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"I didn't think about the woman," said the trader, a trifle disconcerted, whereupon Runnion gave vent to an ironical sneer. "But here's your girl and this man ahead of us. I suppose there's others on the way, too." "Nonsense!" Burrell cut in. "Don't quarrel about this.
I've got twenty men at work, and I'll know before long. You heard about Runnion, of course?" "Yes; the usual story the bad men get the good mines, and the good ones get the hungry spots. Well, I might have been one of the unfortunates if I had staked for myself; but I hardly think so, I'm pretty lucky." He laughingly bade them good-night, content with himself and at peace with the world.
Runnion only as far as the Mission. I dare say you can tolerate me until then, can you not?" She said this bitingly. "Stark told me to board the first boat for St. Michael's," he said, disregarding her sarcasm, "but I've made a few plans of my own the last hour or so." "St. Michael's! Mr. Stark told you why, that's impossible! You misunderstood him. He told you to row me to the Mission.
"None of your damned business," the man answered, grinning. "Be sure it isn't," retorted the Lieutenant, "because it would please me right down to the ground if it were. I'd like to get you." "I'm glad we understand each other," Runnion said, and turned to oversee the unloading of his freight, falling into conversation with the stranger, who had been surveying the town without leaving the boat.
My name is Runnion." And until the steamer was hidden behind the bend below they saw him standing there gazing back at them fixedly. As Burrell left the two men at the store, he gave his hand frankly to the French-Canadian, and said, while his cheeks flushed: "I want to thank you for saving me from my own awkwardness."
Runnion addressed the other conspirators loudly. "Well, boys, there are three good claims open for relocation. I'm sorry I can't stake one of them." "They won't lie open long," said one of the undesirable citizens, starting to turn down-stream while his two companions made for the opposite direction. But Burrell stopped them. "Too late, boys. Your little game went wrong. Now! Now!
He ceased rowing and let the boat drift with dragging sweeps, filled his pipe and lighted it, then took up his oars again and resumed his labors. "Please do as I ask you, Mr. Runnion. I've decided I don't want to go any farther." He laughed, and the sound aroused her. "Put me ashore this minute!" she cried, indignantly. "What do you mean?" "You've got a fierce temper, haven't you?"
He strove to keep the image of Runnion out of his mind, for his reason could not endure it. At such times he cried aloud, cursing in a way that was utterly strange to a God-fearing man, only to break off and rush to the other extreme, praying blindly, beseechingly, for the girl's safe-keeping.
He say dere's joke down on Stark's saloon dat Necia Gale is mak' fool of herse'f on you, an' dat you ain' care for marry her." "Runnion!" cried Burrell, and started for the door. "I'll settle with him now for fair!"
He had loved a bit and gambled much, with equal misfortune, and the next day he had forgotten. He had lived the free, clean life of a man who wins joyously or goes down with defiance in his throat, but this venomous thing that Runnion had planted in him had seeped and circulated through his being until every fibre was penetrated with a bitter poison.
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