October--and in the dreamy days of summer, Fairchild had believed that October would see him rich.

But now the hills were brown with the killing touch of frost; the white of the snowy range was creeping farther and farther over the mountains; the air was crisp with the hint of zero soon to come; the summer was dead, and Fairchild's hopes lay inert beside it.

He was only working now because he had determined to work.

He was only laboring because a great, strong, big-shouldered man had come from Cornwall to help him and was willing to fight it out to the end.

October--and the announcement had said that a certain girl would be married in the late fall, a girl who never looked in his direction any more, who had allowed her name to become affiliated with that of the Rodaines, now nearing the task of completing their two million.