THE STRANGE CASE OF CAVENDISH

by

RANDALL PARRISH

Author of"The Devils Own, " "Beyond the Frontier, " "When Wilderness Was King, "Etc. 

A. L. Burt CompanyPublishers New YorkPublished by arrangement with George H. Doran CompanyCopyright, 1918, by Randall ParrishPrinted in the United States of America

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

 I THE REACHING OF A DECISION II THE BODY ON THE FLOOR III MR. ENRIGHT DECLARES HIMSELF IV A BREATH OF SUSPICION V ON THE TRACK OF A CRIME VI AT STEINWAY'S VII MISS DONOVAN ARRIVES VIII A GANG OF ENEMIES IX A NIGHT AND A MORNING X AT A NEW ANGLE XI DEAD OR ALIVE XII VIEWED FROM BOTH SIDES XIII THE SHOT OF DEATH XIV LACY LEARNS THE TRUTH XV MISS LA RUE PAYS A CALL XVI CAPTURED XVII IN THE SHOSHONE DESERT XVIII IN MEXICAN POWER XIX WESTCOTT FINDS HIMSELF ALONE XX TO COMPEL AN ANSWER XXI THE MARSHAL PLAYS A HAND XXII THE ROCK IN THE STREAM XXIII THE ESCAPE XXIV THE CAVE IN THE CLIFF XXV IN THE DARK PASSAGE XXVI THE REAPPEARANCE OF CAVENDISH XXVII A DANGEROUS PRISONER XXVIII WITH BACK TO THE WALL XXIX A NEEDLE IN A HAYSTACK XXX ON THE EDGE OF THE CLIFF XXXI WITH FORCE OF ARMS XXXII IN THE TWO CABINS XXXIII THE REAL MR. CAVENDISH XXXIV MISS DONOVAN DECIDES

THE STRANGE CASE OF CAVENDISH

CHAPTER I: THE REACHING OF A DECISION

For the second time that night Frederick Cavendish, sitting at a smalltable in a busy café where the night life of the city streamedcontinually in and out, regarded the telegram spread out upon the whitenapery. It read:

Bear Creek, Colorado, 4/2/15. 

FREDERICK CAVENDISH, College Club, New York City. 

Found big lead; lost it again. Need you badly. 

WESTCOTT. 

For the second time that night, too, a picture rose before him, apicture of great plains, towering mountains, and open spaces that spokethe freedom and health of outdoor living. He had known that life oncebefore, when he and Jim Westcott had prospected and hit the trailtogether, and its appeal to him now after three years of shallowsightseeing in the city was deeper than ever. 

"Good old Jim, " he murmured, "struck pay-dirt at last only to lose itand he needs me. By George, I think I'll go. "

And why should he not? Only twenty-nine, he could still afford tospend a few years in search of living. His fortune left him at thedeath of his father was safely invested, and he had no close friends inthe city and no relatives, except a cousin, John Cavendish, for whom heheld no love, and little regard. 

He had almost determined upon going to Bear Creek to meet Westcott andwas calling for his check when his attention was arrested by a noisyparty of four that boisterously took seats at a near-by table. Cavendish recognised the two women as members of the chorus of theprevailing Revue, one of them Celeste La Rue, an aggressive blonde withthin lips and a metallic voice, whose name was synonymous with midnightescapades and flowing wine. His contemptuous smile at the sight ofthem deepened into a disgusted sneer when he saw that one of the menwas John Cavendish, his cousin. 

The two men's eyes met, and the younger, a slight, mild-eyed youth witha listless chin, excused himself and presented himself at the elder'stable. 

"Won't you join us?" he said nervously. 

Frederick Cavendish's trim, bearded jaw tightened and he shook hishead. "They are not my people, " he said shortly, then retreating, begged, "John, when are you going to cut that sort out?"

"You make me weary!" the boy snapped. "It's easy enough for you totalk when you've got all the money--that gives you an excuse to read memoral homilies every time I ask you for a dollar, but Miss La Rue is asgood as any of your friends any day. "

The other controlled himself. "What is it you want?" he demandeddirectly: "Money? If so, how much?"

"A hundred will do, " the younger man said eagerly. "I lost a little oncards lately, and have to borrow. To-night I met the girl----"

Frederick Cavendish silenced him and tendered him the bills. "Now, " hesaid gravely, "this is the last, unless--unless you cut out such peopleas Celeste La Rue and others that you train with. I'm tired of payingbills for your inane extravagances and parties. I can curtail yourincome and what's more, I will unless you change. "

"Cut me off?" The younger Cavendish's voice took on an incredulousnote. 

The other nodded. "Just that, " he said. "You've reached the limit. "

For a moment the dissipated youth surveyed his cousin, then an angryflush mounted into his pasty face. 

"You--you--" he stuttered, "--you go to hell. "

Without another word the elderly Cavendish summoned the waiter, paidthe bill, and walked toward the door. John stared after him, a smileof derision on his face. He had heard Cavendish threaten before. 

"Your cousin seemed peeved, " suggested Miss La Rue. 

"It's his nature, " explained John. "Got sore because I asked him for amere hundred and threatened to cut off my income unless I quit you two. "

"You told him where to go, " Miss La Rue said, laughing. "I heard you, but I don't suppose he'll go--he doesn't look like that kind. "

"Anyhow, I told him, " laughed John; then producing a large bill, cried:"Drink up, people, they're on me--and goody-goody cousin Fred. "

When Frederick Cavendish reached the street and the fresh night airraced through his lungs he came to a sudden realisation and then aresolution. The realisation was that since further pleading wouldavail nothing with John Cavendish, he needed a lesson. The resolutionwas to give it to him. Both strengthened his previous half-hearteddesire to meet Westcott, into determination. 

He turned the matter over in his mind as he walked along untilreflection was ended by the doors of the College Club which appearedabruptly and took him in their swinging circle. He went immediately tothe writing-room, laid aside his things and sat down. The first thingto do, he decided, was to obtain an attorney and consult him regardingthe proper steps. For no other reason than that they had metoccasionally in the corridor he thought of Patrick Enright, a heavy-setman with a loud voice and given to wearing expensive clothes. 

Calling a page boy, he asked that Enright be located if possible. During the ensuing wait he outlined on a scrap of paper what heproposed doing. Fifteen minutes passed before Enright, suave andapparently young except for growing baldness, appeared. 

"I take it you are Mr. Cavendish, " he said, advancing, "and that youare in immediate need of an attorney's counsel. "

Cavendish nodded, shook hands, and motioned him into a chair. "I havebeen called suddenly out of town, Mr. Enright, " he explained, "and forcertain reasons which need not be disclosed I deem it necessary toexecute a will. I am the only son of the late William HuntingtonCavendish; also his sole heir, and in the event of my death without awill, the property would descend to my only known relative, a cousin. "

"His name?" Mr. Enright asked. 

"John Cavendish. "

The lawyer nodded. Of young Cavendish he evidently knew. 

"Because of his dissolute habits I have decided to dispose of a largeportion of my estate elsewhere in case of my early death. I have herea rough draft of what I want done. " He showed the paper. "All that Irequire is that it be transposed into legal form. "

Enright took the paper and read it carefully. The bulk of the$1, 000, 000 Cavendish estate was willed to charitable organisations, anda small allowance, a mere pittance, was provided for John Cavendish. After a few inquiries the attorney said sharply: "You want thistranscribed immediately?"

Cavendish nodded. 

"Since it can be made brief I may possibly be able to do it on thegirl's machine in the office. You do not mind waiting a moment?"

Cavendish shook his head, and rising, the attorney disappeared in thedirection of the office. Cavendish heaved a sigh of relief; now he wasfree, absolutely free, to do as he chose. His disappearance would meannothing to his small circle of casual friends, and when he was settledelsewhere he could notify the only two men who were concerned with hiswhereabouts--his valet, Valois, and the agent handling the estate. Hethought of beginning a letter to John, but hesitated, and when Enrightreturned he found him with pen in hand. 

"A trifling task, " the attorney smiled easily. "All ready for yoursignature, too. You sign there, the second line. But wait--we musthave witnesses. "

Simms, the butler, and the doorman were called in and wrote their namesto the document and then withdrew, after which Enright began folding itcarefully. 

"I presume you leave this in my care?" he asked shortly. 

Cavendish shook his head: "I think not. I prefer holding it myself incase it is needed suddenly. I shall keep my rooms, and my man Valoiswill remain there indefinitely. Now as to your charges. "

A nominal sum was named and paid, after which Cavendish rose, picked uphis hat and stick and turned to Enright. 

"You have obliged me greatly, " he smiled, "and, of course, thetransaction will be considered as strictly confidential. " And thenseeing Enright's nod bade him a courteous "Good night. "

The attorney watched him disappear. Suddenly he struck the table withone hand. 

"By God!" he muttered, "I'll have to see this thing a little further. "

Wheeling suddenly, he walked to a telephone booth, called a number andwaited impatiently several moments before he said in intense subduedtones: "Is this Carlton's Café? Give me Jackson, the head-waiter. Jackson, is Mr. Cavendish--John Cavendish--there? Good! Call him tothe phone will you, Jackson? It's important. "

CHAPTER II: THE BODY ON THE FLOOR

The early light of dawn stealing in faintly through the spider-web ofthe fire-escape ladder, found a partially open window on the thirdfloor of the Waldron apartments, and began slowly to brighten the wallsof the room within. There were no curtains on this window as upon theothers, and the growing radiance streamed in revealing the wholeinterior. It was a large apartment, furnished soberly and in excellenttaste as either lounging-room or library, the carpet a dark green, thewalls delicately tinted, bearing a few rare prints rather sombrelyframed, and containing a few upholstered chairs; a massive sofa, and alibrary table bearing upon it a stack of magazines. 

Its tenant evidently was of artistic leanings for about the room wereseveral large bronze candle-sticks filled with partially burned tapers. A low bookcase extended along two sides of the room, each shelf filled, and at the end of the cases a heavy imported drapery drawn slightlyaside revealed the entrance to a sleeping apartment, the bed's snowycovering unruffled. Wealth, taste and comfort were everywhere manifest. 

Yet, as the light lengthened, the surroundings evidenced disorder. Onechair lay overturned, a porcelain vase had fallen from off thetable-top to the floor and scattered into fragments. A few magazineshad fallen also, and there were miscellaneous papers scattered aboutthe carpet, one or two of them torn as though jerked open by animpatient hand. Still others lying near the table disclosed cornerscharred by fire, and as an eddy of wind whisked through the window andalong the floor it tumbled brown ashes along with it, at the same timediluting the faint odour of smoke that clung to the room. Back of thetable a small safe embedded in the wall stood with its door wide open, its inner drawer splintered as with a knife blade and hanging half out, and below it a riffle of papers, many of them apparently legaldocuments. 

But the one object across which the golden beams of light fell asthough in soft caress was the motionless figure of a man lying upon hisback beside the table near the drapeless window. Across his face andshoulders were the charred remains of what undoubtedly had beencurtains on that window. A three-socketed candle-stick filled withpartially burned candles which doubtless had been knocked from thetable was mute evidence of how the tiny flame had started upon itsshort march. As to the man's injuries, a blow from behind hadevidently crushed his skull and, though the face was seared and burned, though the curtain's partial ashes covered more than a half of it, though the eye-lashes above the sightless eyes were singed and the trimbeard burned to black stubs, the face gave mute evidence of being thatof Frederick Cavendish. 

In this grim scene a tiny clock on the mantel began pealing the hour ofeight. As though this were a signal for entrance, the door at the endof the bookcase opened noiselessly and a man, smooth faced, his hairbrushed low across his forehead, stepped quietly in. As his eyessurveyed the grewsome object by the table, they dilated with horror;then his whole body stiffened and he fled back into the hall, crashingthe door behind him. 

Ten minutes later he returned, not alone, however. This time hiscompanion was John Cavendish but partially dressed, his features whiteand haggard. 

With nervous hands he pushed open the door. At the sight of the bodyhe trembled a moment, then, mastering himself, strode over and touchedthe dead face, the other meanwhile edging into the room. 

"Dead, sir, really _dead_?" the late comer asked. 

Cavendish nodded: "For several hours, " he answered in an unnaturalvoice. "He must have been struck from behind. Robbery evidently wasthe object--cold-blooded robbery. "

"The window is open, sir, and last night at twenty minutes after twelveI locked it. Mr. Cavendish came in at twelve and locking the windowwas the last thing I did before he told me I could go. "

"He left no word for a morning call?"

Valois shook his head: "I always bring his breakfast at eight, " heexplained. 

"Did he say anything about suddenly leaving the city for a trip West?I heard such a rumour. "

"No, sir. He was still up when I left and had taken some papers fromhis pocket. When last I saw him he was looking at them. He seemedirritated. "

There was a moment's silence, during which the flush returned toCavendish's cheeks, but his hands still trembled. 

"You heard nothing during the night?" he demanded. 

"Nothing, sir. I swear I knew nothing until I opened the door and sawthe body a few moments ago. "

"You'd better stick to your story, Valois, " the other said sternly, "The police will be here shortly. I'm going to call them, now. "

He was calm, efficient, self-contained now as he got Central Stationupon the wire and began talking. 

"Hello, lieutenant? Yes. This is John Cavendish of the Waldronapartments speaking. My cousin, Frederick Cavendish, has been founddead in his room and his safe rifled. Nothing has been disturbed. Yes, at the Waldron, Fifty-Seventh Street. Please hurry. "

Perhaps half an hour later the police came--two bull-neckedplain-clothes men and a flannel-mouthed "cop. "

With them came three reporters, one of them a woman. She was a youngwoman, plainly dressed and, though she could not be called beautiful, there was a certain patrician prettiness in her small, oval, womanlyface with its grey kind eyes, its aquiline nose, its firm lips anddetermined jaw, a certain charm in the manner in which her chestnuthair escaped occasionally from under her trim hat. Young, aggressive, keen of mind and tireless, Stella Donovan was one of the few good womanreporters of the city and the only one the _Star_ kept upon its pinchedpay-roil. They did so because she could cover a man-size job and get afeminine touch into her story after she did it. And, though hercustomary assignments were "sob" stories, divorces, society events andthe tracking down of succulent bits of general scandal, shenevertheless enjoyed being upon the scene of the murder even though shewas not assigned to it. This casual duty was for Willis, the _Star's_"police" man, who had dragged her along with him for momentary companyover her protest that she must get a "yarn" concerning juvenileprisoners for the Sunday edition. 

