a raw, gray day with a driving drizzle from seaward and a leaden rack of clouds drifting low matched the sullen, fitful mood of glenister.

during the last month he had chafed and fretted like an animal in leash for word of wheaton. this uncertainty, this impotent waiting with folded hands, was maddening to one of his spirit. he could apply himself to no fixed duty, for the sense of his wrong preyed on him fiercely, and he found himself haunting the vicinity of the midas, gazing at it from afar, grasping hungrily for such scraps of news as chanced to reach him. mcnamara allowed access to none but his minions, so the partners knew but vaguely of what happened on their property, even though, under fiction of law, it was being worked for their protection.

no steps regarding a speedy hearing of the case were allowed, and the collusion between judge stillman and the receiver had become so generally recognized that there were uneasy mutterings and threats in many quarters. yet, although the politician had by now virtually absorbed all the richest properties in the district and worked them through his hirelings, the people of nome as a whole did not grasp the full turpitude of the scheme nor the system’s perfect working.

strange to say, dextry, the fire-eater, had assumed an oriental patience quite foreign to his peppery disposition, and spent much of his time in the hills prospecting.

on this day, as the clouds broke, about noon, close down on the angry horizon a drift of smoke appeared, shortly resolving itself into a steamer. she lay to in the offing, and through his glasses glenister saw that it was the roanoke. as the hours passed and no boat put off, he tried to hire a crew, but the longshoremen spat wisely and shook their heads as they watched the surf.

“there’s the devil of an undertow settin’ along this beach,” they told him, “and the water’s too cold to drownd in comfortable.” so he laid firm hands upon his impatience.

every day meant many dollars to the watcher, and yet it seemed that nature was resolute in thwarting him, for that night the wind freshened and daylight saw the ship hugging the lee of sledge island, miles to the westward, while the surf, white as boiling milk, boomed and thundered against the shore.

word had gone through the street that bill wheaton was aboard with a writ, or a subpœna, or an alibi, or whatever was necessary to put the “kibosh” on mcnamara, so public excitement grew. mcnamara hoarded his gold in the alaska bank, and it was taken for granted that there would lie the scene of the struggle. no one supposed for an instant that the usurper would part with the treasure peaceably.

on the third morning the ship lay abreast of the town again and a life-boat was seen to make off from her, whereupon the idle population streamed towards the beach.

“she’ll make it to the surf all right, but then watch out.”

“we’d better make ready to haul ’em out,” said another. “it’s mighty dangerous.” and sure enough, as the skiff came rushing in through the breakers she was caught.

she had made it past the first line, soaring over the bar on a foamy roller-crest like a storm-driven gull winging in towards the land. the wiry figure of bill wheaton crouched in the stern while two sailors fought with their oars. as they gathered for their rush through the last zone of froth, a great comber rose out of the sea behind them, rearing high above their heads. the crowd at the surf’s edge shouted. the boat wavered, sucked back into the ocean’s angry maw, and with a crash the deluge engulfed them. there remained nothing but a swirling flood through which the life-boat emerged bottom up, amid a tangle of oars, gratings, and gear.

men rushed into the water, and the next roller pounded them back upon the marble-hard sand. there came the sound of splitting wood, and then a group swarmed in waist-deep and bore out a dripping figure. it was a hempen-headed seaman, who shook the water from his mane and grinned when his breath had come.

a step farther down the beach the by-standers seized a limp form which the tide rolled to them. it was the second sailor, his scalp split from a blow of the gunwale. nowhere was wheaton.

glenister had plunged to the rescue first, a heaving-line about his middle, and although buffeted about he had reached the wreck, only to miss sight of the lawyer utterly. he had time for but a glance when he was drawn outward by the undertow till the line at his waist grew taut, then the water surged over him and he was hurled high up on the beach again. he staggered dizzily back to the struggle, when suddenly a wave lifted the capsized cutter and righted it, and out from beneath shot the form of wheaton, grimly clutching the life-ropes. they brought him in choking and breathless.

“i got it,” he said, slapping his streaming breast. “it’s all right, glenister. i knew what delay meant so i took a long chance with the surf.” the terrific ordeal he had undergone had blanched him to the lips, his legs wabbled uncertainly, and he would have fallen but for the young man, who thrust an arm about his waist and led him up into the town.

“i went before the circuit court of appeals in ’frisco,” he explained later, “and they issued orders allowing an appeal from this court and gave me a writ of supersedeas directed against old judge stillman. that takes the litigation out of his hands altogether, and directs mcnamara to turn over the midas and all the gold he’s got. what do you think of that? i did better than i expected.”

glenister wrung his hand silently while a great satisfaction came upon him. at last this waiting was over and his peaceful yielding to injustice had borne fruit; had proven the better course after all, as the girl had prophesied. he could go to her now with clean hands. the mine was his again. he would lay it at her feet, telling her once more of his love and the change it was working in him. he would make her see it, make her see that beneath the harshness his years in the wild had given him, his love for her was gentle and true and all-absorbing. he would bid her be patient till she saw he had mastered himself, till he could come with his soul in harness.

