"Louisiana!" she gasped. "You! You are Louisiana?" CHAPTER XXI GOLD SEEKERS Puzzled, but watchful and alert, De Launay saw her retreating, sensing the terrible change that had come over her. "Yes, I am Louisiana," he said. "What is the matter?" In answer she laughed, while one hand went to the breast of her shirtwaist and the other reached behind her, groping for something as she paced backward. Like a cameo in chalk her features were set and the writhing flames in her hair called up an image of Medusa. There was no change in expression, but through her parted lips broke a low laugh, terrible in its utter lack of feeling. "And I have for my husband--Louisiana! _Quelle farce!_" The hand at her breast was withdrawn and in it fluttered the yellow paper that Wilding had brought from Maryville to Wallace's ranch. She flung it toward him, and as he stooped to pick it up, her groping hand fell on the pistol resting on the upturned log at the side of the bunk. She drew it around in front of her, dropped the holster at her side and snapped the safety down. Her thumb rested on the hammer and she stood still, tensely waiting. De Launay read the notice of reward swiftly and looked up. His face was stern, but otherwise expressionless. "Well?" he demanded, his eyes barely resting on the pistol before they swept to meet her own blazing gaze. There was no depth to her eyes now. Instead they seemed to be fire surrounded by black rims. "You have read--murderer!" "I have read it." De Launay's voice was like his face, and in both appeared a trace of contempt. "What have you to say before I kill you?" "That you would have shot before now had you been able to do it," answered De Launay, and now the note of contempt was deeper. He turned his back to her and leaned forward over the fire, one outstretched hand upon the stone slab that formed the rude mantel. The girl stood there immobile. The hand that held the pistol was not raised nor lowered. The thumb did not draw back the hammer. But over her face came, gradually, a change; a desperate sorrow, an abandonment of hope. Even the light in her hair that had made it a flaming wheel seemed in some mysterious way to die down. The terrible fire in her eyes went out as though drowned in rising tears. A sob burst from her lips and her breast heaved. De Launay gazed down upon the fire, and his face was bitter as though he tasted death. Solange slowly reached behind her again and dropped the heavy weapon upon the log. Then, in a choked voice she struggled to call out: "Monsieur Wallace! Will you come?" In the next room there was a stirring of hasty movements. Sucatash raised a cheery and incongruous voice. "Just a minute, mad'mo'selle! I'm comin' a-runnin'." He stamped into his boots and flung the door open, disheveled, shirt open at the neck. Astonished, he took in the strange attitudes of the others. "What's the answer?" he asked. "What was it you wanted, ma'am?"