The soft dusk of the night had fallen over the northern lands, and the pale stars had gleamed for hours on the reflecting waves of mountain streams. It was late – near midnight, for the waning sickle of the moon was slipping from its dark cover in the east and hanging like a jewel of gold just above the black crown of the pines. Breaths from the heights sifted down through the vast woods, carrying sometimes the dreary twitter of a bird disturbed, or the mellow call of insects singing to each other of the summer night. All sounds of the wilderness were as echoes of rest and utter content.

And in the camp of the Twin Springs, shadows moved sometimes with a silence that was scarce a discord in the wood songs of repose. A camp fire glimmered faintly a little way up from the stream, and around it slept the Indian boatman, the squaw, and old Akkomi, who, to the surprise of Overton, had announced his intention of remaining until morning, that he might know how the sickness went with the little “Girl-not-Afraid.”

A dim light showed through the chinks of ’Tana’s cabin, where Miss Lavina, the doctor, and Lyster were on guard for the night. The doctor had grown sleepy and moved into Harris’ room, where he could be comfortable on blankets. Lyster, watching the girl, was trying to make himself think that their watching was all of no use; her sleep seemed so profound, so healthfully natural, that he could not bring himself to think, as Dan did, that the doctor’s worst prophecy could come true – that out of that sleep she might awake to consciousness, or that, on the other hand, she might drift from sleep to lethargy and thus out of life.

Outside a man stood peering in through a chink from which he had stealthily pulled the moss. He could not see the girl’s face, but he could see that of Lyster as he bent over, listening to her breathing, and he watched it as if to glean some reflected knowledge from the young fellow’s earnest glances.

He had been there a long time. Once he slipped away for a short distance and stood in the deeper shadows, but he had returned, and was listening to the low, disjointed converse of the watchers within, when suddenly a tall form loomed up beside him and a heavy hand was dropped on his shoulder.

“Not a word!” said a voice close to his ear. “If you make a noise, I’ll strangle you! Come along!”

To do otherwise was not easy, for the hand on his shoulder had a helpful grip. He was almost lifted over the ground until they were several yards from the cabin, and out in the clearer light of the stars.

“Well, I protest, Mr. Overton, that your manner is not very pleasant,” remarked the captive, as he was released and allowed to speak. “Is – is this sort of threats a habit of yours with strangers in your camp?”

Overton, seeing him now away from the thick shadows of the cabin, gave a low exclamation of astonishment and irritation.

“You– Mr. Haydon! Well, you must confess that if my threats are not pleasant, neither is it pleasant to find some one moving like a spy around that little girl’s cabin. If you don’t want to be treated like a spy, don’t act like one.”

“Well, it does look queer, maybe,” said the other, lamely. “I – I could not get asleep, and as I was walking around, it seemed natural to look in the cabin, though I did not want to disturb them by going in. I think I heard them say she was improving.”

“Did they say that – lately?” asked Overton, earnestly, everything else forgotten for the moment in his strong desire for her recovery. “Who said it – Miss Slocum? Well, she seems like a sensible woman, and I hope to God she is right about this! Don’t mind my roughness just now. I was too quick, maybe; but spies around a new gold mine or field are given pretty harsh treatment up here sometimes; and you were liable to suspicion from any one.”

“No doubt – no doubt,” agreed the other, with visible relief. “But to be a suspected character is a new rôle for me – a bit amusing, too. However, now that you have broached the subject of this new find of yours, I presume Lyster made clear to you that I came up here for the express purpose of investigating what you have to offer, with a view to making a deal with you. And as my time here will be limited – ”

“Perhaps to-morrow we can talk of it. I can’t to-night,” answered Overton. “To that little girl in there one-third of the stock belongs; another third belongs to that paralyzed man in the other cabin. I have to look after the interests of them both, and need to have my head clear to do it. But with her there sick – dying maybe – I can’t think of dollars and cents.”

“You mean to tell me that the young girl is joint owner of a gold find promising a fortune? Why, I understood Max to say she was poor – in fact, indebted to you for all care.”

“Max is too careless with his words,” answered Overton, coldly. “She is in my care – yes; but I do not think she will be poor.”

