Janice laughed. "I tell you what it is," she observed, not at all shaken by the young man's remark, "I shouldn't want to feel that there wasn't something in life to get by going after it." "'By going after it?'" repeated the young man, in some puzzlement. "Yes. You say I'd be an uncomfortable comrade. And I expect you're right. Especially for a downright _lazy_ person." "Oh, oh!" he cried. "That was a hard hit." "You're not really lazy, you know," she pursued, coolly. "You only haven't been 'woke up' yet." "I believe that's worse than your former statement," he cried, rather ruefully now. "I suppose I _do_ drift with the current." "Well!" "What kind of a fellow do you expect to marry, Janice?" he asked, with a twinkle in his eye. "Why, I'll tell you," said the girl, practically and without a shadow of false modesty. "I expect a man to prove himself good for something in the world before he even _asks_ me to marry him." "Goodness me! he must be a millionaire, or president, or something like that?" chuckled Nelson. "Nothing at all so great," she returned, with some heat. "I don't care if he's right down _poor_, if only he has been successful in accomplishing some really hard thing--something that shows the metal he's made of. No namby-pamby young man for me. No, sir! They can keep away," and Janice ended her rather serious speech with a laugh and a toss of her head. "I shall bear your strictures in mind, Miss Day," declared Haley, with mock gravity. "I see very plainly what you mean. The young St. George who wears your colors must have slain his dragon." "At least," Janice returned, softly, "he must have shown his willingness to kill the horrid thing." The short winter day was already drawing to a close when the telegraph sounder began to call the station. Marty ran out at once and brought back the operator. He was quickly in communication with one of the great New York papers and found that it was over the paper's private wire that first authentic news from the Granadas district had arrived in the East. The posse from Cida had found everything peaceful about the mines. The guerrilla leader, Raphele, had decamped. There had been an execution on the day John Makepiece had fled from the place; but the victims were some unfortunate Indians. The bandit had not dared kill the remaining American prisoner. Mr. Broxton Day had managed to get into a shaft of the mine and there had lain hidden until Raphele, and his gang, had departed. Now he had gathered some of his old employees, and armed them with rifles hidden all these months in the mine, and the property was once more under Mr. Day's control and properly guarded. Through the posse, Mr. Day made a statement to the newspapers, and to his friends and fellow-stockholders of the mine, in the States. To Janice, too, he sent a brief message of love and good cheer, stating that letters to her were already in the mail.