“I stayed in St. James the other night for the dance,” said Hardrock, filling his pipe for the third time, “hoping you were there. I knew you down in Arizona, you see.” “In Arizona?” Her level blue eyes searched his face, perplexed. “Sure. Danny Gallagher had some pictures that were sent him. One was of you, standing on a wharf--” “Oh!” exclaimed the girl. “Why, Hughie took that last summer--” “You haven’t changed. How’d you like to see Arizona?” She looked at him, met his gravely steady gaze--then sprang suddenly to her feet and stood looking out at the point. Hardrock caught the deliberate thud-thud of an exhaust, then saw the big launch turning the point. He rose. “Father’s not in her--yes, he’s lying in the bow!” she exclaimed. Hughie Dunlevy, at the tiller of the launch, waved his hand to her and lifted his strong voice as the launch rounded in toward the sandy stretch. “Come aboard, Nelly! Get anything you want to bring--come quick! Your dad’s hurt.” The launch sputtered; her engine died; and she came to a halt with her nose on the sand a dozen feet from shore. The girl made a hesitant movement; then Hardrock caught her up in his arms and waded out to the launch. Dunlevy and the two other men took her from him. In the bow lay Matt Big Mary, eyes closed. “Badly hurt?” asked Hardrock, as his eyes met the hard gaze of Hughie Dunlevy. “No. Knee dislocated, I guess; we’ll run him home. Got caught in a line and fell over the engine. You been to St. James already?” “Yes.” Hardrock’s gray eyes narrowed. “You’ll find news waiting for you. Two of your friends shot up--one dead. Whisky-runners did it, some one said; nobody knows for sure, though.” Dunlevy looked startled, then waved his hand. “All right. You been havin’ a good time here, I see. So long. When I come back, you’ll be singin’ another tune.” “I’ll expect you,” said Hardrock, and smiled. The engine sputtered into life; the launch was shoved out, circled in a wide arc, and headed south, with Nelly Callahan crouched over the figure of her father. Once she looked back, lifted an arm, waved it in farewell to the man on the shore, as though in token of an unquenched spirit. “She’s all right,” said Hardrock to himself. “Independent--not afraid of ’em. No need to worry about her; real woman all through!” He turned to the deserted camp, got the dishes attended to, left everything shipshape, kicked out the fire-embers, and then made his way through the brush along the point of land at this northwest tip of the island. Here, where the bushes thinned out and the land ran out in little islets, he sank down under cover of the greenery, filled and lighted his pipe, and lay motionless, watching the empty waters to north and west and south. Safely tucked away in his pocket was the little black-and-white pennant of painted canvas. * * * * *