tracting my circle, I made new circuits, still finding no recent footsteps, until, at last, I came to the very tent door.

The fire was still unlighted-had evidently been so for hours. Then, in a somewhat undefinable apprehension of encountering an unpleasant sight, I peeped through the partially closed doorway of the tent-thence felt encouraged to throw the curtain entirely back, and enter.

The boy was lying upon an old pile of blankets and sacking which constituted his bed, and which was somewhat imperfectly protected from the wet ground by a few layers of pine needles. He was so motionless at first, that he might have been asleep or dead, but revived a little as I coughed. A moment more, and with difficulty he scrambled into a sitting posture. Then I noticed how wan and thin and pale he had become -almost starved in appearance-at the very door of death, it might be, if one could judge from the way his poor body shivered and shook beneath the thin blanket feebly held around his shoulders. It was not starvation as yet; it was not death; but it was the next thing leading to it-extreme physical and nervous weakness, engendered by watchful ness, anxiety, solitude, and privation. His eyes gleamed out of his pinched face almost as of a hunted wild beast, and the tangled, uncut locks that hung over his forehead and through which he gazed did not at all diminish the similitude. Looking down at him, I now felt no triumph as over a fallen foeonly pity for his miserable condition. Had I realized it, there could have been little difference in my own condition. The old blanket feebly held around my shoulders in place of a coat, my shrivelled flesh and tangled locks-all were there, excepting that, as yet, the weak, sickly, deathlike aspect had not found me out. That might come, perhaps, before long, if matters continued as they were; but at present it was the boy who seemed to need all the sympathy.

“Well, Charley," I said, in a kindly tone. "I am sick; I suppose I am going to die. You have conquered. You will have it all your own way soon."

"Not yet, Charley. Nor should I wish to win in such a manner as this. But first let us see what we can do for you."

With that I stirred around, and rekindled the fire in front of the tent, and made a cupful of coffee, which I put to the boy's lips; got out a biscuit or two for him, and in that way somewhat revived his failing strength. Then I sat down beside him for conversation.

"For I don't see, Charley, why we can't have a little talk together, and perhaps, after all, we can settle matters agreeably. For there must be some reason in you, if one could get at it; and even a compromise of our claims will be better than to wait here and starve to death; and that should be sufficient for you, since I can't, for the life of me, see why you should hold out so stubbornly, or what that grave yonder may be to you, that you should have any sentiment about it. And yet, all the same, it may possibly be-now, tell me, Charley, is there any real reason for your acting as you do? I mean, anything independent of the gold, and of your wanting it all for yourself? You needn't tell me what it is; but is it something that would seem all right and proper to me if I knew it? something, too, that would make me feel mean if I took advantage of you now, as of course you know very well I could if I felt so inclined?"

He nodded. It was his only answer; but there seemed a kind of wistfulness in his expression, as though wishing that he could tell me everything; and that, not being able to do so, he would fain have me believe and trust him all the same. It set me thinking, and moved me more than anything else, all the time wondering a little that I felt myself so ready to relent. For many long weeks I had waited for this moment. It was the moment of victory; for, in his feeble state, I could not possibly longer apprehend opposition by him. He would probably die; but if he did not, he could no more frustrate me. Whether he lived or died, it now depended only on myself whether I should take the gold or leave it alone. But, all the same, I felt myself relenting from my purpose.

"It is a queer thing for me to do, Charley," I said. "It's rather weak in me, I supposemust even seem weak to you-and, of course, I don't even know the circumstances of the case, nor ever shall. But that's neither here nor there. All I've got to say now is, that as you have so much feeling about it-Iwell, I'll give in to you and have done with it."

"You mean it, sir?” "Sure as I live, Charley. You said a moment ago that I had it all my own way. So But, somehow, I don't like to take a piece of good luck in such a style as that. If you were well and strong, we might still fight it out; but now that you are sick, it would be a kind of mean thing-and there must be other chances of good luck in the world for all of us, I suppose—and so-let the infernal old gold go, then, Charley. I'll give it up, rather than fight for it against anyone who can't stand up for himself against me. So all we've got to do is to see how we can get out of this place alive, and pass the rest of the winter among Christian people again. Let us put our forces together for a clear and early start tomorrow. In a couple of days it will be Christmas. This is no place for us to keep the day in, is it? Let us get out of it as soon as we can, and perhaps, with good luck, we may yet eat our Christmas dinner among civilized beings. And now, how much provision have you?" He had a little flour left, about three pounds of dried beef, and a box of sardines. I had about double the amount of flour, some pork and crackers, and a pound or two of tobacco. All was soon arranged. There was enough between us for a journey of three or four days. In less than that time we might plod through the intervening mud and snow, and reach the nearest mining camp. We must sleep out at night, but a spell of warm weather had evidently set in, and we had three blankets between us, beneath which we could huddle quite comfortably. Our tents and all our equipments must, of course, be left behind, but that was a small sacrifice compared with the necessity of saving our lives by a speedy retreat. I

would come over for him early in the morning, and together we would start off amicably upon our route.

