She had also surmised correctly, for just then Alton, who had shouldered his way through a group in the corridor, moved down it under a blaze of light, his head erect, and his face somewhat grim as he saw the smiles and glances of disapproval of those who made way for him.

As the rancher who was fighting Hallam and the capitalists behind him he was already known in that city, and the story that the woman who was spoken of with him had assisted him from the beginning by betraying the secrets of those who employed her at his instigation had spread, and told against him.

Alton saw it all, and did not for a moment turn aside so long as the smiles and whispers were directed at him, but he stopped and waited, leaning on a chair some distance behind the spot where Forel's party were until the curtain rose again. The next act commenced, as he knew, with a night scene, and while most of the audience had no eyes for any one but the great tragedian, he moved forward quickly, and Alice Deringham turned her head a trifle as a shadowy form slipped into the vacant place beside her. She could scarcely see the man, and was not certain that she desired to, but she would have known who he was had he been wholly invisible.

"It is you," she said softly. "I knew that you would come."

"Yes," said Alton. "You asked me to, but now I know that I should not have done so."

"And that I should not have asked you?" said Alice Deringham. "You should have been on your journey already."

Alton laughed a little. "That was not what I meant--as of course you know," he said. "Still, I wanted to see you--and I had to come."

"Why?"

Alton was silent a little. "It may be the last time."

Alice Deringham shivered. "But there is no reason?"

"No--and yes," said Alton grimly. "I--and it is due to you and another to tell you this--have done no wrong, but there are reasons why I should not intrude myself into your company, and I am going back up there into the snow to-morrow."

"But," said the girl, feeling horribly guilty, "there are times when one's friends can do a good deal for one."

Alton seemed to laugh a trifle bitterly. "Yes," he said. "Still, I do not care to trouble mine in that direction. One must stand alone now and then, and things have not been going well with me lately. I had another blow to-day. I asked Miss Townshead to marry me--and she would not."

Alice Deringham said nothing for a space, and then her voice was different. There was no shade of expression in it. "And you are going back to look for the silver tomorrow? I hope you will be successful."

"Thank you," said Alton. "It would mean a good deal to everybody--and now I think I have already stayed too long."

Alice Deringham heard the creaking of a chair, and when she looked round he had gone, but she said very little to any one when the curtain came down again, while Alton, turning in a doorway for a moment, set his lips as he caught the gleam of her hair.

"I think I have done the right thing all round, but it was condemnably hard," he said as he went down the corridor.

By chance he came face to face with Forel a few moments later, and both men stopped. "I am glad I found you," said Alton. "It is only fitting to tell you that for a minute or two I joined your party."

Forel looked uncomfortable. "To be frank, there are unpleasant tales about you, and while they needn't interfere with business one has to----" he said, and stopped.

Alton nodded. "You needn't be too explicit. The tales, so far as you have heard them, are not true. I tell you so on my word of honour--and I want you to show that you believe me by finding Miss Townshead something to do. You can draw on me for the salary if it's necessary."

Forel, who was a good-tempered man, flushed a little. "If there was anything in the stories I should take this very ill."

"Of course," said Alton. "I shouldn't have objected if you had knocked me down, but, as I see you are not quite sure yet, for just five minutes you have got to listen to me."

Forel did so, and nodded when Alton concluded, "I think you should do what I want you to, because in the first place it will give you very little trouble, and if you can't take my word so far, I'm not fit to be trusted with your interests in the big deal we have in hand."

"And in the second?" said Forel, who stood to benefit considerably by the success of the Somasco Consolidated, dryly.

Alton laughed. "I think it would be more tasteful to leave that unexpressed, because it's connected with the other one," he said.

"Well," said Forel, "frankly, I should have doubted what you have told me had it come from most other men, but in this case I will see what I can do. We are, as it happens, in want of somebody at Westminster, and I'll send them down a line to-morrow."

"Thanks," said Alton, with a little sigh of relief. "Now I think I've straightened up everything, and I can go back to the ranges contented."

CHAPTER XXIX

THE PRICE OF DELAY

It was raining with pitiless persistency when Alton and Tom of Okanagan came floundering down into the river valley. The roar of the canon rose in great reverberations from out of the haze beneath them, and all the pines were dripping, while the men struggled wearily knee-deep in slush of snow. The spring which lingers in the North had come suddenly, and a warm wind from the Pacific was melting the snow, so that the hillsides ran water, and the torrents that had burst their chains swirled frothing down every hollow.

The men were chilled to the backbone, for it had rained all day and they had passed several nights sheltered only by the pines. Garments and boots were sodden, and Alton's face was set and drawn, for though he could now walk without much visible effort upon the level, a journey through the ranges of that country would at any season test the endurance of the strongest whole-limbed man, and his forced march had only been accomplished by stubborn determination and disregard of pain.

Still, it was not physical distress alone which accounted for his gravity. He had put off his journey to the latest moment, and now when time was scanty the weather promised to further delay him. They had stopped a moment breathless, when Okanagan broke the silence.

"Plenty water. I'm figuring we'll find Charley Seaforth somewhere here," he said. "The jumpers would have it drier, if they headed out from lower down the railroad over the bench country."

Alton nodded as he listened to the roar of the river, which warned him that their road up the valley would be almost impassable.

"It can't be helped," he said, and Tom of Okanagan, who saw how grim his face had grown, understood the reason. If Hallam's emissaries had gone up before them any further delay might cost Alton the mine.

Nothing was said for another minute, and then Okanagan pointed to a dim smear of vapour below them that was a little bluer than the mist.

"Smoke. Charley's held up by the river," he said.

They went on in moody silence, knowing that where the hardy ranchers Seaforth had with him had failed there was little probability of any man forcing a passage, and presently the smell of burning firwood came up to them through the rain. Then a red flicker appeared and vanished amidst the dusky trunks, and in another few minutes Alton was shaking his comrade's hand. The faces of both of them were unusually grave, and there was dejection in the growl of greeting from the men, who sat half seen amidst the smoke watching them.

"That's the whole of us," said Seaforth, who noticed his comrade's glance. "We can't get on."

"How long have you been here?" said Alton, with significant quietness.

"Two days. It's unfortunate you didn't come earlier, Harry, because we could have got right through a week ago. Was it the leg that kept you?"

"No," said Alton, with a little mirthless laugh, "it wasn't the leg. I should have come, but one can't always do two things at once, and I had to choose. I've a good deal to tell you."

Seaforth glanced sharply at his comrade. "I fancied you had. You are not the man I left at Vancouver, Harry. Well, you will be hungry, and supper's almost ready."

It was several hours later, and the men in the bigger tent were fast asleep, when Seaforth and Alton sat swathed in clammy blankets under a little canvas shelter. The drip from the great branches above beat upon it, and the red light of the snapping fire shone in upon the men.

Neither of them had spoken for some time, but at last Alton laid down his pipe.

"This is a thing I wouldn't tell to any man if it could be helped, but as you will hear it told the wrong way when you get back to the city, you have got to know," he said. "I'd have been where I was wanted if it hadn't happened, and now I can't help feeling I have given you and the rest away. It hurts me, Charley, but what could I do? It would have been worse to let two women suffer for my condemned folly."

Seaforth was in no mood for laughter, but his eyes twinkled faintly.

"Two of them? You have been getting on tolerably fast down there, Harry."

Alton stopped him with a gesture. "My temper's not what it was a few weeks ago," he said. "Now, you sit still and listen to me."

He had scarcely commenced his story when the smile died out of Seaforth's eyes. He seemed to listen with breathless intentness, and his voice shook a little as he said, "And you asked her to marry you.

Did you think for a moment that she would?"