman with us." He wheeled upon 
 one of his bullies, and added: "Triton, go and get 
 Jules Legarde, and bring him here to me. Take 
 the lashings off of his feet, but leave them on his 
 wrists, just as they are. Be quick about it, too." 
 
 "What are you going to do at White Lake?" 
 Crosby demanded. "It seems to me that the place 
 to stay, and get busy, is here." 
 
 "You shut your trap, Orme. I know what I'm 
 about," was the hot retort. 
 
 "What the hell do you want to go to White 
 Lake for?" Cuthbert demanded, in his turn. 
 "Can't you see that " 
 
 "You shut your trap, too, Cuthbert, or I'll shut 
 it for you," Taggart interrupted, savagely. "I 
 ain't in no mood for dilly-dallyin', just now. Any 
 fool could tell that there's something doin' over 
 White Lake way. Didn't Jules come from that di- 
 rection when we nabbed him? Ain't Lightfoot 
 disappeared, and didn't I send him over the moun- 
 tain after Jules the mornin' after the last storm? 
 And so, ain't it likely that the Frenchman got 
 him?" 
 
 "Well, what if he did?" 
 'He got the satchel, too, didn't he?" 
 'Maybe. But what has the satchel got to do 
 with this job?" 
 
 i
 
 TAGGART'S VILLAINOUS SCHEME 291 
 
 Taggart bent forward and shook his huge fist 
 in Cuthbert's face. 
 
 "I'll tell you what it's got to do with it, if you're 
 too big a damfool to see it," he replied, tensely. 
 "It's got this to do with it: It's my belief that that 
 little black satchel was crammed full of money. 
 That's what?" 
 
 Both men stared. 
 
 "Who, among the lot of us, has any idea who 
 Randall really is?" Taggart went on, grinding the 
 words out in half suppressed fury; and answered 
 the question himself. "Not one of us. But this 
 we do know. We know that he came here, and 
 took hold of the M. & J., when it didn't have a leg 
 to stand on. We know that he found the money, 
 somewhere, to do it with. We don't know where 
 he did find it, but we know that he got it. Well, 
 wherever he got that, he could get more, couldn't 
 he?" 
 
 "Possibly," said Cuthbert, who was skeptical 
 about money matters, always until he saw the 
 color of it. 
 
 1 ' Look here, you!" Taggart continued. " I ' ve 
 been sendin' out scouts to git facts, ever since Ran- 
 dall begun this last play of his. Do you know 
 what he had piled up in them places where we 
 thought he'd only gathered the material for this 
 spring's repairs? Ain't ye seen enough to tell you 
 that? He had all the material he needed to build 
 this Cvt-off, you infernal idiots" 
 
 "Of course we know that now," said Crosby, 
 
 mildly. 
 
 "Oh! You know it now, do you? Well, how'd 
 he get all them men away from us, to work in the
 
 292 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 pass? How'd he git 'em away from old Gregory? 
 How'd he git 'em away from the B. S. & L. S.? 
 With money! There wasn't no other way to 
 git 'em, was there? It's money that talks in this 
 country." 
 
 "Of course. But all the same " 
 
 "Aw, shut up. What did he come back to Jan- 
 ver from Carrolton for, through that storm before 
 the last one, an' bring that bag, if it didn't have 
 the cash inside of it to make his first payments to 
 the men he intended to hire." 
 
 Cuthbert nodded. 
 
 "That's where we made our big mistake," he 
 said. "If we had waited, and not sprung thatj 
 business on him so soon, he'd have given the whole 
 snap away to us, that day of the meeting." 
 
 "Sure, he would. He thought we was with 
 him, then," Taggart replied, mollified. "I have; 
 been puttin' two an' two together, Cuthbert. You 
 can bet on it that that black satchel was crammed 
 full of money to the limit. And you can bet that 
 Randall intended to use that money to get the men 
 to build the pass. And you can bet on one more 
 thing, too." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "That there ain't been any chance to get anyi 
 more money from anywhere, since he brought thati 
 bag into Janver. That's what." 
 
 "Well?'' 
 
 "Well? . . . Well? Well? You jackass! Don't 
 you see that if Randall ain't got the black bag, he 
 ain't got the cash? And if he ain't got the cash, 
 he can't pay off the men? And that if he can't 
 pay off the men, they'll turn on him like so many
 
 TAGGART'S VILLAINOUS SCHEME 293 
 
 wolves, and tear him apart? And don't you see 
 that if we can keep him from gettin' that money, 
 the hull damned Cut-off is goin' to drop right 
 down into our laps?" 
 
 Both men nodded, wisely. They saw the point. 
 
 "You just let me get my paws onto that black 
 satchel, an' what's inside of it, an' I'll set right 
 down here on my hindquarters, an' wait for Ran- 
 dall to finish the job," Taggart finished, with a 
 wide grin. "He'll be workin' for us, all of the 
 time; that's what he'll be doin'." 
 
 "Well, how are you going to get your hands 
 on it?" Crosby inquired, visibly affected by what 
 he had heard. 
 
 "You want-a know?" Taggart asked. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I'm goin' to take the Frenchman over to White 
 Lake. I'm goin' to make him tell me where he hid 
 that satchel. If I can't make him tell me, I'll 
 make his wife tell meor, Ftt make his wife 
 make him tell me. See?" 
 
 "' guess so," Cuthbert replied, with a half 
 shudder. 
 
 "If I can't torture him into givin' up what he 
 knows, I know a way, through her, that'll 
 make him open his mouth so wide you could drop 
 the whole dictionary between his jaws. You hear 
 me! She 's a purty little thing, too at that. 
 . . . Here comes Triton, with Jules. Cuthbert, you 
 call to that hellion of yours, an' tell him to come 
 along with us. He's about the cut of cloth that we 
 want along with us for a job of this sort. We'll 
 know more'n we do now, when we git back, or my 
 name ain't Taggart."
 
 Randall had about the same distance to travel to 
 get to the stone house at White Lake as the others, 
 but the way was much more difficult. On the 
 other hand he had a little advantage over them in 
 that he knew the exact location of the cottage, 
 while they did not. 
 
 But, in the "hellion" of Cuthbert's, to whom 
 Taggart had referred so graphically, they had a 
 trailer from the North who could follow a track 
 where none was visible to other eyes. He was 
 called Duprez, and if his character was as villain- 
 ous as his countenance, nothing more need be said. 
 Common report had it that he was even worse. 
 
 So, in that party there were Taggart, Cuthbert, 
 Triton, Duprez the hellion, and Jules dear old 
 Jules with his wrists tied together behind his back, 
 with bruises upon his face where he had been) 
 roughly handled at the time of his capture, and 
 with the muscles and joints of his legs stiff and 
 sore and unwieldy from the bonds that had con- 
 fined them since he was taken prisoner. 
 
 But Jules' spirit was as strong as ever. Out- 
 wardly he was the same as if nothing had hap- 1 
 pened to him. He made no comment, offered no 
 protest, said nothing, when he was hustled forward 
 by the others.
 
 AT THE STONE HOUSE 295 
 
 The hellion took the lead after they had gone a 
 little distance. He was attempting to follow the 
 black trail of Jules, made at the time of his cap- 
 ture; and, until they arrived at a certain point, 
 which, as it happened, was about an equal distance 
 from the lake, if they kept on straight ahead, and 
 from the stone house if they turned off to the left, 
 Duprez made no difficulty of it. 
 
 There they came to a stop. 
 
 "Which way, now?" Taggart demanded of 
 Jules. 
 
 Jules made no reply, and Taggart struck him 
 with his fist, and knocked him down; he remained 
 so until they went to him and stood him on his feet 
 again. Then he merely shrugged his wide shoul- 
 ders, disdaining to speak at all. 
 
 He knew that he was utterly helpless; but all the 
 same he did not intend to guide these men to the 
 stone house, and to Yvonne. Not he. 
 
 But, also, he had no doubt of the ability of 
 Duprez to find the trail, and follow it, if he made 
 the attempt. And after a moment the hellion did 
 make the effort. 
 
 It happened that old Pitou had been out that 
 way the preceding evening, seeking for a trace of 
 Jules. The old man had not been over careful to 
 conceal his trail, and it was that which Duprez 
 discovered presently. 
 
 He signalled to the others, and they started on 
 again, going, this time, directly toward the place 
 they sought. 
 
 One might have passed within a few rods of the 
 stone house without suspecting its presence, so 
 deftly had it been hidden away beside the moun-
 
 296 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 tain by the unknown pioneer who had built it so 
 long ago that it as well as its builder had been 
 forgotten. 
 
 Only the front of it showed, even when one was 
 close to it; the front, and a small section of one 
 side. The rest of it extended back into the moun- 
 tain itself, formed by a spacious cavern which the 
 builder had probably blasted out for his uses. 
 
 But these men found it. The trail of old Pitou 
 led them directly to it. 
 
 It was hidden behind a thick growth of trees, 
 and a small clearing had to be crossed before one 
 arrived at the porch, and entrance. 
 
 Yvonne was standing just in front of the porch, 
 looking directly toward them, when they came out 
 of the wood into view. 
 
 She knew Taggart, of course, and Cuthbert, and 
 the other two as well and she saw Jules, and 
 realized in that one quick glance that he was bound 
 and a prisoner. 
 
 They were still a dozen rods or more away from 
 her, and after that one swift glance toward them, 
 she turned and fled into the house. 
 
 Taggart and the others saw her. 
 
 Taggart yelled at her as he started to run toward 
 her; the others came to a halt and waited. 
 
 There were two doors and two windows to the 
 house; and well, they had all been constructed 
 for the purpose of keeping people on the outside. 
 
 Yvonne lost no time in closing the inside doors 
 that were made of heavy planks of oak, bolted one 
 upon another, and supplied with bars as heavy to 
 hold them shut. The windows were the same. 
 Nothing short of dynamite could open them from
 
 AT THE STONE HOUSE 297 
 
 the outside. Fire would not burn them, and the 
 house itself was made of rough, unhewn rocks. 
 But for the windows and doors and the little porch, 
 the house might have looked to be a part of the 
 mountain. 
 
 Taggart came to a halt a dozen feet away. Then 
 he turned and called to the others. When they 
 had joined him, he turned again, and called aloud. 
 
 "Hello, there!" he said. "Come out of that." 
 
 He started backward when a voice replied to 
 him from some place that was seemingly over his 
 head. And looking up he could not discover where 
 it came from unless it was shouted at him 
 through a small hole in the cliff, above and behind 
 the house-front. 
 
 "What do you want?" the voice demanded. 
 
 It was the voice of a man, too, and Taggart 
 glanced toward his companions uneasily; but 
 Triton grinned at him, and said: 
 
 "Dat ees old Pitou spikin', m'sieu. Heem dere 
 weeth Yvonne, mabby." 
 
 Taggart faced toward the house again. 
 
 "We want you to come out here," he said, sav- 
 agely. "If you don't do it, we'll find a way to 
 bring you out. You get back, away from that hole, 
 Pitou, or I'll send a bullet into it. Tell Yvonne 
 that I want to talk to her. Tell her it's Taggart 
 that's talkin'." 
 
 "What for you come here, m'sieu Taggart?" the 
 voice of Yvonne called out, after a moment of si- 
 lence, although nothing of her face could be seen. 
 
 "Can't you see that we've brought Jules back 
 to you, Yvonne?" Taggart replied, and grinned 
 when he said it.
 
 298 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 "He did not want to come, else he not be tied 
 up," she said, in return. 
 
 "Ask him whether he wanted to come or not," 
 Taggart announced. 
 
 "No, m'sieu Taggart. I talk weeth you, now; 
 not weeth Jules. Untie him, and then I will talk 
 weeth him. Those streengs, they bind his tongue 
 just' sam' as they bind his wreests. For sure, 
 m'sieu." 
 
 "Oh. They do, do they?" Taggart half turned 
 and struck Jules in the face with the flat of his 
 big hand. "Maybe that'll loosen his tongue," he 
 said. 
 
 Jules did not so much as wince under the blow. 
 He had expected something of the sort and was 
 prepared for it. The voice of Yvonne came to; 
 them through the hole in the cliff, sharply and 
 clearly. 
 
 "M'sieu Taggart, if you do that once more, I, 
 Yvonne, will shoot you dead where you stan'," 
 she said; and she uttered the words without ex- 
 citement, coolly, implacably. 
 
 Taggart 's reply was a shot from his own re- 
 volver which he pulled from his belt and fired| 
 without taking aim. He did not even try to send 
 the bullet through the hole, for he had no idea of 
 injuring pretty Yvonne in that manner. 
 
 "That will give you an idea of what I will do, 
 Yvonne, unless you come out here, as I order you 
 to do," he called out to her and received no 
 reply. Dead silence was the only answer he got. 
 
 He waited a moment, and then called again to 
 her; and still received no response. 
 
 "Triton," he ordered, "you leg it back to the
 
 AT THE STONE HOUSE 299 
 
 camp, and fetch some dynamite. That will let us 
 in, if it won't bring them out. We'll see. G'wan. 
 Run!" 
 
 It was just at that moment when Triton started 
 away to obey the last order that Dan Randall ar- 
 rived upon the scene. 
 
 He overheard Taggart's last order, too.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 Dan Randall's Strategy 
 
 Dan had arrived from across the hills. He had 
 come straight through the woods floundering 
 through some of the drifts of snow which still re- 
 mained unmelted under the trees. 
 
 But, in order to approach the house he had been 
 obliged to make a short detour, and the conse- 
 quence was that he came up directly behind the 
 men who had already arrived. He was, in fact, 
 only a few paces back from the spot where Yvonne 
 from the door, had first discovered Taggart and 
 his companions. 
 
 So, Triton was obliged to go past Dan Randall 
 when he started to do his master's bidding. And 
 Triton had been ordered to fetch dynamite. 
 
