As this horror is taking place inside the earth, Miss Travenion and her two escorts on its surface are speeding over the snow towards Tooele.

The consideration and respect with which she is treated by these two rough-and-ready fighters of many a desperate mining battle is almost oppressive: they are so exceedingly polite.

Every time he addresses her, Patsey Bolivar takes off his hat. Chancing in one of his remarks to use the word "infernal" (which is a very mild expression for this gentleman), Pioche George suavely suggests: "Don't ye mind Patsey's high-flown remarks, miss. I've told him if he uses any stronger expression than a plain 'damn' in yer presence, that I'll perforate him."

"Would you rob me of one of my guards?" gasps the girl.

"No," replies George. "Patsey an' I have arranged that any discussion between us shall take place after we've seen ye safe through—as we will; though I reckon we've more to fear from snow than anything else on this trip, for it seems as if a blizzard was a-blowin' up."

So Miss Travenion journeys on, Patsey sitting on the front seat and driving, and Pioche George, who is beside him, turning round to her and regaling Erma with anecdotes of his frontier experience, some of which are amusing, and nearly all of them horrible.

About two hours after, Kruger also drives furiously out of Eureka, but does not travel the same route as the young lady he is in pursuit of—going up through Homansville towards Salt Lake City—the most direct route—but, strange to say, leaving it, and taking the road to his right, which leads on to Goshen, then Payson and Provo, for he intends to go up the Provo CaÑon to Heber City, having some curious affidavits to make that he dare only indulge in before a Mormon judge. From this place he will journey rapidly as horseflesh can take him to Park City, and then to Echo Station on the Union Pacific Railway, which is also in the Territory of Utah, and subject to the domination of its judges.

He expects to encounter Miss Travenion at that point, though the snow that delays her on her trip will hinder him a great deal more, going up Provo CaÑon and over the divide to Heber City. But he is a sturdy old Mormon, and though it means an all-night drive—part of the way, perhaps, in a sleigh—he does not care much for the storm, for he has a plot in his head that makes him rub his hands and chuckle, even when the wind blows the fiercest and the snow drifts the strongest.

Shortly after he has turned from the main road to Salt Lake, a wagon coming down from that city carries Harry Lawrence, who is very happy, and Ferdinand Chauncey, who is very tired: for they have made an all-night drive, and had they been five minutes earlier, would have encountered Kruger, to his astonishment, and, perhaps, to theirs.

As they come up to the caÑon leading to Homansville, Harry cries: "Ferdie, in half an hour I'll see her!" then mutters: "My Heaven! what a monster of ingratitude she must think me now!"

"Oh, I'll fix that for you, easy enough!" says Ferdie confidently. "I'll tell her how you've been wandering all over California after us, thinking she was in our party. I think my word will carry you through."

Curiously enough, this is the fact. Lawrence, full of hope, has reached San Francisco, to find the Livingston party is not there. They have gone to Belmont to spend a few days, the clerk at the Grand Hotel informs him, at the house of Mr. Ralston, the banker; a gentleman who, at this time, was pouring out hospitality with a lavish hand to prominent visitors to California.

Not having an invitation, Harry is compelled to remain, and await their return, but they come not. After a week or two, he discovers that they have gone straight from Belmont to the Yosemite, which is a long trip, as there are few railroads in the State at this time.

Notwithstanding this, he follows them, and after four days of staging and rough riding, finds he has missed them entirely; for now he cannot discover where they have gone, on leaving the valley of the cataracts. As a matter of fact, they have journeyed to Southern California, and have spent a couple of weeks at the great cattle ranch of Mr. Beale, near the Tejon Pass.

So, after a fruitless visit to the Big Trees, Lawrence concludes to return to San Francisco, knowing that the Livingston party must ultimately find their way there, before they return to the East.

In this place, which was just beginning to get excited over the great mining boom in the Belcher and Crown Point, which three years afterwards gave way to the still greater one of the Consolidated Virginia and California, in which many fortunes were won, and more fine ones were lost, he passes two anxious weeks.

Being known to several mining men, and receiving telegram from Garter that the first one hundred thousand dollars had been paid upon his mine by the English company, and he can draw on him for fifty thousand dollars at sight, he goes to driving away thoughts of his errant sweetheart, by taking flyers in the securities of the San Francisco Stock Board, and one afternoon, purchasing a couple of hundred shares of "Belcher" at about fifty—its ruling price in the market at that time—he pays for them, and puts them in his pocket, hoping to sell them on the morrow at a few dollars a share advance, and strolls up to the Grand Hotel, for that is where the Livingstons have stopped before, and will probably stay on their return to San Francisco. Therefore he makes it his headquarters.