"Now, we'll put 'em on the rack. " Willis smiled as he left her sideand joined the detectives. 

A flood of questions from the officers, interspersed frequently with anumber from Willis, and occasionally one from the youthful _Chronicle_man, came down upon Valois and John Cavendish, while Miss Donovan, silent and watchful, stood back, frequently letting her eyes admire thetasteful prints upon the walls and the rich hangings in the room ofdeath. 

Valois repeated his experience, which was corroborated in part by thetestimony of John Cavendish's valet whom he had met and talked with inthe hall. The valet also testified that his employer, John Cavendish, had come home not later than twelve o'clock and immediately retired. Then John Cavendish established the fact that ten minutes beforearriving home he had dropped Celeste La Rue at her apartment. Therewas no flaw in any of the stories to which the inquisitors could attachsuspicion. One thing alone seemed to irritate Willis. 

"Are you sure, " he said to Cavendish, "that the dead man is yourcousin? The face and chest are pretty badly burned you know, and Ithought perhaps----"

A laugh from the detectives silenced him while Cavendish ended anyfleeting doubts with a contemptuous gaze. 

"You can't fool a man on his own cousin, youngster, " he said flatly. "The idea is absurd. "

The crime unquestionably was an outside job; the window opening on thefire-escape had been jimmied, the marks left being clearly visible. Apparently Frederick Cavendish had previously opened the safedoor--since it presented no evidence of being tampered with--and wasexamining certain papers on the table, when the intruder had stolen upfrom behind and dealt him a heavy blow probably, from the nature of thewound, using a piece of lead pipe. Perhaps in falling Cavendish's armhad caught in the curtains, pulling them from the supporting rod anddragging them across the table, thus sweeping the candlestick with itslighted tapers down to the floor with it. There the extinguished wickshad ignited the draperies, which had fallen across the stricken man'sface and body. The clothes, torso, and legs, had been charred beyondrecognition but the face, by some peculiar whim of fate, had beenpartly preserved. 

The marauder, aware that the flames would obliterate a portion, if notall of the evidence against him, had rifled the safe in which, Johntestified, his cousin always kept considerable money. Scatteringbroadcast valueless papers, he had safely made his escape through thewindow, leaving his victim's face to the licking flames. Foot-printsbelow the window at the base of the fire-escape indicated that thefugitive had returned that way. This was the sum of the evidence, circumstantial and true, that was advanced. Satisfied that nothingelse was to be learned, the officers, detectives, Willis, and MissDonovan and the pale _Chronicle_ youth withdrew, leaving the officer onguard. 

The same day, young John, eager to be away from the scene, moved hisbelongings to the Fairmount Hotel, and, since no will was found in thedead man's papers, the entire estate came to him, as next of kin. Aday or two later the body was interred in the family lot beside thefather's grave, and the night of the funeral young John Cavendish dinedat an out-of-the-way road-house with a blonde with a hard metallicvoice. Her name was Miss Celeste La Rue. 

And the day following he discharged Francois Valois without apparentcause, in a sudden burst of temper. So, seemingly, the curtain fell onthe last act of the play. 

CHAPTER III: MR. ENRIGHT DECLARES HIMSELF

One month after the Cavendish murder and two days after he haddespatched a casual, courteous note to John Cavendish requesting thathe call, Mr. Patrick Enright, of Enright and Dougherty, sat in hisprivate office on the top floor of the Collander Building in CortlandtStreet waiting for the youth's appearance. Since young Cavendish hadconsulted him before in minor matters, Mr. Enright had expected that hewould call voluntarily soon after the murder, but in this he wasdisappointed. Realising that Broadway was very dear to the young man, Enright had made allowances, until, weary of waiting, he decided to getinto the game himself and to this end had despatched the note, to whichCavendish had replied both by telephone and note. 

"He ought to be here now, " murmured Mr. Enright sweetly, looking at hiswatch, and soon the expected visitor was ushered in. Arising to hisfeet the attorney extended a moist, pudgy hand. 

"Quite prompt, John, " he greeted. "Take the chair there--and pardon mea moment. "

As the youth complied Enright opened the door, glanced into the outerroom, and gave orders not to be disturbed for the next half-hour. Then, drawing in his head, closed the door and turned the key. 

"John, " he resumed smoothly, "I have been somewhat surprised that youfailed to consult me earlier regarding the will of your late cousinFrederick. "

"His--his will!" John leaned forward amazed, as he stared into theother's expressionless face. "Did--did he leave one?"

"Oh! that's it, " the attorney chuckled. "You didn't know about it, didyou? How odd. I thought I informed you of the fact over the phone thesame night Frederick died. "

"You told me he had called upon you to prepare a will--but there wasnone found in his papers. "

"So I inferred from the newspaper accounts, " Enright chuckled dryly, his eyes narrowing, "as well as the information that you had appliedfor letters of administration. In view of that, I thought a littlechat advisable--yes, quite advisable, since on the night of his death Idid draw up his will. Incidentally, I am the only one living awarethat such a will was drawn. You see my position?"

Young Cavendish didn't; this was all strange, confusing. 

"The will, " resumed Mr. Enright, "was drawn in proper form and dulywitnessed. "

"There can't be such a will. None was found. You phoned me shortlybefore midnight, and twenty minutes later Frederick was in hisapartments. He had no time to deposit it elsewhere. There is no suchwill. "

Enright smiled, not pleasantly by any means. 

"Possibly not, " he said with quiet sinister gravity. "It was probablydestroyed and it was to gain possession of that will that FrederickCavendish was killed. "

John leaped to his feet, his face bloodless: "My God!" he mutteredaghast, "do you mean to say----"

"Sit down, John; this is no cause for quarrel. Now listen. I am notaccusing you of crime; not intentional crime, at least. There is noreason why you should not naturally have desired to gain possession ofthe will. If an accident happened, that was your misfortune. I merelymention these things because I am your friend. Such friendship leadsme first to inform you what had happened over the phone. I realisedthat Frederick's hasty determination to devise his property elsewherewas the result of a quarrel. I believed it my duty to give youopportunity to patch that quarrel up with the least possible delay. Perhaps this was not entirely professional on my part, but the claimsof friendship are paramount to mere professional ethics. "

He sighed, clasping and unclasping his hands, yet with eyes steadilyfixed upon Cavendish, who had sunk back into his chair. 

"Now consider the situation, my dear fellow. I have, it is true, performed an unprofessional act which, if known, would expose me tosevere criticism. There is, however, no taint of criminal intent aboutmy conduct and, no doubt, my course would be fully vindicated, were Inow to go directly before the court and testify to the existence of awill. "

"But that could not be proved. You have already stated that Fredericktook the will with him; it has never been found. "

"Quite true--or rather, it may have been found, and destroyed. Itchances, however, that I took the precaution to make a carbon copy. "

"Unsigned?"

"Yes, but along with this unsigned copy I also retain the originalmemoranda furnished me in Frederick Cavendish's own handwriting. Ibelieve, from a legal standpoint, by the aid of my evidence, the courtwould be very apt to hold such a will proved. "

He leaned suddenly forward, facing the shrinking Cavendish and bringinghis hand down hard upon the desk. 

"Do you perceive now what this will means? Do you realise where suchtestimony would place you? Under the law, providing he died without awill, you were the sole heir to the property of Frederick Cavendish. It was widely known you were not on friendly terms. The evening of hisdeath you quarrelled openly in a public restaurant. Later, in a spiritof friendship, I called you up and said he had made a will practicallydisinheriting you. Between that time and the next morning he ismurdered in his own apartments, his safe rifled, and yet, the onlypaper missing is this will, to the existence of which I can testify. If suspicion is once cast upon you, how can you clear yourself? Canyou prove that you were in your own apartments, asleep in your own bedfrom one o'clock until eight? Answer that. "

Cavendish tried, but although his lips moved, they gave utterance to nosound. He could but stare into those eyes confronting him. Enrightscarcely gave him opportunity. 

"So, the words won't come. I thought not. Now listen. I am not thatkind of a man and I have kept still. No living person--not even mypartner--has been informed of what has occurred. The witnesses, I amsure, do not know the nature of the paper they signed. I am a lawyer;I realise fully the relations I hold to my client, but in thisparticular case I contend that my duty as a man is of more importancethan any professional ethics. Frederick Cavendish had this willexecuted in a moment of anger and devised his estate to a number ofcharities. I personally believe he was not in normal mind and that thewill did not really reflect his purpose. He had no thought ofimmediate death, but merely desired to teach you a lesson. He proposedto disappear--or at least, that is my theory--in order that he mighttest you on a slender income. I am able to look upon the whole matterfrom this standpoint, and base my conduct accordingly. No doubt thiswill enable us to arrive at a perfectly satisfactory understanding. "

The lawyer's voice had fallen, all the threat gone, and the younger manstraightened in his chair. 

"You mean you will maintain silence as to the will?"

"Absolutely; as a client your interests will always be my firstconcern. Of course I shall expect to represent you in a legal capacityin settling up the estate, and consequently feel it only just that thecompensation for such services shall be mutually agreed upon. In thiscase there are many interests to guard. Knowing, as I do, all theessential facts, I am naturally better prepared to conserve yourinterests than any stranger. I hope you appreciate this. "

"And your fee?"

"Reasonable, very reasonable, when you consider the service I am doingyou, and the fact that my professional reputation might so easily beinvolved and the sums to be distributed, which amount to more than amillion dollars. My silence, my permitting the estate to go tosettlement, and my legal services combined, ought to be held as rathervaluable--at, let us say, a hundred thousand. Yes, a hundred thousand;I hardly think that is unfair. "

Cavendish leaped to his feet, his hand gripping his cane. 

"You damned black----"

"Wait!" and Enright arose also. "Not so loud, please; your voice mightbe heard in the outer office. Besides it might be well for you to becareful of your language. I said my services would cost you a hundredthousand dollars. Take the proposition or leave it, Mr. JohnCavendish. Perhaps, with a moment's thought, the sum asked may notseem excessive. "

"But--but, " the other stammered, all courage leaving him, "I haven'tthe money. "

"Of course not, " the threat on Enright's face changing to a smile. "But the prospects that you will have are unusually good. I am quitewilling to speculate on your fortunes. A memoranda for legal servicesdue one year from date--such as I have already drawn up--and bearingyour signature, will be quite satisfactory. Glance over the items, please; yes, sit here at the table. Now, if you will sign that therewill be no further cause for you to feel any uneasiness--this line, please. "

Cavendish grasped the penholder in his fingers, and signed. It was theact of a man dazed, half stupefied, unable to control his actions. With trembling hand, and white face, he sat staring at the paper, scarcely comprehending its real meaning. In a way it was a confessionof guilt, an acknowledgment of his fear of exposure, yet he feltutterly incapable of resistance. Enright unlocked the door, andprojected his head outside, comprehending clearly that the proper timeto strike was while the iron was hot. 

Calling Miss Healey, one of his stenographers, he made her an officialwitness to the document and the signature of John Cavendish. 

Not until ten minutes later when he was on the street did it occur toJohn Cavendish that the carbon copy of the will, together with therough notes in his cousin's handwriting, still remained in Enright'spossession. Vainly he tried to force himself to return and demandthem, but his nerve failed, and he shuffled away hopelessly in thehurrying crowds. 

CHAPTER IV: A BREATH OF SUSPICION

As Francois Valois trudged along the night streets toward his roominghouse his heart was plunged in sorrow and suspicion. To be dischargedfrom a comfortable position for no apparent reason when onecontemplated no sweet alliance was bad enough, but to be dischargedwhen one planned marriage to so charming a creature as Josette La Baumwas nothing short of a blow. Josette herself had admitted that andpromptly turned Francois's hazards as to young Cavendish's motives intosmouldering suspicion, which he dared not voice. Now, as he pausedbefore a delicatessen window realising that unless he soon obtainedanother position its dainties would be denied him, these samesuspicions assailed him again. 

Disheartened, he turned from the pane and was about to move away, whenhe came face to face with a trim young woman in a smart blue serge. "Oh, hello!" she cried pleasantly, bringing up short. Then seeing thepuzzled look upon the valet's face, she said: "Don't you remember me?I'm Miss Donovan of the _Star_. I came up to the apartments themorning of the Cavendish murder with one of the boys. "

Valois smiled warmly; men usually did for Miss Donovan. "I remember, "he said dolorously. 

The girl sensed some underlying sorrow in his voice and withprofessional skill learned the cause within a minute. Then, becauseshe believed that there might be more to be told, and because she wasbig-hearted and interested in every one's troubles, she urged him toaccompany her to a near-by restaurant and pour out his heart while shesupped. Lonely and disheartened, Valois accepted gladly and withinhalf an hour they were seated at a tiny table in an Italian café. 

"About your discharge?" she queried after a time. 

"I was not even asked to accompany Mr. Frederick's body, " he burst out, "even though I had been with him a year. So I stayed in the apartmentto straighten things, expecting to be retained in John Cavendish'sservice. I even did the work in his apartments, but when he returnedand saw me there he seemed to lose his temper, wanted to know why I washanging around, and ordered me out of the place. "

"The ingrate!" exclaimed the girl, laying a warm, consoling hand on theother's arm. "You're sure he wasn't drinking?"

"I don't think so, miss. Just the sight of me seemed to drive him mad. Flung money at me, he did, told me to get out, that he never wanted tosee me again. Since then I have tried for three weeks to find work, but it has been useless. "

While she gave him a word of sympathy, Miss Donovan was busilythinking. She remembered Willis's remark in the apartments, "Are yousure of the dead man's identity? His face is badly mutilated, youknow"; and her alert mind sensed a possibility of a newspaper storyback of young Cavendish's unwarranted and strange act. How far couldshe question the man before her? That she had established herself inhis good grace she was sure, and to be direct with him she decidedwould be the best course to adopt. 

"Mr. Valois, " she said kindly, "would you mind if I asked you aquestion or two more?"

"No, " the man returned. 