 Dan managed to move back a few paces before 
 Triton started, and thus he put more trees and 
 other obstacles between himself and the clearing in 
 front of the house. 
 
 He had to wait but a moment after that before 
 Triton came up to him; Triton, with his elbows 
 close to his sides and his head hunched down be- 
 tween his shoulders and his body bent slightly for- 
 ward in the characteristic position for swift run- 
 ning. 
 
 Triton had no idea of an obstacle in his path
 
 DAN RANDALL'S STRATEGY 301 
 
 until Dan rose upon before him. Dan might !i.*ve 
 tripped and thrown the man easily, but Triton 
 would have bellowed out, and if that were to hap- 
 pen, Taggart would be warned. 
 
 So Dan merely stepped directly in front of the 
 running man at the proper moment, holding a lev- 
 eled revolver in his right hand, with a muzzle* 
 pointing at that part of Triton's body which Triton 
 loved the most his stomach. 
 
 Triton stopped. 
 
 "Don't speak, or make a sound," said Dan. 
 
 Triton did not. 
 
 "March," said Dan, "in exactly the same direc- 
 tion you were going." 
 
 Triton marched. He did it without comment. 
 He understood what the muzzle of the gun that was 
 pointing at him might mean, and he knew the man 
 who held that gun. 
 
 Dan, on his part, realized that there was no oc- 
 casion for haste. Taggart would not attempt any 
 urther move at the house until the return of Triton 
 with the explosive, and at the very best it would 
 have taken Triton a full half hour to go to the 
 camp and return. 
 
 So Dan marched his prisoner into the woods, di- 
 recting him by a devious pathway that he knew 
 well, and stopped him, presently, near a place 
 where cord wood had been piled and left to season. 
 
 There Dan disarmed and bound the man, using 
 Triton's own belt, which he cut in twain, length- 
 wise, for the purpose; using, also, some leather 
 thongs which he found in Triton's pouch, and 
 which had been originally intended to repair snow- 
 shoes. He gagged Triton with Triton's necker-
 
 302 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 chief, which, until then, had been of little use save 
 as an ornament. 
 
 When he had finished Triton was as helpless as 
 a tortoise on its back. We have already discov- 
 ered that Dan Randall was in the habit of doing 
 things thoroughly. 
 
 "Now, Triton," he said; "perhaps I'll come 
 back after you; possibly I may not. If your friends 
 should happen to kill me, I won't be able to do so. 
 If I don't, you'll probably rot here. But the 
 chances are that I will return." 
 
 Triton remained stolidly indifferent, after the 
 manner of his kind, and Dan turned his back on 
 the man and went away. 
 
 He sought the same place where he had sur- 
 prised Triton, concealed himself as well as he could 
 behind the trunks of three trees that had grown 
 up closely together, and waited. 
 
 He knew that after a time, when Triton had 
 been gone long enough, Taggart would become im- 
 patient; and Dan hoped that Cuthbert, or Duprez 
 might be sent out to look for him. 
 
 "If that happens," he murmured, answering his 
 own thought, "it will reduce their forces to two. 
 
 I shouldn't wonder if " he stopped there; but 
 
 he smiled to himself; a little wistful smile of an- 
 ticipation. 
 
 Waiting was never Randall's long suit, but he 
 could wait, as well as act, when occasion re- 
 quired it. 
 
 He could also see, by bending forward, and peer- 
 ing through the trees toward the clearing. 
 
 Taggart was pacing impatiently up and down in 
 front of Cuthbert, who had seated himself upon a
 
 DAN RANDALL'S STRATEGY 303 
 
 convenient stump. Jules had been ordered to 
 squat upon the ground, and evidently realizing 
 that there was no present hope of escape was^ 
 gazing stolidly toward the house, behind the walls 
 of which he knew that Yvonne was safe, as yet. 
 And Jules had infinite faith in his belief that noth- 
 ing very terrible could happen to Yvonne. 
 
 Taggart made no effort to question Jules. He 
 knew that it would be useless. He thoroughly un- 
 derstood that the only way in which Jules could 
 be made to talk, if at all, would be to threaten 
 Yvonne with some awful consequences, in Jules' 
 presence. 
 
 Cuthbert and Taggart talked together while 
 they waited. Duprez smoked his pipe in silence, 
 near them, purposely blowing the smoke in Jules' 
 face at times, knowing that the latter would give 
 much for a smoke himself. 
 
 Taggart looked at his watch frequently as the 
 time approached for the return of Triton. He 
 grumbled profanely each time he looked at the dial 
 and the profanity became more profuse, and elo- 
 quent of his temper, as the time passed. 
 
 At last he closed it with a snap. 
 
 "I'd like to know what in Say, you! 
 
 Duprez! Chase yourself back there a ways, an' 
 see if you can find that other hellion," he inter- 
 rupted himself. "I suppose the fool thought that 
 I wanted a ton of the stuff, and is trying to bring 
 it all at once," he added to Cuthbert, when Duprez 
 started to obey. 
 
 Cuthbert nodded as if he thought that that 
 might be the explanation. They both turned to 
 watch after Duprez, as he departed.
 
 304 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 Dan Randall kept himself down, out of sight be- 
 hind the trees, in the meantime. 
 
 He knew that he had quite a different character 
 to deal with in Duprez than Triton had proved to 
 be. Duprez was as big as Taggart; one might 
 have said, if one had not taken measurements, that 
 he was as big as Randall. He was called the 
 toughest Frenchman in that section of the North- 
 west, and that was saying a lot. 
 
 Randall was not at all sure that the "hellion" 
 would paas bis hiding place without discovering 
 him; but he did; and Dan, perceiving that the oth- 
 ers had turned towards the house again, followed 
 swiftly and silently after him. 
 
 A hundred yards further on they passed out of 
 sight from the vicinity of the stone house. 
 
 A small, round stone, the size of a walnut, caught 
 Dan's eye, directly in the path in front of him. He 
 picked it up. With unerring aim the result of 
 long practice in the pitcher's box at college not so 
 very long ago he threw it. 
 
 The stone was too small to do effective work 
 upon such a head as Duprez', and the fellow still 
 wore his fur hood pulled down over his bull- 
 cranium. Otherwise, he might have been stunned, 
 for the stone struck him solidly, in the middle of 
 the back of his head. 
 
 As it was, it knocked him down, sprawling upon 
 his face; for he had been running with his body 
 bent forward, and with elbows close to his sides. 
 
 When Dan threw the stone, he ran forward with 
 all the speed he could muster. 
 
 Duprez, sprawling and startled, heard Dan run- 
 ning behind him, and bounded to his feet like a
 
 DAN RANDALL'S STRATEGY 305 
 
 rubber ball. He turned at the same time, but Dan 
 was upon him, and took a flying leap at him as they 
 came tog-ether. 
 
 The force of the impact was considerable, and 
 Duprez was by no means an impassable barrier. 
 The two went down together, Dan on top; but as 
 they fell, Duprez let out the first half of one wild 
 yell of warning. The second half of it was stopped 
 by the grasp of Randall's right hand at his throat. 
 
 Dan's left hand did the rest of what was needed 
 or rather, the fist of it did so. It put Duprez to 
 sleep, as the saying goes in sporting circles. 
 
 But that outcry, or the section of it that had 
 found utterance, reached the ears of Taggart and 
 Cuthbert. . . . Likewise, Jules heard it; only 
 Jules did not appear to do so. He was still gazing 
 toward the house, beyond the walls of which 
 Yvonne was awaiting him, and if you had been 
 watching him closely, you would have seen him 
 nod his head slightly, at times, as if he saw some- 
 thing or somebody there who would understand 
 him. 
 
 Taggart and Cuthbert both turned to face the 
 woods when they heard the cry. 
 
 Jules gathered his feet under him by bringing 
 them together in an odd, cross-legged shape. 
 
 The two men bent forward to listen. No second 
 sound came to them, and the first cry had not been 
 intelligible. 
 
 "Stay here an' watch the breed, El," Taggart 
 ordered. "I'll see what's up." 
 
 He started away as he spoke. Cuthbert watched 
 him and his back was turned, for the moment, 
 toward Jules.
 
 306 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 Jules lifted himself to his feet without a sound, 
 and just then the door of the house fell ajar ever 
 so little. But it was enough so that Jules saw it. 
 
 One, two, three quick steps forward he took, as 
 softly as the tread of a panther. Then he ran ran 
 like a scared rabbit, and dove forward through the 
 doorway that Yvonne was holding open for him, 
 just as Cuthbert wheeled, pulled his gun, and fired. 
 
 Then the door banged shut again, and Ellery 
 Cuthbert stood there, alone.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 A Double-Headed Fight 
 
 Taggart heard the shot and turned back before 
 he came in sight of Randall. Dan heard it, also, 
 and his first thought was that Jules, having heard 
 the cry, had made an effort to escape, and had been 
 shot down. 
 
 He threw caution to the winds, then, and rushed 
 forward toward the house. All the latent fury 
 within him was roused at the thought that Jules 
 had probably been murdered. 
 
 Taggart was running, too, back toward the 
 house, for Cuthbert, after firing that shot, was 
 calling loudly to him to return. 
 
 The noise made by his own feet in running, and 
 the continued shouting of Cuthbert, prevented 
 Taggart from hearing the approach of Randall, 
 who, nevertheless, gained rapidly. 
 
 Dan overtook him just as he leaped into the 
 clearing in front of the house. 
 
 It was then that Taggart heard him, and turned; 
 but as he made the turn, Randall fell upon him, 
 and they went to the ground together, with Tag- 
 gart making frantic efforts to reach his gun and 
 pull it, and with Dan clinging to him and holding 
 his arms so that he could not do so. 
 
 At the same instant Cuthbert darted toward
 
 308 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 them. He had seen, and had taken in at a glance, 
 the meaning of all that had happened or thought 
 he had; and he was not so far wrong, at that. 
 
 He ran toward them, gun in hand, prepared to 
 kill, for Cuthbert was as dangerous as any man in 
 that wild country when he chose to be so. He was 
 the sort who would not hesitate to approach the 
 two men who struggled together on the ground, 
 and by putting the muzzle of his revolver against 
 Dan Randall's head, blow out his brains. 
 
 That was, in fact, precisely what he intended 
 to do. 
 
 But the house door opened a second time, at 
 exactly the same instant that Cuthbert turned his 
 back upon it, and when Randall and Taggart 
 rolled upon the ground together. 
 
 Jules darted out of it. 
 
 Jules, unwounded; bruised, and sore, and stiff, 
 perhaps, from all that he had been forced to en- 
 dure; but with all the fury of a she-lynx in defense 
 of its young. 
 
 Yvonne had cut the thongs that bound his wrists 
 together behind his back, while he peered through 
 the peep-hole in the heavy door to discover what 
 was happening outside and so Jules saw his be- 
 loved m'sieu. 
 
 Old Pitou, standing just inside the door when 
 Cuthbert fired the shot, had crumpled upon the 
 floor, like a wet dish-rag. He had received the 
 bullet intended for Jules, but there was no time to 
 stop for that, then. 
 
 Cuthbert did not know that the door had opened 
 a second time, and that Jules had rushed out from 
 it, again.
 
 A DOUBLE-HEADED FIGHT 809 
 
 He did not know that with every stride he took, 
 Jules gained upon him in the ratio of two to 
 one. 
 
 There was fury in Cuthbert 's heart, and fire in 
 his brain, and murderous lust in his soul by the 
 time he reached the two struggling men on the 
 ground, and stretched out his weaponed hand to 
 deal death to Randall. 
 
 But the two men were struggling mightily, and 
 it was difficult for Cuthbert to make sure of his 
 aim, even at that close range and so, just at the 
 instant when he believed that he might be certain 
 of it, and was about to pull the trigger, Jules 
 struck up his arm. The gun was knocked from 
 his hand, and the fingers of both of Jules' hands 
 were at his throat. 
 
 Thus, a double battle, portentous and terrible, 
 was on. 
 
 Cuthbert fought with all his strength. He struck 
 with his fists, scratched with his nails, tried to bite 
 with his teeth and grew blacker in the face all 
 the time, for, in spite of it all, not once did Jules 
 relax the hold of those ten fingers upon Cuth- 
 bert's throat. 
 
 And Cuthbert withered under the awful strain 
 of it; then wilted; then relaxed; then succumbed 
 entirely, and laid quite still while Jules reached 
 out for the pistol that had been dropped, and 
 rapped him on the head with the butt of it, to keep 
 him so. 
 
 In the meantime, Dan tore himself by main 
 strength from the grasp of Taggart's mighty arms; 
 and he did it by grasping the ex-lumberman's thick 
 hair in his fingers and pulling the head farther and
 
 310 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 farther backward until Taggart was obliged to 
 release his own hold or have his neck broken. 
 
 And the moment he did release that hold he was 
 lost. 
 
 All of the mighty strength that Dan Randall 
 possessed seemed to center in his arms as he bent 
 forward and seized Taggart around the body, lift- 
 ing him from his feet, and threw him down upon 
 the ground with a crashing force that was irre- 
 sistible. 
 
 Taggart groaned, and made an effort to raise 
 himself; and then, as Dan took a step forward to 
 administer a second dose of the same medicine, he 
 closed his eyes and fell back again, senseless and 
 inert. 
 
 "Tie them up, Jules," Dan ordered, a bit breath- 
 lessly, for Taggart had been no easy mark to' 
 handle. "We'll carry them inside the house, pres- 
 ently. They will be the best guards we could have 
 for keeping their outfit from blowing up the 
 place with dynamite. In the meantime I'll go and 
 bring in Duprez. He is " 
 
 He stopped. 
 
 Something touched one of his hands. 
 
 He turned quickly to find that it was Yvonne's 
 lips. She had fallen upon her knees beside him 
 and was kissing the back of his hand. 
 
 "Oh, m'sieu! M'sieu! I am so glad," she mur- 
 mured. 
 