Here he is delighted to find Mr. Ferdinand Chauncey playing billiards.

"By Jove, Harry! What are you doing here?" cries this young gentleman, who has become very familiar with the man who has saved his life.

"Hunting for you," replies Lawrence, returning Ferdie's warm grip very cordially.

"Ah, you've come to tell us the news, I suppose," laughs Mr. Chauncey. Then he amazes Lawrence with the query: "How is she?"

"Who?"

"Erma Travenion, of course—how is she getting along with her many step-mammas?"

"What do you mean?" ejaculates Harry, thinking Mr. Chauncey has gone daft.

"I mean what I say. Innocence won't do. Has old Tranyon given you his mine as well as his daughter? Ollie and his mother quarrel every day over his desertion of the heiress. The widow says that she and Louise won't be able to live on their income now, and Oliver has turned sullen, and says if they can't, Louise can go into a Protestant nunnery. So that young lady is in despair."

"What the dickens do you mean?" gasps Harry. Then he says: "Are you crazy?" and looking into Ferdie's face, and seeing sanity there, suddenly seizes him, leads him apart, and commands: "Tell me what you're driving at!"

Then Mr. Chauncey, guessing from Lawrence's manner that he does not know what has happened, tells him what took place in Salt Lake the evening before their departure, to which Harry listens with staring eyes.

As Ferdie closes, he suddenly breaks out: "Now I understand!—Tranyon's deed to me—it was that angel's doing!" Then mutters: "My God! She'll think me a monster of ingratitude! A prig, like that scalliwag up-stairs;" he turns up his thumb towards where Mr. Livingston is supposed to be.

To this Mr. Chauncey says nothing, though his eyes have grown very large.

After a second's thought, Lawrence continues very earnestly: "You say I saved your life. May I ask you a favor in return?"

"Anything!" cries Ferdie.

"Very well! You can explain this matter to Erma Travenion, so that she will know that I followed her for love, all over California, and did not desert her for pride, because she was the daughter of a Mormon, in Utah. Will you come with me, and make that explanation?"

"Yes—when?"

"Now! The train leaves in an hour."

"I will," cries Ferdie. "I only want fifteen minutes to pack my trunk and explain my sudden departure to the Livingstons."

Which he does, and the two make their exit from San Francisco on the afternoon train, and two days afterwards find themselves in Salt Lake City, where Ferdinand would like to lay over for a night, but Lawrence says, "No rest while she thinks me ungrateful!"

Despite some demur on the part of Mr. Chauncey, he puts him into a light wagon, and the two drive all night so as to make Eureka in the morning, which they do, some two hours after Mr. Kruger has left it.

At the hotel, seeing neither Tranyon nor his daughter, Lawrence drags Ferdie, who is very tired, with him up the trail to the office of Zion's Co-operative Mine, and says: "You go in, my young diplomat, and tell her; I'll wait down here out of the way."

Which he does; but a few minutes after Chauncey comes back and reports: "There's no one there!"

"Nobody?"

"Not a living soul!"

Lawrence investigating this and finding it true, they return to the hotel again; but to Harry's anxious inquiries, no one can give him any information of the whereabouts this day of Bishop Tranyon or his daughter till, after two hours' search, some one suggests: "They may be up at the mine."

"They're not working that now?" says Harry.

"No, but I saw the bishop and his daughter go that way very early this morning."

This information is enough for the impetuous Lawrence, and he again drags Mr. Chauncey up the trail with him, past the office; and one hundred yards beyond they come to the dump of the Zion's Co-operative Mine, but the place seems deserted.

"I expect, with your usual luck," suggests Ferdie, "the bishop and his daughter have gone back to Salt Lake City, and we have missed them on the way. Miss Erma seems a pretty hard butterfly for you to track."

But Lawrence suddenly interrupts him, whispering: "Listen! There's some one in the mine. Perhaps they're down below."

"What makes you think that?"

"I hear them."

"I don't."

"But I do! Right through this air-pipe," cries Harry, and he springs to it, and disconnecting the fan from it, puts his ear to it. A moment afterwards he exclaims: "There's somebody in trouble down there!" and the next moment, disregarding the danger of foul air, is well on his way down the incline.

Three minutes after, he re-appears, and says: "There's been an accident of some kind. Cars have broken loose and are smashed down there at the bottom, and boulders and loose rock are piled up, cutting off somebody. He's alive yet! I heard him moaning."

