GLENISTER did not wait long after his visitor’s departure, but extinguished the light, locked the door, and began the further adventures of this night. The storm welcomed him with suffocating violence, sucking the very breath from his lips, while the rain beat through till his flesh was cold and aching. He thought with a pang of the girl facing this tempest, going out to meet the thousand perils of the night. And it remained for him to bear his part as she bore hers, smilingly.

The last hour had added another and mysterious danger to his full measure. Could the Kid be jealous of Cherry? Surely not. Then what else?

The tornado had driven his trailers to cover, evidently, for the streets were given over to its violence, and Roy encountered no hostile sign as he was buffeted from house to house. He adventured cautiously and yet with haste, finding certain homes where the marshals had been before him peopled now only by frightened wives and children. A scattered few of the Vigilantes had been taken thus, while the warring elements had prevented their families from spreading the alarm or venturing out for succor. Those whom he was able to warn dressed hurriedly, took their rifles, and went out into the drifting night, leaving empty cabins and weeping women. The great fight was on.

Towards daylight the remnants of the Vigilantes straggled into the big blank warehouse on the sand-spit, and there beneath the smoking glare of lanterns cursed the name of McNamara. As dawn grayed the ragged eastern sky-line, Dextry and Slapjack blew in through the spindrift, bringing word from Cherry and lifting a load from Glenister’s mind.

“There’s a game girl,” said the old miner, as he wrung out his clothes. “She was half gone when she got to us, and now she’s waiting for the storm to break so that she can come back.”

“It’s clearing up to the east,” Slapjack chattered. “D’you know, I’m gettin’ so rheumatic that ice-water don’t feel comfortable to me no more.”

“Uriatic acid in the blood,” said Dextry. “What’s our next move?” he asked of his partner. “When do we hang this politician? Seems like we’ve got enough able-bodied piano-movers here to tie a can onto the whole outfit, push the town site of Nome off the map, and start afresh.”

“I think we had better lie low and watch developments,” the other cautioned. “There’s no telling what may turn up during the day.”

“That’s right. Stranglers is like spirits—they work best in the dark.”

As the day grew, the storm died, leaving ramparts of clouds hanging sullenly above the ocean’s rim, while those skilled in weather prophecy foretold the coming of the equinoctial. In McNamara’s office there was great stir and the coming of many men. The boss sat in his chair smoking countless cigars, his big face set in grim lines, his hard eyes peering through the pall of blue at those he questioned. He worked the wires of his machine until his dolls doubled and danced and twisted at his touch. After a gusty interview he had dismissed Voorhees with a merciless tongue-lashing, raging bitterly at the man’s failure.

“You’re not fit to herd sheep. Thirty men out all night and what do you get? A dozen mullet-headed miners. You bag the mud-hens and the big game runs to cover. I wanted Glenister, but you let him slip through your fingers—now it’s war. What a mess you’ve made! If I had even one helper with a brain the size of a flaxseed, this game would be a gift, but you’ve bungled every move from the start. Bah! Put a spy in the bull-pen with those prisoners and make them talk. Offer them anything for information. Now get out!”

He called for a certain deputy and questioned him regarding the night’s quest, remarking, finally:

“There’s treachery somewhere. Those men were warned.”

“Nobody came near Glenister’s house except Miss Chester,” the man replied.

“What?”

“The Judge’s niece. We caught her by mistake in the dark.”

Later, one of the men who had been with Voorhees at the Northern asked to see the receiver and told him:

“The chief won’t believe that I saw Miss Chester in the dance-hall last night, but she was there with Glenister. She must have put him wise to our game or he wouldn’t have known we were after him.”

His hearer made no comment, but, when alone, rose and paced the floor with heavy tread while his face grew savage and brutal.

“So that’s the game, eh? It’s man to man from now on. Very well, Glenister, I’ll have your life for that, and then—you’ll pay, Miss Helen.” He considered carefully. A plot for a plot. If he could not swap intrigue with these miners and beat them badly, he deserved to lose. Now that the girl gave herself to their cause he would use her again and see how well she answered. Public opinion would not stand too great a strain, and, although he had acted within his rights last night, he dared not go much further. Diplomacy, therefore, must serve. He must force his enemies beyond the law and into his trap. She had passed the word once; she would do so again.

