A week had passed. The fire had been put out with little damage except from O'Finnigan's timber slash to the lake beneath the upper snows. A new Ranger was in charge. As for O'Finnigan, like Calamity, he had dropped as completely from the Valley's knowledge as if the earth had swallowed him. The Valley, in fact, had given small thought to the mad squaw or the drunken Irishman. The Valley had had other things to talk about. There was the coming fall campaign, and Wayland's name as reform candidate, and Wayland's quiet marriage to the daughter of the dead sheep king. Eleanor and Wayland had gone round through the Pass to the Lake Behind the Peak, where he had dreamed what form of triangulation thoughts must take from the star in the water to the star on the other side of the Holy Cross; where the little waves lipped and lisped and laved the reeds; where they two could drink and drink unseen of the joy of the waters of life before the opening of the political battle. "Make him tell y' of all that happened in th' Pass when A was with him," Matthews had called as they rode away up the narrowing trail to the jubilant shouting of the canyon waters, the little mule leading the pack ponies. Mrs. Williams stood on the upper piazza of the Mission School waving and waving. The cottonwoods were raining down showers of gold; and the pines were clicking their gypsy tambourines; and the golden torches of countless yellow autumn flowers lighted the triumphal procession of the year to its consummation. Against the opal crown of the Holy Cross Mountain, the yellowed larches tossed flaming torches to the very sky. "They seem to be riding away to a world of dreams," said the little lady in black. Mr. Bat Brydges and Senator Moyese walked slowly and reflectively past the Range Cabin towards the charred burn and timber slash of O'Finnigan's abandoned homestead. "It's that damned rant the old fellow let off in the court room," said Brydges. "Rant doesn't win elections, Brydges! It has to be fought out! Sooner we accept the challenge and put 'em to bed for good, the better! Money talks, Brydges!" "But that's just it, Senator! Money _does_ talk; and some body's money has talked when the Independent sold out to Joe!" "Fool and his money soon parted, Brydges! Only, in this case, I've a suspicion it's a _Her_! Never fear a known enemy, Brydges! It's the unknown factors you want to look out for! F'r instance, there is this sot of a drunken Shanty Town Irishman? What's become of him? Did he burn himself, when he set fire to the slash?" They had paused opposite that fallen giant which bridged the Gully where Wayland had laid the saplings to cross to the Rim Rocks. "That's a fine one; the fire didn't bring that one down! Been cheesy heart wood! Wonder who placed the saplings for a bridge? Think I'll cross and go down to the ranch by the Rim Rocks, Brydges!"