circumstance. You say we are the gophers hunting our holes. Maybe you're
right. Anyway Hellbeam's shadow is haunting me. It's haunting me in that
I know--_I_ feel--that the fulfilment of this dream is not for me. Why?"

He turned abruptly from the window. His pale face was even paler under
the excitement burning in his dark eyes. He thrust out a hand, a
delicate, long-fingered hand pointing at his friend and faithful
servant.

"Say, you reckon I've no imagination. Listen. I see the time coming when
all you say of Hellbeam's purpose will be fulfilled, and my dream
shattered and tumbling about my head. If Hellbeam succeeds, can I let
this thing happen? Can I sacrifice this great purpose in such a personal
disaster? No. My hope is in my little wife, that dear woman who's given
herself to me with the full knowledge of the threat hanging over my
future. She and I have dreamed a fresh dream. And she's even now
fulfilling her part of that dream. Yes, you're right. I'm going to fight
for our dream with every ounce that's in me. I know my failings. I'm at
heart a coward. But I'm out to fight though the gates of hell are agape
waiting for me. And when I'm beaten, and Hellbeam's satisfied his kick,
my boy, my little son, will step into my shoes and carry on the work
till it's complete. Oh, yes, I say 'my son.' Nancy will see to it that
she gives me a son. And, by God, how I will fight for him!"

Bat was silent before the tide of his friend's passion. He listened to
the strange mixture of clear thinking and unreasoning faith with a
feeling of something like awe of a man whom he had long since given up
attempting to fathom. He was a rough lumberman, a mill-boss, who, by
sheer force, had raised himself from the dregs of a lumber camp to a
position where his skill and capacity had full play. And in his utter