“She has a very conscientious guardian, anyway,” remarked Mr. Haydon, “when it is impossible for a man even to look in her cabin without finding you on his track. I confess I am interested in her. Can you tell me how she came in this wild country? I did not expect to find pretty young white girls in the heart of this wilderness.”

“I suppose not,” agreed the other.

They had reached the little camp fire by this time, and he threw some dry sticks on the red coals. As the blaze leaped up and made bright the circle around them, he looked at the stranger and said, bluntly:

“What did Akkomi tell you of her?”

“Akkomi?”

“Yes; the old Indian who went in with you to see her.”

“Oh, that fellow? Some gibberish.”

“I guess he must have said that she looks like you,” decided Overton. “I rather think that was it.”

“Like me! Why – how – ” and Mr. Haydon tried to smile away the absurdity of such a fancy.

“For there is a resemblance,” continued the younger man, with utter indifference to the stranger’s confusion. “Of course it may not mean anything – a chance likeness. But it is very noticeable when your hat is off, and it must have impressed the old Indian, who seems to think himself a sort of godfather to her. Yes, I guess that was why he spoke to you.”

“But her – her people? Are there only you and these Indians to claim her? She must have some family – ”

“Possibly,” agreed Overton, curtly. “If she ever gets able to answer, you can ask her. If you want to know sooner, there is old Akkomi; he can tell you, perhaps.”

But Mr. Haydon made a gesture of antipathy to any converse with that individual.

“One meets so many astonishing things in this country,” he remarked, as though in extenuation of something. “The mere presence of such a savage in the sick girl’s room is enough to upset any one unused to this border life – it upset me completely. You see, I have a daughter of my own back East.”

“So Max tells me,” replied Overton, carelessly, all unconscious of the intended honor extended to him when Mr. Haydon made mention of his own family to a ranger of a few hours’ acquaintance.

“Yes,” Haydon continued, “and that naturally makes one feel an interest in any young girl without home or – relatives, as this invalid is; and I would be glad of any information concerning her – or any hint of help I might be to her, partly for – humanity’s sake, and partly for Max.”

“At present I don’t know of any service you could render her,” said Overton, coldly, conscious of a jarring, unpleasant feeling as the man talked to him. He thought idly to himself how queer it was that he should have an instinctive feeling of dislike for a person who in the slightest degree resembled ’Tana; and this stranger must have resembled her much before he grew stout and broad of face; the hair, the nose, and other points about the features, were very much alike. He did not wonder that Akkomi might have been startled at it, and made comments. But as he himself surveyed Mr. Haydon’s features by the flickering light of the burning sticks, he realized how little the likeness of outlines amounted to after all, since not a shadow of expression on the face before him was like that of the girl whose sleep was so carefully guarded in the cabin.

And then, with a feeling of thankfulness that it was so, there flashed across his mind the import of the stranger’s closing words – “for the sake of Max.”

“For Max, you said. Well, maybe I am a little more stupid than usual to-night, but I must own up I can’t see how a favor to ’Tana could affect Max very much.”

“You do not?”

“I tell you so,” said Overton curtly, not liking the knowing smile in the eyes of the speaker. He did not want to be there talking to him, anyway. To walk alone under the stars was better than the discord of a voice unpleasant. Under the stars she had come to him that once – once, when she had been clasped close – close! when she had whispered words near to his heart, and their hands had touched in the magnetism of troubled joy. Ah! it was best to remember that, though death itself follow after! A short, impatient sigh touched his lips as he tried to listen to the words of the stranger while his thoughts were elsewhere.

“And Seldon would do something very handsome for Max if he married to suit him,” Haydon was saying, thoughtfully. “Seldon has no children, you know, and if this girl was sent to school for a while, I think it would come out all right – all right. I would take a personal interest to the extent of talking to Seldon of it. He will think it a queer place for Max to come for a wife; but when – when I talk to him, he will agree. Yes, I can promise it will be all right.”

“What are you talking of?” demanded Overton, blankly. He had not heard one-half of a very carefully worded idea of Mr. Haydon’s. “Max married! To whom?”

“You are not a very flattering listener,” remarked the other, dryly, “and don’t show much interest in the love affairs of your protégeé; but it was of her I was speaking.”

“You – you would try to marry her to Max Lyster – marry her!” and his voice sounded in his own ears as strange and far away.