He hurried to Stillman’s house and stormed into the presence of the Judge. He told the story so artfully that the Judge’s astonished unbelief yielded to rage and cowardice, and he sent for his niece. She came down, white and silent, having heard the loud voices. The old man berated her with shrewish fury, while McNamara stood silent. The girl listened with entire self-control until her uncle made a reference to Glenister that she found intolerable.

“Hush! I will not listen!” she cried, passionately. “I warned him because you would have sacrificed him after he had saved our lives. That is all. He is an honest man, and I am grateful to him. That is the only foundation for your insult.”

McNamara, with apparent candor, broke in:

“You thought you were doing right, of course, but your action will have terrible consequences. Now we’ll have riot, bloodshed, and Heaven knows what. It was to save all this that I wanted to break up their organization. A week’s imprisonment would have done it, but now they’re armed and belligerent and we’ll have a battle to-night.”

“No, no!” she cried. “There mustn’t be any violence.”

“There is no use trying to check them. They are rushing to their own destruction. I have learned that they plan to attack the Midas to-night, and I’ll have fifty soldiers waiting for them there. It is a shame, for they are decent fellows, blinded by ignorance and misled by that young miner. This will be the blackest night the North has ever seen.”

With this McNamara left the house and went in search of Voorhees, remarking to himself: “Now, Miss Helen—send your warning—the sooner the better. If I know those Vigilantes, it will set them crazy, and yet not crazy enough to attack the Midas. They will strike for me, and when they hit my poor, unguarded office, they’ll think hell has moved North.”

“Mr. Marshal,” said he to his tool, “I want you to gather forty men quietly and to arm them with Winchesters. They must be fellows who won’t faint at blood—you know the kind. Assemble them at my office after dark, one at a time, by the back way. It must be done with absolute secrecy. Now, see if you can do this one thing and not get balled up. If you fail, I’ll make you answer to me.”

“Why don’t you get the troops?” ventured Voorhees.

“If there’s one thing I want to avoid, it’s soldiers, either here or at the mines. When they step in, we step out, and I’m not ready for that just yet.” The receiver smiled sinisterly.

Helen meanwhile had fled to her room, and there received Glenister’s note through Cherry Malotte’s messenger. It rekindled her worst fears and bore out McNamara’s prophecy. The more she read of it the more certain she grew that the crisis was only a question of hours, and that with darkness, Tragedy would walk the streets of Nome. The thought of the wrong already done was lost in the lonely girl’s terror of the crime about to happen, for it seemed to her she had been the instrument to set these forces in motion, that she had loosed this swift-speeding avalanche of greed, hatred, and brutality. And when the crash should come—the girl shuddered. It must not be. She would shriek a warning from the house-tops even at cost of her uncle, of McNamara, and of herself. And yet she had no proof that a crime existed. Although it all lay clear in her own mind, the certainty of it arose only from her intuition. If only she were able to take a hand—if only she were not a woman. Then Cherry Malotte’s words anent Struve recurred to her, “A bottle of wine and a woman’s face.” They brought back the lawyer’s assurance that those documents she had safeguarded all through the long spring-time journey really contained the proof. If they did, then they held the power to check this impending conflict. Her uncle and the boss would not dare continue if threatened with exposure and prosecution. The more she thought of it, the more urgent seemed the necessity to prevent the battle of to-night. There was a chance here, at least, and the only one.

Adding to her mental torment was the constant vision of that face in the curtains at the Northern. It was her brother, yet what mystery shrouded this affair, also? What kept him from her? What caused him to slink away like a thief discovered? She grew dizzy and hysterical.

Struve turned in his chair as the door to his private office opened, then leaped to his feet at sight of the gray-eyed girl standing there.

“I came for the papers,” she said.

“I knew you would.” The blood went out of his cheeks, then surged back up to his eyes. “It’s a bargain, then?”

She nodded. “Give them to me first.”

He laughed unpleasantly. “What do you take me for? I’ll keep my part of the bargain if you’ll keep yours. But this is no place, nor time. There’s riot in the air, and I’m busy preparing for to-night. Come back to-morrow when it’s all over.”

