mingling of vivid rose and mellow gold over the edge of the world.  It was night and yet day, and Alan wondered what thoughts were in the heart of Mary Standish.  What had driven her to the Range was of small importance compared with the thrilling fact that she was just ahead of him.  The mystery of her would be explained tomorrow.  He was sure of that.  She would confide in him.  Now that she had so utterly placed herself under his protection, she would tell him what she had not dared to disclose aboard the Nome.  So he thought only of the silvery distance of twilight that separated them, and spoke at last to Stampede.

“I’m rather glad you brought her,” he said.

“I didn’t bring her,” protested Stampede.  “She came.”  He shrugged his shoulders with a grunt.  “And furthermore I didn’t manage it.  She did that herself.  She didn’t come with me.  I came with her.”

He stopped and struck a match to light his pipe.  Over the tiny flame he glared fiercely at Alan, but in his eyes was something that betrayed him.  Alan saw it and felt a desire to laugh out of sheer happiness.  His keen vision and sense of humor were returning.

“How did it happen?”

Stampede puffed loudly at his pipe, then took it from his mouth and drew in a deep breath.

“First I remember was the fourth night after we landed at Cordova.  Couldn’t get a train on the new line until then.  Somewhere up near Chitina we came to a washout.  It didn’t rain.  You couldn’t call it that, Alan.  It was the Pacific Ocean falling on us, with two or three other oceans backing it up.  The stage came along, horses swimming, coach floating, driver half drowned in his seat.  I was that hungry I got in for Chitina.  There was one other climbed in after me, and I wondered what sort of fool he was.  I said something about being starved or I’d have hung to the train.  The other didn’t answer.  Then I began to swear.  I did, Alan.  I cursed terrible.  Swore at the Government for building such a road, swore at the rain, an’ I swore at myself for not bringin’ along grub.  I said my belly was as empty as a shot-off cartridge, and I said it good an’ loud.  I was mad.  Then a big flash of lightning lit up the coach.  Alan, it was her sittin’ there with a box in her lap, facing me, drippin’ wet, her eyes shining—­and she was smiling at me!  Yessir, smiling.”

Stampede paused to let the shock sink in.  He was not disappointed.

Alan stared at him in amazement.  “The fourth night—­after—­” He caught himself.  “Go on, Stampede!”

“I began hunting for the latch on the door, Alan.  I was goin’ to sneak out, drop in the mud, disappear before the lightnin’ come again.  But it caught me.  An’ there she was, undoing the box, and I heard her saying she had plenty of good stuff to eat.  An’ she called me Stampede, like she’d known me all her life, and with that coach rolling an’ rocking and the thunder an’ lightning an’ rain