“Well, it is not an unusual prophecy to make of a young girl, is it?” asked Mr. Haydon, with an attempt to be jocular. “And I don’t know where she could find a better young fellow. From his discourses concerning her on our journey here and his evident devotion since our arrival, I fancy the idea is not so new to him as it seems to be to you, Mr. Overton.”

“Nonsense! when she is well, they quarrel as often as they agree – oftener.”

“That is no proof that he is not in love with her – and why not? She is a pretty girl, a bright girl, he says, and of good people – ”

“He knows nothing about her people,” interrupted Overton.

“But you do?”

“I know all it has been necessary for me to know,” and, in spite of himself, he could not speak of ’Tana to this man without a feeling of anger at his persistence. “But I can’t help being rather surprised, Mr. Haydon, that you should so quickly agree that a wise thing for your partner’s nephew to do is to turn from all the cultured, intelligent girls he must know, and look for a wife among the mining camps of the Kootenai hills. And, considering the fact that you approve of it, without ever having heard her speak, without knowing in the least who or what her family have been – I must say it is an extraordinarily impulsive thing for a man of your reputation to do – a cool-headed, conservative business man.”

Mr. Haydon found himself scrutinized very closely, very coldly by the ranger, who had all the evening kept away from him, and whom he had mentally jotted down as a big, careless, improvident prospector, untaught and a bit uncouth.

But his words were not uncouth as he launched them at the older man, and he was no longer careless as he watched the perturbation with which they were received. But Haydon shrugged his shoulders and attempted to look indifferent.

“I remarked just now that this was a land of astonishing things,” he said, with a tolerant air, “and it surely is so when the most depraved-looking redskin is allowed admittance to a white girl’s chamber, while the most harmless of Caucasians is looked on with suspicion if he merely shows a little human interest in her welfare.”

“Akkomi is a friend of her own choosing,” answered Overton, “and a friend who would be found trusty if he was needed. As to you – you have no right, that I know of, to assume any direction of her affairs. She will choose her own friends – and her own husband – when she wants them. But while she is sick and helpless, she is under my care, and even though you were her father himself, your ideas should not influence her future unless she approved you.”

With a feeling of relief he turned away, glad to have in some way given vent to the irritation awakened in him by the prosperous gentleman from civilization.

The prosperous gentleman saw his form grow dim in the starlight, and though his face flushed angrily at first, the annoyance gave place to a certain satisfaction as he seated himself on a log by the fire, and repeated Overton’s final words:

“‘Even though you were her father himself!’ Well, well, Mr. Overton! Your uncivil words have told me more than you intended – namely, that your own knowledge as to who her father was, or is, seems very slight. So much the better, for one of your unconventional order is not the sort of person I should care to have know. ’Even though you were her father himself.’ Humph! So he does me the doubtful honor to suppose I may be? It is a nasty muddle all through. I never dreamed of walking into such a net as this. But something must be done, and that is clear; no use trying to shirk it, for Seldon is sure to run across them sooner or later up here – sure. And if he took a hand in it – as he would the minute he saw her – well, I could not count on his being quiet about it, either. I’ve thought it all out this evening. I’ve got to get her away myself – get her to school, get her to marry Max, and all so quietly that there sha’n’t be any social sensation about her advent into the family. I hardly know whether this wealth they talk of will be a help or a hindrance; a help, I suppose. And there need not be any hitch in the whole affair if the girl is only reasonable and this autocratic ranger can be ignored or bought over to silence. It would be very annoying to have such family affairs talked of – annoying to the girl, also, when she lives among people who object to scandals. Gad! how her face did strike me! I felt as if I had seen a ghost. And that cursed Indian!”

Altogether, Mr. Haydon had considerable food for reflection, and much of it was decidedly annoying; or so it seemed to Akkomi, who lay in the shadow and looked like a body asleep, as were the others. But from a fold of his blanket he could see plainly the face of the stranger and note the perplexity in it.

The first tender flush of early day was making the stars dim when the doctor met Overton between the tents and the cabins, and surveyed him critically from his slouch hat to his boots, on which were splashes of water and fresh loam.

“What, in the name of all that’s infernal, has taken possession of you, Overton?” he demanded, with assumed anger and real concern. “You have not been in bed all night. I know, for I’ve been to your tent. You prowl somewhere in the woods when you ought to be in bed, and you are looking like a ghost of yourself.”