All this having been arranged, I returned to my own tent and made my preparations. This was soon done, consisting of putting up provisions for a few days in the most portable shape, and sorting out my warmest clothing. After that I thought I would stroll off for a mile or so, and take an observation of the route in advance; to learn at first whether there was any chance of the snow having obliterated or confused the trail, and then how far the thaw had as yet made the footing difficult.

For the warm spell, though it had so far lasted only a day, had already softened the snow, and in some places the frost had oozed out of the hardened crust of the earth, making progress somewhat difficult. But after toiling on for about half a mile, I discovered with some satisfaction that the mule path was still intact, and that, in any event, the ineffaceable landmarks of mountain and forest would amply serve, as heretofore, to point out the route. I therefore started to return to my own tent, diverging a little from my former path, so as to give myself the advantage of a thorough examination of the neighborhood.

It was now dark, and for a few hundred yards I stumbled on with very little knowledge of my new direction, except as I knew by certain landmarks that I was approaching my own tent. Suddenly there came a rift in the clouds, and the broad face of the full moon shone down, turning the gloom into light-into dazzling brightness, indeed, as the white rays gleamed down upon the glittering snow, making the whole scene distinct almost as at noonday. Then I was a little startled to see that in my somewhat random divergence, had unwittingly come up to the gambler's grave from behind, and was at that very moment standing directly upon it. It seemed as though it must be a fated spot for me, so often hitherto visited by me through some sort of uncontrollable fascination, and now again drawing me resistlessly to itself, when I had so honestly determined

not to think about it any more. Here, as elsewhere, of course, there was a bed of three or four inches of snow, hiding so much deeper the dead man and the gold he guarded; and here, as elsewhere, also, the glittering crust was softening and melting away. The heretofore dry channel of the stream was now beginning to show the result of the melting in other places, for a small current of water was slowly working its way down the center of the bed, and even as I gazed, it seemed to increase in volume. If so, it must come from the distant Sierras, whose deep snows, if suddenly released, would be sufficient for a flood.

For a few moments I stood still, and wondered whether the stream were really increasing; and if so, whether it were not the most prudent measure for me to arouse Charley, so that we might begin our journey at once, and gain a few hours before the swelling of other streams made the country impassable. Then, all at once, I heard a sharp cry from the direction of his tent, and clearly outlined against the snow I saw a small, weak, and tattered figure scarcely forty feet off, and urging his way excitedly towards me. In that desolation of life all around, it could be only one person; nor amid a hundred others could that thin, unkempt, disjointed, half-clad figure, with its single torn blanket bound about it, be mistaken for that of any one else.

"I have you now," cried the boy, drawing nearer with tottering pace, yet rapidly, as inspired with insane passion, and throwing his voice before him with an almost unearthly yell. "I have you at last! You promised that you would play me fair, and you have deceived me! I knew that you would try to deceive me, and I have watched you. I told you that if you undertook it, I would shoot you down in your tracks, and so I will!"

Stimulated by that wild fury, without which it is doubtful whether he could have even walked with more than feeble tottering, he crossed the bed of the stream, and stood at last upon the grave within six feet of me. And I saw that he held one of Mark Sintley's pistols in his hand, and that his eyes.

were glaring with insane, murderous passion. It was evident that he did not realize what he was doing-that long privation, and solitude, and brooding over his fancied wrongs had at last, for the moment, perverted his reason; that, under some wild, unwarrantable suspicion of unfair play, he had followed me; and that now he had thrown aside ail self-control, in his desire for revenge. It seemed scarcely worth while to attempt arguing with him, and yet for the instant I did so.

"Put up your pistol, Charley. No one has injured you. I am here only through accident. We will both go away tomorrow. You will think better of me when we are gone from here. Put up your pistol, I say!"

