She arose and went to the window, unable to sit still.  Looking down the narrow gulch she saw that the mountains beyond were indistinct for it was growing dark rapidly.  Dense clouds had rolled up from the east.  A rain-drop struck the glass before her eyes, then another and another, and the hills grew misty behind the coming shower.  A traveller with a pack on his back hurried around the corner of the building and past her to the door.  At his knock, Struve, who had been watching Helen through half-shut eyes, arose and went into the other room.

“Thank Heaven, some one has come,” she thought.  The voices were deadened to a hum by the sod walls, till that of the stranger raised itself in such indignant protest that she distinguished his words.

“Oh, I’ve got money to pay my way.  I’m no dead-head.”

Shortz mumbled something back.

“I don’t care if you are closed.  I’m tired and there’s a storm coming.”

This time she heard the landlord’s refusal and the miner’s angry profanity.  A moment later she saw the traveller plodding up the trail towards town.

“What does that mean?” she inquired, as the lawyer re-entered.

“Oh, that fellow is a tough, and Shortz wouldn’t let him in.  He’s careful whom he entertains—­there are so many bad men roaming the hills.”

The German came in shortly to light the lamp, and, although she asked no further questions, Helen’s uneasiness increased.  She half listened to the stories with which Struve tried to entertain her and ate little of the excellent meal that was shortly served to them.  Struve, meanwhile, ate and drank almost greedily, and the shadowy, sinister evening crept along.  A strange cowardice had suddenly overtaken the girl; and if, at this late hour, she could have withdrawn, she would have done so gladly and gone forth to meet the violence of the tempest.  But she had gone too far for retreat; and realizing that, for the present, apparent compliance was her wisest resource, she sat quiet, answering the man with cool words while his eyes grew brighter, his skin more flushed, his speech more rapid.  He talked incessantly and with feverish gayety, smoking numberless cigarettes and apparently unconscious of the flight of time.  At last he broke off suddenly and consulted his watch, while Helen remembered that she had not heard Shortz in the kitchen for a long time.  Suddenly Struve smiled on her peculiarly, with confident cunning.  As he leered at her over the disorder between them he took from his pocket a flat bundle which he tossed to her.

“Now for the bargain, eh?”

“Ask the man to remove these dishes,” she said, as she undid the parcel with clumsy fingers.

“I sent him away two hours ago,” said Struve, arising as if to come to her.  She shrank back, but he only leaned across, gathered up the four corners of the tablecloth, and, twisting them together, carried the whole thing out, the dishes crashing and jangling as he threw his burden recklessly into the kitchen.  Then he returned and stood with his back to the stove, staring at her while she perused the contents of the papers, which were more voluminous than she had supposed.