 He lifted her to her feet, and then bent forward 
 and brushed her forehead with his lips. 
 
 "So am I, little one," he said briskly. "There 
 now. Help Jules with these men. I shouldn't 
 wonder if Taggart is out of business, Jules," he
 
 A DOUBLE-HEADED FIGHT 311 
 
 added. ' 'Men like him don't faint like that, unless 
 something is busted inside of them. I'll go now, 
 and bring in Duprez. Later, we'll get Triton. I 
 got him, too. He's tied up out here, a little ways. ' ' 
 
 He was turning away again, when Yvonne 
 stopped him a second time. 
 
 "M'sieu!" she said, and there was a piteous, 
 beseeching expression in her eyes. 
 
 "Well, little one?" he replied, stopping. 
 
 "Tell me of the mademoiselle. Please, m'sieu. 
 Where is she?" 
 
 Randall started then mentally gripped himself. 
 He had been so certain that Joyce would be there. 
 
 "Joyce? Is she not here with you? I hoped 
 I hoped that she was here. Yes, I did hope it." 
 
 "Non, non, non, she is not here, m'sieu. An' 
 Jules, he not know where she is." 
 
 "Jules does not know? Jules, is that true? 
 Where is she?" 
 
 Jules raised his eyes slowly to his master's face. 
 
 "Je ne sais pas," he replied, simply. 
 
 "You did not find her? You got no trace of 
 her?" 
 
 "Non, m'sieu. I not fin' ma'm'selle. I not fin' 
 Lightfoot. I not fin' the sachet. I not do netting 
 at all. Jules, heem no good, m'sieu. Jules, heem 
 git ol'. Heem back number. Heem better off dead. 
 Non? Nec'estpas?"
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 Taking the Bull by the Horns 
 
 Dan turned away. 
 
 The information or rather the lack of it com- 
 ing as it did, was almost more than he could bear. 
 He had been so positive that the presence of Jules 
 as a captive in Taggart's hands, caught while 
 "coming from the direction of White Lake," 
 meant that Joyce had been found, and had been 
 taken to the stone house to be cared for by Yvonne. 
 
 For the first time during all those strenuous 1 
 days that had come and gone, Dan began to doubt 
 that inner assurance which he called his sixth 
 sense. For the first time since the disappearance 
 of Joyce he wondered if she were indeed alive 
 and safe. 
 
 Jules had not found her; he had not found Light- 
 foot; he had not found the little black satchel. 
 Where, then, was Joyce? 
 
 Lightf oot, of course, had taken the satchel from 
 the railroad office; there was no doubt of that 
 that it had been he who struck Jules down in the 
 dark, and stole it. 
 
 Had Lightfoot discovered what the satchel con- 
 tained? Surely. There could be no doubt of that. 
 Had the Indian, dazed by the sudden possession 
 of so much money more than he would have been 
 able to count, or to value made up his mind to-
 
 TAKING THE BULL BY THE HORNS 313 
 
 keep it, to desert Taggart, and to steal Joyce, too? 
 
 These thoughts shot through his brain while he 
 hurried along toward the place where he had 
 struck the blow that had knocked out Duprez. 
 
 Duprez, the hellion, should have been there still, 
 senseless; but he was not. Dan shrugged, and con- 
 sidered for a moment. Duprez had come to, 
 quickly after receiving the blow, and had made off 
 the moment he was able to do so. 
 
 Randall hurried onward toward the woodpile 
 where he had left Triton, bound and gagged. 
 
 But Triton had also disappeared. The bonds 
 that had held him, severed by the sharp blade of 
 a knife, were there. Triton, himself, could not 
 have cut them, therefore Duprez had come upon 
 him, had liberated him, and the two had made off 
 together. 
 
 Dan did not care. He was rather pleased than 
 otherwise. They would take the news back to 
 their camp, of the capture of Taggart and Cuth- 
 bert. 
 
 Randall hastened back again to the stone house. 
 
 Jules, aided by Yvonne, had bound the two cap- 
 tives, securely, and left them where they were, 
 while he attended to Pitou. For the bullet that 
 Cuthbert had fired at Jules had missed its mark, 
 but it had found another target in the body of the 
 old man who had been standing in the way of it. 
 
 Yvonne was seated on the floor inside the house, 
 holding Pitou 's head on her lap, and was stroking 
 his forehead gently while she murmured reassur- 
 ring words to him, when Dan got there. Jules 
 was standing near, looking down upon them both, 
 sorrow in his kind eyes.
 
 314 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 "C'est fini, m'sieu," he said, in a low tone to 
 his master. "Eet ees the end. Heem want spik 
 to you, m'sieu." 
 
 Dan dropped upon one knee beside the dying 
 man, and Pitou opened his eyes weakly and smiled 
 up at him. 
 
 1 'Merci, m'sieu," the old man murmured. "Eet 
 ees la mort, for moi. Dat bullet, heem fin' the 
 right place. Heem not meant for Jules. I go, 
 now ver' queek. Le bon Dieu, Heem know best. 
 You weel listen to one little word that Pitou have 
 to say?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, Pitou. What is it?" Dan replied. 
 
 "Dat Lightfoot, heem tres mauvais, m'sieu. 
 Heem ver' bad man. Non?" 
 
 "Yes, yes. What about him, Pitou?" 
 
 "Heem pere, my half brothair. Heem dat 
 Lightfoot what you call nephew to me. I theenk 
 I know where heem hide away heemself. Jules 
 heem know the place I mean. Dat ees the only 
 place where heem can hide heemself. . . . You, 
 Jules, bend down nearer to moi. . . . Merci. . . . 
 You know the place. We call heem the black rock. 
 You remember?" 
 
 "Oui, Pitou," Jules replied. 
 
 "Eet ees dere. You know. Down in the beeg 
 hole, behin' eet. You hav' not been dere. I have 
 ben dere many times. You go dere. You follow 
 down that bad place behin' dat rock, an' bimeby 
 you comme to where I theenk dat Lightfoot hide 
 heemself. An' mabby heem hav' the ma'm'selle 
 hide away dere, too." 
 
 After that old Pitou 's talk became incoherent. 
 Presently he lapsed into unconsciousness. Then
 
 TAKING THE BULL BY THE HORNS 315 
 
 he died, and with his old head in Yvonne's lap, 
 and her fingers gently stroking his brows. 
 
 Dan and Jules carried the two prisoners into the 
 house. Both had recovered consciousness. Cuth- 
 bert was profane and abusive. Taggart was silent 
 until they attempted to lift him from the ground. 
 Then he cried out with pain, and fainted away 
 again, and Randall realized that his enemy was 
 badly hurt. 
 
 That crashing fall upon the hard ground, when 
 Dan lifted and threw him in their struggle, had 
 done more damage than Taggart had ever received 
 before that. When he came to, on the cot where 
 he had been placed, he asked for Dan. 
 
 ''I'm all in, Randall," he said, rather weakly, 
 but brusquely, none the less, and with all of his 
 old air of bravado. "Something snapped, when 
 you dropped me, out there. I'm all right as long 
 as I don't try to move; but then well, I can't 
 move a finger without it's half killin' me, that's 
 all." 
 
 The bonds had already been removed from his 
 hands and feet. Dan had quickly made up his 
 mind that Taggart was helpless for the time 
 being, if not permanently. His spine had been in- 
 jured by the fall. The man was all but paralyzed. 
 
 Not so with Cuthbert, however. 
 
 He ramped, and raved, and swore so loudly and 
 constantly, that Dan very quickly determined what 
 he would do with him; but, for the present, he 
 and Jules carried Cuthbert into one of the back 
 rooms and left him there. Then he summoned 
 Yvonne and Jules to him, in the presence of Tag- 
 gart.
 
 316 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 "I've got a few things to say to my people, Tag- 
 gart, and I want you to hear it," he began. "I 
 can't stay here. I must go. I must go now. They 
 need me back there, in the pass." 
 
 He turned, then, to Jules and Yvonne. 
 
 "I shall take Cuthbert with me," he continued. 
 "I shall leave Taggart here with you. It may be 
 that he is faking; I don't know. If he is, Jules, 
 and if he should make the least effort to escape, 
 shoot him. I mean what I say. Understand?" 
 
 "Oui, m'sieu." 
 
 "And you, Taggart?" 
 
 "Oh, I understand, all right. But I'm not 
 fakin'. That's straight. I can be just as straight 
 as you can, when I want-a be; an' I seem to want-a 
 be, just now." 
 
 " All right. We'll let it go at that. Out there 
 I knocked out both Triton and Duprez. But they 
 escaped. They have probably gone back to your 
 camp. Before long they will bring a hundred or 
 so of your men to this place. Those men will 
 bring dynamite with them, to use as you intended 
 to use it. If they do that, they won't try to blow 
 up the house itself; they will put their charges 
 against that front door just as you would have 
 done if I hadn't been here to stop you." 
 
 "I know. You're right about that, too. I 
 wanted to get in here." 
 
 Dan turned again to Jules. 
 
 "Jules, we will move this cot, now, directly 
 across that door. If anybody tries to blow it in, 
 with dynamite, they'll blow Taggart to pieces 
 when they do it. Now, Ben." 
 
 "I hear you, Dan Randall."
 
 TAKING THE BULL BY THE HORNS 317 
 
 "It's up to you to stop your outfit from using 
 explosives and they cannot get in here to rescue 
 you without it. Jules and Yvonne will remain 
 here to take care of you but you've got to save 
 them, and this house, if they do. Got that?" 
 
 "Surest thing you know, Randall. I'll have 
 Yvonne sing out to them to send somebody inside, 
 unarmed, to see me. Jules can keep him covered 
 while he's here. See?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I '11 fix the rest of it. You can depend on that. ' ' 
 
 "If you do not, Jules will fix you, Taggart. 
 Don't forget, that if anything happens, you will 
 be the first dead man. Get me?" 
 
 "Oh, I'm on. I ain't sure but what I'm inclined 
 to take your side of things, from this out. You 
 look to me like a winner, Dan." 
 
 ' ' That's kind of you, I 'm sure. Only, I wouldn't 
 have you on my side not if you could lift your 
 right hand and have the whole thing finished be- 
 fore you dropped it to your side again. Now; 
 we have settled that much." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "There are two or three questions that I want 
 to ask you, Taggart." 
 
 "Fire away." 
 
 "I haven't much confidence in your ability to 
 tell the truth under any circumstances, but if you 
 tell it now, you may find it greatly to your advan- 
 tage, later on." 
 
 "Chuck it at me. I'll tell the truth if I sayi 
 anything. A man with a busted back ain't much 
 account, nohow." 
 
 "Do you know where^ Joyce Maitland is?"
 
 318 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 "No more'n you do, Dan, an' that's God's 
 truth." 
 
 "Do you know where Lightfoot it?" 
 
 "No more'n I know where she is." 
 
 "Have you seen him, or heard from him, since 
 you sent him out of Magician to get that satchel of 
 mine?" 
 
 "Narry a hide nor hair of him, Dan, so help 
 me!" 
 
 "Have you any idea where he might be found?" 
 
 "No more'n you have; honest." 
 
 "You don't know what was in that bag, da 
 you?" 
 
 "Nope. But I can guess at it. Money." 
 
 "Well, you can keep on guessing. Maybe you'll 
 make a better one." 
 
 "I don't think so." 
 
 Dan turned away and drew his two friends after 
 him into an adjoining room. He closed the door, 
 carefully. Then he spoke in a low tone. 
 
 "Jules," he said, "do you know where and what 
 the place is that old Pitou spoke about, and do 
 you think that there is any likelihood that Light- 
 foot might be there? Tell me exactly what you 
 do think about it." 
 
 "Oui. I know the place, m'sieu; an' I theenk 
 mabby-so, what you say dat Lightfoot ees dere." 
 
 "Where is it?" 
 
 "Up in the mountains, then down inside of 'em, 
 ver' far. 'Bout half way between the pass, an' 
 Rickett's canyon. Fifteen mile, mabby-so. But, 
 heem bad place to fin'." 
 
 "Then, listen to me. If mam'selle Joyce is 1 
 there, and was safe yesterday, and last week, and
 
 TAKING THE BULL BY THE HORNS 319 
 
 for the two weeks preceding, she will still be safe 
 for to-day and to-morrow. You wait here for me 
 until the day after to-morrow. Then I will come 
 here, and we will go to that place together." 
 
 Yvonne interrupted. 
 
 "But, m'sieu, in the meantime " she began, 
 
 but Randall stopped her with a gesture. 
 
 "In the meantime, little one," he said, "I shall 
 take the war into my own hands. I am going back 
 now to get my men together. I shall take them 
 outside, at both ends of the pass, first one end and 
 then the other. I am going to drive Taggart's 
 men at this end, and Wadleigh's men at the other 
 end, to to what Taggart would call Hell-an-gone. 
 I'm not going to wait any more for them to attack 
 me; I shall do a little attacking on my own ac- 
 count. ... I will be back here, day after to- 
 morrow, if not before, so be on the lookout for 
 me."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 When Taggart Laid Down 
 
 Dan Randall had been gone from the stone house 
 less than an hour (haying taken Ellery Cuthbert 
 with him; Cuthbert with his hands bound behind 
 his back, and forced to march ahead of his cap- 
 tor) when Taggart 's men appeared in a body, in 
 the clearing before the house. Dan had been de- 
 layed somewhat by the disposal of all that re- 
 mained of poor old Pitou. Masses would have to 
 be said for him later. The prayers of Yvonne had 
 to suffice for the present; but no dead man could 
 have had the beseechings of a gentler or purer soul 
 than hers. 
 
 The men formed in front of the house, and Orme 
 Crosby called out a summons. Jules replied from 
 the hole in the cliff above the house-front. 
 
