“I got to find her,” said Gordon stoutly. “She depends on me. I’m the one real man she’s ever known.” “You be damned before you find her,” said Carrigan, and the light of battle flared in his eyes again. “Hold on,” interposed Carey. “You ain’t the real man she’s found. _I’m_ it!” “You are?” sneered Craig. “They tried to bury her in the West but she’s goin’ to be set free by a man who--” “Who tried to bury her in the western desert?” asked Carrigan. The other three spoke with one voice. “Her uncle!” said Carey. “Her cruel father,” said Craig. “Her older brother,” said Maurie. They turned and stared at each other, stunned. Once more they spoke in one voice. “Stung!” “I believe her.” defended Maurie. “She’s led a sad life in a convent all these years--” “In a boarding-school, you mean,” said Carey. “Wrong; a girls’ school,” said Craig. They stopped again. Light from the dim distance was coming in their eyes. * * * * * And Jac, after leaving the down-headed horse in front of her father’s hotel, stole swiftly up the stairs to her room. “Who’s there?” roared the familiar voice from Jim During’s room. “Me.” “Where’ve you been all night?” “None of yer business.” “Jac, I’m goin’ to raise the devil if you try many more of these funny tricks.” “I been out walkin’.” “All night?” “Ain’t I got a right to walk?” “Jac, why wasn’t you born a boy?” groaned old Jim, reverting to his old complaint. “Because it’s a lot more fun bein’ a girl,” said Jac, “when you’ve got the golden touch.” And she went into her room. It was hard to look at herself in the faint light and with the little round pocket mirror which had been ample for all her needs before. The glory of Cinderella was gone--quite gone! The green gown was a wretched travesty; her hair was a tumbled mass; only in her smile and her eyes there was a difference, a new light of power which, having once come to a woman, dies only with her death. Truly the victory was hers! She started to remove her clothes. It was a long task, but finally they were rolled into a small bundle and tucked into a little corner. She put on her old clothes and carefully retied the hard knot in her hair. The fairy godmother was gone. She washed the powder from her face. Cinderella once more sat in the ashes. She was rattling away at the stove, preparing to make the fire for breakfast, when a sound of singing down the road brought her to the window. There came another Three Musketeers. They were mounted--Porthos, Athos, and Aratnis. And before them walked the new D’Artagnan--Carrigan. And with one voice they sang. It should have been a sad song, for as they came closer she saw that they were battered of face and torn of clothes. Yet their song was glad. Experience, whether good or bad, makes strong men rejoice. They trooped into the dining-room. “Chow!” they thundered in unison, and Jac stepped to the door. As one man they gaped.