“But you!” she objected.

“I’ll get another in ten minutes.”  Then, as they were leaving, he said:  “One other request, Cherry.  I’ll be in hiding for a time, and I must get word to Miss Chester to keep watch of her uncle, for the big fight is on at last and the boys will hang him sure if they catch him.  I owe her this last warning.  Will you send it to her?”

“I’ll do it for your sake, not for her—­no, no; I don’t mean that.  I’ll do the right thing all round.  Leave it here and I’ll see that she gets it to-morrow.  And—­Roy—­be careful of yourself.”  Her eyes were starry and in their depths lurked neither selfishness nor jealousy now, only that mysterious glory of a woman who makes sacrifice.

Together they scurried back to the stable, and yet, in that short distance, she would have been swept from her feet had he not seized her.  They blew in through the barn door, streaming and soaked by the blinding sheets that drove scythe-like ahead of the wind.  He struck a light, and the pony whinnied at recognition of his mistress.  She stroked the little fellow’s muzzle while Glenister cinched on her saddle.  Then, when she was at last mounted, she leaned forward: 

“Will you kiss me once, Roy, for the last time?”

He took her rain-wet face between his hands and kissed her upon the lips as he would have saluted a little maid.  As he did so, unseen by both of them, a face was pressed for an instant against the pane of glass in the stable wall.

“You’re a brave girl and may God bless you,” he said, extinguishing the light.  He flung the door wide and she rode out into the storm.  Locking the portal, he plunged back towards the house to write his hurried note, for there was much to do and scant time for its accomplishment, despite the helping hand of the hurricane.  He heard the voice of Bering as it thundered on the Golden Sands, and knew that the first great storm of the fall had come.  Henceforth he saw that the violence of men would rival the rising elements, for the deeds of this night would stir their passions as AEolus was rousing the hate of the sea.

He neglected to bolt the house door as he entered, but flung off his dripping coat and, seizing pad and pencil, scrawled his message.  The wind screamed about the cabin, the lamp flared smokily, and Glenister felt a draught suck past him as though from an open door at his back as he wrote: 

“I can’t do anything more.  The end has come and it has brought the hatred and bloodshed that I have been trying to prevent.  I played the game according to your rules, but they forced me back to first principles in spite of myself, and now I don’t know what the finish will be.  To-morrow will tell.  Take care of your uncle, and if you should wish to communicate with me, go to Cherry Malotte.  She is a friend to both of us.

 “Always your servant, Roy Glenister.”