"Oh, Auntie,--he's in town. He is coming out and--and I am going to marry him. Yes, I am! Tomorrow, if he'll let me. I ought not to be so happy, I know. It is terrible, with so much grief and sorrow over at--But I can't help it! I never was so happy in my life--never!" Rushing up to the waiting taxi, the boy thrust the letter in through the open door. It was seized by a big, eager hand. An instant later the owner of that hand was out on the ground, reading the missive by the light of a forward lamp. He was not long in getting to the end. Thrusting the precious letter into his overcoat pocket, he sprang to the door of the cab, jerked out a heavy suitcase and a small black satchel, which he deposited unceremoniously on the sidewalk, and then dug down into his trousers' pocket for a handful of bills, one of which he pressed into the small boy's hand. Then, turning to the driver, the tall, impetuous fare clapped another into his extended palm. "There you are, genie!" he exclaimed exultantly, and, grabbing up his bags, was off up the walk as fast as his long legs would carry him. "What was that he called me, kid?" demanded the driver uneasily. "Janie." CHAPTER XXIV AT QUILL'S WINDOW The scraping, laboured sound grew nearer and louder, and presently there was added the thick, stertorous breathing of the climber as he drew close to the mouth of the cave. Courtney crept farther away from the opening and watched with narrow, frowning eyes for the head to appear above the ledge. He held the revolver in his shaking hand, but he knew he was not going to shoot. He thrilled with a strange sort of glee, however, at the thought of the ease with which he could send the fool crashing to the ground far below, but what would be the use? He was trapped. He had a queer and strangely ungrudging respect for the courage of this man of Uncle Sam's, this man who was not to be turned back or daunted by the prospect of sudden death when engaged in the performance of his duty. What use to slay this single, indomitable pursuer when nothing was to be gained by the act? There were others down there to avenge him,--to starve him out, or to burn him out if needs be. Murder, that's what it would be, and they would hang him for murder. If he shot this fellow there would be but one course left open to him. He would have to shoot himself. And he loved life too well for that. Five, even ten years behind the bars,--and then freedom once more. But the gallows,--God, no! He stood up and leaned with his back against the wall, bracing his legs which threatened to crumple up under him. With a sort of craven bravado, he inhaled deeply. The end of the cigarette created a passing but none the less comforting glow which died away almost instantly. A jolly brave thing, a cigarette,--No wonder the soldiers smoked them! Nerve steadying,--no question about it.