“Oh, I guess I’ll last a day or two yet, so quit your growling; you think you’ll scare me into asking for some of your medicines; but that is where you will find yourself beautifully left. I prefer a natural death.”

“And you will find it, too, if you don’t mend your ways,” retorted the man of the medicines. “I thought at first it was the care of ’Tana that kept you awake every hour of every night; but I see it is just the same now when there are plenty to take your place; worse – for now you go tramping, God only knows where, and come back looking tired, as though you had been racing with the devil.”

“You haven’t told me how she is,” was all the answer he made to this tirade. “You said – that by daylight – ”

“There would be a change – yes, and there is; only a shadow of a change as yet, but the shadow leans the right way.”

“The right way,” he half whispered, and walked on toward her cabin. He felt dizzy and the tears crept up in his eyes, and he forgot the doctor, who looked after him and muttered statements damaging to Dan’s sanity.

All the long night he had fought with himself to keep away, to let the others care for her – the others, who fancied they were giving him a wished-for rest. And all the while the desire of his heart was to bar them out – to wait, alone with her, for the life or death that was to come. He had walked miles in his restlessness, but could not have found again the paths he walked over. He had talked with some of the people who were wakeful in the night, but could scarce have told of any words he had said.

He had felt dazed by the dread of what the new day would bring, and now he looked up at the morning star with a great thankfulness in his heart. The new day had come, and with it a breath of hope.

Miss Lavina met him at the door, and whispered that the doctor thought the fever had taken the hoped-for turn for the better. ’Tana had opened her eyes but a moment before, and looked at Miss Slocum wonderingly, but fell asleep again; she had looked rational, but very weak.

“Well, old fellow, I am proud of myself,” said Lyster, as Overton entered. “It took Miss Slocum and me only one night to bring ’Tana around several degrees nearer health. We are the nurses! And if she only wakes conscious – ”

His words, or else the intense, wistful gaze of the man at the foot of the bed, must have aroused her, for she moved and opened her eyes and looked around aimlessly, passing over the faces of Miss Slocum, of the squaw, and of Overton, until Lyster, close beside her, whispered her name. Then her lips curved ever so little in a smile as her eyes met his.

“Max!” she said, and put out her hand to him. As his fingers clasped it, she turned her face toward him, and fell contentedly asleep again, with her cheek against his hand.

And Mr. Haydon, who came in with the doctor a moment later, glanced at the picture they made, and smiled meaningly at Overton.

“You see, I was right,” he observed. “And do you not think it would be a very exacting guardian who could object?”

Overton only looked at Max, whose face had flushed a little, knowing how significant his attitude must appear to others. But his hand remained in hers, and his eyes turned to Dan with a half embarrassed confession in them – a confession Dan read and understood.

“Yes, you may well be proud, Max,” he said, answering Lyster’s words. “You deserve all gratitude; and I hope – I hope nothing but good luck will come your way.”

Mr. Haydon, who watched him with critical eyes, could read nothing in his words but kindliest concern for a friend.

The doctor, who had suddenly got a ridiculous idea in his head that Dan Overton was wearing himself out on ’Tana’s account, changed his mind and silently called himself a fool. He might have known Dan had more sense than that. Yet, what was it that had changed him so?

Twenty-four hours later he thought he knew.

CHAPTER XVII.
MISS SLOCUM’S IDEAS REGARDING DEPORTMENT

“So it was a gold mine that dragged you people up into this wilderness? Well, I’ve puzzled my mind a good deal to understand your movements lately; but the finding of a vein as rich as your free gold promises is enough to turn any man’s head for a while. Well, well; you are a lucky fellow, Overton.”

“Yes, I’ve no doubt that between good luck and bad luck, I’ve as much luck as anybody,” answered Overton, with a grimace, “but a week or so ago you did not think me lucky – you thought me ‘looney.’”

“You are more than half right,” agreed the doctor; “appearances justified me. My wife and I stormed at you – behind your back – for carrying ’Tana with you on your fishing trip; it was such an unheard-of thing to my folks, you know. Humph! I wonder what they will say when it is known that she was on a prospecting trip, and that the venture will result in a gain to her of dollars that will be counted by the tens of thousands. By George! it seems incredible! Just like a chapter from the old fairy tales.”