 He told Crosby, in his mixed dialect, but never- 
 theless quite plainly, what the situation was, and 
 what would happen to Taggart if explosives were 
 used, as Crosby threatened. The result of it was 
 that after a parley, and some hesitation, Crosby 
 laid aside his weapons, and entered the house 
 himself. 
 
 Jules kept him "covered" during every moment 
 of the time he remained. 
 
 Crosby stood beside Taggart 's cot, which had
 
 WHEN TAGGART LAID DOWN 321 
 
 been moved against the inner side of the door, as 
 Dan had directed. 
 
 "What's the matter with you, Ben?" he de- 
 manded. 
 
 "My back's the matter. 'Tain't broken, but it 
 might as well be. It's busted up, somehow. May- 
 be I'll pull out; I don't know. I feel all right 
 enough, if I keep still. Say, Crosby." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "I've been thinkin' this thing over. Mebby 
 it's 'cause I'm helpless, an' down an' out; I dunno. 
 Mebby if I had my feet under me, an' my two arms 
 workin' for me, I'd be just as hell-bent for coppin' 
 out this thing to a show-down as I ever was. I 
 dunno. I ain't the man I was, in my heart an' 
 head, any more'n I am in my arms an' legs. An' 
 so I've been thinkin' that mebby we'd better lay 
 down our hands and let Dan rake in th' pot." 
 
 "I never expected to find you a quitter, Ben," 
 Crosby replied. 
 
 ' ' I aint ' one. But I ' ve got sense enough to know 
 when I'm licked." 
 
 "Maybe you're licked; but I ain't. Where's El 
 Cuthbert?" 
 
 "He's licked, too. An' if I can read signs as 
 well's I used to, Ace Wadleigh'll join th' down- 
 'n-outers before he's three days older than he is 
 now. It's up to you 'n me, to git down on our 
 marrers, an' beg, Orme. You hear me?" 
 
 "Maybe it's up to you, but it ain't up to me. I 
 ain't one of the beggin' kind?" 
 
 "Ain't you? Well, w ^ at ^ ave vou ot to stand 
 pat on? Not a thing. Them old deeds was burned 
 up, in Buxton's store; you know that. I had th'
 
 322 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 others, that Gaffney made out and I lost 'em, 'r 
 somebody stole 'em. It's all one, so long 's they're 
 gone. You give Randall time an' he'll find a way 
 to prove that the pass is his'n. He ain't no dam- 
 fool, Randall ain't. We was the damfools when 
 we played him for one. I'm ready to testify f'r 
 him, now, if it comes to a testify." " 
 
 "You dam' traitor!" Crosby half shouted at 
 him. 
 
 ' ' Uh, huh, ' ' Taggart responded, placidly. ' ' You 
 can call me them things, now. You wouldn't-a 
 been so spry about it, yesterday, mebby. But that 
 ain't the point." 
 
 "What is the point, then?" 
 
 "The point is this, Orme: We want to save our 
 bacon, don't we? Dan's got us flat broke if we 
 don't lay down, an* if we don't do it now. I've 
 heard our men grumblin'. They'd desert, an' go 
 to him in a holy minute, if they had a chance, an' 
 you know it. An' you can't hold 'em without me. 
 I'm the only man that can hold 'em, an' I ain't 
 goin' to try. That's flat." 
 
 "Huh! I'm more than half inclined to go back 
 outside, right now, and put a shot of dynamite 
 against that door, while you're behind it, you low 
 down, sneakin' " 
 
 "Hold on, Orme. You might a heap sight better 
 go outside and tie yourself to a tree, an' then hire 
 Duprez to build a fire under you, than do that. 
 Why, if you done that, Crosby, Dan Randall would 
 I dunno what he wouldn't do to you. Go 'head 
 an' try it if you want-a. But don't you call me 
 any more names, 'cause if you do, I'll tell Jules to 
 plug you. An' Jules' fingers is just itchin' to do it,
 
 WHEN TAGGART LAID DOWN 323 
 
 right now. . . . Turn him out, Jules, before I 
 order you to shoot him. Maybe he'll blow up the 
 place, but I don't think so. He ain't got sand 
 enough. . . . Git out, Crosby. You're rotten." 
 
 "Say!" he went on, after a moment, when 
 Crosby made no reply. "What are you fightin' 
 for, anyhow? What are you goin' to git, if you 
 could win? Do you suppose that old Gregory is 
 goin' to let you an' me have a slice of this thing, 
 once he gets his own paws clinched onto it? Not 
 much he ain't! An' Ace Wadleigh! Where '11 he 
 be at?" 
 
 "That's what I want to know. He's no quit- 
 ter. He's " 
 
 "He's a skunk; that's what he is. If it hadn't 
 been for him, you 'n me, 'n El Cuthbert would-a 
 stuck to Dan. Where '11 the M. & J. be when Dan 
 gits this Cut-off to goin'? Tell me that. I 
 wouldn't give fifteen cents f 'r the hull line of it, 
 except the Carrolton division. Take it from me, 
 Orme, Dan Randall's got things up his sleeve that 
 he ain't showed us yet. He's got the cards stacked 
 an' we're the suckers, from Suckersville. You'd 
 better hedge on this deal, while there's time." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "How! Go out there an' march them gazaboes 
 back to the camp. Then take a white flag in y'r 
 paw an' go up to th' captain's office an' ask f'r 
 a confab with Buxton. Tell him that you'n me 
 have decided to chuck up th' sponge, an' that we'll 
 turn our hull outfit over to Dan, an' no questions 
 asked. Tell him to tell Dan that we'll accept any 
 offer that Dan '11 make to us. Bul-lieve me you'll 
 git a heap sight better terms that way than any
 
 324 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 other. Tell him that you'll go through the pass, 
 an' help him to lick the tar out-a Ace, an' his 
 bunch, an' ole Gregory, an' hisn." 
 
 " Perhaps the men won't stand for such a 
 thing." 
 
 "Won't they? Ask em'. Put it up to 'em if 
 you want to. Put it to a vote. You'll find that 
 they'll go over to Dan Randall with a cheer that'll 
 make these mountains shake. An' say!" 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "How long do you s'pose it'll take Dan to finish 
 that job if he has our outfit an' mebby Ace's, too 
 to help it along? Why, man alive, he'll have 
 trains runnin' over Magician pass before the sea- 
 son's well begun." 
 
 "But, what will we get out of it? You an' me, 
 an' Cuthbert?" 
 
 "We'll git whatever Dan's inclined to give us. 
 That much, an' no more." 
 
 "It'll be the icy fist, then." 
 
 "No, 't won't. It'll be pretty close to what we 
 ought to have, take it from me. I know Dan Ran- 
 dall. He's as soft as a girl, if you touch him in 
 the right spot." 
 
 "You mean that we must just lay down, and roll 
 over and beg. That's what you mean, Ben?" 
 
 "That's just exactly what I do mean. We ain't 
 got a leg to stand on; an' if we wait till Dan gits 
 through, there won't be a piece of sod to put the 
 leg onto if we had it. That's what. Cuthbert 's 
 out-a business; I'm out-a business; you're out-a 
 business without us; Wadleigh is plumb out-a 
 business without any of us to stand by him an' 
 there you are. Then, there's another thing. That
 
 WHEN TAGGART LAID DOWN 325 
 
 Gaffney job ain't any too sweet-smellin' to suit me. 
 Them forged deeds, if they should turn up, spell 
 stripes an' bars for some of us. ... You give Dan 
 Randall back the pass, an' then tell him the truth 
 about that directors' meetin', and the girl, an r 
 you'll find that you've touched that right spot I 
 was talkin' about. What d'ye Bay, Orme? Is it a 
 go?" 
 
 Crosby was silent. Then he nodded his head, 
 slowly, three times. Then he turned about, and, 
 without a spoken word more, passed outside.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 The Last Ditch. 
 
 Jules, watching closely every move that Crosby 
 made after he left the house, saw him call the men 
 around him. Jules could not hear what was said, 
 but within ten minutes after that, Crosby's men 
 marched away again as swiftly as they had come; 
 and there was something about the manner of their 
 going a certain jauntiness that had not been with 
 them upon their arrival which told the quick- 
 witted Jules that they were more pleased than dis- 
 appointed to go. 
 
 He so reported to Taggart; and for a few mo- 
 ments afterward Taggart was thoughtful. Then 
 he called Jules to him again. 
 
 "Look here, Jules," he said. "You ain't got 
 any too much reason to trust me, have you? You 
 ain't liked me very sumptuous, in the past, have 
 you?" 
 
 "Non, m'sieu," was the placid reply. 
 
 "Well, I've got a suggestion to make to you, 
 anyhow." 
 
 "Tres-bien, m'sieu." 
 
 "I want you to light out-a here on the trail of 
 Dan Randall. Catch him if you can. Anyhow 
 git to the pass, an' git into it somehow I suspect 
 that you know how to do it all right as quick as 
 the Lord'll let you. See?"
 
 THE LAST DITCH 327 
 
 "I see, m'sieu." 
 
 "But you don't feel like goin* an* leavin* 
 Yvonne here, alone with me. I don't blame you 
 any for feelin' that way, an' I'm comin' to that, 
 presently." 
 
 Jules nodded, studying the man with close scru- 
 tiny. 
 
 "You heard all that was said between Crosby 
 an' me, didn't you, Jules?" 
 
 "Oui, m'sieu." 
 
 "Well, all that I want you to do is to tell Dan 
 Randall all that you heard, and all that you 
 thought about it, just as soon as it can be done. 
 See?" 
 
 "Oui, m'sieu." 
 
 "Tell him that there ain't no strings tied to it 
 or to me, either. Tell him that I'm just layin' 
 down my hand an' gittin' up from the table, an' 
 pullin' out-a the game. An' tell him that if he 
 wants to stake me to a bank-roll, so's I can set in 
 agin, I'm ready to accept it, an' to play accordin' 
 to the rules that he recognizes. Have you got that 
 much all clear in your mind, Jules?" 
 
 "Oui, m'sieu." 
 
 "Oh, don't be so dam polite. It ain't necessary. 
 Now, as to the other thing I was goin' to say. I 
 can't move. I'm as helpless as a baby -calf that 
 ain't found its legs yet. But all the same, mebby 
 you don't believe that. Mebby you think I'm 
 puttin'-on, an' that me 'n Crosby had some 
 sort of a secret understandin' in that confab of 
 ourn. We didn't, but you ain't sure that we 
 didn't. Well, I'm going to tell you how to make 
 sure."
 
 328 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 "Oui, m'sieu." 
 
 "You just tie me up, hoof an' horns, as tight 
 as you want-a, before you go. Then you give 
 Yvonne a gun, an' tell her to set right down there 
 till you come back, an' if she sees the slightest 
 thing, inside the house or out of it, that suggests 
 to her that I ain't playin' on the level, to shoot me. 
 How's that?" 
 
 Jules nodded. He turned to Yvonne, who was 
 standing near, and she nodded, also. Her eyes 
 had been drilling into Taggart's very soul while 
 he was talking. 
 
 "M'sieu Taggart mean what he say," she said, 
 soberly. "He spik the truth, now. You go, Jules. 
 You need not tie m'sieu." 
 
 Ten seconds later Jules had left the house. 
 
 He did not overtake Dan, but he came upon 
 Miron's men within half an hour after Dan had 
 passed them, for, with the prisoner, Dan did not 
 make very great speed. Miron knew Jules, and 
 passed him on readily. 
 
 Randall and Buxton were together when Jules 
 found them, at the pulpit. Buxton had just fin- 
 ished making his report concerning affairs at the 
 east end of the pass that morning. 
 
 In effect they were about the same as the ex- 
 periences that Dan had met with, only that no pris- 
 oners had been taken. Wadleigh's men had been 
 driven back. Seven men of Wadleigh's forces had 
 taken the opportunity to desert, and come over to 
 Buxton and Dan; and those men reported that 
 Wadleigh had met with an accident of some sort, 
 but whether it was serious or not they did not 
 know.
 
 THE LAST DITCH 329 
 
 Their report was, however, unconfirmed. There 
 was no telling whether it was true or not. 
 
 The one noticeable thing about conditions in 
 the pass was that work had not been halted in the 
 least degree. Drills were hammering, dynamos 
 were humming, iron was ringing upon iron, just 
 as merrily as ever. 
 
 The Janver Cut-off was going forward just as 
 rapidly as before. 
 
 Dan listened to what Jules had to say, with in- 
 credulous amazement, at first; then with interest. 
 And confirmation of the truth of it came almost at 
 the moment that Jules finished. 
 
 A messenger arrived from the west end of the 
 pass. 
 
 "Three men have come forward, down below," 
 he told Dan." They brought a white flag, so we 
 talked with them. One was Crosby. He says he 
 wants to see Mr. Buxton, or you, sir, or both of 
 you together." 
 
 It was two o'clock in the afternoon when Crosby 
 and the two men he brought with him were admit- 
 ted to the inclosure behind the fort at the west end 
 of the pass. 
 
 Jules was stationed where he could hear all that 
 Crosby might have to say, but where he could not 
 be seen. 
 
 But Dan could see Jules by turning his glance 
 from time to time during the conference, and 
 Jules' frequent nods of his head were sufficient 
 assurance that Crosby was telling substantially the 
 truth. 
 
 It was nearly dark by the time that all of the
 
 330 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 men who had gathered at the mouth of the pass, 
 under the command of Taggart, Cuthbert and 
 Crosby, had been signed on, and had been divided 
 into groups and squads and gangs, at the direc- 
 tion of Randall, and were marched through the 
 pass to their several stations. 
 
 So ended one phase of the fight for possession 
 of Magician pass. 
 
 Dan knew that he would have nothing more to 
 fear at the Janver end of it. He had the signed 
 confession, properly witnessed, of Crosby, relative 
 to the forged deeds, and to the part that Peteit 
 Gaffney had played in it. 
 
