With a feeling of sickness pervading all her being, she was glad to have Bostwick take her home.

It was late when at last the street was clear, and Van could finally make his escape from danger and returning friends.  Dave by then had found himself; that is, he made his way, thus tardily, to the horseman’s side—­and the two went at length to their dinner.

At half-past eight, with the moon well up, Dave and Van were ready for departure.  Their horses were saddled.  One extra animal was packed with needed provisions for the crew on the “Laughing Water” claim.  Van had ordered all he could for Queenie’s final journey—­the camp’s best possible funeral, which he could not remain to attend.  There was nothing to do but to mount and ride away, but—­Beth was down at Mrs. Dick’s.

Resistance was useless.  Bidding Dave wait with the horses at the yard.  Van made his way around through the shadows of the houses, and coming out upon a rocky hill, a little removed from the boarding place, was startled to see Beth abruptly rise before him.

The house had oppressed her—­and the moon had called.  Bostwick, in alarm concerning possible disaster to the plans he had made with McCoppet, now that Culver was dead, had gone to seek the gambler out and ascertain the status of affairs.

CHAPTER XXII

TWO MEETINGS AFTER DARK

For a moment neither Beth nor Van could speak.  The girl, like a startled moon-sprite, wide-eyed and grave, had taken on a mood of beauty such as the man had never seen.  She seemed to him strangely fragile, a trifle pale, but wholly exquisite, enchanting.

No signs were on her face, but she had wept—­hot, angry tears, within the hour.  And here was the cause of them all!  She had wished he would come—­and feared he would come, as conflicting emotions possessed her.  Now that he stood here, with moonlight on half of his face, her thoughts were all unmarshaled.

Van presently spoke.

“I’m a kid, after all.  I couldn’t go away without—­this.”

“I wish you had!  I wish you had!” she answered, at his smile.  “I wish I had never seen you in the world!”

His heart was sore for jesting, but he would not change his way.

“If not in the world, where would you have wished to see me, then?”

“I never wished to see you at all!” she replied.  “Your joke has gone too far.  You have utterly mistaken my sense of gratitude.”

“Guess not,” he said.  “I haven’t looked for gratitude—­nor wanted it, either.”

“You had no right!” she continued.  “You have said things—­done things—­you have taken shameful advantage—­you have treated me like—­I suppose like—­that other—­that other——­ You dared!”

Van’s face took on an expression of hardness, to mask the hurt of his heart.

“Who says so?” he demanded quietly.  “You know better.”