proffered hand, nodding her thanks. When they reached the small tableland at Hell's Goblet they came suddenly not only upon Steele's burnt out camp fire, but upon Turk Wilson and Bill Rice and Steele himself. The two recently discharged Little Giant men were squatting on their heels, smoking with every appearance of considerable enjoyment of the moment. Steele standing, the sun in his hair, his eyes mirthful and shining, waved his own pipe widely as he came forward, shouting in that big voice of his to vie with the boom of the water:
"The Queen! Your majesty is welcome, welcome as water on the desert. You honour our poor abode; the skyey roof for our house should be vaster and bluer, the woodland columns more massive. The Queen!"
Purposely had Beatrice mounted slowly to this plateau, meaning to bring cool cheeks and regular breathing to testify to Bill Steele that he had made never a dent in the smooth armour of her serenity. But the blood of Beatrice Corliss was red blood that ran swiftly, and as again she read in his greeting impudent mockery of the place she had made for herself in the world, her cheeks reddened to her ready anger.
Steele saw and laughed from the depths of his intolerable good humour and put out his big hand as still he came forward. Beatrice whipped her own behind her, her head lifted. But before she could speak or Steele so much as laugh again his eyes had passed from her to her companions. Without warning she saw the light change in his eyes, the careless good humour go