 But Crosby had made no mention of the name of 
 Joyce Maitland. 
 
 Dan, from motives best understood by himself, 
 alone, had avoided any mention of her. Jules had 
 forgotten, or neglected, or determined not to speak 
 of the one remark he had heard Taggart make in 
 reference to Joyce. 
 
 Cuthbert, still a prisoner under guard, sore to 
 the quick, ugly, resentful, and as bitter as gall, 
 had refused to take any part in the confession, and 
 had cursed Crosby, and Taggart, and Dan and 
 everybody connected with the affair except Ace 
 Wadleigh, roundly. 
 
 "Ace Wadleigh an' me, ain't through, yet!" he 
 yelled at them. "Gregory ain't through, either. 
 You'll see. I'll swear till I'm black in the face 
 that that confession of Crosby's is a lie from be- 
 ginnin' to end. So '11 Wadleigh. So will about a 
 hundred more of us." 
 
 Dan preferred not to argue with him, and left 
 him; but Dan Randall knew Ace Wadleigh better,
 
 THE LAST DITCH 331 
 
 perhaps, than any of them did, and he realized that 
 Cuthbert had spoken the literal truth so far as he 
 was concerned. 
 
 Ace was not one to give up. He would fight to 
 the last ditch. The contest for the possession of 
 the pass was not over, yet. Dan realized that. 
 
 His decision in that regard was confirmed in a 
 startling manner within thirty seconds from the 
 time of his parting with Cuthbert. 
 
 He stepped outside of the shack where Cuthbert 
 was confined, and closed the door of it after him. 
 Buxton, and Crosby, and three of his foremen, 
 were with him. 
 
 He came to a stop a few yards from the door, 
 and parted his lips to make some remark concern- 
 ing what had just occurred, when all of them were 
 startled by the sullen roar made by a succession of 
 explosions which came from down the pass to the 
 east of them. 
 
 Every man there knew what it meant. There 
 was no mistaking the sounds of it. Wadleigh was 
 making an attack, and he was using dynamite. 
 
 Wadleigh was endeavoring to blow up the fort 
 that guarded the eastern entrance to Magician 
 pass. Possibly he believed that Taggart would be 
 doing the same thing at the opposite end or he 
 had determined to go it alone, in any event. 
 
 Dan Randall gave his orders quickly. 
 
 "Get down there, Bux," he shouted. "Crosby, 
 now is your opportunity to prove yourself. Stay 
 with Buxton, and take his orders. Bux, order out 
 every man who is not engaged on the work. No 
 shooting! No killing or wounding, if it can be 
 avoided. Drive Wadleigh and his men out.
 
 332 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 Drive them into Magician, and then out of it again. 
 Keep after them. Let this night be the finish. 
 I'll be with you by the time you get at it." 
 
 Dan ran to the little building that he called his 
 headquarters. 
 
 He discovered, there, that the explosions down 
 below must have been even worse than he sup- 
 posed. Neither the telephones, nor the telegraph 
 wires, were working. 
 
 He had known by the noise of them that the- 
 shots set off were many, as well as violent. He 
 had no doubt, now, that Wadleigh had somehow 
 succeeded in planting his mines so that the whole 
 front of the east fort had been destroyed. 
 
 In his dash down the pass toward the scene of 
 the conflict he overtook and out-distanced scores 
 of his own men who were rushing in that direction 
 to take part in the fight. 
 
 Skinners, with their mules and whips; hard- 
 rockers, with their hammers, sledges, and steel 
 drills; graders, with their shovels and picks; rail- 
 ers, with their sledges and spikes; it looked as if 
 every man among them had picked up the first ar- 
 ticle he could lay his hands upon to use as a 
 weapon. 
 
 For a time they needed them, too. 
 
 It turned out afterward that Wadleigh's men 
 had been ordered to shoot and many of them did 
 shoot toward the defenders of the pass, with Win- 
 chesters and revolvers; but they shot high, pur- 
 posely. 
 
 It went on record, afterward, that not one man 
 of either party was hit by a bullet that night; but 
 the broken heads, the smashed jaws, the torn
 
 THE LAST DITCH 333 
 
 faces, and dislocated bones and joints that resulted 
 from that fight, short and sharp as it was, were too 
 many to be counted definitely. 
 
 Many of the attacking party were beaten down 
 by the hoofs of the charging mules of the skinners. 
 Many more sustained cut and bleeding faces that 
 were laid open, often to the bone, by the terrible 
 whip-lashes. 
 
 There were hundreds of hand-to-hand fights; 
 scores of impromptu wrestling matches ; dozens of 
 personal contests between respective bullies who 
 stripped for it, and around whom rings were 
 formed to abide by the decision of that particular 
 fight, and to enlist their further efforts on the side 
 of the victor of it at the end. 
 
 But the utter rout which followed, as the result 
 of the conflict, was inevitable. 
 
 Wadleigh's men were bested at every turn. 
 
 They broke and fled in whole sections before 
 the fight had continued twenty minutes after the 
 arrival of the reinforcements from up the pass. 
 In twos, and tens, and sometimes by the score, 
 they seized upon the opportunity to go over to 
 Dan's side, and turned about to fight against their 
 own numbers. 
 
 Then came the stampede of those who remained 
 loyal to Wadleigh, or who were afraid to desert 
 him. 
 
 They were chased into the open ground below 
 the entrance to the pass; they were pursued into 
 the very town of Magician. Those who were 
 overtaken were pummeled until they yelled for 
 mercy or until they agreed to go to work for the 
 Janver Cut-off.
 
 334 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 Captain Badmington, with his few men, rode 
 out to the scene of the conflict and arrived only 
 in time to discover that it was over and done 
 with. 
 
 In the beginning, Wadleigh led his hosts, and 
 shouted encouragement to them from everywhere, 
 seeming to be omnipresent in his capacities. It 
 was certain that he had not been injured so that 
 he could not fight. 
 
 At the end of it, however, Ace Wadleigh had 
 disappeared. 
 
 Search for him as they might and did not 
 a trace of him could be found; and when, at least, 
 comparative quiet had been restored, when the 
 men who had been fighting against each other were 
 laughing together and retailing accounts of the 
 deeds they had performed, or witnessed, during 
 the mix-up, Ace Wadleigh was nowhere to be 
 found. 
 
 There was just one sad fact connected with the 
 whole affair. 
 
 Those first explosions, when the fort was blown 
 up, had killed three men outright, and a dozen oth- 
 ers had been injured more or less severely. In the 
 fight that followed no one had been mortally in- 
 jured, although there were scores who would find 
 themselves temporarily disabled. 
 
 Where was Wadleigh? 
 
 Nobody seemed able to supply any clue about 
 him until a big and burly Irishman shouldered his 
 way through the knot of men who surrounded 
 Randall, and announced: 
 
 "I dunno where he is now, sor, but the last I 
 seed av him, he was hot-footin' it f 'r the sky-line
 
 THE LAST DITCH 335 
 
 toward th* north, an' there was a breed-Injun wid 
 him that I hadn't seen before." 
 
 Dan wondered if the "breed-Injun" could have 
 been Lightfoot. But he did not ask the question.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 Things That Did Not Burn 
 
 Dan Randall, with Jules beside him, rode into 
 Magician that same night. 
 
 He went directly to the barracks, and to Captain 
 Badmington, and laid Orme Crosby's signed and 
 witnessed confession before that official. 
 
 Then Jules was sworn, and related all that he 
 heard said between Taggart and Crosby, at the 
 stone house at White Lake. And the memory of 
 Jules, for detail, was- prof ound. 
 
 After that, Randall took the oath himself, and 
 told his own story, and at the* end of it, Captain 
 Badmington openedLa drawer of his desk and drew 
 forth from it two packages, wrapped in. oilskins. 
 He laid them both down on the desk in front of 
 him. 
 
 "Mr. Randall," he said, "these two packages 
 have been in my possession eversince the day that 
 Sergeant Hurley arrested you and brought you 
 here to this office. I have examined the contents 
 of both of them." 
 
 He lifted one of them in his hands and removed 
 the wrappings. Then he ran the documents it 
 had contained idly through his fingers. 
 
 "This one," he continued, "you have believed 
 was burned in the stove, in Buxton's store. In; 
 reality, when you tore it away from the possession
 
 THINGS THAT DID NOT BURN 337 
 
 of Mr. Wadleigh, and threw it over your head be- 
 hind you, it fell directly into the grasp of Mr. Bux- 
 ton. There was a third package of this character, 
 if you will take the trouble to recall the fact, in 
 your own possession. It was some sort of a fake- 
 package, I believe, that Wadleigh had made up, 
 and had substituted for this one, before you left 
 Janver to come here. There was such a fake- 
 package, was there not?" 
 
 "Yes, captain." 
 
 "You had referred to it in your talk with Bux- 
 ton, before your arrest. You were very cold, and 
 worn out by your exertions, at that time. In re- 
 turning it to your pocket, you missed the pocket 
 and dropped it to the floor, without being aware 
 of the fact. Your fingers were half frozen at the 
 time. Buxton picked it up and laid it on the coun- 
 ter behind him. Do you understand me, Mr. Ran- 
 dall?" 
 
 "I am beginning to, captain." 
 
 "When this package here was thrown into Bux- 
 ton's hands, he put it into one of his pockets. No- 
 body noticed the fact. You were keeping things 
 moving at about that time, were you not?" 
 
 "I believe I was, sir." Randall smiled a little at 
 the recollection. 
 
 "Buxton remembered the package that you had 
 said contained nothing but waste paper. It was 
 on the counter, within his reach. He seized it, and 
 threw it into the fire. You know the rest of that 
 story." 
 
 "Yes, sir. It is rather wonderful, isn't it? All 
 this, I mean?" 
 
 "Perhaps. It was certainly fortunate for you.
 
 338 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 Buxton is my personal friend, as possibly you 
 know. He lost no time in telling me all the de- 
 tails, and in placing the old deeds in my hands. I 
 knew, almost at once, exactly where you stood in 
 the matter relating to Magician pass." 
 
 "Thank you, captain." 
 
 "Something else happened there, at the store, 
 that day. It relates to this other packet." 
 
 "Yes, sir?" 
 
 "It dropped to the floor during your fight with 
 'Jaggart. He dropped it. He did not know that 
 he had done so. Neither did anybody else appear 
 to know about it. It was seen by Sergeant Hur- 
 ley, who picked it up. ... Now, Sergeant Hurley 
 is not usually forgetful, but he forgot all about 
 this packet for some days after that until he ac- 
 cidentally came upon it again. Then he brought 
 it to me. It contains the forged deeds." 
 
 "Wonderful!" Dan murmured in an undertone. 
 
 "I am familiar with your signature, Mr. Ran- 
 dall. When I was a young man I worked in a 
 bank and I rose to the position of paying-teller. I 
 was considered an expert in the matter of signa- 
 tures, and forgeries of signatures. I do not need 
 these confessions of Taggart and Crosby to assure 
 me that the signatures to these deeds are forged. ' ' 
 
 "I don't know how to express my thanks, sir, 
 for " 
 
 "Never mind that, Mr. Randall. Acting upon 
 my advice, Mr. Buxton kept silent in regard to all 
 that I have told you. I deemed it best to permit 
 events to shape themselves somewhat more defi- 
 nitely before I acted in your behalf. The result 
 has proved that I was right."
 
 THINGS THAT DID NOT BURN 339 
 
 "Indeed it has, captain. You see " 
 
 " Please let me continue, Mr. Randall." 
 
 * ' Certainly, captain. Excuse me. " 
 
 "I did take it upon myself to have something 
 in the nature of a warning whispered into the ear 
 of Mr. Lionel Gregory. He has not been active in 
 your affairs since I did that. The first attack! 
 upon you would not have occurred had I done it a 
 few hours sooner. And, now, there is just one 
 thing more." 
 
 "I am overwhelmed as it is," Dan replied. 
 
 "Well, this clinches matters, I believe. The 
 records of your deeds were not destroyed that 
 night when poor Sutherland was burned to death. 
 Those particular books which contained them hap- 
 pened to be in the safe. Your title to the right of 
 way across Magician pass seems to me to be per- 
 fectly clear, Randall. I congratulate you." 
 
 "God bless you, Captain Badmington." 
 
 "The same to you, sir, and thank you. God's 
 blessing is the one great thing in our lives. With- 
 out it we can do little; with it, we may accomplish 
 much. Good night, Mr. Randall. . . . But wait. 
 What information have you concerning the where- 
 abouts of Boniface Wadleigh?" 
 
 "None whatever, save that he escaped from us 
 tonight, and was last seen, bound northward, 
 along the eastern slope of the Lantowas in the) 
 company of a 'breed '-Indian who might have been 
 Lightfoot. But that is only a guess of mine." 
 
 "Thank you. I shall issue a warrant, and a re- 
 ward for his apprehension, in the morning. It 
 was he who gave the order for the use of those ex- 
 plosives, in the attack of to-night, by which three
 
 340 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 men were killed, and others wereseverely injured. 
 This Dominion will nottcountenance such things 
 as that. There is nothing* more, I believe." 
 
 "Yes, sir; there is one thing more," Dan said, 
 impulsively. "It is something that.concerns. my- 
 self, intimately. It is something that you should 
 know, concerning me. I* am not " 
 
 The captain held up one hand, warningly, and 
 stopped him. 
 
 "All in good time, Mr. Randall. Perhaps I 
 know what you would speak about; possibly I do 
 not. In any case, it can wait and I much prefer 
 that it should. I will say this much, however." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "I know who Peter Gaffney was, and what he 
 was called before he came out here. I also know 
 why he came here which I am sure you do not 
 know. If your communication that you were 
 about to make has any reference to him, or to the 
 contents of the belt he was wearing when he was 
 frozen to death on the mountain, I must ask you 
 not to make it now. There will be a more ap- 
 propriate time, later on. ... And now, Mr. Ran- 
 dall, I will shake hands with you, and bid you 
 goodnight." 
 