Then he suddenly whispers, growing very pale: "My God—if it is she!" Lovers are always fearful. Next he cries: "Run, Ferdie, up to the Mineral Hill—it's only three hundred feet from here—tell them to send down half a dozen miners like lightning!"

And Chauncey flying on his errand, a sudden idea coming into Lawrence's mind, he steps to the air-pipe, and using it as a speaking-tube, shouts down: "Halloo there! Who are you? Are you too much injured to speak?"

And listening, there comes up to him from the depths faintly, through the tube: "I'm uninjured, but am bound and helpless."

"Who are you?"

"R. H. Tranyon."

To this, Harry suddenly screams back: "Your daughter!—for God's sake, tell me where she is!"

"Why should I tell you that?"

"Because I'm Harry Lawrence!"

And through the tube comes faintly up to him: "Thank God! You are here to save her!"

"From what? My Heaven! From what?" shrieks Lawrence down the tube.

"From Lot Kruger, bishop in the Mormon Church, who has buried me here—who is now pursuing her!"

"Good God! For what?"

"To marry her!"

"Don't fear for that!" cries Harry. Then he grinds out between his clenched teeth: "The accursed polygamist'll be dead before that happens!" A second after he shouts down: "Give me the particulars," and gets them up the tube. Finally he says: "How long have you been there?"

"I can't tell. It seems days. I was buried here on December 1st, early in the morning."

"Why," cries Harry, joyfully: "it's December 1st now. You haven't been there five hours." Then he goes on: "Kruger's only four hours ahead of me. You rest quietly. The miners will have you out in two or three hours. You make up your mind your daughter's safe, if it's in human power! She might die, but never marry Kruger."

Here Ferdie, coming back with some miners, is very much astonished to hear Lawrence say hurriedly to him: "Get the men down that incline. Remove the rocks and get Tranyon out!"

"And you," cries Chauncey, "where are you going?" for Harry has already turned to leave the dump pile.

"To save his daughter!" And before the last word is out of his mouth, Lawrence is speeding down the trail to Eureka, where in twenty minutes he gets a fresh team, and driving through the storm, which has now become blinding, and through the night, which comes on too soon, and being compelled to go very slowly, for the snow is drifting heavily, he makes Salt Lake City early in the morning.

Going straight to the Townsend House, Harry says to the clerk: "Don't make any mistake this time, young man, in your information. Miss Travenion is here?"

"No, not here!"

"Good Heavens!"

"She was here last night," says the clerk, with a grin, "but drove away, five minutes ago, to catch the train for Ogden," and is astonished at the hurried "Thank you" he gets, as Lawrence runs out to his wagon again.

Clapping a ten dollar bill into the sleepy driver's hands, Harry cries: "That'll wake you up! Utah Central depot like lightning!"

He gets there just in time to board the train as it runs out of the station, to make connection with the Union Pacific that will leave Ogden this morning.

She is not in his car, but Harry looks into the next one, and seeing the young lady asleep, mutters: "She is tired also. I'll not wake her," then suddenly thinks: "By George! How shall I begin the business? She must despise me now!" and wishes he had brought Ferdie with him; though he laughs to himself: "I suppose it would have killed that future Harvard athlete—two nights' steady driving and no rest between!"

Sitting down to think over this matter, and being overcome with weariness himself, sleep comes upon Harry also, and he doesn't wake even after the train has arrived at Ogden, till he is roused by the brakeman. Looking about him, he gives a start. Miss Travenion has disappeared.

Muttering to himself: "I'm a faithful guardian—I keep my word to her father well! I have a very sharp eye out on my sweetheart!" he runs across to the Union depot, and is relieved to see that the young lady is in the office of Wells, Fargo & Co., expressing a package.

This has come about in this way: Erma Travenion had arrived safely in Salt Lake City at ten o'clock on the night before. Wells, Fargo & Co. being of course closed, she could not deposit the Utah Central stock that night.

Knowing that speed is vital to her, and that she must have money for her trip East, she drives to the house of Mr. Bussey, the banker, and he very kindly rushes about town for her and gleans up from friends of his sufficient for her trip East, charging her for same on her letter of credit.

Asking his advice about an express package that she wishes to send—though Erma doesn't state its contents—he says: "Take it with you, my child, to Ogden. At that time, before the Union Pacific train leaves, Wells, Fargo & Co. will be open. Express it from there. Their receipt will be just as good in Ogden as in Salt Lake City."

This she is doing while Lawrence is looking at her. Her appearance makes him sigh. Not that she isn't as beautiful as when he last saw her, for she is more lovely, only so much more ethereal. Her eyes are too brilliant, and there is a little apprehension in them, and a few lines of pain on her face, some of which, Harry has a wild hope, are perhaps caused by him; though he grieves over them just the same.