"All right. First, what sort of a man was your master?"

Valois answered almost with reverence:

"A nice, quiet gentleman. A man that liked outdoors and outdoorsports. He almost never drank, and then only with quiet men likehimself that he met at various clubs. Best of all, he liked to spendhis evenings at home reading. "

"Not much like his cousin John, " she ventured with narrowing eyes. 

"No, ma'am, God be praised! There's a young fool for you, miss, crazyfor the women and his drinking. Brought up to spend money, but not toearn any. "

"I understand that he was dependent upon Frederick Cavendish. "

"He was, miss, " Valois said disgustedly, "for every cent. He couldnever get enough of it, either, although Mr. Frederick gave him aliberal allowance. "

"Did they ever quarrel?"

"I never heard them. But I do know there was no love lost betweenthem, and I know that young John was always broke. "

"Girls cost lots on Broadway, " Miss Donovan suggested, "and they keepmen up late, too. "

Valois laughed lightly. "John only came home to sleep occasionally, "he said; "and as for the women--one of them called on him the day afterMr. Frederick was killed. I was in the hall, and saw her go straightto his door--like she had been there before. A swell dresser, miss, ifI ever saw one. One of those tall blondes with a reddish tinge in herhair. He likes that kind. "

Miss Donovan started imperceptibly. This was interesting; a woman inJohn Cavendish's apartment the day after his cousin's murder! But whowas she? There were a million carrot-blondes in Manhattan. Still, thewoman must have had some distinguishing mark; her hat, perhaps, or herjewels. 

"Did the woman wear any diamonds?" she asked. 

"No diamonds, " Valois returned; "a ruby, though. A ruby set in a bigplatinum ring. I saw her hand upon the knob. "

Miss Donovan's blood raced fast. She knew that woman. It was CelesteLa Rue! She remembered her because of a press-agent story that hadonce been written about the ring, and from what Miss Donovan knew ofMiss La Rue, she did not ordinarily seek men; therefore there must havebeen a grave reason for her presence in John Cavendish's apartmentsimmediately after she learned of Frederick's death. 

Had his untimely end disarranged some plan of these two? What was thereason she had come in person instead of telephoning? Had hermysterious visit anything to do with the death of the elder Cavendish?

A thousand speculations entered Miss Donovan's mind. 

"How long was she in the apartment?" she demanded sharply. 

"Fifteen or twenty minutes, miss--until after the hall-man came back. I had to help lay out the body, and could not remain there any longer. "

"Have you told any one else what you have told me?"

"Only Josette. She's my _fiancée_. Miss La Baum is her last name. "

"You told her nothing further that did not come out at the inquest?"

Valois hesitated. 

"Maybe I did, miss, " he admitted nervously. "She questioned me aboutlosing my job, and her questions brought things into my mind that Imight never have thought of otherwise. And at last I came to believethat it wasn't Mr. Frederick who was dead at all. "

The valet's last remark was crashing in its effect. 

Miss Donovan's eyes dilated with eagerness and amazement. 

"Not Frederick Cavendish! Mr. Valois, tell me--why?"

The other's voice fell to a whisper. 

"Frederick Cavendish, miss, " he said hollowly, "had a scar on hischest--from football, he once told me--and the man we laid out, well, of course his body was a bit burned, but he appeared to have no scar atall!"

"You know that?" demanded the girl, frightened by the import of therevelation. 

"Yes, miss. The assistant in the undertaking rooms said so, too. Doubting my own mind, I asked him. The man we laid out had no scar onhis chest. "

Miss Donovan sprang suddenly to her feet. 

"Mr. Valois, " she said breathlessly, "you come and tell that story tomy city editor, and he'll see that you get a job--and a real one. Youand I have started something, Mr. Valois. "

And, tossing money to cover the bill on the table, she took Valois'sarm, and with him in tow hurried through the restaurant to the citystreets on one of which was the _Star_ office, where Farriss, the cityeditor, daily damned the doings of the world. 

That night when Farriss had heard the evidence his metallic eyessnapped with an unusual light. Farriss, for once, was enthusiastic. 

"A great lead! By God, it is! Now to prove it, Stella"--Farrissalways resorted to first names--"you drop everything else and go tothis, learn what you can, spend money if you have to. I'll drag Willisoff police, and you work with him. And damn me, if you two spendmoney, you've got to get results! I'll give you a week--when you'vegot something, come back!"

CHAPTER V: ON THE TRACK OF A CRIME

In the city room of the _Star_, Farriss, the city editor, sat back inhis swivel chair smoking a farewell pipe preparatory to going home. The final edition had been put to bed, the wires were quiet, and as hesat there Farriss was thinking of plunging "muskies" in Maine streams. His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a clatter of footsteps, and, slapping his feet to the floor, he turned to confront Willis and MissDonovan. 

"Great God!" he started, at their appearance at so late an hour. 

Miss Donovan smiled at him. "No; great luck!"

"Better than that, Mr. Farriss, " echoed Willis. "We've got something;and we dug all week to get it. "

"But it cost us real money--enough to make the business office moan, Iexpect, too, " Miss Donovan added. 

"Well, for Pete's sake, shoot!" demanded Farriss. "Cavendish, Isuppose?"

The two nodded. Their eyes were alight with enthusiasm. 

"In the first place, " said the girl, with grave emphasis, "FrederickCavendish did not die intestate as supposed. He left a will. "

Farriss blinked. "By God!" he exclaimed. "That's interesting. Therewas no evidence of that before. "

"I got that from the servants of the College Club, " Willis interposed. "The will was drawn the night before the murder. And the man that drewit was Patrick Enright of Enright and Dougherty. Cavendish took away acopy of it in his pocket. And, Mr. Farriss, I got something else, too--Enright and young John Cavendish are in communication further. Isaw him leaving Enright's office all excited. Following my hunch, Icultivated Miss Healey, Enright's stenographer, and learned that thetwo had an altercation and that it was evidently over some document. "

Farriss was interested. 

"Enright's in this deep, " he muttered thoughtfully, "but how?Well--what else?"

Stella Donovan began speaking now:

"I fixed it with Chambers, the manager of the Fairmount, to get JosetteLa Baum--she's Valois's _fiancée_, you remember--into the hotel as amaid. Josette 'soaped the keyhole' of the drawers in John Cavendish'srooms there. I had a key made from the soap impression, and from thecontents of the correspondence we found I learned that Celeste La Rue, the blonde of the Revue, had got some kind of hold on him. It isn'tlove, either; it's something stronger. He jumps when she holds thehoop. "

"La Rue's mixed up in this deeply, too, " Willis cut in. "Neither oneof us could shadow her without uncovering ourselves, so we hired anInternational operative. They cost ten dollars a day--and expenses. What he learned was this--that while she was playing with youngCavendish and seeing him almost daily, the lovely Celeste was also incommunication with--guess who!"

"Enright?" Farriss ventured. 

"Exactly--Enright, " he concluded, lighting his half-smoked cigarette. 

"Well, " the city editor tapped his desk; "you two have done prettywell, so far. You've got considerable dope. Now, what do you make ofit?"

He bent an inquiring gaze on both the girl and the youth. 

"You do the talking, Jerry, " Miss Donovan begged Willis; "I'm verytired. "

Willis was only too eager; Willis was young, enthusiastic, reliable--three reasons why the _Star_ kept him. 

"It may be a dream, " he said, smiling, "but here is the way I stack itup. The night after he quarrelled with John, Frederick Cavendishcalled in Enright and made a will, presumably, cutting John off withpractically nothing. 

"Immediately after Frederick's departure, Enright calls Carbon's Caféand talks to John Cavendish, who had been dining there with Celeste LaRue. 

"It is reasonable to suppose that he told him of the will. Less thanfive hours afterward Frederick Cavendish is found dead in hisapartments. Again it is reasonable to suppose that he was croaked byJohn Cavendish, who wanted to destroy the will so that he could claimthe estate. 

"These Broadway boys need money when they travel with chorines. Anyhow, the dead man is buried, and John starts spending money likewater. One month later he receives a letter--Josette patched thepieces together--asking him to call at Enright's office. 

"What happened there is probably this: Young Cavendish was informed ofthe existence of the will, and it was offered to him at a price whichhe couldn't afford to pay--just then. 

"Perhaps he was frightened into signing a promise to pay as soon as hecame into the estate--tricked by Enright. Enright, as soon as he heardno will had been found in Frederick's effects, may have figured thatperhaps John killed him, or even if he did not, that, nevertheless, hecould use circumstances to extract money from the youngster, who, evenif innocent, would fear the trial and notoriety that would follow ifEnright publicly disclosed the existence of that will. 

"John Cavendish may be innocent, or he may be guilty, but one thing iscertain--he's being badgered to death by two people, from what littlewe know. One of them is the La Rue woman; the other is Enright. 

"Now I wonder--Mr. Farriss, doesn't it occur to you that they may beworking together like the woman and the man in the Skittles case lastyear? You remember then they got a youngster in their power and nearlytrimmed him down to his eye-teeth!"

Farriss sat reflecting deeply, chewing the stem of his dead pipe. 

"There's something going on--that's as plain as a red banner-head. You've got a peach of a start, so far, and done good pussyfooting--you, too, Stella--but there's one thing that conflicts with yourhypothesis----"

The two leaned forward. 

"Valois's statement that he was almost positive that the dead man wasnot Cavendish, " the city editor snapped. 

"I now believe Valois is mistaken, in view of developments, " saidWillis with finality. "So does Stella--Miss Donovan, I mean. Rememberthe body was charred across the face and chest--and Valois was excited. "

Farriss was silent a moment. 

"Stick to it a while longer, " he rapped out; "and get La Rue andCavendish together at their meeting-place, if you can discover it. "

"We can!" interjected Willis. "That's something I learned less than anhour ago. It's Steinway's Café, the place where the police picked upFrisco Danny and Mad Mike Meighan two years ago. I followed them, butcould not get near enough to hear what they said. "

"Then hop to it, " Farriss rejoined. "Stick around there until you getsomething deeper. As for me--I'm going home. It's two o'clock. "

CHAPTER VI: AT STEINWAY'S

It was the second night after Farriss had given them his instructionsthat Miss Donovan and Willis, sitting in the last darkened booth inSteinway's Café, were rewarded for their vigil. The booth theyoccupied was selected for the reason that it immediately joined thatinto which Willis had but three days before seen Cavendish and the LaRue woman enter, and now as they sat toying with their food, their eyescommanding the entire room, they saw a woman swing into the caféentrance and enter the booth directly ahead of them. 

"La Rue!" whispered Willis to Miss Donovan. 

Ten minutes later a young man entered the café, swept it quickly withhis eyes, then made directly for the enclosure occupied by hisinamorata. The man was Cavendish. 

In the booth behind. Miss Donovan and Willis were all attention, theirears strained to catch the wisps of conversation that eddied over thelow partition. 

"Pray for the orchestra to stop playing, " whispered Miss Donovan, and, strangely enough, as she uttered the words the violins obeyed, leavingthe room comparatively quiet in which it was not impossible to catchstray sentences of the subdued conversation. 

"Well, I'm here. " It was John's voice, an ill-humoured voice, too. "But this is the last time, Celeste. These meetings are dangerous. "

"Yes--when you talk so loud. " Her soft voice scarcely reached thelisteners. "But this time there was a good reason. " She laughed. "You didn't think it was love, did you, deary?"

"Oh, cut that out!" disgustedly. "I have been foolish enough tosatisfy even your vanity. You want more money, I suppose. "

"Well, of course, " her voice hardening. "Naturally I feel that Ishould share in your good fortune. But the amount I want now, and musthave to-night--to-night, John Cavendish--is not altogether for myself. I've heard from the West. "

"My God! Has he been located?"

"Yes, and is safe for the present. Here, read this telegram. It's notvery clear, but Beaton wants money and asks me to bring it. "

"You? Why does he need you?"

"Lack of nerve, I guess; he's out of his element in that country. Ifit was the Bowery he'd do this sort of job better. Anyhow, I'm going, and I want a roll. We can't either of us afford to lie down now. "

Cavendish half smothered an oath. 

"Money, " he ejaculated fiercely. "That is all I hear. Enright hasheld me up something fierce, and you never let me alone. Suppose I sayI haven't got it. "

"Why, then, I'd laugh at you, that's ail. You may not love me anymore, my dear, but surely you have no occasion to consider me a fool. I endeavour to keep posted on what the court is doing in our case; I amnaturally interested, you know. You were at the Commercial NationalBank this afternoon. "

"How the devil did you know that?"

"I play my cards safe, " she laughed mirthlessly. "I could even tellyou the size of your check, and that the money is still on your person. You intended to place it in a safe-deposit box and keep it hidden foryour own use. "

"You hellion, you!" Cavendish's voice rose high, then later MissDonovan heard him say more softly: "How much do you want?"

"Ten thousand. I'm willing enough to split fifty-fifty. This Coloradojob is getting to be expensive, deary. I wouldn't dare draw on youthrough the banks. "

Miss Donovan had only time to nudge Willis enthusiastically before sheoverheard the next plea. 

"Celeste, are you trimming me again?"

"Don't be a fool!" came back in subdued tones. "Do you think thattelegram is a fake? My Gawd--that is what I want money for! Moreover, I should think you would be tickled, Johnnie boy, to get me out oftown--and the price is so low. "

In the back booth Willis muttered:

"God, things are going great. " Then he bent his ear to sedulousattention and again he could hear the voice of Cavendish. 

"You've got to tell me what you're going to do with the money, " it said. 

The La Rue woman's answer could not be heard; evidently it was awhispered one, and therefore of utmost importance. Came a pause, aclink of glasses, and then a few straggling words filtered over thepartition. 

"Isn't that the best way?" Celeste La Rue's voice was easilyrecognisable. "Of course it will be a--well, a mere accident, and noquestions asked. "

"But if the man should talk!"

"Forget it! Ned Beaton is an oyster. Besides, I've got the screws onhim. Come on, Johnnie boy, don't be a fool. We are in this game andmust play it out. It has been safe enough so far, and I know what I amdoing now. You've got too much at stake to haggle over a few thousand, when the money has come to you as easily as this has. Why, if I'dbreathe a word of what I know in this town----"

"For God's sake, not so loud!"

