“At the Crossing.”

The Countess turned back down the trail and Pierce followed her.  “I’ll settle this Royal,” he declared, furiously.

“Danny’s a bad boy,” Lucky Broad warned, falling into step.  “If old Sam told him to hold a buzz-saw in his lap he’d do it.  Maybe there wouldn’t be much left of Danny, but he’d of hugged it some while he lasted.”

Little more was said during the swift return to the river.  It was not a pleasant journey, for the trail was miserable, the mud was deep, and there was a steady upward flow of traffic which it was necessary to stem.  There were occasional interruptions to this stream, for here and there horses were down and a blockade had resulted.  Behind it men lay propped against logs or tree-trunks, resting their tired frames and listening apathetically to the profanity of the horse-owners.  Rarely did any one offer to lend a helping hand, for each man’s task was equal to his strength.  In one place a line of steers stood belly deep in the mire, waiting the command to plow forward.

Broken carts, abandoned vehicles of various patterns, lined the way; there were many swollen carcasses underfoot, and not infrequently pedestrians crossed mud-holes by stepping from one to another, holding their breaths and battling through swarms of flies.  Much costly impedimenta strewed the roadside—­each article a milestone of despair, a monument to failure.  There were stoves, camp furniture, lumber, hardware, boat fittings.  The wreckage and the wastage of the stampede were enormous, and every ounce, every dollar’s worth of it, spoke mutely of blasted hopes.  Now and then one saw piles of provisions, some of which had been entirely abandoned.  The rains had ruined most of them.

When the Countess came to her freight she paused.  “You said Royal was loading his men when you left?” She faced Broad inquiringly.

“Right!”

“Then he’ll soon be along.  We’ll wait here.”  Of Phillips she asked, “Do you carry a gun?”

Pierce shook his head.  “What are you going to do?” He could see that she was boiling inwardly, and although his own anger had increased at every moment during the return journey, her question caused him genuine apprehension.

Avoiding a direct answer, the woman said:  “If Royal is with the Indians, you keep your eye on him.  I want to talk to them.”

“Don’t inaugurate any violent measures,” Mr. Broad cautioned, nervously.  “Danny’s a sudden sort of a murderer.  Of course, if worse comes to worst, I’ll stick, but—­my rating in the community ain’t A 1.  There’s a lot of narrow-minded church members would like to baptize me at high tide.  As if that would get their money back!”

A suggestion of a smile crept to the Countess’ lips and she said, “I knew you’d stick when I hired you.”  Then she seated herself upon a box.

Danny Royal did accompany his packers.  He did so as a precaution against precisely such a coup as he himself had engineered, and in order to be doubly secure he brought the head Indian with him.  The old tribesman had rebelled mildly, but Royal had been firm, and in consequence they were the first two to appear when the procession came out of the woods.