As she comes out of Wells, Fargo's, having finished her business with the express company—which has taken some five minutes, the transaction being a heavy one, and the receipt very formal—Lawrence, with rapture in his heart, and love in his eye, approaches to speak to his divinity, and to his intense chagrin, gets the very neatest kind of a cut. The girl looks him straight in the face—with haughty eyes that never flinch, though there is no recognition in them.

So passing on her way, she buys her tickets, and makes arrangements for her sleeping-car.

This catastrophe has been brought about as follows: While standing waiting for the receipt from Wells, Fargo & Co., Erma has caught the conversation of two men who are standing just outside its door.

One of them says: "Who is she?" for Miss Travenion's beauty has attracted his attention.

The other, a mining man who has seen her with the bishop in Eureka, answers: "Tranyon the boss Mormon's daughter."

"Impossible!"

"Fact, I assure you," laughs the second man. "From the airs she puts on, you'd think she was a New York or St. Louis belle. But I believe she's booked for the seventh wife of old Kruger. These Mormon girls have no brains! I guess readin', writin', an' 'rithmetic's about the extent of her education."

This decidedly slurring description of the belle of Newport's last season makes the girl think every one despises her; and seeing Lawrence, and remembering his desertion, she sighs: "He despises me also—but he shall never show it to me—never!" And so passes him as if she had never seen him.

Striving to eat, but finding she has no appetite, Erma goes almost timidly to the train, where she has engaged a stateroom, for she thinks the whole world is talking about her father and herself, in about the same language she has heard, and shrinks from public gaze and public scoff. She is happy to get to the privacy of her stateroom unnoticed—which is not difficult, every one about the station being excited and busy.

The snow is still falling heavily on the tracks, and the Central Pacific is behind time. Finally, getting a telegram that the train on the more western road has been detained by snow on the Sierra Nevada and Pequop Mountains, and is ten hours late, the Union Pacific pulls out of the station, one hour behind its time.

Just then the privacy of Miss Travenion's stateroom is invaded by Buck Powers, on his business tour through the train.

He says in resonant voice: "How are you off for peanuts? They're the only fruit that's in season now."

"I don't wish any," she replies, quietly.

"Won't you have some candy, or chewing gum? You look as if you needed somethin'."

Seeing this is declined by a shake of the head, he suggests: "That fire must have given you the blues, like it did me."

"What do you mean?" asks Erma, a little startled.

"Why," cries Buck, "don't you know it's been burnt down six weeks? There ain't no Chicago, but it made the highest old fire the world has ever seen."

"Oh, that's what you're referring to!" murmurs the young lady, who in her own troubles has failed to remember the destruction of the great Western city. Then she astounds the news-agent by adding, "I had forgotten that it was burnt."

"You—had—forgotten—the Chicago fire! Great Scott! You'd do for a museum!" he gasps. Then he says interrogatively: "You remember me, Buck Powers, don't you?"

She answers: "Yes, very well,—you're the news-boy who was injured by accident on the train. Captain Lawrence saved you."

"Well, I'm relieved that you ain't forgot everything!" he returns, and a moment after leers at her and says: "The Cap's on the train. I reckoned when I saw you he wouldn't be very far away," and goes off whistling merrily, though he leaves a sad heart behind him.

As for Lawrence, for one moment he has savagely thought, "She is safe on this Union Pacific train. Why should I follow her, to get more cuts?" But the next second he remembers: "She does not know,—she thinks me worse than Livingston, for he is only a prig to her, while I seem an ingrate. She practically gave me fortune. Shall I desert her for a snub that she thinks I deserve? Never!"

After a little, joy comes to him again; he remembers: "Her father said 'Thank God!' when he heard my name. She told him of me six weeks ago. She shall think of me again!"

So he has bought tickets for the East, and boarded the train, which is now running up Weber CaÑon rather slowly, as the grade is quite heavy, and the snow-drifts are multiplying and piling up on the road at a great rate.

An hour afterwards, going into the smoking-car, to kill time by a cigar, Harry looks out of the window, and they are at Echo.

As the train begins to move again he suddenly starts and mutters: "By George! I did right to come! He is on her track!"

For just as the train is pulling out of this station, he sees dashing down the old stage road from Park City a sleigh drawn by two horses, in which four men are gesticulating for the conductor to hold up. But that official, who is standing near Lawrence, says grimly: "What! Pull the check line for Mormon mossbacks who'll get off at the next station, when the train is two hours late and snow-drifts ahead—not much!" And the train rolls on, followed by some very savage curses from the men in the sleigh.