"Bah! No one here is paying any attention to us. Enright is the onlyone who even suspicions, and his mouth is shut. It makes me laugh tothink how easily the fools were gulled. We've got a clear field if youwill only let me play the game out in my own way. Do I get the money?"

He must have acceded, for his voice no longer rose to a high pitch. Presently, when the orchestra began playing again. Miss Donovan andWillis judged the pair were giving their attention to the dinner. Finally, after an hour had passed, Cavendish emerged from the booth, went to the check-room, and hurriedly left the café. Waiting only longenough to satisfy herself that Cavendish was gone, Celeste La Rueherself emerged from the booth and paused for a moment beside itsbamboo curtains. Then turning suddenly, she made her way, not towardthe exit of the café, but to another small booth near the check-room, and into this she disappeared. 

But before she had started this short journey, a yellow piece of paper, closely folded, slipped from her belt where it had been tucked. 

"It's the telegram! The one of which they were speaking. " MissDonovan's voice whispered dramatically as her eyes swept the tiny cluewithin their ambit. 

Willis started. He almost sprung from the booth to pick it up, but thegirl withheld him with a pressure of the hand. 

"Not yet, " she begged. "Wait until we see who leaves the other boothinto which La Rue just went. "

And Willis fell back into the seat, his pulse pounding. Presently, with startled eyes, they beheld Celeste la Rue leave the booth, andthen five minutes later a well-dressed man, a suave, youthful man witha head inclined toward baldness. 

"Enright!" muttered Willis. 

"Enright, " echoed Miss Donovan, "and, Jerry, our hunch was right. Heand La Rue are playing Cavendish--and for something big. But now isour time to get the telegram. Quick--before the waiter returns. "

At her words Willis was out of the booth. As Miss Donovan watched, shesaw him pass by the folded evidence. What was wrong? But, no--suddenly she saw his handkerchief drop, saw him an instant laterturn and pick it up, and with it the telegram. Disappearing in thedirection of the men's room, he returned a moment later, paid thecheck, and with Miss Donovan on his arm left the café. 

Outside, and three blocks away from Steinway's, they paused under anarc-light, and with shaking hands Willis showed her the message. Therein the flickering rays the girl read its torn and yet enlighteningmessage. 

 lorado, May 19, 1915. 

 him safe. Report and collect. Come with roll Monday sure 've seen papers. Remember Haskell. 

 NED. 

"It's terribly cryptic, Jerry, " she said to the other, "but two thingswe know from it. "

"One is that La Rue's going to blow the burg some day--soon. "

"The other, that 'Ned' is Ned Beaton, the man mentioned back there inSteinway's. Whatever his connection is, we don't know. I think we hadbetter go to Farriss, don't you?"

"A good hunch, " Willis replied, taking her arm. "And let's move on itquick. One of us may have to hop to Colorado if Farriss thinks well ofwhat we've dug up. "

"I hope it's you--you've worked hard, " said Miss Donovan. 

"But you got the big clue of it all--the telegram, " gallantly returnedher companion, as he raised his arm to signal a passing cab which wouldtake them to the Star office. 

Once there, in their enthusiasm they upset the custom of the office andbroke into Farriss's fullest hour, dragged him from his slot in thecopy desk and into his private office, which he rarely used. There, into his impatient ears they dinned the story of what they had justlearned, ending up by passing him the telegram. 

For a mere instant he glanced at them, then his lips began to move. "Beaton--Ned--Ned Beaton--Ned Beaton, " he mused, and then sat boltupright in his chair, while he banged the desk with a round, hard fist. "Hell's bells!" he ejaculated. "You've run across something. I knowthat name. I know the man. Ned Beaton is a 'gun, ' and he pulled hisfirst job when I was doing 'police' in Philadelphia for the _Record_. Well, well, my children, this is splendid! And what next?"

"But, Mr. Farriss, where is he?" put in Stella Donovan. "Where was themessage sent from? Colorado, yes, but where in Colorado? That's thething to find out. "

"I thought it might be the last word in the message--Haskell, " venturedWillis. 

Mr. Farriss paused a moment, then, "Boy!" he yelled through the open door. 

"Boy, get me an atlas here quick, or I'll hang your hair on aproof-hook!"

A young hopeful, frightened into frenzy, obeyed with alacrity, andFarriss, seizing the atlas from his hand, thumbed it until he found amap of Colorado. Together the three pored over it. 

"There it is!" Stella Donovan cried suddenly. "Down toward the bottom. Looks like desert country. "

"Pretty dry place for Celeste, " laughed Willis. "I might call her upand kid her about it if----"

Farriss looked at him sourly. "You might get a raise in salary, " hesnapped sharply, "if you'd keep your mind on the job. What you can dois call up, say you're the detective bureau, and ask carelessly aboutBeaton. That'll throw a scare into her. You've got her number?"

"Riverside 7683, " Willis said in a businesslike voice. "The Beecherapartments. I'll try it. "

He disappeared into the clattering local room, to return a momentlater, white of face, bright of eye, and with lips parted. 

"What's the dope?" Farriss shot at him. 

"Nothing!" cried the excited young man. "Nothing except that fifteenminutes ago Celeste La Rue kissed the Beecher apartments good-bye and, with trunk, puff, and toothbrush, beat it. "

"To Haskell, " added the city editor, "or my hair is pink. And by God, I believe there's a story there. What's more, I believe we can get it. It's blind chance, but we'll take it. "

"Let Mr. Willis----" began Miss Donovan. 

"Mind your own business, Stella, " commanded Farriss, "and see that yourhat's on straight. Because within half an hour you're going to draw onthe night cashier for five hundred dollars and pack your littleportmanteau for Haskell. "

Willis's face fell. "Can't I go, too?" he began, but Farriss silencedhim on the instant. 

"Kid, " he said sharply but kindly, "you're too good a hound for thedesert. The city needs you here--and, dammit, you keep on sniffing. "

Turning to the unsettled girl beside him, he went on briskly:

"Work guardedly; query us when you have to; be sure of your facts, andconsign your soul to God. Do I see you moving?"

And when Farriss looked again he did. 

CHAPTER VII: MISS DONOVAN ARRIVES

When the long overland train paused a moment before the ancient box carthat served as the depot for the town of Haskell, nestled in the gulchhalf a mile away, it deposited Miss Stella Donovan almost in the armsof Carson, the station-agent, and he, wary of the wiles of women andthe ethics of society, promptly turned her over to Jim Westcott, whohad come down to inquire if the station-agent held a telegram forhim--a telegram that he expected from the East. 

"She oughtn't to hike to the Timmons House alone, Jim, " Carson said. "This yere is pay-day up at the big mines, an' the boys are havin' ahell of a time. That's them yellin' down yonder, and they're mightylikely to mix up with the Bar X gang before mornin', bein' how theliquor is runnin' like blood in the streets o' Lundun, and there's halfa mile between 'em. "

In view of these disclosures, Miss Donovan welcomed the courteousacquiescence of Westcott, whom she judged to be a man of thirty-one, with force and character--these written in the lines of his big bodyand his square, kind face. 

"I'm Miss Stella Donovan of New York, " she said directly. 

"And I, " he returned, with hat off in the deepening gloom, "am JimWestcott, who plugs away at a mining claim over yonder. "

"There!" laughed the girl frankly. "We're introduced. And I supposewe can start for the Timmons House. "

As her words trailed off there came again the sound of yelling, sharpcries, and revolver shots from the gulch below where lights twinkledfaintly. 

Laughing warmly, Westcott picked up her valise, threw a "So-long" toCarson, and with Miss Donovan close behind him, began making for thedistant lights of the Timmons House. As they followed the road, whichparalleled a whispering stream, the girl began to draw him outskilfully, and was amazed to find that for all of his rough appearancehe was excellently educated and a gentleman of taste. Finally thereason came out. 

"I'm a college man, " he explained proudly. "So was my partner--sameclass. But one can't always remain in the admirable East, and threeyears ago he and I came here prospecting. Actually struck somepay-dirt in the hills yonder, too, but it sort of petered out on us. "

"Oh, I'm sorry. " Miss Donovan's condolence was genuine. 

"We lost the ore streak. It was broken in two by some upheaval ofnature. We were still trying to find it when my partner's father diedand he went East to claim the fortune that was left. I couldn't workalone, so I drifted away, and didn't come back until about four monthsago, when I restaked the claim and went to work again. "

"You had persistence, Mr. Westcott, " the girl laughed. 

"It was rewarded. I struck the vein again--when my last dollar wasgone. That was a month ago, I wired my old partner for help, but----"He stopped, listening intently. 

They were nearing a small bridge over Bear Creek, the sounds ofHaskell's revellers growing nearer and louder. Suddenly they heard anoath and a shot, and the next moment a wild rider, lashing a foaminghorse with a stinging quirt, was upon them. Westcott barely had timeto swing the girl to safety as the tornado flew past. 

"The drunken fool!" he muttered quietly. "A puncher riding for camp. There will be more up ahead probably. "

His little act of heroism drew the man strangely near to Miss Donovan, and as they hurried along in the silent night she felt that above allhe was dependable, as if, too, she had known him months, aye years, instead of a scant hour. And in this strange country she needed afriend. 

"Now that I've laid bare my past, " he was saying, "don't you think youmight tell me why you are here?"

The girl stiffened. To say that she was from the New York _Star_ wouldclose many avenues of information to her. No, the thing to do was toadopt some "stall" that would enable her to idle about as much as shechose. Then the mad horseman gave her the idea. 

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "I forgot I hadn't mentioned it. I'm assigned by_Scribbler's Magazine_ to do an article on 'The Old West, Is It ReallyGone?' and, Mr. Westcott, I think I have a lovely start. "

A few moments later she thanked Providence for her precaution, for hercompanion resumed the story of his mining claim. 

"It's mighty funny I haven't heard from that partner. It isn't likehim not to answer my wire. That's why I've waited every night at thedepot. No, it's not like 'Pep, ' even if he does take his leisure atthe College Club. "

Miss Donovan's spine tingled at the mention of the name: "Pep, " shemurmured, trying to be calm. "What was his other name?"

"Cavendish, " Westcott replied. "Frederick Cavendish. "

A gasp almost escaped the girl's lips. Here, within an hour, she hadlinked the many Eastern dues of the Cavendish affair with one in theWest. Was ever a girl so lucky? And immediately her brain began towork furiously as she walked along. 

A sudden turn about the base of a large cliff brought them to Haskell, a single street running up the broadening valley, lined mostly withshacks, although a few more pretentious buildings were scattered hereand there, while an occasional tent flapped its discoloured canvas inthe night wind. There were no street lamps, and only a short stretchof wooden sidewalk, but lights blazed in various windows, sheddingillumination without, and revealing an animated scene. 

They went forward, Westcott, in spite of his confident words, watchfuland silent, the valise in one hand, the other grasping her arm. Thenarrow stretch of sidewalk was jammed with men, surging in and outthrough the open door of a saloon, and the two held to the middle ofthe road, which was lined with horses tied to long poles. Men reeledout into the street, and occasionally the sharp crack of somefrolicsome revolver punctuated the hoarse shouts and bursts of drunkenlaughter. No other woman was visible, yet, apparently, no particularattention was paid to their progress. But the stream of men thickenedperceptibly, until Westcott was obliged to shoulder them asidegood-humouredly in order to open a passage. The girl, glancing inthrough the open doors, saw crowded bar-rooms, and eager groups aboutgambling tables. One place dazzlingly lighted was evidently adance-hall, but so densely jammed with humanity she could notdistinguish the dancers. A blare of music, however, proved thepresence of a band within. She felt the increasing pressure of herescort's hand. 

"Can we get through?"

"Sure; some crowd, though. 'Tisn't often as bad as this; miners andpunchers all paid off at once. " He released her arm, and suddenlygripped the shoulder of a man passing. He was the town marshal. 

"Say, Dan, I reckon this is your busy night, but I wish you'd help merun this lady through as far as Timmons; this bunch of long-hornsappear to be milling, and we're plum stalled. "

The man turned and stared at them. Short, stockily built, appearing atfirst view almost grotesque under the broad brim of his hat, Stella, recognising the marshal, was conscious only of a clean-shaven face, asquare jaw, and a pair of stern blue eyes. 

"Oh, is that you, Jim?" he asked briefly. "Lord, I don't see why a bigboob like you should need a guardian. The lady? Pardon me, madam, "and he touched his hat. "Stand back there, you fellows. Come on, folks!"

The little marshal knew his business, and it was also evident that thecrowd knew the little marshal. Drunk and quarrelsome as many of themwere, they made way--the more obstreperous sullenly, but the majorityin a spirit of rough good humour. The time had not come for waragainst authority, and even the most reckless were fully aware thatthere was a law-and-order party in Haskell, ready and willing to backtheir officer to the limit. Few were drunk enough as yet to openlydefy his authority and face the result, as most of them had previouslyseen him in action. To the girl it was all terrifying enough--therough, hairy faces, the muttered threats, the occasional oath, thejostling figures--but the two men, one on each side of her, acceptedthe situation coolly enough, neither touching the revolver at his belt, but, sternly thrusting aside those in their way, they pressed straightthrough the surging mass in the man-crowded lobby of the disreputablehotel. 

The building itself was a barnlike structure, unpainted, but with arude, unfinished veranda in front. One end contained a saloon, crowdedwith patrons, but the office, revealed in the glare of a smoky lamp, disclosed a few occupants, a group of men about a card-table. 

At the desk, wide-eyed with excitement, Miss Donovan took aservice-worn pen proffered by landlord Pete Timmons, whose greywhiskers were as unkempt as his hotel, and registered her name. 

"A telegram came to-day for you, ma'am, " Peter said in a cracked voice, and tossed it over. 

Miss Donovan tore it open. It was from Farriss. It read:

If any clues, advise immediately. Willis digging hard. Letter ofinstruction follows. 

FARRISS. 

The girl folded the message, thrust it in her jacket-pocket, thenturning to the marshal and Westcott, gave each a firm hand. 

"You've both been more than kind, " she said gratefully. 

"Hell, ma'am, " Dan deprecated, "that warn't nothin'!" And he hurriedinto the street as loud cries sounded outside. 

