Howard wheeled on him.
'I didn't do it for you.' he snapped irritably. 'I tried the only way I knew to help save the mine for Helen. We'd do it yet if you weren't a pack of damned rabbits.'
He pushed by and laid his hand on the mane of the horse Dave Terril rode.
'Give me your horse, Dave,' he said quietly. 'I'm on my way home.
You'll find Barbee's down under the cliff.'
Dave Terril was quick to obey. But before his spurred boot-heel had struck the turf Helen had came running through the men about Howard, her two hands out, her voice thrilling and vibrant as she cried:
'There is only one man among you, one real man, and that is Alan Howard! He was not wrong; he was right! And no matter what happens to the gold, I had rather have a man like Alan Howard do a thing like that for me than have all of the gold in the mountains!'
Her excitement, too, ran high, her words came tripping over one another, heedless and extravagant. But Howard suddenly glowed, and when she put her hands out to him he took them both and squeezed them hard.
'Why, God bless you, you're a brick!' he cried warmly. 'And, in spite of the rest of 'em, I'm glad I did make a fool of myself!'
From his wounded arm a trickle of blood had run down to his hand.
Helen cried out as she saw the smear across the sleeve of his shirt.
'He's hurt!' she exclaimed.