One of these, Harry notes, is Kruger, and he chuckles to himself: "Left behind! He won't overtake us this side of Chicago! However, it's just as well I'm on board!"

An hour after they pass the Utah line, and come into Evanston two and a half hours late. Here they take dinner, and meet the train from the East that left Green River in the morning. This reports very heavy snows on Aspen Hill.

Lawrence, however, makes no attempt at further communication with Miss Travenion, reflecting savagely: "Perhaps before this trip is over, Miss Haughty may need my aid, and call on me, and then I'll explain."

So they pass up the valley of the Bear, the storm getting wilder, and the snow deeper, as they pull up the heavy grades, and it is night before they reach Aspen, though they have two strong locomotives dragging them.

Then they come to the Aspen Y, which is the top of the divide, and from which there is a down grade running almost to Green River.

But this part of the road is a difficult one to get over. Two locomotives are not considered too much for its grade when there is no snow on the track; now they can just handle the train, the track being slippery, and the snow-drifts heavy and increasing.

It is usual to make a flying switch at this point—one engine detaching itself from the train and entering the Y; leaving one locomotive, which is amply sufficient under ordinary circumstances, to take care of a train on the steep down grade, which begins at this place.

To-night the two locomotives should both remain attached to the train, and pull it entirely over the divide together—the helping engine being compelled, of course, to go on as far as the next station, Piedmont.

But the conductor, being a man of routine, does it in his ordinary summer way, by the flying switch, and sends the helping locomotive away. This giving its warning toot, uncouples from the second engine, runs ahead of it, and making a switch into the Y, is ready for its return to Evanston.

But the single locomotive now attached to the train has not steam to carry it over the divide; its wheels gradually revolve more slowly, the efforts of the great iron beast become more and more labored, and finally the train comes to a dead standstill, fifty yards from where the grade commences to descend.

Then, when too late, the other locomotive comes back and goes to its assistance; but the train has stopped—the drifts gradually closing in round the wheels—and now both locomotives cannot move what they could have together carried certainly over the mountain.

Though the attempt is made again and again, the train is stalled, and the snow comes down faster and faster and drifts deeper and deeper. Fortunately, the failure of the Central Pacific to connect, has produced a very light passenger list. Harry notices there are only three in his sleeper—a consumptive, going to Colorado, and a lady tourist and her child, a boy of about ten, who have been seeing Salt Lake City.

On the Pullman occupied by Miss Travenion there is only one other traveller—a young girl who is being forwarded to an Eastern school by Gentile parents connected with the Union Pacific Railway, in Ogden.

These, however, after a little, set up a wail. It is for supper, which the conductor grimly informs them is waiting for them at Green River, ninety miles away.

Then comes the triumph of Chicago business methods, and Buck Powers, issuing from the baggage car, cries dominantly: "PIES!! Beefsteak pies!—Mutton pies!—Dried-apple pies! PIES!!"

Going to him, Lawrence says anxiously: "Have you looked after her?"

"Do you think I'd let Miss Beauty starve?" utters the boy in stern reproach. "I have provisioned her stateroom for two days. She's got three beefsteak pies, two mutton hash pasties, two pork turnovers, and six assorted jam and fruit tarts, as well as a dozen apples. I have done my duty to her, though you haven't. You've left her alone all to-day—you ain't been near to jolly her up. She needs chinning, she does. I have had to step into your shoes and comfort her!"

"Oh, you have, have you?" returns Harry. "Thank you!"

"Well, I'm right glad you're grateful!" remarks Buck. "More so, perhaps, than she is, for when I asked her if she'd seen Brother Brigham at Salt Lake, and how she thought she'd like to be a Mormon—I always ask these questions of tourists coming from Salt Lake—she rose up, a kind of mixture of the Statue of Liberty and my old schoolmarm in Indianie, and said, 'Please continue your business tour at once!' So I got a move on, quick. The next time I passed by, her eyes were red, as if she'd been crying. I don't think you've been doing your duty, Cap!"

With this the boy goes on his way, leaving Lawrence rather elated at his information, for he shrewdly guesses that if Miss Travenion is in any very great trouble, she is more likely to call upon him than any one else to help her out of it. Knowing that she is well provisioned and taken care of, some hour or two after this, he having nothing else to do, goes to bed, something the other passengers have already done.

Next morning, looking out of the car window, Harry finds the snow deeper than ever, and still falling, and the train stalled more hopelessly than ever at the Aspen Y, now known on railroad maps as Tapioca.