"Good night, Miss Donovan, " Westcott said simply. "If you are everfrightened or in need of a friend, call on me. I'll be in town twodays yet, and after that Pete here can get word to me. " Then, with anadmiring, honest gaze, he searched her eyes a moment before he turnedand strolled toward the rude cigar-case. 

"All right, now, ma'am?" Pete Timmons said, picking, up her valise. The girl nodded, and together they went up the rude stairs to her roomwhere Timmons paused at the door. 

"Well, I'm glad you're here, " he said, moving away. "We've beenwaitin' for you to show. I may be wrong, ma'am, but I'd bet my beltthat you're the lady that's been expected by Ned Beaton. "

"You're mistaken, " she replied shortly. 

As she heard him clatter down the stairs, Miss Stella Donovan of theNew York _Star_ knew that her visit would not be in vain. 

CHAPTER VIII: A GANG OF ENEMIES

The miner waited, leaning against the desk. His eyes had followed theslender figure moving after the rotund Timmons up the uncarpeted stairsuntil it had vanished amid the shadows of the second story. He smiledquietly in imagination of her first astonished view of the interior ofroom eighteen, and recalled to mind a vivid picture of itsadornments--the bare wood walls, the springless bed, the crack-nosedpitcher standing disconsolate in a blue wash-basin of tin; the littleround mirror in a once-gilt frame with a bullet-hole through itscentre, and the strip of dingy rag-carpet on the floor--all thissuddenly displayed by the yellowish flame of a small hand-lamp leftsitting on the window ledge. 

Timmons came down the stairs, and bustled in back of the desk, eager toask questions. 

"Lady a friend o' yours, Jim?" he asked. "If I'd a knowed she wuscomin' I'd a saved a better room. "

"I have never seen her until to-night, Pete. She got off the train, and Carson asked me to escort her up-town--it was dark, you know. Howdid she like the palatial apartment?"

"Well, she didn't say nothin'; just sorter looked around. I reckonshe's a good sport, all right. What do ye suppose she's come yere for?"

"Not the slightest idea; I take it that's her business. "

"Sure; but a feller can't help wonderin', can he? Donovan, " he mused, peering at the name; "that's Irish, I take it--hey?"

"Suspiciously so; you are some detective, Pete. I'll give you anotherclue--her eyes are Irish grey. "

He sauntered across to the stove, and stood looking idly at thecard-players, blue wreaths of tobacco smoke circling up from the bowlof his pipe. Some one opened the street door, letting in a babel ofnoise, and walked heavily across the office floor. Westcott turnedabout to observe the newcomer. He was a burly, red-faced man, who hadevidently been drinking heavily, yet was not greatly under theinfluence of liquor, dressed in a checked suit of good cut and fashion, but hardly in the best of taste. His hat, a Stetson, was pushed backon his head, and an unlighted cigar was clinched tightly between histeeth. He bore all the earmarks of a commercial traveller of a certainsort--a domineering personality, making up by sheer nerve what he mightlack in brains. But for his words the miner would have given thefellow no further thought. 

"Say, Timmons, " he burst forth noisily, and striding over to the desk, "the marshal tells me a dame blew in from New York to-night--is sheregistered here?"

The landlord shoved the book forward, with one finger on the lastsignature. 

"Yep, " he said shortly, "but she ain't the one you was lookin' for--Iasked her that, furst thing. "

"Stella Donovan--huh! That's no name ever I heard; what's she looklike?"

"Like a lady, I reckon; I ain't seen one fer quite a spell now. "

"Dark or light?"

"Waal, sorter medium, I should say; brown hair with a bit o' red in it, an' a pair o' grey eyes full of fun--some girl, to my notion. "

The questioner struck his fist on the wood sharply. 

"Well, what the devil do you suppose such a woman has come to this holeclear from New York for, Timmons? What's her game, anyhow?"

"Blessed if I know, " and the proprietor seated himself on a high stool. "I didn't ask no questions like that; maybe the gent by the stove theremight give yer all the information yer want. He brought her up fromthe dapoo, an' kin talk English. Say, Jim, this yere is a short hornfrum New York, named Beaton, an' he seems ter be powerfully interestedin skirts--Beaton, Mr. Jim Westcott. "

The two men looked at each other, the miner stepping slightly forward, and knocking the ashes out of his pipe. Beaton laughed, assuming asemblance of good nature. 

"My questions were prompted solely by curiosity, " he explained, evidently not wholly at ease. "I was expecting a young woman, andthought this new arrival might prove to be my friend. "

"Hardly, " returned Westcott dryly. "As the landlord informed you, MissDonovan is a lady. "

If he expected this shot to take effect he was disappointed, for thegrin never left Beaton's face. 

"Ah, a good joke; a very good joke, indeed. But you misunderstand;this is altogether a business matter. This young woman whom I expectis coming here on a mining deal--it is not a love affair at all, Iassure you. "

Westcott's eyes sparkled, yet without merriment. 

"Quite pleased to be so assured, " he answered carelessly. "In whatmanner can I satisfy your curiosity? You have already been informed, Ibelieve, that the person relative to whom you inquire is a Miss StellaDonovan, of New York; that she has the appearance and manners of alady, and possesses brown hair and grey eyes. Is there anything more?"

"Why, no--certainly not. "

"I thought possibly you might care to question me regarding myacquaintance with the young woman?" Westcott went on, his voicehardening slightly. "If so, I have not the slightest objection totelling you that it consists entirely of acting as her escort from thestation to the hotel. I do not know why she is here, how long sheintends staying, or what her purpose may be. Indeed, there is only onefact I do know which may be of interest to you. "

Beaton, surprised by the language of the other, remained silent, hisface turning purple, as a suspicion came to him that he was being madea fool of. 

"It is this, my friend--who she is, what she is, and why she happens tobe here, is none of your damn business, and if you so much as mentionher name again in my presence you are going to regret it to your dyingday. That's all. "

Beaton, glancing about at the uplifted faces of the card-players, choseto assume an air of indifference, which scarcely accorded with theanger in his eyes. 

"Ah, come now, " he blurted forth, "I didn't mean anything; there's noharm done--let's have a drink, and be friends. "

Westcott shook his head. 

"No, I think not, " he said slowly. "I'm not much of a drinking manmyself, and when I do I choose my own company. But let me tell yousomething, Beaton, for your own good. I know your style, and you aremighty apt to get into trouble out here if you use any Bowery tactics. "

"Bowery tactics!"

"Yes; you claim to live in New York, and you possess all the earmarksof the East-Side bad man. There is nothing keeping you now fromroughing it with me but the sight of this gun in my belt, and asuspicion in your mind that I may know how to use it. That suspicionis correct. Moreover, you will discover this same ability more or lessprevalent throughout this section. However, I am not looking fortrouble; I am trying to avoid it. I haven't sought your company; I donot want to know you. Now you go back to your bar-room where you willfind plenty of your own kind to associate with. It's going to bedangerous for you to hang around here any longer. "

Beaton felt the steady eyes upon him, but was carrying enough liquor tomake him reckless. Still his was naturally the instinct of the NewYork gunman, seeking for some adventure. He stepped backward, feigninga laugh, watchful to catch Westcott off his guard. 

"All right, then, " he said, "I'll go get the drink; you can't bluff me. "

Westcott's knowledge of the class alone brought to him the man'spurpose. Beaton's hand was in the pocket of his coat, and, as heturned, apparently to leave the room, the cloth bulged. With one leapforward the miner was at his throat. There was a report, a flash offlame, the speeding bullet striking the stove, and the next instantBeaton, his hand still helplessly imprisoned within the coat-pocket, was hurled back across the card-table, the players scattering to getout of the way. All the pent-up dislike in Westcott's heart foundexpression in action; the despicable trick wrought him to a suddenfury, yet even then there came to him no thought of killing the fellow, no memory even of the loaded gun at his hip. He wanted to choke him, strike him with his hands. 

"You dirty coward, " he muttered fiercely. "So you thought the pockettrick was a new one out here, did you? Come, give the gun up! Oh! sothere is some fight left in you? Then let's settle it here. "

It was a struggle between two big, strong men--the one desperate, unscrupulous, brutal; the other angry enough, but retainingself-control. They crashed onto the floor, Westcott still retainingthe advantage of position, and twice he struck, driving his clenchedfist home. Suddenly he became aware that some one had jerked hisrevolver from its holster, and, almost at the same instant a hard handgripped the neck-band of his shirt and tore him loose from Beaton. 

"Here, now--enough of that, Jim, " said a voice sternly, and his handsarose instinctively as he recognised the gleam of two drawn weaponsfronting him. "Help Beaton up, Joe. Now, look yere, Mr. BullyWestcott, " and the speaker shook his gun threateningly. "As ithappens, you have jumped on a friend o' ours, an' we naturally proposeto take a hand in this game--you know me!"

Westcott nodded, an unpleasant smile on his lips. 

"I do, Lacy, " he said coolly, "and that if there is any dirty workgoing on in this camp, it is quite probable you and your gang are init. So, this New Yorker is a protégé of yours?"

"That's none of your business; we're here for fair play. "

"Since when? Now listen; you've got me covered, and that is my gunwhich Moore has in his hand. I cannot fight you alone and unarmed; butI can talk yet. "

"I reckon yer can, if that's goin' ter do yer eny good. "

"So the La Rosita Mining Company is about to be revived, is it?Eastern capital becoming interested. I've heard rumours of that for aweek past. What's the idea? struck anything?"

Lacy, a long, rangy fellow, with a heavy moustache, and a scar over oneeye, partially concealed by his hat brim, grinned at the others asthough at a good joke. 

"No, nuthin' particular as yet, " he answered; "but you hev', an' Ireckon thet's just about as good. Tryin' ter keep it dark, wasn't yer?Never even thought we'd caught on. "

"Oh, yes, I did; you flatter yourselves. I caught one of yourstool-pigeons up the gulch yesterday, and more than ten days ago Mooreand Edson made a trip into my tunnel while I happened to be away; theyforgot to hide their trail. I knew what you were up to, and you canall of you look for a fight. "

"When your partner gets out here, I suppose, " sneered Lacy. 

"He'll be here. "

"Oh, will he? Well, he's a hell of a while coming. You wired him amonth ago, and yer've written him twice since. Oh, I've got the caseson you, all right, Westcott. I know you haven't got a cent left to goon with, and nowhere to get eny except through him. " He laughed. "Ain't that right? Well, then, yer chances look mighty slim ter mejust at present, ol'-timer. However, there's no fight on yet; will yerbehave yerself, an' let this man Beaton alone if I hand yer back yergun?"

"There is no choice left me. "

"Sure; that's sensible enough; give it to him, Moore. "

He broke the chamber, shaking the cartridges out into his palm; thenhanded the emptied weapon over to Westcott. His manner was purposelyinsulting, but the latter stood with lips firmly set, realising hisposition. 

"Now, then, go on over thar an' sit down, " continued Lacy. "Maybe, ifyer wait long enough, that partner o' yours might blow in. I got somecuriosity myself as to why that girl showed up ter-night under yerguidance, an' why yer so keen ter fight about her, Jim; but I reckonwe'll clear that up ter-morrow without makin' yer talk. "

"You mean to question Miss Donovan?"

"Hell, no; just keep an eye on her. 'Tain't likely she's in Haskelljust fer the climate. Come on, boys, let's liquor. Big Jim Westcotthas his claws cut, and it's Beaton's turn to spend a little. "

Westcott sat quietly in the chair as they filed out; then took the pipefrom his pocket and filled it slowly. He realised his defeat, hishelplessness, but his mind was already busy with the future. 

Timmons came out from behind the desk a bit solicitous. 

"Hurt eny?" he asked. "Didn't wing yer, or nuthin'?"

"No; the stove got the bullet. He shot through his pocket. "

"Whut's all the row about?"

"Oh, not much, Timmons; this is my affair, " and Westcott lit his pipewith apparent indifference. "Lacy and I have got two mining claimstapping the same lead, that's all. There's been a bit o' feelingbetween us for some time. I reckon it's got to be fought out, now. "

"Then yer've really struck ore?"

"Yes. "

"And the young woman? Hes she got enything ter do with it?"

"Not a thing, Timmons; but I want to keep her out of the hands of thatbunch. Give me a lamp and I'll go up-stairs and think this game out. "

CHAPTER IX: A NIGHT AND A MORNING

Stella Donovan never forgot the miseries of her first night in Haskell. When old man Timmons finally left her, after placing the flaring lampon a chair, and went pattering back down the bare hall, she glancedshudderingly about at her unpleasant surroundings, none too pleasedwith the turn of events. 

The room was scarcely large enough to contain the few articles offurniture absolutely required. Its walls were of unplaned plankoccasionally failing to meet, and the only covering to the floor was adingy strip of rag-carpet. The bed was a cot, shapeless, and proppedup on one side by the iron leg of some veranda bench, while the openwindow looked out into the street. There was a bolt, not appearingparticularly secure, with which Miss Donovan immediately locked thedoor before venturing across to take a glance without. 

The view was hardly reassuring, as the single street was still thescene of pandemonium, the saloon and dance-hall almost directlyopposite, operating in full blast. Oaths and ribald laughter assailedher ears, while directly beneath, although out of her view, a quarrelthreatened to lead to serious consequences. She pulled down the windowto shut out these sounds, but the room became so stuffy and hot withouteven this slight ventilation, as to oblige her opening it again. As acompromise she hauled down the curtain, a green paper affair, tornbadly, and which occasionally flapped in the wind with a startlingnoise. 

The bed-clothing, once turned back and inspected, was of a nature toprevent the girl from disrobing; but finally she lay down, seeking suchrest as was possible, after turning the flickering flames of the lampas low as she dared, and then finally blowing it out altogether. Theglare from the street crept in through the cracks in the curtain, playing in fantastic light and shadow across ceiling and wall, whilethe infernal din never ceased. 

Sleep was not to be attained, although she closed her eyes and muffledher ears. The misshapen bed brought no comfort to her tired body, forno matter how she adjusted herself, the result was practically thesame. Not even her mind rested. 

