“I know—­I know,” said Glenister, hastily, at the same time stopping an unintelligible protest from the girl.  “You’ve said enough.”  He straightened his slightly stooping shoulders and looked at the unopened package wearily, then slipped the rubber band from it, and, separating the contents, tore them up—­one by one—­tore them into fine bits without hurry or ostentation, and tossed the fragments away, while the woman began to sob softly, the sound of her relief alone disturbing the silence.  And so he gave her his enemy, making his offer gamely, according to his code.

“You’re right—­the work is done.  And now, I’m very tired.”

They left him standing there, the glory of the dying day illumining his lean, brown features, the vision of a great loneliness in his weary eyes.

He did not rouse himself till the sky before him was only a curtain of steel, pencilled with streaks of soot that lay close down above the darker sea.  Then he sighed and said, aloud: 

“So this is the end, and I gave him to her with these hands”—­he held them out before him curiously, becoming conscious for the first time that the left one was swollen and discolored and fearfully painful.  He noted it with impersonal interest, realizing its need of medical attention—­so left the cabin and walked down into the city.  He encountered Dextry and Simms on the way, and they went with him, both flowing with the gossip of the camp.

“Lord, but you’re the talk of the town,” they began.  “The curio hunters have commenced to pull Struve’s office apart for souvenirs, and the Swedes want to run you for Congress as soon as ever we get admitted as a State.  They say that at collar-an’-elbow holts you could lick any of them Eastern senators and thereby rastle out a lot of good legislation for us cripples up here.”

“Speakin’ of laws goes to show me that this here country is gettin’ too blamed civilized for a white man,” said Simms, pessimistically, “and now that this fight is ended up it don’t look like there would be anything doin’ fit to claim the interest of a growed-up person for a long while.  I’m goin’ west.”

“West!  Why, you can throw a stone into Bering Strait from here,” said Roy, smiling.

“Oh, well, the world’s round.  There’s a schooner outfittin’ for Sibeery—­two years’ cruise.  Me an’ Dex is figgerin’ on gettin’ out towards the frontier fer a spell.”

“Sure!” said Dextry.  “I’m beginnin’ to feel all cramped up hereabouts owin’ to these fillymonarch orchestras an’ French restarawnts and such discrepancies of scenery.  They’re puttin’ a pavement on Front Street and there’s a shoe-shinin’ parlor opened up.  Why, I’d like to get where I could stretch an’ holler without disturbin’ the pensiveness of some dude in a dress suit.  Better come along, Roy; we can sell out the Midas.”

“I’ll think it over,” said the young man.

The night was bright with a full moon when they left the doctor’s office.  Roy, in no mood for the exuberance of his companions, parted from them, but had not gone far before he met Cherry Malotte.  His head was low and he did not see her till she spoke.