“Yes. I find myself thinking about it like that sometimes,” said Overton; “a little afraid to lay plans, for fear that after all it may be a dream. I never hoped much for it; I came under protest, and the luck seems more than I deserved.”

“Maybe that is the reason you accept it in such a sulky fashion,” observed the doctor, “for, upon my soul, I think I am more elated over your good fortune than you are. You don’t appear to get up a particle of enthusiasm because of it.”

“Well, I have not had an enthusiastic lot of partners, either. Harris, here, not able to move; ’Tana not expected to live; and I suddenly face to face with all this responsibility for them. It gave me considerable to think about.”

“You are right. I only wonder you are not gray-haired. A new gold-field waiting for you to make it known, and you guarding it at the same time, perhaps, from red tramps who come spying around. But you are lucky, Dan; everything comes your way, even a capitalist ready at your word to put up money on the strength of the ore you have to show. Why, man, many a poor devil of a prospector has stood a long siege with starvation, even with gold ore in sight, just because no one with capital would buy or back him.”

“I know. I realize that; and, for the sake of the other two, I am very glad there need be no waiting for profits.”

“Do you know, Dan, I fancy little ’Tana is in the way of being well cared for, even without this good fortune,” observed the doctor, looking at the other in a questioning way. “It just occurred to me yesterday that that fine young fellow, Lyster, is uncommonly fond of her. It may be simply because she is ill, and he is sorry for her; but his devotion appeared to me to have a sentimental tinge, and I thought what a fine thing it would be.”

“Very,” agreed Overton; “and you are sentimental enough yourself to plan it all out for them. I guess Haydon helped to put that notion into your head, didn’t he?”

The doctor laughed.

“Well, yes, he did speak of Lyster’s devotion to your protégée” he acknowledged; “and you think we are a couple of premature match-makers, don’t you?”

“I think maybe you had better leave it for ’Tana to decide,” answered Overton, “and I also think schools will be the first thing considered by her. She is very young, you know.”

“Seventeen, perhaps,” hazarded the doctor; but Overton did not reply.

He was watching the canoe just launched by their Indian boatmen. They were to take Mr. Haydon back again to the Ferry. He was to send up workmen, and Overton was to manage the work for the present – or, at least, until Mr. Seldon could arrive and organize the work of developing the vein that Mr. Haydon had found was of such exceeding richness that his offer to the owners had been of corresponding magnitude. Overton had promptly accepted the terms offered; Harris agreed to them; and even if ’Tana should not, Dan decided that out of his own share he could make up any added sum desired by her for her share, though he had little idea that she would find fault with his arrangements. She! who had thought, that day of the gold find, that it was better to have their little camp unshared by the many whom gold would bring to them – that it was almost better to be poor than to have their happy life changed.

And it was all over now. Other people had come and were close about her, while he had not seen her since the morning before, when she had awakened and turned to Max. Well, he should be satisfied, so he told himself. She was going to get well again. She was going to be happy. More wealth than they had hoped for had come to her, and with it she would, of course, leave the hills, would go into the life of the cities, and by and by would be glad to forget the simple, primitive life they had shared for the few days of one Kootenai summer. Well, she would be happy.

And here on the spot where their pretty camp had been, he would remain. No thought of leaving came to him. It would all be changed, of course; men and machinery would spoil all the beauty of their wilderness. But as yet no plan for his own future had occurred to him. That he himself had wealth sufficient to secure him from all toil and that a world of pleasure was within his reach, did not seem to touch him with any alluring sense. He was going to remain until the vein of the Twin Springs had a big hole made in it; and the rich soil of the old river he had staked out as a reserve for himself and his partners, to either work or sell. Through his one-sided conversations with Harris he learned that he, too, wanted to remain in the camp where their gold had been found. Doctors, medicines, luxuries, could be brought to him, but he would remain.

Mrs. Huzzard had at once been offered a sum that in her eyes was munificent, for the express purpose of managing the establishment of the partners – when it was built. Until then she was to draw her salary, and act as either nurse or cook in the rude dwellings that for the present had to satisfy all their dreams of luxury.