Miss Donovan was not naturally of a nervous disposition. She had beenbrought up very largely to rely upon herself, and life had never beensufficiently easy for her to find time in which to cultivate nerves. Her newspaper training had been somewhat strenuous, and had won her areputation in New York for unusual fearlessness and devotion to duty. Yet this situation was so utterly different, and so entirelyunexpected, that she confessed to herself she would be very glad to besafely out of it. 

A revolver shot rang out sharply from one of the rooms below, followedby the sound of loud voices, and a noise of struggle. The startledgirl sat upright on the cot, listening, but the disturbance ceasedalmost immediately, and she finally lay down again, her heart stillbeating wildly. Her thoughts, never still, wandered over the events ofthe evening--the arrival at Haskell station, the strange meeting withWestcott, and the sudden revelation that he was the partner ofFrederick Cavendish. 

The big, good-natured miner had interested her from the first asrepresenting a perfect type of her preconceived ideal of the realWesterner. She had liked the firm character of his face, the quiet, thoughtful way in which he acted, the whole unobtrusive bearing of theman. Then, as they had walked that long mile together in the darkness, she had learned things about him--little glimpses of his past, and ofdawning hopes--which only served to increase her confidence. Alreadyhe had awakened her trust; she felt convinced that if she neededfriendship, advice, even actual assistance, here was one whom she couldimplicitly trust. 

The racket outside died away slowly. She heard various guests returnto their rooms, staggering along the hall and fumbling at their doors;voices echoed here and there, and one fellow, mistaking his domicileentirely, struggled with her latch in a vain endeavour to gainentrance. She was upon her feet, when companions arrived and led theinvader elsewhere, their loud laughter dying away in the distance. Itwas long after this before nature finally conquered and the girl sleptoutstretched on the hard cot, the first faint grey of dawn alreadyvisible in the eastern sky. 

She was young, though, and she awoke rested and refreshed, in spite ofthe fact that her body ached at first from the discomfort of the cot. The sunlight rested in a sheet of gold on her drawn curtain, and thesilence of the morning, following so unexpectedly the dismal racket ofthe night, seemed to fairly shock her into consciousness. Could thisbe Haskell? Could this indeed be the inferno into which she had beenprecipitated from the train in the darkness of the evening before? Shestared about at the bare, board walls, the bullet-scarred mirror, thecracked pitcher, before she could fully reassure herself; then steppedupon the disreputable rug, and crossed to the open window. 

Haskell at nine in the morning bore but slight resemblance to that sameenvironment during the hours of darkness--especially on a nightimmediately following pay-day at the mines. As Miss Donovan, nowthoroughly awake, and obsessed by the memory of those past hours ofhorror, cautiously drew aside the corner of torn curtain, and gazeddown upon the deserted street below, she could scarcely accept theevidence of her own eyes. 

True, there were many proofs visible of the wild riot of the eveningbefore--torn papers, emptied bottles, a shattered sign or two, anoil-lamp blown into bits by some well-directed shot, a bat lying in themiddle of the road, and a dejected pony or two, still at thehitching-rack, waiting a delayed rider. But, except for these mutereminiscences of past frolic, the long street seemed utterly dead, thedoors of saloons and dance-halls closed, the dust swirling back andforth to puffs of wind, the only moving object visible being a gaunt, yellow dog trotting soberly past. 

However, it was not upon this view of desolation that Miss Donovan'seyes clung. They had taken all this in at a glance, startled, scarcelycomprehending, but the next instant wandered to the marvellous scenerevealed beyond that squalid street, and those miserable shacks, to thegreen beauty of the outspread valley, and the wondrous vista ofmountain peaks beyond. 

She straightened up, emitting a swift breath of delight, as herwide-open eyes surveyed the marvellous scene of mingled loveliness andgrandeur. The stream, curving like a great snake, gleamed amid theacres of green grass, its swift waters sparkling in the sun. Here andthere it would dip down between high banks, or disappear for a momentbehind a clump of willows, only to reappear in broader volume. Beyond, seemingly at no distance at all, yet bordered by miles of turf anddesert, the patches of vivid green interspersed with the darkercolouring of spruce, and the outcropping of brown rocks, the toweringpeaks of a great mountain-chain swept up into the clear blue of thesky, black almost to their summits, which were dazzling with the whiteof unmelted snow. Marvellous, awe-inspiring as the picture was initself alone, it was rendered even more wonderful when contrasted withthe ugly squalidness of the town below, its tents and shacks sprawlingacross the flat, the sunlight revealing its dust and desolation. 

The girl's first exclamation of delight died away as she observed theseworks of man projected against this screen of nature's building; yether eyes dwelt lovingly for some time on the far-flung line ofmountains, before she finally released the green shade, and shut outthe scene. Her toilet was a matter of but a few minutes, although shetook occasion to slip on a fresh waist, and to brighten up the shoes, somewhat soiled by the tramp through the thick dust the evening before. Indeed, it was a very charming young woman, her dress and appearancequite sufficiently Eastern, who finally ventured out into the roughhall, and down the single flight of stairs. The hotel was silent, except for the heavy breathing of a sleeper in one of the rooms shepassed, and a melancholy-looking Chinaman, apparently engaged inchamber work at the further end of the hall. Timmons was alone in theoffice, playing with a shaggy dog, and the floor remained unswept, while a broken chair still bore evidence of the debauch of the previousnight. The landlord greeted her rather sullenly, his eyes heavy andred from lack of sleep. 

"Morning, " he said, without attempting to rise. "Lie down thar, Towser; the lady don't likely want yer nosin' around. Yer a bit latefer breakfast; it's ginerally over with by eight o'clock. "

"I am not at all hungry, " she answered. "Is it far to the post-office?"

"'Bout two blocks, ter yer right. If yer intendin' ter stay yere, yebetter have yer mail sent ter the hotel. "

"Thank you; I'll see. I do not know yet the length of my stay. "

"Are ye yere on business?"

"Partly; but it may require only a few days. "

"Waal, if yer do stay over, maybe I kin fix yer up a bit morecomfortable-like. Thar'll be some drummers a goin' out to-day, Ireckon. "

"Thank you very much; I'll let you know what I decide the moment I knowmyself. Is that a hunting-dog?"

"Bones mostly, " he responded gloomily, but stroking the animal's head. "Leastwise, he ain't been trained none. I just naturally like a darground fer company--they sorter seem homelike. "

She passed out into the bright sunshine, and clear mountain air. Theboard-walk ended at the corner of the hotel, but a narrow cinder-patchcontinued down that side of the street for some distance. The houseswere scattered, the vacant spaces between grown up to weeds, and moreor less ornamented by tin cans, and as she advanced she encounteredonly two pedestrians--a cowboy, so drunk that he hung desperately tothe upper board of a fence in order to let her pass, staring at her asif she was some vision, and a burly fellow in a checked suit, with somemail in his hand, who stopped after they had passed each other, andgazed back at her as though more than ordinarily interested. From thehotel stoop he watched until she vanished within the general store, which contained the post-office. 

Through the rude window the clerk pushed a plain manila envelope intoher outstretched hand. Evidently from the thinness of the letter, Farriss had but few instructions to give and, thrusting the unopenedmissive into her hand-bag, she retraced her steps to her room. 

There she vented a startled gasp. The suitcase which she had leftclosed upon the floor was open--wide open--its contents disarranged. Some one had rummaged it thoroughly. And Miss Donovan knew that shewas under suspicion. 

CHAPTER X: AT A NEW ANGLE

The knowledge that she was thus being spied upon gave the girl a suddenthrill, but not of fear. Instead it served to strengthen her resolve. There had been nothing in her valise to show who she really was, or whyshe was in Haskell, and consequently, if any vague suspicion had beenaroused as to her presence in that community, the searchers haddiscovered no proof by this rifling of her bag. 

She examined the room thoroughly, and glanced out into the still, deserted hall before bolting the door. The cracks in the wall werescarcely wide enough to be dangerous, yet she took the precaution ofshrinking back into the darkest corner before opening her hand-bag andextracting the letter. It bore a typewritten address, with nosuspicious characteristics about the envelope, the return card(typewritten also) being the home address of Farriss. 

Farriss's letter contained nothing of interest except the fact thatEnright had also left for the West. He instructed her to be on thelookout for him in Haskell, added a line or two of suggestions, andordered her to proceed with caution, as her quest might prove to be adangerous one. 

Miss Donovan tore the letter into small bits, wrapping the fragments ina handkerchief until she could throw them safely away. For some timeshe stood motionless at the window, looking out, but seeing nothing, her mind busy with the problem. She thought rapidly and clearly, morethan ordinarily eager to solve this mystery. She was a newspaperwoman, and the strange story in which she was involved appealed to herimagination, yet its appeal was far more effective in a purely personalway. It was Frederick Cavendish who had formerly been the partner ofJim Westcott. This was why no answer had come to the telegrams andletters the latter had sent East. What had become of them? Had theyfallen into the hands of these others? Was this the true reason forBeaton's presence in Haskell, and also why the La Rue woman had beenhastily sent for? She was not quite ready to accept that theory; theoccasion hardly seemed important enough by itself alone. 

Westcott's discovery was not even proven yet; its value had not beendefinitely established; it was of comparatively small importancecontrasted with the known wealth left by the murdered man in the East. No, there must be some other cause for this sudden visit to Colorado. But what? She gave little credence to the vague suspicions advanced byValois; that was altogether too impossible, too melodramatic, thisthought of the substitution of some other body. It might be done, ofcourse; indeed, she had a dim remembrance of having read of such a casesomewhere, but there could be no object attained in this affair. Frederick dead, apparently killed by a burglar in his own apartments, was quite understandable: but kidnapped and still alive, another bodysubstituted for his, resembling him sufficiently to be unrecognised asa fraud, would be a perfectly senseless procedure. No doubt there hadbeen a crime committed, its object the attainment of money, but withoutquestion the cost had been the life of Frederick Cavendish. 

Yet why was the man Beaton out here? For what purpose had he wired theLa Rue woman to join him? And why had some one already entered herroom and examined the contents of Stella Donovan's bag? To thesequeries there seemed to be no satisfactory answers. She must consultwith Westcott, and await an opportunity to make the acquaintance ofCeleste La Rue. 

She was still there, her elbows on the window-ledge, her face halfconcealed in the hollow of her hands, so lost in thought as to beoblivious to the flight of time, when the harsh clang of thedinner-bell from the porch below aroused her to a sense of hunger. 

Ten minutes later Timmons, guiltless of any coat, but temporarilylaying aside his pipe as a special act of courtesy, escorted her intothe dining-room and seated her at a table between the two frontwindows. Evidently this was reserved for the more distinguishedguests--travelling men and those paying regular day rates--for its onlyother occupant was the individual in the check suit whom she vaguelyremembered passing on the street a few hours before. 

The two long tables occupying the centre of the room were already wellfilled with hungry men indiscriminately attired, not a few coatless andwith rolled-up sleeves, as though they had hurried in from work at thefirst sound of the gong. These paid little attention to her entrance, except to stare curiously as she crossed the floor in Timmons's wake, and immediately afterward again devoted themselves noisily to theirfood. 

A waitress, a red-haired, slovenly girl, with an impediment in herspeech, took her order and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen, and Miss Donovan discreetly lifted her eyes to observe the man sittingnearly opposite. He was not prepossessing, yet she instantlyrecognised his type, and the probability that he would address her ifthe slightest opportunity occurred. Beneath lowered lashes she studiedthe fellow--the prominent jaw and thick lips shadowed by a closelytrimmed moustache; the small eyes beneath overhanging brows; the heavyhair brushed back from a rather low forehead, and the short, stubbyfingers grasping knife and fork. 

If he is a drummer, she thought, his line would be whisky; then, almostas suddenly, it occurred to her that perhaps he may prove to be NedBeaton, and she drew in her breath sharply, determined to break the ice. 

The waitress spread out the various dishes before her, and she glancedat them hopelessly. As she lifted her gaze she met that of her_vis-à-vis_ fairly, and managed to smile. 

"Some chuck, " he said in an attempt at good-fellowship, "but not toremind you of the Waldorf-Astoria. "

"I should say not, " she answered, testing one of her dishes cautiously. "But why associate me with New York?"

"You can't hide those things in a joint like this. Besides, that's theway you registered. "

"Oh, so you've looked me up. "

"Well, naturally, " he explained, as though with a dim idea that anexplanation was required, "I took a squint at the register; then Ibecame more interested, for I'm from little old New York myself. "

"You are? Selling goods on the road away out here?"

"Not me; that ain't my line at all. I've got a considerable miningdeal on up the cañon. I'll earn every dollar I'll make, though, eatingthis grub. Believe me, I'd like to be back by the Hudson right now. "

"You've been here some time, then?"

"'Bout a month altogether, but not here in Haskell all that time. Whendid you leave New York?"

"Oh, more than a week ago, " she lied gracefully. 

He stroked his moustache. 

"Then I suppose you haven't much late New York news? Nothingstartling, I mean?"

"No; only what has been reported in the Western papers. I do notrecall anything particularly interesting. " She dropped her eyes to herplate and busied herself with a piece of tough beef. "The usualmurders, of course, and things of that kind. "

There was a moment's silence, then the man laughed as though slightlyill at ease. 

"These fellows out here think they are a pretty tough lot, " he saidgrimly, "but there are plenty of boys back on the East Side who couldshow them a few tricks. You know that part of the old town?"

"Not very well, " she admitted with apparent regret, "but of course Iread a good bit about it in the papers--the desperate characters, gunmen, and all those the police have so much trouble with. Are thosestories really true?"

"There ain't a third of them ever told, " and he leaned forward, quiteat his ease again. "I have some business interests down that way, andso hear a good deal of what is going on at first hand. A New Yorkgunman is so much worse than these amateurs out here there ain't nocomparison. Why, I know a case----"

He stopped suddenly and took a sip of coffee. 

"Tell me about it. "

"'Tisn't anything to interest you, and, besides, it wouldn't sound wellhere at the table; some other time, maybe, when you and I get betteracquainted. What ever brought a girl like you down in here?"

She smiled. 

"I'm a feature writer; I'm doing a series on the West for_Scribbler's_, " she told him. "I visit New Mexico next, but I'm aftersomething else besides a description of mountains and men; I'm alsogoing to hunt up an old friend interested in mining, who told me if Iever got out this way I must look him up. 