“i am glad i didn’t fight when they jumped us,” he said. “now we’ll get our property back and all the money they took out—that is, if mcnamara hasn’t salted it.”

“yes; all that’s necessary is to file the documents, then serve the judge and mcnamara. you’ll be back on anvil creek to-morrow.”

having placed their documents on record at the court-house, the two men continued to mcnamara’s office. he met them with courtesy.

“i heard you had a narrow escape this morning, mr. wheaton. too bad! what can i do for you?”

the lawyer rapidly outlined his position and stated in conclusion:

“i filed certified copies of these orders with the clerk of the court ten minutes ago, and now i make formal demand upon you to turn over the midas to messrs. glenister and dextry, and also to return all the gold-dust in your safe-deposit boxes in accordance with this writ.” he handed his documents to mcnamara, who tossed them on his desk without examination.

“well,” said the politician, quietly, “i won’t do it.”

had he been slapped in the face the attorney would not have been more astonished.

“why—you—”

“i won’t do it, i said,” mcnamara repeated, sharply. “don’t think for a minute that i haven’t gone into this fight armed for everything. writs of supersedeas! bah!” he snapped his fingers.

“we’ll see whether you’ll obey or not,” said wheaton; and when he and glenister were outside he continued:

“let’s get to the judge quick.”

as they neared the golden gate hotel they spied mcnamara entering. it was evident that he had slipped from the rear door of his office and beaten them to the judicial ear.

“i don’t like that,” said glenister. “he’s up to something.”

so it appeared, for they were fifteen minutes in gaining access to the magistrate and then found mcnamara with him. both men were astounded at the change in stillman’s appearance. during the last month his weak face had shrunk and altered until vacillation was betrayed in every line, and he had acquired the habit of furtively watching mcnamara’s slightest movement. it seemed that the part he played sat heavily upon him.

the judge examined the papers perfunctorily, and, although his air was deliberate, his fingers made clumsy work of it. at last he said:

“i regret that i am forced to doubt the authenticity of these documents.”

“my heavens, man!” wheaton cried. “they’re certified copies of orders from your superior court. they grant the appeal that you have denied us and take the case out of your hands altogether. yes—and they order this man to surrender the mine and everything connected with it. now, sir, we want you to enforce these orders.”

stillman glanced at the silent man in the window and replied:

“you will, of course, proceed regularly and make application in court in the proper way, but i tell you now that i won’t do anything in the matter.”

wheaton stared at him fixedly until the old man snapped out:

“you say they are certified copies. how do i know they are? the signatures may all be false. maybe you signed them yourself.”

the lawyer grew very white at this and stammered until glenister drew him out of the room.

“come, come,” he said, “we’ll carry this thing through in open court. maybe his nerve will go back on him then. mcnamara has him hypnotized, but he won’t dare refuse to obey the orders of the circuit court of appeals.”

“he won’t, eh? well, what do you think he’s doing right now?” said wheaton. “i must think. this is the boldest game i ever played in. they told me things while i was in ’frisco which i couldn’t believe, but i guess they’re true. judges don’t disobey the orders of their courts of appeal unless there is power back of them.”

they proceeded to the attorney’s office, but had not been there long before slapjack simms burst in upon them.

“hell to pay!” he panted. “mcnamara’s taking your dust out of the bank.”

“what’s that?” they cried.

“i goes into the bank just now for an assay on some quartz samples. the assayer is busy, and i walk back into his room, and while i’m there in trots mcnamara in a hurry. he don’t see me, as i’m inside the private office, and i overhear him tell them to get his dust out of the vault quick.”

“we’ve got to stop that,” said glenister. “if he takes ours, he’ll take the swedes’, too. simms, you run up to the pioneer company and tell them about it. if he gets that gold out of there, nobody knows what’ll become of it. come on, bill.”

he snatched his hat and ran out of the room, followed by the others. that the loose-jointed slapjack did his work with expedition was evidenced by the fact that the swedes were close upon their heels as the two entered the bank. others had followed, sensing something unusual, and the space within the doors filled rapidly. at the disturbance the clerks suspended their work, the barred doors of the safe-deposit vault clanged to, and the cashier laid hand upon the navy colt’s at his elbow. “what’s the matter?” he cried.

“we want alec mcnamara,” said glenister.

the manager of the bank appeared, and glenister spoke to him through the heavy wire netting.

“is mcnamara in there?”

no one had ever known morehouse to lie. “yes, sir.” he spoke hesitatingly, in a voice full of the slow music of virginia. “he is in here. what of it?”

“we hear he’s trying to move that dust of ours and we won’t stand for it. tell him to come out and not hide in there like a dog.”

at these words the politician appeared beside the southerner, and the two conversed softly an instant, while the impatience of the crowd grew to anger. some one cried:

“let’s go in and drag him out,” and the rumble at this was not pleasant. morehouse raised his hand.

“gentlemen, mr. mcnamara says he doesn’t intend to take any of the gold away.”

“then he’s taken it already.”

