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Updated: June 13, 2025
When she dared look again to the roof the fugitives were gone. She thought she perceived them swarming up a ladder to the higher roof, but in the surrounding grayness she could not be sure of this. The stamping of feet inside the house continued. Once there was the sound of an exploding revolver. After a long time a heavy figure struggled into view through the roof-trap. It was Dunke himself.
"I'm about all in, what with hunger and all I been through. I thought I was out of my head when I heard you holler." He snatched up the candle from the place where he had set it and searched her face by its flame. "How come you down here? You didn't come alone. What you doin' here?" he demanded suspiciously. "I came down with Mr. Dunke and a, friend to look over his mine.
He was dressed roughly enough in corduroy and miner's half-leg boots, but these were of the most expensive material and cut. His cold gray eye and thin lips denied the manner of superficial heartiness he habitually carried. If one scratched the veneer of good nature it was to find a hard selfishness that went to his core. "It's Mr. Dunke!" the young school-teacher cried aloud in surprise.
Dunke fell back into the mob, a shot rang out into the night, and the crowd swayed forward. But at that instant the door behind Fraser swung open. A frightened voice sounded in his ear. "Quick, Steve!" The ranger slewed his head, gave an exclamation of surprise, and hurriedly threw his prisoner into the open passage. "Back, Larry! Lively, my boy!" he ordered.
Collins if you like. But you got to listen to what I say." Another candle glimmered dimly in the tunnel and came toward them. It presently stopped, and a voice rolled along the vault. "Hello, there!" Margaret would have known that voice anywhere among a thousand. Now it came to her sweet as water after a drought. She slipped past Dunke and ran stumbling through the darkness to its source. "Mr.
"No, it ain't. It's your old pal, Nick Struve. Ain't you glad to see him, Joe?" Dunke looked him over without a word. His thin lips set and his gaze grew wall-eyed. The candle passed from right to left hand. Struve laughed evilly. "No, I'm not going to pay you that way not yet; nor you ain't going to rid yourself of me either. Want to know why, Mr. Millionaire Dunke, what used to be my old pal?
With that Dunke turned on his heel and was gone. But his contempt for the ruffian he had cowed was too fearless. He would have thought so if he could have known of the shadow that dogged his heels through the tunnel, if he could have seen the bare fangs that had gained Struve his name of "Wolf," if he could have caught the flash of the knife that trembled in the eager hand.
"I mean that I kept the letter you wrote me seven years ago, and have put it where it will do you no good if anything happens to me. That's why you won't draw that gun, Joe Dunke. If you do it will send you to Yuma. Millionaire you may be, but that won't keep you from wearing stripes." Struve's voice rang exultantly.
I'll get some fruit to take along," said Margaret. "We'll make a regular picnic of it," added Dunke heartily. "You'll enjoy eating out of a dinner-pail for once just like one of my miners, Miss Kinney," After he had gone Margaret mentioned to Mrs. Collins her feeling concerning him. "I don't really like him. Or rather I don't give him my full confidence. He seems pleasant enough, too."
Dunke, that you are now looking for to murder!" She gave it to him straight from the shoulder, her eyes holding his steadily. "Struve?" he gasped, taken completely aback. "No, not Struve. The man who stood beside Lieutenant Fraser, the one you threatened to kill because he backed the law." "I guess you don't know all the facts, Miss Kinney."
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