"I haven't seen him for years. He was continually singing thisvalley's charms, and so here I am. And I'm planning a great surpriseon him. And, of course, I'm literally drinking in atmosphere--to saynothing of local colour, which seems mostly to be men and revolvers. "

The man opposite wet his lips with his tongue in an effort to speak, but the girl was busy eating and apparently paid no attention. Hercalm indifference convinced him that her words were entirely innocent, and his audacity returned. 

"Well, " he ventured, "do you agree with this prospector friend?"

"The scenery, you mean?" glancing up brightly. "Why, it is wonderful, of course, and I am not at all sorry having made the journey, althoughit hardly compares with Tennessee Pass or Silver Plume. Still, youknow, it will be pleasant to tell Mr. Cavendish when I go back that Iwas here. "

He choked and his face seemed to whiten suddenly. 

"Mr. Cavendish?" he gasped. "Of New York? Not the one that waskilled?"

It was her turn to stare across the table, her eyes wide with horror, which she simulated excellently. 

"Killed! Has a man by that name been killed lately in New York? Itwas Frederick Cavendish I referred to. " Her pretence was admirable. 

He was silent, realising lie had already said too much; the red hadcome back into his cheeks, but his hand shook as it rested clenched onthe table. 

"Tell me, " she insisted, "has he been killed? How do you know?"

Her earnestness, her perfect acting, convinced him. It was a merecoincidence, he thought, that this name should have cropped up betweenthem, but, now that it had, he must explain the whole affair so as notto arouse suspicion. He cleared his throat and compelled his eyes tomeet those across the table. 

"Well, I don't know much about it, only what I read, " he began, feelingfor words. "But that was the name; I remembered it as soon as youspoke, and that the papers said he had been mining in Colorado beforehe came into money. He was found dead in his apartments, apparentlykilled by a burglar who had rifled his safe. "

"Is this true? Why have I never heard? When did it happen?"

"It must have been a month ago. "

"But how did you learn these particulars? You have been West thatlength of time. "

"I read about it in a New York paper, " he answered a trifle sullenly. "It was sent to me. "

She sat with her chin in the palm of one hand, watching him frombeneath the shadow of lowered lashes, but his eyes were bent downwardat his plate. 

"Are you through?" he questioned suddenly. 

"Yes; this--this awful news has robbed me of all appetite. "

Neither had noticed Westcott as he entered the room, but his firstglance about revealed their presence, and without an instant ofhesitancy the big miner crossed the room and approached the table wherethe two were sitting. 

Beaton, as though anticipating trouble, arose to his feet, but Westcottmerely drew back a vacant chair and seated himself, his eyes ignoringthe presence of the man and seeking the uplifted face of the girlquestioningly. 

"I hope I do not interrupt, " he said pleasantly. "I had reason tosuppose you were unacquainted with Mr. Beaton here. "

"What reason?" her surprised tone slightly indignant. 

"I believe the gentleman so informed me. It chanced that we had aslight controversy last night. "

"Over me?"

"Over his curiosity regarding you--who you were; your presence here. "

She pushed back her chair and stood up. 

"A natural curiosity enough, surely. And you felt important enough torebuke him on my behalf? Is that what I am to understand?"

"Why, " he explained, startled by her strange manner, "I informed himthat it was none of his business, and that if he mentioned your name inmy presence again there was liable to be trouble. We scrapped it out. "

"You--you scrapped it out? You mean there was a fight over me--abarroom squabble over me?"

"Not in the barroom; in the hotel office. Beaton drew a gun, and I hadto slug him. "

"But the affair originated over me--my name was brought into it?" sheinsisted. "You actually threatened him because he asked about me?"

"I reckon that was about how it started, " he admitted slowly. "Yousee, I rather thought I was a sorter friend of yours, and that I oughtto stand up for you. "

"Did--did this man say anything against me?"

"No--not exactly; he--he just asked questions. "

Her eyes were scornful, angry, "Indeed! Well, permit me to say, Mr. Westcott, that I choose my ownfriends, and am perfectly competent to defend my own character. Thiscloses our acquaintanceship. "

She moved about the end of the table, and touched Beaton's sleeve withher fingers. 

"Would you escort me to the foot of the stairs?" she asked, her voicesoftening. "We will leave this belligerent individual to his owncompany. "

Neither of them glanced back, the girl still speaking as theydisappeared, but Westcott turned in his chair to watch them cross theroom. He had no sense of anger, no desire to retaliate, but he feltdazed and as though the whole world was suddenly turned upside down. So she really belonged with that outfit, did she? Well, it was a goodjoke on him. 

The waitress spoke to him twice before he was sufficiently aroused togive his order. 

CHAPTER XI: DEAD OR ALIVE

Before Westcott finished his meal his mood had changed to tolerantamusement. That the girl had deliberately deceived him was plain, enough, revealed now in both her manner and words. What her truepurpose might have been in apparently seeking his friendship at firstcould not now be conjectured--indeed, made little difference--but itwas clear enough she really belonged to the Lacy crowd, and had no moreuse for him. 

Westcott was sorry for the turn things had taken; he made no attempt todisguise this from his own mind. He was beginning to like MissDonovan, to think about her, to feel a distinct interest in her. Someway she had impressed him deeply as a young woman of character andunusual charm--a breath out of the East to arouse his imagination andmemory. He had begun to hope for a friendship which would endure, andnow--the house of cards fell at a single touch. 

He could scarcely comprehend the situation; how a girl of her apparentrefinement and gentility could ever be attracted by a rough, brutaltype such as Ned Beaton so evidently was. Why, the man's lack of tastein dress, the expression of his face, his ungrammatical language, stamped him as belonging to a distinctly lower order. 

There surely must be some other cause drawing them together. Yet, whatever it was, there was no doubt but that he had been very properlysnubbed. Her words stung; yet it was the manner in which she hadlooked at him and swept past at Beaton's side which hurt the most. Oh, well, an enemy more or less made small difference in his life; he wouldlaugh at it and forget. She had made her choice of companionship, andit was just as well, probably, that the affair had gone no furtherbefore he discovered the sort of girl she really was. 

Westcott reached this decision and the outer office at the same time, exchanged a careless word or two with Timmons, and finally purchased acigar and retired to one corner to peruse an old newspaper. It was notso easy to read, however, for the news failed to interest or keep hismind from wandering widely. Soon he was staring out through theunwashed window, oblivious to everything but his own thoughts. 

Who was this Beaton, and what connection could he have with Bill Lacy'sgang? The row last night had revealed a mutual interest between themen, but what was its nature? To Westcott's judgment the burly NewYorker did not resemble an Eastern speculator in mining property; hewas far more typical of a Bowery rough--a tool rather than an employerin the commission of crime. 

Lacy's purpose he believed he understood to some extent--a claim thatit was an extension of the La Rosita vein which Westcott had tapped inhis recent discovery. There had been bad blood between them for sometime--threats of violence, and rumours of lawsuits. No doubt Lacywould resort to any dirty trick to get him out of the way and gaincontrol of the property. But he had no personal fear of Lacy: not, atleast, if he could once get the backing of Cavendish's money. Butthese other people--Beaton, Miss Donovan, and still another expected toarrive soon from the East--how were they connected with the deal?

How were they involved in the controversy? Had Lacy organised acompany and got hold of some money in New York? It might be possible, and yet neither the man nor the woman impressed him as financiersrisking fortunes in the exploitation of mines. The problem wasunsolvable; the only thing he could do was guard his property and waituntil they showed their hand. If he could only hear from FredCavendish----

He was so deeply engrossed in these thoughts, the smoked-out cigarsubstituted by a pipe, that he remained unaware that Timmons had leftthe office, or that the Chinese man-of-all-work had silently tiptoeddown the stairs and was cautiously peering in through the open doorwayto make sure the coast was clear. Assured as to this, the wilyOriental sidled noiselessly across the floor and paused beside him. 

"Zis Meester Vest-c-ott?" he asked softly. 

The miner looked up at the implacable face in surprise, lowering hisfeet. 

"That's my name, John; what is it?"

The messenger shook a folded paper out of his sleeve, thrust it intothe other's hand hastily, and, with a hurried glance about, started toglide away as silently as he had come. Westcott stared at the note, which was unaddressed. 

"Sure this is for me, John?"

"Ally same sure--for Meester Vest-c-ott. "

He vanished into the dark hall, and there was the faint clatter of hisshoes on the stairs. 

Westcott, fully aroused, cast his glance about the deserted room, andunfolded the paper which had been left in his fingers. His eyes tookin the few penciled words instantly. 

Do not be angry. I had the best of reasons. Meet me near the lowerbridge at three o'clock. Very important. 

S. D. 

He read the lines over again, his lips emitting a low whistle, his eyesdarkening with sudden appreciation. Slowly he tore the paper intostrips, crossed the room, and flung the remnants into the stove. Ithad been a trick, then, a bit of play-acting! But had it? Was notthis rather the real fraud--this sudden change of heart? Perhapssomething had occurred to cause the girl to realise that she had made amistake; to awaken her to a knowledge that a pretence at friendshipwould serve her cause better than an open break. 

This note might have a sinister purpose; be intended to deceive. No!He would not believe this. All his old lurking faith in her came backin a flash of revelation. He would continue to believe in her, trusther, feel that some worthy purpose had influenced her strange action. And, above all, he would be at the lower bridge on the hour set. Hewas at the desk when Timmons returned. 

"What do I owe you, old man?"

He paid the bill jokingly and in the best of humour, careful to tellthe proprietor that he was leaving for his mine and might not returnfor several days. He possessed confidence that Timmons would make nosecret of this in Haskell after his departure. He was glad to noticethat Beaton observed him as he passed the Good Luck Saloon and wenttramping down the dusty road. He never glanced back until he turnedinto the north trail at the edge of town; there the path droppedsuddenly toward the bed of the creek, and he was concealed from view. In the rock shadow he paused, chuckling grimly as he observed the NewYorker cross the street to the hotel, hastening, no doubt, to interviewTimmons. 

There was a crooked trail along the bank of the stream which joined themain road at the west end of the lower bridge. It led up the cañonamid rocks and cedars, causing it to assume a strangely tortuouscourse, and its lower end was shadowed by overhanging willows. Alongthis Westcott lingered at the hour set, watchful of the road leadingtoward Haskell. 

The only carriage belonging to the town livery passed soon after hisarrival, evidently bound for the station, and from his covert herecognised Beaton lolling carelessly in the back seat. This must meanthat the man expected arrivals on the afternoon train, importantarrivals whom he desired to honour. There was no sign, however, ofMiss Donovan; the time was up, yet with no evidence of her approach. 

Westcott waited patiently, arguing to himself that her delay might becaused by her wish to get Beaton well out of the way before sheventured to leave the hotel. At last he strode down the path to thebridge, and saw her leaning over the rail, staring at the ripples below. 

"Why, " he exclaimed in surprise, "how long have you been here?"

"Several minutes, " and she turned to face him. "I waited until thecarriage passed before coming onto the bridge. I took the foot-pathfrom the hotel. "

"Oh, I see--from the other way. I was waiting in the trail below. Yousaw who was in the carriage?"

"Beaton--yes, " quietly. "He expects some friends, and wishes me tomeet them--Eastern people, you know. "

Her indifference ruffled his temper, aroused his suspicion of herpurpose. 

"You sent for me; there is some explanation, no doubt?"

The lady smiled, lifting her eyes to his face. 

"There is, " she answered. "A perfectly satisfactory one, I believe;but this place is too prominent, as I have a rather long story to tell. Beaton and his friends will be returning soon. "

"There is a rock seat below, just beyond the clump of willows, quiteout of sight from the road, " he suggested. "Perhaps you would go withme there?"

"What trail is that?"

"It leads to mines up the cañon, my own included, but is not greatlytravelled; the main trail is farther east. "

She walked to the edge of the bridge, and permitted him to assist herdown the steep bank. There was something of reserve about her manner, which prevented Westcott from feeling altogether at ease. In his ownmind he began once more to question her purpose, to doubt the sincerityof her intentions. She appeared different from the frankly outspokengirl of the night before. Neither broke the silence between them untilthey reached the flat boulder and had found seats in the shelter ofoverhanging trees. She sat a moment, her eyes on the water, her cheeksshadowed by the wide brim of her hat, and Westcott noted the almostperfect contour of her face silhouetted against the green leaves. Sheturned toward him questioningly. 

"I was very rude, " she said, "but you will forgive me when I explainthe cause. I had to act as I did or else lose my hold entirely on thatman--you understand?"

"I do not need to understand, " he answered gallantly. "It is enoughthat you say so. "

"No, it is not enough. I value your friendship, Mr. Westcott, and Ineed your advice. I find myself confronting a very complicated caseunder unfamiliar conditions. I hardly know what to do. "

"You may feel confidence in me. "

"Oh, I do; indeed, you cannot realise how thoroughly I trust you, " andimpulsively she touched his hand with her own. "That is why I wroteyou to meet me here--so I could tell you the whole story. "

He waited, his eyes on her face. 

"I received my letter this morning--the letter I told you I expected, containing my instructions. They--they relate to this man Ned Beatonand the woman he expects on this train. "

"Your instructions?" he echoed doubtfully. "You mean you have beensent after these people on some criminal matter? You are a detective?"

There must have been a tone of distrust to his voice, for she turnedand faced him defiantly. 

"No; not that. Listen: I am a newspaperwoman, a special writer on theNew York _Star_. " She paused, her cheeks flushing with nervousness. "It--it was very strange that I met you first of all, for--for it seemsthat the case is of personal interest to you. "

"To me! Why, that is hardly likely, if it originated in New York. "

"It did"--she drew in a sharp breath--"for it originated in the murderof Frederick Cavendish. "

"The murder of Cavendish! He has been killed?"

"Yes; at least that is what every one believes, except possibly oneman--his former valet. His body was found lying dead on the floor ofhis private apartment, the door of his safe open, the money and papersmissing. The coroner's jury brought in a verdict of murder on thesefacts. "

"And the murderer?"

"Left no clue; it was believed to be the work of a burglar. "

"But when was this?"

She gave the date, and he studied over it. 