"Will you not fight?" was his mad cry. "I might shoot you down like a dog, but will give you a chance. Not that you deserve it; and yet

Put up your pistol, I say!" was my response. "I have no weapon here, nor if I had would I use it. Are you mad? Can you not see that I am your friend-that "—

While I spoke the pistol was still pointed at me, and seemingly with more deliberate aim than before; then slowly began to lower, then exploded, and I fell, a sharp sensation shooting through my leg, like the touch of a red-hot iron. With every effort, I could not repress a cry of pain. In an instant the pistol fell from the boy's hand, the angry passion faded from his face, as with return of reason, and he threw himself on his knees beside me.

"I did

"You are not hurt?" he cried. not mean it—indeed I did not. I was already trying not to fire. It seemed to go off by itself. I—”

"No, Charley," I gasped; "I do not think you meant it. A mere flesh wound, I hope. I shall be better shortly. It may put off our journey for a day or two; that is all. Leave me here and go back to your tent. I shall not mind it, for it is warm. Tomorrow you may come again, and help me to my own tent. I shall then be better able to move."

"I will not leave you at all," he cried, sob

Then, as I looked, there came a new and startling suggestion. At first it seemed to dawn upon me with a slow approach, as of a thing not even to be allowed a thought except in some stealthy, irregular way; then suddenly it flashed upon me in full-gathered intensity, as though I had reached the brink of a discovery which not only I, but every one else, should have perceived from the very first. There was no reason, indeed, that we should ever have done so, never having looked upon other than that wretched disguise of coarse, ill-fitting attire, inclosing a soul attuned to rebellion against the whole world, and doubtless inflamed with frequent discontent. But now the hand of death had affixed the seal of new expression to the whole face, softening every line, and bring ing back into each feature something that spoke of sweet memories of a long-forgotten, happy past. Something in the curve of the lip and the still lingering softness of the eye; something in the outline of the head, whose shape was not altogether hidden by those short, tangled locks-how plain and undisguised it all seemed now! Could I longer doubt? Yet, for a moment, I still paused upon the brink, trying to shut out from my perception the light of the fast-dawning truth. Then a thread around the neck, just peeping into sight from above the tattered vest, attracted me. Without much effort I drew it forth, and at the end a small gold locket. It opened with a spring. Within was the portrait of a beautiful young girl, bright-eyed and full-lipped, and with light brown curls clustering around the soft, white neck. Who could ever have thought that it was the likeness of the poor, faded victim who lay lifeless beside me? And yet, as I compared the two, I could see that there was sufficient similarity left to mark the identity. Doubtless, at the first, Mark Sintley had worn the locket; it was, perhaps, the earliest gage of her love. Perhaps, as his passion for her had wasted away, he had left off wearing it; possibly, he had faithfully kept it to the end, and she was now retaining it, not as a mere

that was not impossible, but as a tender memory of him. Ah, me! it is a cruel and a heartless world, and in its wretchedness so filled with startling surprises. By what strange fascination had the destroyer lured such beauty-for I could see, even amid the waste of all, that there had been beauty in no sparing degree-from her home and kindred, to carry her away with him into these desert wilds, even here to be obliged to take upon herself an ignoble disguise, so as to avoid, as much as possible, any chance of recognition? It could not have been very long ago. Somewhere in the world there were probably a mother and sisters still mourning for her, and vainly hoping for her return in penitence. And here she lay, stark and dead, beneath the pitiless staring of the sun, with no one to tell her name, or press one farewell kiss upon her upturned face; destined, perhaps, to lie there for months to come, hopelessly awaiting the burial that even a pauper outcast gains from his fellow man.

I put the locket in my pocket. Some day, I thought, I might succeed in tracing out her friends, and could then restore it to them, with the story of her death-a bitter story, indeed, but still one that should be told, if possible, so that the long uncertainty about her fate might at last be ended. And then, again, I struck my forehead wildly, aghast with the one terrible reflection that forced itself upon me, known indistinctly before, of course, but not until that moment fully realized. What chance could there ever be for me to go about the world, and search for the mourning kindred of the poor, dead girl? How long could be the remaining tenure of my own life, now that I was bereft of even her feeble aid? A ruined man, almost unable to move, ten miles from any other human being, lying in mid-winter upon a snow-bank, without food, and with such insufficient covering from the cold! Even were I able to crawl slowly along the ground, enduring all the while that ever-increasing torture from my wound, how could I hope to regain my tent, that fast-swelling stream rolling the angry torrent between? And even if,