 Dan Randall stood very still for ten minutes 
 after the captain had gone. Jules and Sergeant 
 Hurley remained in the room, waiting in silence. 
 But then Jules stepped forward and touched him 
 tentatively on the arm. Randall turned. 
 
 "Thank you, Hurley, for all that you have done 
 for me, ' ' he said. ' ' Come, Jules. We must start at 
 once. Ma'm'selle is somewhere up there in the 
 mountains, and we must find her."
 
 CHAPTER XLI 
 A Cry for Help 
 
 Jules, ever silent unless there were need for 
 words, made no remark until they were almost at 
 the entrance to the pass. But he knew that m'sieu 
 had not spoken idly when he had said: ' 'We must 
 start at once." At once, with Randall, meant 
 now; but all the same, Jules had different ideas. 
 
 "M'sieu," he said, as they were about to enter 
 the pass, "do you mean that we go to-night, for 
 to fin' mam'selle?" 
 
 "Yes," Dan replied. "At once. As soon as I 
 have seen Buxton, to tell him about it." 
 
 "But, m'sieu weel listen un leetle moment to 
 sommethang w'at Jules hav' to say? Non?" 
 
 "Of course, Jules. What is it?" 
 
 "Thees: Dat groun', heem not ver' hard when 
 m'sieu Wadleigh go 'way avec dat breed-man. 
 Heem not ver' hard now, jus' sam. You under- 
 stand, m'sieu?" 
 
 "No. You mean that it would leave some sort 
 of a trail? Of course. I had not thought of 
 that." 
 
 "Non; you had no thought of dat, m'sieu. But, 
 in de night, we not see dat trail. Een le matin, 
 when de sun shine, we see heem plain. Non?" 
 
 "Yes, Jules. I understand you. We will wait 
 until it is light before we start."
 
 342 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 "Merci, m'sieu." 
 
 "Do you think that you will be able to find and 
 to follow their trail, Jules?" 
 
 "For sure, m'sieu. Certainment. Pourquoi 
 non? Jus' like you read a book. But, de hardes' 
 part will be to fin' de trail, een de firs' place. An' 
 so, m'sieu, when eet ees light, an' you wak' up, you 
 fin' Jules gone already. But Jules be lookin' for 
 dat trail. You see, m'sieu?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You comme then, jus' sam', m'sieu. Right out 
 dere, where Jules point heem finger, now. You 
 fin' Jules waitin' for you. Then we go on, bien- 
 tot queek. Non?" 
 
 "All right, Jules, I understand. You will be 
 out there as soon as dawn begins to show, and by 
 the time I get there you will have found the trail. 
 Good. That is better, and I know you well enough 
 to know that you can follow the trail once you have 
 discovered it. But, wait a moment. Tell me 
 what you think of it all." 
 
 "I do not know how to answer dat, m'sieu." 
 
 "Was it Lightfoot, do you think, who came here 
 to-night to get Wadleigh?" 
 
 "No. I not know why I theenk not; but Jules 
 theenk not, jus' sam'. But, Jules theenk othair 
 theeng, m'sieu." 
 
 "What else?" 
 
 "I theenk dat Lightfoot send dat man, mabby- 
 so. Lightfoot afraid comme heemself, mabby-so, 
 et send othair man." 
 
 It was not long after daylight the following 
 morning when Dan Randall found Jules waiting 
 for him, half a mile north of the eastern end of
 
 A CRY FOR HELP 343 
 
 the pass. The faithful fellow stood up quickly 
 when he saw Dan approaching, and announced as 
 soon as he was near enough: 
 
 "I fin' dat trail, m'sieu. Heem not ver' plain, 
 but I see him all right, jus' sam'. Dat snake 
 Lightf oot, heem not mak' one part of eet. I know 
 who mak' dat othair trail. Lightf oot hav' one 
 frien', mabby-so." 
 
 They started on together without further con- 
 verse, and several miles had been covered, and 
 they had begun to ascend to higher levels along 
 one of the mountain ravines, when Jules an- 
 nounced, without preface: 
 
 "I go across de pass las' nuit, m'sieu, to de 
 stone maison by de lac. Yvonne, she gone from 
 dere, m'sieu.'* 
 
 Dan stopped short in his tracks. 
 
 "Yvonne gone?" he exclaimed. "Where?" 
 
 "Je ne sais pas, m'sieu, unless she theenk she 
 fin' ma'm'selle Joie. Yvonne feel ver' bad 'bout 
 mam'selle Joie, m'sieu. I theenk she go to fin* 
 her, mabby-so. Triton heem m'sieu Taggart's 
 homme, you know heem not een dat fight las' 
 nuit. Heem go back to de house. So, Yvonne, 
 when she fin' dat Triton ees dere to tak' care of 
 m'sieu Taggart, she jus' say notting, an' what you 
 call, light out. But she tak' theengs to, eat with 
 her. So Jules theenk she go to fin' mam'selle. 
 M'sieu weel remember that Yvonne hear all that 
 old Pitou said about dat place under the black 
 rock?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "M'sieu theenk heem able to travel jus' leetle 
 bit faster?" Jules asked.
 
 344 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 " Three times faster than we have been going, 
 Jules, if you will. Go just as fast as you like. I'll 
 keep up with you." 
 
 It was a big promise, as Dan soon discovered, 
 notwithstanding the fact that Jules had crossed 
 the pass twice during the preceding night, and had 
 had no sleep. 
 
 Up hill and down dale, over rocks and through 
 woods, across ravines and athwart hog-back 
 ridges, up precipitous cliff -sides, along precarious 
 ledges, through thickets that were almost impene- 
 trable, they made their way onward. 
 
 Sometimes the trail was plain indeed; at other 
 times they nearly lost it utterly. 
 
 There were occasions when Jules lost precious 
 moments seeking it; there were others when they 
 ran with all speed along level places where the 
 trail could be plainly followed. 
 
 They forded icy torrents of water that still were 
 fed by the snows that lingered at higher points 
 above them. They floundered through enormous 
 drifts of snow that had not yet succumbed to the 
 thaws; and so, at last, just before sundown, they 
 crossed the backbone of the range, and stopped for 
 a moment upon a flat space, whence there was an 
 uninterrupted view in nearly all directions. 
 
 But, when Dan would have stood up boldly in 
 order to look about him, Jules pulled him back- 
 ward, below the highest point of rocks. 
 
 "We mighty clos' to dat Black Rock, m'sieu," 
 he said. "Mabby dat Lightfoot be on de watch. 
 Heem see us, then heem be warned. Non? ' ' 
 
 "Is it so near as that?" Dan asked, eagerly. 
 
 "Oui, m'sieu."
 
 A CRY FOR HELP 345 
 
 "Then why don't we go ahead? What is the 
 use of waiting here?" 
 
 "M'sieu hav' forgot, mabby, what dat captain 
 say, down een Magicienne? Heem say dat m'sieu 
 Wadleigh hav' keel three men, an' purty near keel 
 somme othairs. Non? M'sieu Wadleigh know 
 that. Mabby-so, now, eef you stan' up dere where 
 he can see you, heem shoot you. Lightfoot, heem 
 shoot Jules, mabby. Dat other man, heem shoot 
 both of us. Non? We wait here until night. 
 Non, m'sieu?" 
 
 "But, Jules, to be so near, and not to go to her!'* 
 Dan exclaimed. 
 
 "Eeet ees better to wait, m'sieu, than to be 
 keeled, an' not go at all. An' mabby Yvonne 
 dere, too, by now. I theenk so." 
 
 "You think that Yvonne has got there?" 
 
 "Oui, m'sieu. She start las' night. Dat road 
 on de othair side, much better than on thees side. 
 Yvonne geet dere queek. If we show ourselves 
 now, we be shot, mabby-so. Then there ees no- 
 body for to help ma'm'selle an' Yvonne. Then 
 those bad men, an' dat Wadleigh, they do jus* 
 what they like eef m'sieu an' Jules are dead." 
 
 ' ' You are right, Jules. I see it now. ' ' 
 
 "Purty soon we go on when they no can see 
 us." Jules seated himself upon the rocks and 
 produced his pipe, having first taken note of the 
 direction of the wind. 
 
 Then, just as night began to fall, they were 
 brought to their feet with a sudden start. 
 
 A woman's voice rang shrilly out upon the in- 
 creasing gloom, in one wild cry for help.
 
 CHAPTER XLII 
 
 In the Nick of Time 
 
 Dan Randall could not have described, after- 
 ward, how he covered the space that intervened 
 between him and the source of that call for help. 
 
 He and Jules had both recognized the voice of 
 Joyce Maitland and the effect of it upon them, 
 keyed-up as they were, was electric in its char- 
 acter. 
 
 Darkness had not yet fallen. The condition was 
 that which we describe as "dusk." 
 
 Black Rock, well named, loomed directly in 
 front of them, a hundred yards away. Between 
 it, and them, there was a depression in the 
 top of the mountain, which Nature, by some up- 
 heaval of the past, had filled with a jumble of 
 sharp-edged stones of varying sizes. These were 
 not easy to cross in haste, but both Dan and Jules 
 forgot that fact when they heard the call for help. 
 
 They skimmed over the tops of those smaller 
 rocks, practically side by side; now one of them 
 would be a yard or so in advance, then the other 
 and so they leaped down at last upon a huge 
 flat stone as level as a floor, directly under one side 
 of the big black boulder, which was of the size of 
 a small house. 
 
 There Jules darted on in advance of Dan.
 
 IN THE NICK OF TIME 347 
 
 They turned at a sharp angle around one end of 
 the rock, and ran down a steep incline, which was, 
 however, wide and smooth, and which wound 
 around the rock in a curve as symmetrical as if 
 the craft of an engineer had planned it. Like a 
 spiral staircase without the steps, and much less 
 steep, it proved, eventually, to be the pathway that 
 old Pitou had described with almost his last 
 breath. 
 
 The cry for help was not repeated. 
 
 More than likely, Joyce, after that one impul- 
 sive appeal, had remembered how futile it would 
 be to call for help at a place so remote as Black 
 Rock. 
 
 The two men ran lightly, almost noiselessly. In 
 descending the winding path, they were very 
 nearly side by side. 
 
 It was almost dark under the shadow of the 
 rock, and the gloom became deeper as they de- 
 scended; but soon Dan could see some sort of a 
 glow ahead of him, and then Jules put out a hand 
 and restrained him, and they came almost to a 
 stop. 
 
 Dan would have shaken himself free and rushed 
 onward had he not discovered at the same instant 
 that they were directly upon the scene they sought. 
 
 A space suggestive of an amphitheatre of small 
 dimensions was directly in front of them. A small 
 building made of hodge-podge stones roughly 
 piled together, and the chinks between them filled 
 with earth, occupied the center of it. A wide 
 doorway, through which a team of horses might 
 have been driven with ease, stood open, and out of 
 it a bright light gleamed.
 
 348 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 A tableau of startling realities was there, too, 
 plainly revealed to them by the light within the 
 house. Their point of approach to it was such 
 that nearly the whole interior of the room was vis- 
 ible to both. 
 
 By common consent they stopped, for they real- 
 ized that their nearness was not suspected. They 
 saw, too, that there was no immediate danger. 
 
 Apparently Ace Wadleigh and the man who had 
 been his guide from Magician pass had only just 
 arrived. It had not occurred to Dan that he and 
 Jules had so nearly overtaken them. Jules had 
 known it, but he had said nothing. He had 
 strained himself and Dan, too, to their utmost ef- 
 forts to catch up with the two men before Black 
 Rock should be reached, but he had known at the 
 last that it could not be done, so he had said noth- 
 ing of their nearness. 
 
 Evidently Wadleigh and his companion had 
 found Yvonne already there, without in the least 
 expecting to see her; and that the fact of their com- 
 ing had been as great a surprise to Yvonne, as her 
 presence was to them, could not be doubted. 
 
 When Dan and Jules came upon the scene, 
 Yvonne was standing over near one corner of the 
 room, facing the wide-open doorway. She held a 
 small automatic pistol in her right hand (it was 
 one that Dan had given her long ago, and had 
 taught her how to use). The muzzle of it was 
 pointing directly at Ace Wadleigh, who had come 
 to a stop a few paces inside the door apparently 
 when he had been in the act of rushing forward to 
 seize her. 
 
 Probably he had intended no more than to throw
 
 IN THE NICK OF TIME 349 
 
 Yvonne out his way, for, beside her, and a little to 
 the rear, upright, pale, courageous, with tightened 
 lips and frightened eyes, stood Joyce. No doubt 
 it had been the unheralded and totally unexpect- 
 ed appearance of Ace Wadleigh upon the scene 
 which had compelled the startled cry from Joyce 
 Maitland. 
 
 Just behind Wadleigh, nearer to the door, half 
 crouching, and with one hand upon the haft of a 
 knife that was thrust under a belt at his hips, was 
 as villainous a looking specimen of the ' 'breed "- 
 Indian as could be imagined. Save for a nervous 
 twitching of the fingers that clasped at the knife- 
 hilt, he was as motionless as the others. 
 
 Over against the far wall of the room, directly 
 opposite the open doorway, was a rude cot cov- 
 ered with weather-tanned skins of animals, and 
 blankets, and upon the cot, where he had half 
 raised himself by the support of one hand and 
 arm, was Lightfoot. 
 
 He was drawn and haggard, cadaverous in ap- 
 pearance, and wasted almost to a skin-wrapped 
 skeleton. But his eyes had lost nothing of their 
 savage brilliancy, and they were gleaming 
 strangely and furiously at Ace Wadleigh. 
 
 Such was the tableau. 
 
 Dan and Jules had come upon it at the very in- 
 stant when it was a tableau. Within another in- 
 stant, or a moment, or a minute or so, all would be 
 action again. It was quite evident that the scene 
 had been in the nature of a complete surprise to 
 all concerned. 
 