An exodus from Sinna Ferry was expected; many changes were to be made; and Overton and the doctor went down to the canoe to give final directions to their Indian messenger.

Lyster was there, too, with a most exhausting list of articles which Mr. Haydon was to send up from Helena.

“Dan, some of these things I put down for ’Tana, as I happened to think of them,” he said, and unfolded a little roll made from the leaves of a notebook stuck together at the ends with molasses. “You look it over and see if it’s all right. I left one sheet empty for anything you might want to add.”

Dan took it, eying dubiously the length of it and the great array of articles mentioned.

“I don’t think I had better add anything to it until heavier boats are carrying freight on the Kootenai,” he remarked, and then commenced reading aloud some of the items:

Eiderdown pillows.
Rugs and hammocks.
A guitar.
Hot water bottle.
Some good whisky.
Toilet soap.
Bret Harte’s Poems.

A traveling dress for a girl. (Here followed measurements and directions to the dressmaker.) Then the whole was scratched out, and the following was substituted: Brown flannel or serge – nine yards.

“I had to get Mrs. Huzzard to tell me some of the things,” said Lyster, who looked rather annoyed at the quizzical smiles of Dan and the doctor.

“I should imagine you would,” observed Overton. “I would have needed the help of the whole camp to get together that amount of plunder. A good shaving set and a pair of cork insoles, No. 8, are they for ’Tana, too?”

But Lyster disdained reply, and Overton, after reading, “All the late magazines,” and “A double kettle for cooking oatmeal,” folded up the paper and gave it back.

“As I have read only a very small section of the list, I do not imagine you have omitted anything that could possibly be towed up the river,” he said. “But it is all right, my boy. I would never have thought of half that stuff, but I’ve no doubt they will all be of use, and ’Tana will thank you.”

“How soon do you expect she will be able to walk, or be moved?” asked Mr. Haydon of the doctor.

“Oh, in two or three weeks, if nothing interferes with her promised recovery. She is a pretty sick girl; but I think her good constitution will help her on her feet by that time.”

“And by that time I will be back here,” said Haydon, addressing Lyster.

He took a sealed envelope from an inner pocket and gave it to the young fellow.

“When she gets well enough to read that, give it to her, Max,” he said, in a low tone. “It’s something that may surprise her a little, so I trust your discretion as to when she is to see it. From what I hear of her, she must be a rather level-headed, independent little girl. And as I have something to tell her worth her knowing, I have decided to leave the letter. Now, don’t look so puzzled. When I come back she will likely tell you what it means, but you may be sure it is no bad news I send her. Will you attend to it?”

“Certainly. But I don’t understand – ”

“And there is no need for you to understand – just yet. Take good care of her, and help Overton in all possible ways to look after our interests here. There will be a great deal to see to until Seldon or I can get back.”

“Oh, Dan is a host in himself,” said Lyster. “He won’t want me in his way when it comes to managing his men. But I can help Flap-Jacks carry water, or help old Akkomi smoke, for he comes here each day for just that purpose – that and his dinner – so never fear but that I will make myself useful.”

Miss Slocum from the cabin doorway – the door was a blanket – watched the canoe skim down the little stream, and sighed dolefully when it disappeared entirely.

“Now, Lavina,” remonstrated Mrs. Huzzard, “I do hope that you ain’t counting on making part of the next load that leaves here; for now that you have got here, I’d hate the worst kind to lose you. Gold mines are fine things to live alongside of, I dare say; but I crave some human beings within hail – yes, indeed.”

“Exactly my own feelings, Cousin Lorena,” admitted Miss Slocum, “and I regret the departure of any member of our circle – all except the Indians. I really do not think that any amount of living among them would teach me to feel lonely at their absence. And that dreadful Akkomi!”

“Yes, isn’t he a trial? Not that he ever does any harm; but he just keeps a body in mortal dread, for fear he might take a notion to.”

“Yet Mr. Overton seems to think him entirely friendly.”

“Humph! yes. But if ’Tana should pet a rattlesnake, Mr. Overton would trust it. That’s just how constant he is to his friends.”

“Well, now,” said Miss Lavina, with mild surprise in her tone, “I really have seen nothing in his manner that would indicate any extreme liking for the girl, though she is his ward. Now, that bright young gentleman, Mr. Lyster – ”