But it was the terror of to-night’s doings that led her into his power.

“I’ll never come back,” she said. “It is my whim to know to-day—yes, at once.”

He meditated for a time. “Then to-day it shall be. I’ll shirk the fight, I’ll sacrifice what shreds of duty have clung to me, because the fever for you is in my bones, and it seems to me I’d do murder for it. That’s the kind of a man I am, and I have no pride in myself because of it. But I’ve always been that way. We’ll ride to the Sign of the Sled. It’s a romantic little road-house ten miles from here, perched high above the Snake River trail. We’ll take dinner there together.”

“But the papers?”

“I’ll have them with me. We’ll start in an hour.”

“In an hour,” she echoed, lifelessly, and left him.

He chuckled grimly and seized the telephone. “Central—call the Sled road-house—seven rings on the Snake River branch. Hello! That you, Shortz? This is Struve. Anybody at the house? Good. Turn them away if they come and say that you’re closed. None of your business. I’ll be out about dark, so have dinner for two. Spread yourself and keep the place clear. Good-bye.”

Strengthened by Glenister’s note, Helen went straight to the other woman and this time was not kept waiting nor greeted with sneers, but found Cherry cloaked in a shy dignity, which she clasped tightly about herself. Under her visitor’s incoherence she lost her diffidence, however, and, when Helen had finished, remarked, with decision: “Don’t go with him. He’s a bad man.”

“But I must. The blood of those men will be on me if I don’t stop this tragedy. If those papers tell the tale I think they do, I can call off my uncle and make McNamara give back the mines. You said Struve told you the whole scheme. Did you see the proof?”

“No, I have only his word, but he spoke of those documents repeatedly, saying they contained his instructions to tie up the mines in order to give a foot-hold for the lawsuits. He bragged that the rest of the gang were in his power and that he could land them in the penitentiary for conspiracy. That’s all.”

“It’s the only chance,” said Helen. “They are sending soldiers to the Midas to lie in ambush, and you must warn the Vigilantes.” Cherry paled at this and ejaculated:

“Good Lord! Roy said he’d lead an attack to-night.” The two stared at each other.

“If I succeed with Struve I can stop it all—all of this injustice and crime—everything.”

“Do you realize what you’re risking?” Cherry demanded. “That man is an animal. You’ll have to kill him to save yourself, and he’ll never give up those proofs.”

“Yes, he will,” said Helen, fiercely, “and I defy him to harm me. The Sign of the Sled is a public road-house with a landlord, a telephone, and other guests. Will you warn Mr. Glenister about the troops?”

“I will, and bless you for a brave girl. Wait a moment.” Cherry took from the dresser her tiny revolver. “Don’t hesitate to use this. I want you to know also that I’m sorry for what I said yesterday.”

As she hurried away, Helen realized with a shock the change that the past few months had wrought in her. In truth, it was as Glenister had said, his Northland worked strangely with its denizens. What of that shrinking girl who had stepped out of the sheltered life, strong only in her untried honesty, to become a hunted, harried thing, juggling with honor and reputation, in her heart a half-formed fear that she might kill a man this night to gain her end? The elements were moulding her with irresistible hands. Roy’s contact with the primitive had not roughened him more quickly than had hers.

She met her appointment with Struve, and they rode away together, he talkative and elated, she silent and icy.

Late in the afternoon the cloud banks to the eastward assumed alarming proportions. They brought with them an early nightfall, and when they broke let forth a tempest which rivalled that of the previous night. During the first of it armed men came sifting into McNamara’s office from the rear and were hidden throughout the building. Whenever he descried a peculiarly desperate ruffian the boss called him aside for private instruction and gave minute description of a wide-shouldered, erect youth in white hat and half-boots. Gradually he set his trap with the men Voorhees had raked from the slums, and when it was done smiled to himself. As he thought it over he ceased to regret the miscarriage of last night’s plan, for it had served to goad his enemies to the point he desired, to the point where they would rush to their own undoing. He thought with satisfaction of the rÔle he would play in the United States press when the sensational news of this night’s adventure came out. A court official who dared to do his duty despite a lawless mob. A receiver who turned a midnight attack into a rout and shambles. That is what they would say. What if he did exceed his authority thereafter? What if there were a scandal? Who would question? As to soldiers—no, decidedly no. He wished no help of soldiers at this time.