 One may read much meaning from a scene like 
 that.
 
 350 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 An open doorway into another room of the 
 small house was directly behind Joyce and 
 Yvonne, as if they had just stepped through it to- 
 gether, to find themselves unexpectedly face to 
 face with Wadleigh and his murderous-looking 
 companion. Apparently Ace Wadleigh had 
 thrown open the outer door and entered without 
 any expectation of finding Joyce Maitland and 
 Yvonne. Quite as evident was it that Lightfoot 
 had not been looking for the arrival of Wad- 
 leigh. 
 
 Dan Randall, watching the scene for a time that 
 seemed interminable, but which was actually less 
 than half a dozen seconds, gathered himself for a 
 leap forward, but at the same instant he felt the 
 grip of Jules' hand upon his arm and then Jules 
 glided past him through the open doorway, and 
 with a cat-like spring, gripped the wrist of the 
 Indian that held the knife. 
 
 Wadleigh whirled about in this tracks, draw- 
 ing as he did so; but not in time to do any damage 
 with the weapon he would have used. 
 
 Dan's hands shot forward. One of them gripped 
 Wadleigh 's throat, the other seized the wrist of 
 the hand that held the weapon, and bent it back- 
 ward with a sudden wrench that snapped it like a 
 pipe-stem. The weapon fell to the floor of the 
 stone cabin. Wadleigh followed it, felled by a 
 blow of the same clenched hand that had broken 
 his wrist. 
 
 Jules raised himself from atop of the prostrate 
 form of the Indian, at the same moment; the In- 
 dian stayed where he was, and Jules, half apolo- 
 getically, said:
 
 IN THE NICK OF TIME 351 
 
 "Jules not do dat. Heem fall on hees own 
 knife, m'sieu; but eet ees ver' good, jus' sam'." 
 
 Lightfoot fell back upon the cot, the fury gone 
 out of him. He closed his eyes. A slow grimace, 
 like a smile, distorted his thin lips. He lay very 
 still. 
 
 Jules went nearer to Wadleigh, and stood over 
 him in silence. Ace made no attempt to rise, nor 
 to speak. His eyes were open, but he did not seem 
 to see Jules; he kept them fixed upon Randall, 
 whose back was turned to him. 
 
 Yvonne let fall her hand that held the weapon. 
 Her eyes were riveted upon Dan, but mingled with 
 the look of adoration in them, was expectancy, 
 also. Dan was a god to her, in some ways. She 
 expected great things of him in that moment. She 
 was not disappointed. 
 
 Dan's eyes were only for Joyce. He looked 
 toward her, and she met his gaze, steadily. 
 
 He discovered in their depths, something that he 
 sought, even if that something was half concealed 
 behind a gathering moisture. 
 
 He saw her lips part slightly, as if to speak, and 
 he opened his arms and took a step toward her. 
 
 "Come to me, Joyce," he said. "I want you. 
 Come." 
 
 She sprang forward with a glad cry. His arms 
 enfolded her. She nestled against him. He held 
 her the tighter, protectingly, with his face lost 
 sight of in the profusion of her hair, which had 
 fallen from its fastenings over her shoulders. 
 
 Yvonne clasped her hands together as one does 
 when one prays, or gives devout thanks to God for 
 a great blessing. Her lips moved in thankfulness.
 
 352 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 The one prayer that had been her constant and 
 earnest supplication, was answered. Her lord had 
 found his love, and Yvonne was satisfied. 
 
 She dropped her eyes again, and they saw some- 
 thing else. 
 
 With a cry she threw herself forward, full upon 
 the outstretched figure of Ace Wadleigh, whose 
 weapon was discharged at the same instant, 
 though harmlessly. Yvonne had discovered his 
 stealthy act in time. In another instant he would 
 have shot Dan, or Joyce, or both, to death. With 
 one broken wrist, he still had one hand to use for 
 evil deeds. 
 
 Then, when it was over, gentle little Yvonne hid 
 her sweet face upon Jules' broad chest, and wept 
 silently, with tears of infinite joy.
 
 The Ways of Transgressors 
 
 Lightfoot's light had gone out forever when he 
 closed his eyes upon the certainty of the outcome 
 of that strange scene. He was quite dead when 
 Joyce, releasing herself from Dan's embrace, 
 crossed hastily to the cot. 
 
 "He was good to me," she explained. "Not at 
 first; but afterward. He was cruel to me, in the 
 beginning, and there were times when I was filled 
 with terror because of him. But all that passed 
 very quickly. 
 
 "That day in the pass, after the storm, when I 
 was trying to get to the pulpit, where I knew I 
 would find fuel and food, I I gave out very sud- 
 denly, I think. I lost consciousness; and when I 
 came to myself I was in some sort of a grotto 
 among the rocks. The front of it was sealed with 
 snow. There was a fire, burning low, near the 
 small opening. I could see beyond it, and knew 
 that it was night. 
 
 "There was food beside me. It was not very 
 choice, but I was ravenous. I ate; and I quenched 
 my thirst with snow. I could not understand 
 what had happened, but I knew that I had been 
 saved, and that whoever had done me that service 
 would return. The small fire kept out the worst
 
 354 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 of the cold. I realized that I was safe for the mo- 
 ment, and I was content to wait. 
 
 "I ate again. Then I slept. How long, I do 
 not know. The following day was far advanced 
 when I awoke. Lightf oot, the Indian, whom I dis- 
 liked and feared, was shaking my arm. 
 
 "He ordered me to rise. He made me eat of 
 more food that he had brought to me. He would 
 not tell me where he had been, but I knew. He 
 had with him that small, black satchel that I gave 
 to you, Dan, to hold your papers when you wished 
 to carry them about with you. I knew that you 
 kept it in your office. That fact told me that 
 Lightfoot had been there, and had stolen it. 
 
 "Lightf oot thought the satchel was locked, and 
 he did not dare, then, to break it open. He did not 
 know about the hidden spring that releases the 
 catch, which was the very thing that made you 
 want it for your papers. When we started for 
 this awful place, he made me carry it. He was 
 laden with provisions that he had brought with 
 him from Janver. 
 
 "Don't ask me about that journey to get here. 
 It was horrible. How I lived to tell of it, I don't 
 know. 
 
 "We floundered in the snow. We stumbled 
 across barriers that seemed impassable. Often I 
 fell from exhaustion. It was at such times that 
 Lightfoot was brutal. Sometimes he pounded me, 
 and beat me, and even kicked me into activity 
 again, after the manner that Indians treat their 
 own women. But, brutal as it was, it doubtless 
 saved my life. 
 
 "We got here somehow in the middle of the
 
 THE WAYS OF TRANSGRESSORS 355 
 
 night years and years afterward, it seemed to me. 
 While Lightf oot started a fire, I fell down in utter 
 exhaustion upon that couch. 
 
 "When I awoke, Lightf oot was still sleeping- 
 there, on the floor, before the fire-place, wrapped 
 in blankets. He had thrown blankets over me, too. 
 
 "I arose, quietly. My act did not rouse him. I 
 tiptoed to the door and opened it. The sun was 
 shining, and there was a touch of warmth in the 
 air. I recognized the smell of the Chinook wind, 
 but up here it did not have much effect. 
 
 "Then wait, Dan, please I began to remem- 
 ber things. I remembered your satchel that I had 
 been forced to carry, and to which I had clung be- 
 cause it was yours. There had been scarcely any 
 weight to it, at all, still, I would have dropped it 
 many times if it had not belonged to you. 
 
 "And then I remembered that I had dropped it, 
 at the very last at the moment when we had de- 
 scended a steep and winding path and come in 
 sight of this stone hut. 
 
 "I turned my eyes back into the room to see if 
 Lightf oot had picked it up. It was not there, and, 
 Indian though he was, he was still sleeping. I had 
 not roused him. Probably his exhaustion had 
 been even greater than my own, although he was 
 stronger, and better able to withstand it. 
 
 "I remembered that I had been within sight of 
 the house when I dropped the satchel, and, as it 
 was night then, it could not be very far away. I 
 went outside, I found the winding path down 
 which we had come. I came upon the satchel in the 
 middle of it. 
 
 "I touched the spring, Dan, and looked inside 1
 
 356 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 I saw what it contained. Instantly I realized the 
 horror of permitting Lightfoot to know. I knew 
 that he might awaken at any moment, and come in 
 search of me. But there was no place to hide it, 
 where he would not find it the moment he searched. 
 
 "Dan, I deliberately sat down in the snow, upon 
 the spot where the satchel had been dropped, to ob- 
 literate the marks of it. No trace of it was left 
 when I got up, and I hurried back here, bringing 
 it with me. Lightfoot, wonder of wonders, was 
 still sleeping. He must have been worn out, in- 
 deed, by his superhuman exertions in bringing me 
 here. 
 
 "But he stirred as I approached, and I thrust 
 the satchel under the blankets where I had been 
 sleeping. 
 
 "He started to his feet. He saw the open door, 
 which I had not had time to close. 
 
 ' ' 'You been outside?' he demanded. I told him 
 I had, and he went out without saying another 
 word. 
 
 "I watched him and saw him follow the trail I 
 had made. He bent forward, at the spot where I 
 had seated myself in the snow, and appeared to ex- 
 amine it. Then he came back into the hut. 
 
 " 'What for you sst?' he demanded. I shrugged 
 my shoulders and did not answer. 
 
 " 'Where ees dat sachet?' he asked me, then. 
 'You no breeng him here las' night. Where you 
 drop heem? Hey?' 
 
 "I shrugged my shoulders again without an- 
 swering. 
 
 ' 'He asked no more questions. He fixed the fire. 
 He got things to eat, out of the pack he had
 
 THE WAYS OF TRANSGRESSORS 357 
 
 brought. He made me work, too, scowling so that 
 I was frightened if I manifested any inclination to 
 refuse. All the while I was in terror lest he 
 should discover what was hidden under the 
 blankets. 
 
 " To all of the questions I asked him, as to why 
 he had brought me here, he made no answer. He 
 rarely spoke at all, save in monosyllables; but his 
 eyes followed me constantly, and gradually I be- 
 came deathly afraid of him. 
 
 "Later, he went out, and I knew that he was 
 searching for the satchel. I knew that he would 
 not find it, and I dreaded the consequences. Dur- 
 ing his absence I found another hiding place for it. 
 
 "But he did not return during all of that day, or 
 all of the night following; and it was far into the 
 next day before I made up my mind that he did not 
 mean to come back. 
 
 "I believed that I could find my way back to 
 Janver, but it was too late to start that day. At 
 night I barricaded the door, so that he would have 
 to ask to get inside if he came back. 
 
 "But he did not come; and in the morning, as 
 soon as it was light, I started out. The weather 
 had moderated. It was not very cold. I believed 
 that I could find my way out of my troubles. I felt 
 that I would rather die on the mountain than to re- 
 main here an indefinite time, alone with Lightf oot. 
 
 "I found him, Dan. He had gone to some cache 
 of his to bring more provisions. Returning, he 
 had slipped and fallen. The burden he carried 
 had fallen upon him. He had been two nights and 
 a day in the open. It is a wonder how he lived 
 through it at all.
 
 358 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 "Both his legs and one of his arms were broken. 
 He had tried to drag himself back to this place, but 
 had not accomplished half the distance. Then he 
 resigned himself to die. He was unconscious 
 when I found him. But I knew that he lived. 
 
 ' 'I remembered that I had seen an old toboggan- 
 sled, here, in the cabin. Doubtless, one that had 
 been used some time in the past to bring in sup- 
 plies. Don't ask me how I got him here, at last, 
 but I did it. It was three days after that before he 
 came back to consciousness. In the meantime he 
 raved, constantly, in his own dialect. But his 
 broken bones rendered it impossible for him to 
 leave the cot. 
 
 "Dan, dear, from that day to this one, I have 
 cared for him, tended him, nursed him. It has 
 been awful. Awful. But there was no other 
 way. There were no remedies here. There has 
 been nothing that I could do. He would not hear 
 of my making an attempt to bring help. Oh, Dan, 
 Dan, I am glad that you came. Wait, dear, I am 
 almost done. 
 
 "Lightfoot, in his stolid fashion, appreciated 
 what I did for him. He told me a great many 
 things about Taggart and the others, and about 
 Ace, that I did not know; and about a man called 
 Gaffney, too. 
 
 "He warned me, also, to go away from here as 
 soon as he was dead. He told me, all too plainly, 
 that terrible things would happen to me if I re- 
 mained. Taggart had ordered him to bring me 
 here, if it could be done, and to hold me here until 
 he could come here himself. Lightfoot was to 
 fasten me in while he went to inform Taggart of
 
 THE WAYS OF TRANSGRESSORS 359 
 
 his success; and then (really I do not understand it 
 all) Ben Taggart was to make use of me in some 
 way to forward his own schemes against you and 
 Ace. 
 
 "To-day this morning Lightfoot asked me to 
 go away and leave him. To send help to him as 
 soon as possible, but to go. I think he knew that 
 he was dying. I was ready to start, and was at 
 the door, when dear little Yvonne came. We had 
 decided to wait until to-morrow, and then to go 
 away together. When Lightfoot heard that, he 
 smiled, and said: 
 
 " 'Ver' good. To-morrow, Lightfoot be dead.' 
 He knew." 
 
 "Yes, he probably knew that he could not live 
 another day," Dan replied. "But what of that 
 other one? I never saw him before. Who is 
 he?" 
 
 ' ' I don 't know, ' ' Joyce said. ' ' I never saw him 
 before, either." 
 