“no, he hasn’t.”

the receiver’s course had been quickly chosen at the interruption. it was not wise to anger these men too much. although he had planned to get the money into his own possession, he now thought it best to leave it here for the present. he could come back at any time when they were off guard and get it. beyond the door against which he stood lay three hundred thousand dollars—weighed, sacked, sealed, and ready to move out of the custody of this virginian whose confidence he had tried so fruitlessly to gain.

as mcnamara looked into the angry eyes of the lean-faced men beyond the grating, he felt that the game was growing close, and his blood tingled at the thought. he had not planned on a resistance so strong and swift, but he would meet it. he knew that they hungered for his destruction and that glenister was their leader. he saw further that the man’s hatred now stared at him openly for the first time. he knew that back of it was something more than love for the dull metal over which they wrangled, and then a thought came to him.

“some of your work, eh, glenister?” he mocked. “were you afraid to come alone, or did you wait till you saw me with a lady?”

at the same instant he opened a door behind him, revealing helen chester. “you’d better not walk out with me, miss chester. this man might—well, you’re safer here, you know. you’ll pardon me for leaving you.” he hoped he could incite the young man to some rash act or word in the presence of the girl, and counted on the conspicuous heroism of his own position, facing the mob single-handed, one against fifty.

“come out,” said his enemy, hoarsely, upon whom the insult and the sight of the girl in the receiver’s company had acted powerfully.

“of course i’ll come out, but i don’t want this young lady to suffer any violence from your friends,” said mcnamara. “i am not armed, but i have the right to leave here unmolested—the right of an american citizen.” with that he raised his arms above his head. “out of my way!” he cried. morehouse opened the gate, and mcnamara strode through the mob.

it is a peculiar thing that although under fury of passion a man may fire even upon the back of a defenceless foe, yet no one can offer violence to a man whose arms are raised on high and in whose glance is the level light of fearlessness. moreover, it is safer to face a crowd thus than a single adversary.

mcnamara had seen this psychological trick tried before and now took advantage of it to walk through the press slowly, eye to eye. he did it theatrically, for the benefit of the girl, and, as he foresaw, the men fell away before him—all but glenister, who blocked him, gun in hand. it was plain that the persecuted miner was beside himself with passion. mcnamara came within an arm’s-length before pausing. then he stopped and the two stared malignantly at each other, while the girl behind the railing heard her heart pounding in the stillness. glenister raised his hand uncertainly, then let it fall. he shook his head, and stepped aside so that the other brushed past and out into the street.

wheaton addressed the banker:

“mr. morehouse, we’ve got orders and writs of one kind or another from the circuit court of appeals at ’frisco directing that this money be turned over to us.” he shoved the papers towards the other. “we’re not in a mood to trifle. that gold belongs to us, and we want it.”

morehouse looked carefully at the papers.

“i can’t help you,” he said. “these documents are not directed to me. they’re issued to mr. mcnamara and judge stillman. if the circuit court of appeals commands me to deliver it to you i’ll do it, but otherwise i’ll have to keep this dust here till it’s drawn out by order of the court that gave it to me. that’s the way it was put in here, and that’s the way it’ll be taken out.”

“we want it now.”

“well, i can’t let my sympathies influence me.”

“then we’ll take it out, anyway,” cried glenister. “we’ve had the worst of it everywhere else and we’re sick of it. come on, men.”

“stand back!—all of you!” cried morehouse. “don’t lay a hand on that gate. boys, pick your men.”

he called this last to his clerks, at the same instant whipping from behind the counter a carbine, which he cocked. the assayer brought into view a shot-gun, while the cashier and clerks armed themselves. it was evident that the deposits of the alaska bank were abundantly safeguarded.

“i don’t aim to have any trouble with you-all,” continued the southerner, “but that money stays here till it’s drawn out right.”

the crowd paused at this show of resistance, but glenister railed at them:

“come on—come on! what’s the matter with you?” and from the light in his eye it was evident that he would not be balked.

helen felt that a crisis was come, and braced herself. these men were in deadly earnest: the white-haired banker, his pale helpers, and those grim, quiet ones outside. there stood brawny, sun-browned men, with set jaws and frowning faces, and yellow-haired scandinavians in whose blue eyes danced the flame of battle. these had been baffled at every turn, goaded by repeated failure, and now stood shoulder to shoulder in their resistance to a cruel law. suddenly helen heard a command from the street and the quick tramp of men, while over the heads before her she saw the glint of rifle barrels. a file of soldiers with fixed bayonets thrust themselves roughly through the crowd at the entrance.

“clear the room!” commanded the officer.

“what does this mean?” shouted wheaton.

“it means that judge stillman has called upon the military to guard this gold, that’s all. come, now, move quick.” the men hesitated, then sullenly obeyed, for resistance to the blue of uncle sam comes only at the cost of much consideration.

“they’re robbing us with our own soldiers,” said wheaton, when they were outside.

“ay,” said glenister, darkly. “we’ve tried the law, but they’re forcing us back to first principles. there’s going to be murder here.”