The sight of a ship in the offing towards dark caused him some uneasiness, for, notwithstanding the assurance that the course of justice in the San Francisco courts had been clogged, he knew Bill Wheaton to be a resourceful lawyer and a determined man. Therefore, it relieved him to note the rising gale, which precluded the possibility of interference from that source. Let them come to-morrow if they would. By that time some of the mines would be ownerless and his position strengthened a hundredfold.

He telephoned the mines to throw out guards, although he reasoned that none but madmen would think of striking there in the face of the warning which he knew must have been transmitted through Helen. Putting on his rain-coat he sought Stillman.

“Bring your niece over to my place to-night. There’s trouble in the air and I’m prepared for it.”

“She hasn’t returned from her ride yet. I’m afraid she’s caught in the storm.” The Judge gazed anxiously into the darkness.

During all the long day the Vigilantes lay in hiding, impatient at their idleness and wondering at the lack of effort made towards their discovery, not dreaming that McNamara had more cleverly hidden plans behind. When Cherry’s note of warning came they gathered in the back room and gave voice to their opinions.

“There’s only one way to clear the atmosphere,” said the chairman.

“You bet,” chorussed the others. “They’ve garrisoned the mines, so let’s go through the town and make a clean job of it. Let’s hang the whole outfit to one post.”

This met with general approval, Glenister alone demurring. Said he: “I have reasoned it out differently, and I want you to hear me through before deciding. Last night I got word from Wheaton that the California courts are against us. He attributes it to influence, but, whatever the reason, we are cut off from all legal help either in this court or on appeal. Now, suppose we lynch these officials to-night—what do we gain? Martial law in two hours, our mines tied up for another year, and who knows what else? Maybe a corrupter court next season. Suppose, on the other hand, we fail—and somehow I feel that we will, for that boss is no fool. What then? Those of us who don’t find the morgue will end in jail. You say we can’t meet the soldiers. I say we can and must. We must carry this row to them. We must jump it past the courts of Alaska, past the courts of California, and up to the White House, where there’s one honest man, at least. We must do something to wake up the men in Washington. We must get out of politics, for McNamara can beat us there. Although he’s a strong man he can’t corrupt the President. We have one shot left, and it must reach the Potomac. When Uncle Sam takes a hand we’ll get a square deal, so I say let us strike at the Midas to-night and take her if we can. Some of us will go down, but what of it?”

Following this harangue, he outlined a plan which in its unique daring took away their breaths, and as he filled in detail after detail they brightened with excitement and that love of the long chance which makes gamblers of those who thread the silent valleys or tread the edge of things. His boldness stirred them and enthusiasm did the rest.

“All I want for myself,” he said, “is the chance to run the big risk. It’s mine by right.”

Dextry spoke, breathlessly, to Slapjack in the pause which ensued:

“Ain’t he a heller?”

“We’ll go you,” the miners chimed to a man. And the chairman added: “Let’s have Glenister lead this forlorn hope. I am willing to stand or fall on his judgment.” They acquiesced without a dissenting voice, and with the firm hands of a natural leader the young man took control.

“Let’s hurry up,” said one. “It’s a long ‘mush’ and the mud is knee-deep.”

“No walking for us,” said Roy. “We’ll go by train.”

“By train? How can we get a train?”

“Steal it,” he answered, at which Dextry grinned delightedly at his loose-jointed companion, and Slapjack showed his toothless gums in answer, saying:

“He sure is.”

A few more words and Glenister, accompanied by these two, slipped out into the whirling storm, and a half-hour later the rest followed. One by one the Vigilantes left, the blackness blotting them up an arm’s-length from the door, till at last the big, bleak warehouse echoed hollowly to the voice of the wind and water.

Over in the eastern end of town, behind dark windows upon which the sheeted rain beat furiously, other armed men lay patiently waiting—waiting some word from the bulky shadow which stood with folded arms close against a square of gray, while over their heads a wretched old man paced back and forth, wringing his hands, pausing at every turn to peer out into the night and to mumble the name of his sister’s child.