 "I know," Jules interjected. "Heem called 
 Bad Pierre. Heem comme from up Edmonton 
 country. Heem comme to Janver with dat bum- 
 Gaff ney to guide heem. Dat how m'sieu Wad- 
 leigh know heem. . . . Non? Oui. Then, heem 
 fall on hees own knife, when I grab hees wrist. 
 Look, m'sieu," he added, addressing Dan, directly, 
 "heem I see ver' many times with m'sieu Wad- 
 leigh, jus' about de time when de bum mak' de 
 writings to look sam' as you write." 
 
 Ace Wadleigli, who was seated upon a stool in 
 a far corner of the room with his broken wrist 
 bound in splints of Jules' arrangement, and with 
 Jules keeping watch over him, spoke up, in his
 
 360 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 cool, leisurely, and insolent manner, while the 
 ghost of an ironical smile hovered upon his lips: 
 
 "I can ease your minds in regard to Bad Pete," 
 he said. ' 'I see no reason why I should not do so. 
 Jules is correct about his coming to Janver as Gaff- 
 ney's guide. But Gaffney's money had given out. 
 He could not pay Black Pete. So Black Pete de- 
 cided that he would work for me, for some ready 
 cash. That is all you need to know. I sent for 
 him as soon as I could, after the thaw. I prom- 
 ised him a big reward if he would find out what 
 had become of Joyce. He and Lightf oot had been 
 as chummy as two Indians ever can be. I suppose 
 Lightfoot must have told him about this place, or 
 have had him here, sometime, perhaps. Anyhow, 
 Peter found them both, and without letting them 
 suspect that he had been here, came to me with the 
 report. He said that Lightfoot was as good as 
 dead, then, and thai probably Joyce would be all 
 alone by the time we got here." 
 
 Joyce took a step forward, toward him. 
 
 "What would have happened, Ace, if you had 
 found me here alone, and unprotected?" she 
 asked him, gazing steadily into his eyes. 
 
 For a moment he returned her gaze; then he 
 dropped his own. 
 
 "What I intended to make happen, and what 
 might have happened in such an event, does not 
 matter, now," he replied, slowly. "You were not 
 alone. The incident is closed. The only person I 
 found here whose end I envy lies there." He 
 pointed toward Lightf oot 's body, on the cot. ' 'He 
 died a natural death."
 
 CHAPTER XLIV 
 
 How One Man Could Hate 
 
 They buried the two bodies in one grave, made 
 large enough to receive them side by side. Jules 
 fashioned two rude crosses of wood to stand at 
 their heads. Yvonne passed a solemn hour in the 
 service of each one of them, counting her beads, 
 and murmuring prayers for the repose of their 
 souls. And surely none could have had a more 
 earnest intercessor than she was. 
 
 That took place the following morning. 
 
 Two hours before noon they started upon their 
 return, taking the way by which Yvonne had 
 come, it being much shorter and easier. 
 
 But, before they started, Dan sent Jules and 
 Yvonne and Joyce outside to wait for him, while 
 he remained alone in the larger room of the cabin 
 
 with Ace Wadleigh with his one-time friend 
 
 whom he had loved and trusted. 
 
 "Sit still, Ace," he said, calmly. "I am not go- 
 ing to take you back, and hand you over to justice. 
 Justice will overtake you of its own accord, soon 
 enough unless you can think up a way to square 
 yourself with it. So far as I am concerned, you 
 are free to go wherever you please as soon as I 
 have finished with what I have to say to you." 
 
 "I suppose I ought to thank you for your gen-
 
 362 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 erosity," Wadleigh replied, with a half sneer. "1 
 am not sure whether I want to, or not." 
 
 "You need not. I neither wish for thanks from 
 you, nor deserve them. What I am doing now is 
 done for the Boniface Wadleigh I used to know; 
 not for the man you are now. But, more than 
 anything else, I do it for my own sake." 
 
 "I hope you're not going to preach." 
 
 "No. Ace, I wonder if you knew who Gaffney 
 really was?" 
 
 "Of course I knew. I found it out the night 
 after he had finished signing those deeds with your 
 name. He got drunker than usual that night, 
 after it was over. If it had not been that he hated 
 you, and feared you, too, for what he had done to 
 you, he never would have committed those forger- 
 ies forme." 
 
 "So I supposed after I had found out who he 
 was," Dan remarked. 
 
 "When did you discover it?" Wadleigh asked. 
 "I am quite willing to admit that I would have 
 gone away from here, even now, after you have set 
 me free, leaving you to believe, still, that you were 
 a murderer. When did you discover that you 
 were not one?" 
 
 "It was never a murder, Ace. I supposed that 
 I had killed a man, and I fled. I had nothing to 
 blame myself for other than for the consequence 
 of what I believed I had done. I had cause enough 
 to kill him, God knows. I believed, even when I 
 ran away, that I could stay where I was and be ac- 
 quitted, if all the truth were known. But to do 
 that meant a revelation of all the unhappy history 
 of my sister, who had been his wife. I preferred
 
 HOW ONE MAN GOULD HATE 363 
 
 to do as I did. We will drop that part of the sub- 
 ject now." 
 
 "But, you haven't told me yet how and when 
 you found out that Guy Fenney did not die by your 
 hand. You couldn't have recognized him when 
 you found him at the pulpit. You never knew 
 him, did you? You never saw him until that 
 night you thought you killed him, did you?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Well, how did you find it out? How did you 
 discover that there was never even an indictment 
 returned against you?" 
 
 "What? Not even that? No indictment 
 against me?" 
 
 "You did not know that, did you? And I have 
 told you the news. I'm sorry. However, it 
 doesn't matter. If there had been an indictment, 
 you could have had it quashed, now. Still " 
 
 "Why, then, was I pursued, Ace? Why were 
 officers sent after me, even into the Far North?" 
 
 "You weren't pursued. Officers were not sent 
 after you. I only made you believe so. You 
 might have remained Daniel R. Vanderyeer all 
 this time, with never a soul to object to it, or to 
 ask you an unpleasant question, if you had chosen 
 to do so or if I had been decent enough toward 
 you to put you wise. Great Scott, man, don't you 
 suppose that the Law would have found you, if 
 the Law had wanted you?" 
 
 "I do suppose so, now. I had not thought of it, 
 in just that way." 
 
 ' ' I hated you, Dan. I always hated you. I hate 
 you now. I can't help it. It is inside of me. You 
 had everything that I did not have, and that I
 
 364 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 wanted with all my heart and soul. You had mil- 
 lions, in money. You had that phenomenal 
 strength. You had that wonderful physique. 
 You had kindness of heart, generosity of spirit, 
 graciousness of manner, largeness of soul, bigness 
 of intellect, unbounded capacity for whatever you 
 undertook; and you had them all in bulk; a sur- 
 feit of them. ... I had not one of them. I had 
 smatterings of each, but the completion of none. 
 So, I envied you; and, envying, hated you. That 
 is what has brought me here, where I am now, an 
 outlaw; the thing that you thought you were but 
 which could not crush your spirit, even at that. 
 Then, there was Joyce. Because of her I hated 
 you ten thousand million times more than ever be- 
 fore. Oh, let me talk on, while I am in the humor 
 for it. We may as well have a show-down, now; 
 there will never be another opportunity. And I'm 
 not talking because I hate you any the less, for I 
 don't. More, if anything." 
 
 "Go on, then." 
 
 "I knew Joyce before you did. She was in 
 Janver while you were up in the Great Slave coun- 
 try, and I was keeping you there with my lies. I 
 wanted her. I loved her. She was getting used 
 to me, and beginning to believe that she might 
 love me some day, until you came down from the 
 North, and found her in the snow beside her dead 
 guide and brought her in to Janver, where you 
 found me again. That's all. If wishes could slay 
 a man, you would wither up to nothingness right 
 now, and disappear through that crack under the 
 door with not so much as a memory left of you. 
 Fine state of mind to be in, isn't it?"
 
 HOW ONE MAN COULD HATE 365 
 
 "I cannot even imagine it, Ace." 
 
 "Of course you can't. That's another reason 
 why I hate you. Now, suppose you reply to my 
 question that I have asked you several times." 
 
 "What was it? I have forgotten." 
 
 "When did you discover that Guy Fenney was 
 alive? Was it the similarity of the names that 
 suggested it? Gaff ney Guy Fenney?" 
 
 "No. His own confession, written out at 
 length, detailing the entire story of it all, even to 
 the reasons which would have justified me if I had 
 killed him, were in that belt that was strapped 
 around his body over his undershirt, when you left 
 him at Devil's Pulpit, to die. It told, also, that he 
 was seeking me, to kill me." 
 
 "Oh. . . . I see. . . . Pity I didn't think to look 
 for that sort of a thing on him. . . . Well, you'd 
 better go now, hadn't you, if you want to make 
 Bluerock before dark? That is, if you still intend 
 to leave me here." 
 
 "Yes. I will go, now. There are provisions 
 enough here, to last you for days to come, if you 
 choose to remain. Jules has set the broken bones 
 as well as a doctor could do it. I have put some 
 money in that tobacco jar, over the fireplace. 
 You can take it with you, or leave it there, as you 
 prefer. I have thrown it aside. That is all. If 
 you escape the red-coats, I wish you nothing but 
 honest success for the future." 
 
 There were no good-byes uttered on either side. 
 
 Dan swung around and left the cabin, closing 
 the door after him. 
 
 Wadleigh watched him go, an odd and insolent 
 smile upon his face as he did so.
 
 CHAPTER XLV 
 
 When Dreams Come True 
 
 "What do you think of it, sweetheart?" 
 
 "It's just grand. That is the only word I can 
 think of, Dan, dear; and that one doesn't half ex- 
 press it," Joyce replied, looking fondly at him, 
 and bending forward in the saddle to pat the 
 arched neck of her horse. 
 
 "Does look good, doesn't it?" Dan nodded his 
 head in an emphatic gesture as he spoke. 
 
 They were at the top of the Ridge, exactly at the 
 spot where Dan had halted to fasten on his snow- 
 shoes that night before the great storm. They had 
 ridden out there to see the late afternoon train as 
 it issued from Magician pass on its way to Janver. 
 
 The "It" referred to was the train itself. They 
 had ridden out there to watch for its coming, every 
 night for a week, and they found it just as won- 
 derful this seventh night as it had been on the first 
 occasion. 
 
 "We'll have the Black Gorge route running in 
 thirty days," Dan told her a moment later. That 
 was another remark that he had made to her every 
 evening of the seven. But it was just as new, and 
 just as interesting, and just as wonderful, as it had 
 been with its first utterance; and her reply was the 
 same.
 
 WHEN DREAMS COME TRUE 367 
 
 "Won't that be fine? And I can ride through 
 the gorge on the first train with you?" 
 
 "Of course, sweetheart. Come, now. Let's go 
 back. Yvonne will be wondering if we are going 
 to be late again." 
 
 June had come, and with it, their wedding day; 
 also the day of the official opening of the Janver 
 Cut-off over Magician pass. Both events were' 
 now seven days in the past. 
 
 In the Black Gorge to the west of Janver more 
 than a thousand men were at work, driving one 
 another for the premiums, and doing their ut- 
 most to win the praise of the man they worked 
 for. 
 
 They could not get used to that new name. They 
 liked Dan Randall best. Dan never saw nor heard 
 the other one save on addressed envelopes, and 
 when men journeyed out from the East to see him 
 and to consult with him. 
 
 Of Wadleigh there had never been a sign since 
 that parting with him at Black Rock, on the moun- 
 tain. The police had not taken him. There was 
 little doubt that he had made good use of the thou- 
 sand dollars that Dan had left inside of the tobacco 
 jar over the fireplace. 
 
 Taggart, paralyzed from the hips down, had, 
 nevertheless, gone back to contracting, and was a 
 big factor in the pushing of the Black Gorge 
 branch of the Cut-off. Dan, when he received 
 back the control of the M. & J. R. R., overlooked 
 Taggart 's and Crosby's past mistakes, and took 
 them back on precisely the same conditions that 
 they had enjoyed before that epoch-making direc- 
 tors' meeting. Cuthbert, evidently doubtful of
 
 368 UP AGAINST IT 
 
 what might happen to him, had disappeared, none 
 knew whither. 
 
 Buxton had been best man at the wedding. 
 Also, he was general manager of the railroad, as 
 well as the owner of a very comfortable block of 
 stock, which Dan had insisted upon awarding to 
 him. 
 
 When Joyce and Dan dismounted at the door of 
 their home, Jules was there to take charge of their 
 horses. Jules had never been quite so happy as he 
 was in those days of summer. 
 
 Yvonne opened the door for them when they 
 went up the short path to it. 
 
 Her sweet face seemed prettier than ever as she 
 smiled, and courtesied, and then impulsively 
 caught at their hands and kissed them. But 
 Joyce caught the little woman in her arms, and 
 kissed her on both cheeks, and Yvonne laughed 
 aloud with pleasure, blushing with pride at the ca- 
 ress, for she knew that it was prompted by love. 
 
 Frequently, all four of them went over to the 
 stone house at White Lake for a week-end, and 
 then Jules would have a great time rollicking with 
 his dogs, and manufacturing "things" with tools 
 for that was the pastime in which Jules found 
 the greatest pleasure. 
 
 Dan had never needed all the papers concerning 
 which he had been so careful to instruct Yvonne 
 that night before the storm. The confession of 
 Gaffney, otherwise Guy Fenney, had obviated that. 
 But he kept them, "jus' sam'," as Jules would 
 have put it. 
 
 They never spoke of Ace Wadleigh, although 
 Dan caught himself thinking about the man, often,
 
 WHEN DREAMS COME TRUE 369 
 
 wondering if he would ever turn up again, and 
 when, and in what manner. 
 
 In their own snug living room, by themselves, 
 with the door closed, Joyce went up to her stalwart 
 husband and lifted her face for a caress, and he 
 put his strong arms around her and held her close, 
 and in silence. 
 
 Then Yvonne came to the door and summoned 
 them to the evening meal. 
 
 THE END
 
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