"The same day he should have received my telegram, " he said gravely. "That's why the poor fellow never answered. " He turned to hersuddenly. "But what became of my others, " he asked, "and of all theletters I wrote?"

"That is exactly what I want to learn. They must have been deliveredto his cousin, John Cavendish. I'll tell you all I know, and thenperhaps, between us, we may be able to figure it out. "

Briefly and clearly, she set before him the facts she and Willis hadbeen able to gather: the will, the connection between Enright and JohnCavendish, the quarrel between John and Frederick, the visit of John toEnright's office, the suspicion of Valois that the murdered man was notCavendish, and, finally, the conversation overheard in Steinway's, thetorn telegram, and the meeting between Celeste La Rue and Enright. 

When she had finished, Westcott sat, chin in hand, turning the evidenceover in his mind. "Do you believe Frederick Cavendish is dead?" heasked suddenly. 

"Yes. "

Westcott struck his hand down on the rock, his eyes glowing dangerously. 

"Well, I don't!" he exclaimed. "I believe he is alive! My theory isthat this was all carefully arranged, but that circumstances compelledthem to act quickly, and before they were entirely ready. Twounexpected occurrences hurried them into action. "

She leaned forward, stirred by his earnestness. 

"What?"

"The quarrel in the restaurant, leading to the making of the will, " heanswered gravely, "and my telegram. The two things fit togetherexactly. He must have received my first message that same night. Inmy judgment he was glad of some excuse to leave New York and determinedto take the first train West. His quarrel with John, coupled with hisdisgust of the company he kept, caused him to draw up this willhurriedly. He left the club intending to pack up and take the firsttrain. "

"And was killed before he could do so?"

"Possibly; but if that dead man had no scar on his chest, he was notFrederick Cavendish; he was an impostor; some poor victim deliberatelysubstituted because of his facial resemblance. Tell me, if it was Fredwho was murdered, what became of the money he was known to have in hisprivate safe? What became of the original copy of the will he had inhis pocket when he left the club?"

She shook her head, convinced that his argument had force. 

"I--I do not know. "

"Yet these things are true, are they not? No money, no will was found. There is but one reason possible, unless others entered after themurder and stole these things. My belief is that Fred returned to hisapartments, took what money he required, packed his valise, anddeparted without a word to any one. He often did things likethat--hastily, on the spur of the moment. "

"But what happened afterward?"

"The rest is all theory. I do not know, but I'll make a guess. Insome way the conspirators learned what had occurred, but not in time tointercept his departure; yet they had everything ready for action, andrealised this was the opportunity. Frederick had disappeared leavingno trace behind; they could attend to him later, intercept him, perhaps---- Wait! Keep still. There comes the carriage from thetrain. "

He drew her back into the denser undergrowth and they looked outthrough the leaves to where the road circled in toward the bridge. Thehoof-beats of horses alone broke the silence. 

CHAPTER XII: VIEWED FROM BOTH SIDES

The team trotted on to the bridge, and then slowed down to a walk. Abovethe dull reverberation of hoofs the listeners below could hear the soundof voices, and an echo of rather forced laughter. Then the carriageemerged into full view. Beside the driver it contained threepassengers--Beaton on the front seat, his face turned backward toward thetwo behind, a man and a woman. Westcott and Miss Donovan, peeringthrough the screen of leaves, caught only a swift glimpse of theirfaces--the man middle-aged, inclined to stoutness, with an unusually redface, smoking viciously at a cigar, the woman young and decidedly blonde, with stray locks of hair blowing about her face, and a vivacious manner. The carriage rolled on to the smooth road, and the driver touched up thehorses with his whip, the lowered back curtain shutting off the view. 

The girl seized Westcott's arm while she directed his gaze with her freehand. "Look!" she cried. "The woman is La Rue. And the man--the man isEnright! He is the lawyer I told you of, the one whose hand is not clearin this affair. And he is here!"

"Good!" Westcott exclaimed. "I'm glad they're both here. It means thatthere will be more to observe, and it means that there will beaction--and that, too, quick! They are out here for a definite purposewhich must soon be disclosed. And, Miss Donovan, I may be a littlerock-worn and a little bit out of style, but I think their presence herehas something to do with the whereabouts of Fred Cavendish. "

The girl looked straight into his honest, clear eyes. His remark openeda vast field for speculation. "You think he is alive then?" she saidearnestly. "It is an interesting hypothesis. Perhaps--perhaps he may bein this neighbourhood, even. And that, " she added, her Irish eyesalight, "would be more interesting still. "

"I hadn't finished my argument when that carriage appeared, " Westcottanswered. "Do you remember? Well, that might be the answer. Beaton hasbeen in this neighbourhood ever since about the time of that murder inNew York. Nobody knows what his business is, but he is hand-in-glovewith Bill Lacy and his gang. Lacy, besides running a saloon, pretends tobe a mining speculator, but it is my opinion there is nothing he wouldn'tdo for money, if he considered the game safe. And now, with everythingquiet in the East, and no thought that there is any suspicion remaining, Beaton sends for the woman to join him here. Why? Because there is somejob to be done too big for him to tackle alone. He's merely a gunman; hecan do the strong-arm stuff, all right, but lacks brains. There is aproblem out here requiring a little intellect; and it is my guess it ishow to dispose of Cavendish until they can get away safely with the swag. "

"Exactly! That would be a stake worth playing for. "

"It certainly would; and, as I figure it out, that is their game. JohnCavendish is merely the catspaw. Right now there is nothing for them todo but wait until the boy gets full possession of the property; thenthey'll put the screws on him good and proper. Meantime Frederick mustbe kept out of sight--must remain dead. "

"I wonder how this was ever planned out--if it be true?"

"It must have originated in some cunning, criminal brain, " he admittedthoughtfully. "Not Beaton's, surely; and, while she is probably muchbrighter, I am inclined to think the girl is merely acting under orders. There is somebody connected with this scheme higher up--a mastercriminal. "

Miss Donovan was no fool; newspaper work had taught her to suspect men ofintellect, and that nothing, however wicked, low or depraved, was beyondthem. 

"Enright!" she said definitely. "Obviously now. I've thought so fromthe first. But always he worked so carefully, so guardedly, thatsometimes I have doubted. But now I say without qualifications--Enright, smooth Mr. Enright, late of New York. "

"That's my bet, " Westcott agreed, his hand on her shoulder, forgetful ofhis intense earnestness, "Enright is the only one who could do it, and hehas schemed so as to get John into a hole where he dare not emit a sound, no matter what they do to him. Do you see? If the boy breathes asuspicion he'll be indicted for murder. If they can only succeed inkeeping Frederick safely out of sight until after the court awards theproperty to his heir, they can milk John at their leisure. It's alawyer's graft, all right. "

"Then Frederick may be confined not far away?"

"Likely enough; it's wild country. There are a hundred places withinfifty miles where he might be hidden away for years. That is the jobwhich was given to Beaton; he had the dirty work to perform, while thegirl took care of John. I do not know how he did it--knockout drops, possibly, in a glass of beer; the blow of a fist on a train-platform atnight; a ride into the desert to look at some thing of interest--thereare plenty of ways in which it could be quietly done by a man of Mr. Beaton's expert experience. "

"Yes, but he does not know this country--if it was only New York now. "

"But Bill Lacy does, and these fellows are well acquainted--friendsapparently. Lacy and I are at daggers-points over a mining claim, and hebelieves my only chance is through the use of money advanced by FredCavendish. He'd ride through hell to lick me. Why, look here, MissDonovan, when Bill Lacy had me stuck up against the wall last night atthe hotel with a gun at my head, he lost his temper and began to taunt meabout not getting any reply from my telegrams and letters. How did heknow about them? Beaton must have told him. There's the answer; thosefellows are in cahoots, and if Fred is actually alive, Bill Lacy knowswhere he is, and all about it. "

She did not answer. Westcott's theory of the situation, his quickdecision that Frederick Cavendish still lived, completely overturned herearlier conviction. Yet his argument did not seem unfair or hisconclusion impossible. Her newspaper experience had made her aware thatthere is nothing in this world so strange as truth, and nothing sounusual as to be beyond the domain of crime. 

"What do you think?" he asked quietly. 

"Oh, I do not know; it all grows less comprehensible every moment. Butwhatever is true I cannot see that anything remains for us to do, butwait and watch the actions of these people; they are certain to betraythemselves. We have been here together now longer than we should, and Imust return to the hotel. "

"You expect Beaton to seek you?"

She smiled. 

"He appeared very devoted, quite deeply interested; I hope it continues. "

"So do I, now that I understand, " earnestly. "Although I confess yourintimacy was a shock to me this noon. Well, I am going to busy myselfalso and take a scouting trip to La Rosita. "

"Is that Lacy's mine?"

"Yes; up the gulch here about two miles. I may pick up some informationworth having. I am to see you again--alone?"

"We must have some means of communication; have you any suggestion?"

"Yes, but we'll take for our motto, 'Safety first. ' We mustn't be seentogether, or suspected in any way of being friends. The livery-stablekeeper has a boy about twelve, who is quite devoted to me; a bright, trustworthy little fellow. He is about the hotel a good deal, and willbring me word from you any time. You need have no fear that I shall failto respond to any message you send. "

"I shall not doubt. " She held out her hand frankly. "You believe in menow, Mr. Westcott?"

"Absolutely; indeed I think I always have. That other thing hurt, yet Ikept saying to myself, 'She had some good reason. '"

"Always think so, please, no matter what happens. I was nearly wilduntil I got the note to you; I was so afraid you would leave the hotel. We must trust each other. "

He stood before her, his hat in hand, a strong, robust figure, hisbronzed face clearly revealed; the sunlight making manifest the grey hairabout his temples. To Miss Donovan he seemed all man, instinct withcharacter and purpose, a virile type of the out-of-doors. 

"To the death, " and his lips and eyes smiled. "I believe in you utterly. "

"Thank you. Good-bye. "

He watched her climb the bank and emerge upon the bridge. He still stoodthere, bare-headed, when she turned and smiled back at him, waving herhand. Then the slender figure vanished, and he was left alone. A momentlater, Westcott was striding up the trail, intent upon a plan to entrapLacy. 

They would have felt less confident in the future could they haveoverheard a conversation being carried on in a room of the Timmons House. It was Miss La Rue's apartments, possessing two windows, but furnished ina style so primitive as to cause that fastidious young lady to burst intolaughter when she first entered and gazed about. Both her companionsfollowed her, laden with luggage, and Beaton, sensing instantly what hadthus affected her humour, dropped his bag on the floor. 

"It's the best there is here, " he protested. "Timmons has held it foryou three days. "

"Oh, I think it is too funny, Ned, " she exclaimed, staring around, andthen flinging her wraps on the bed. "Look at that mirror, will you, andthose cracks in the wall? Say, do I actually have to wash in that tinbasin? Lord! I didn't suppose there was such a place in the world. Why, if this is the prize, what kind of a room have you got?"

"Tough enough, " he muttered gloomily, "but you was so close with yourmoney I had to sing low. What was the matter with you, anyhow?"

"Sweetie wouldn't produce, or couldn't, rather. He hasn't got his handson much of the stuff yet. Enright coughed up the expense money, or mostof it. I made John borrow some, but I needed that myself. "

"Well, damn little got out here, and Lacy pumped the most of that out ofme. However, if you feel like kicking about this room, you ought to seesome of the others--mine, for instance, or the one Timmons put that otherwoman in. "

"Oh, yes, " she said, finding a seat and staring at him. "That remindsme. Did you say there was a girl here from New York? Never mindquarrelling about the room, I'll endure it all right; it makes me thinkof old times, " and she laughed mirthlessly. "Sit down, Mr. Enright, andlet's talk. How's the door, Ned?"

He opened it and glanced out into the hall, throwing the bolt as he cameback. 

"All right, Celeste, but I wouldn't talk quite so loud; the partitionsare not very tight. "

"No objections to a cigarette, I suppose, " and she produced a case. "Thanks; now I feel better--certainly, light up. Well, Ned, the firstthing I want to know is, who is this other New York skirt, and how didshe happen to blow in here just at this time?"

Beaton completed the lighting of his cigar, flinging the match carelesslyout of the window. 

"Oh, she's all right, " he said easily. "Just an innocent kid writer for_Scribbler's_ who's trying to make good writing about the beautifulscenery around here. I was a bit suspicious of her at first myself, butpicked her up this morning an' we had quite a talk. Mighty pretty littlegirl. "

Miss La Rue elevated her eyebrows, watchfully regarding him through smokewreaths. 

"Oh, cut it, Ned, " she exclaimed curtly. "We all know you are a perfectdevil with the women. The poor thing is in love with you, no doubt, butthat doesn't answer my question, who is she?"

"Her name is Donovan. "

"That sounds promising; what do you make it, shanty Irish?"

"I should say not, " warmly. "She's a lady, all right. Oh, I know 'em, if I don't meet many of that kind. We got chummy enough, so she told meall about herself--her father's a big contractor and has money to burn. "

"Did you ever hear the beat of that, Enright? Neddy is about to featherhis nest. Well, go on. "

"That's about all, I guess, only she ain't nothin' you need be afraid of. "

"Sure not, with a watch-dog like you on guard. But if you ask me, Idon't like the idea of her happening in here just at this time. This isno place for an innocent child, " and she looked about, her lip curling. "Lord, I should say not. Do you happen to remember any New Yorkcontractor by that name, Mr. Enright?"

The rotund lawyer, his feet elevated on the window-sill, a cigar betweenhis lips, shook his head in emphatic dissent. 

"Not lately; there was a Tim Donovan who had a pull in the subwayexcavation--he was a Tammany man--but he died, and was never married. There may have been others, of course, but I had tab on most of them. Did she mention his name, Beaton?"

"No; anyhow, I don't remember. "

"What's the girl look like?"

"Rather slender, with brown hair, sorter coppery in the sun, and greyeyes that grow dark when she's interested. About twenty-three or four, Ishould say. She's a good-looker, all right; and not a bit stuck up. "

"Did you get her full name?"

"Sure; it's on the register--Stella Donovan. "

Enright lowered his feet to the floor, a puzzled look un his face, histeeth clinched on his cigar. 

"Hold on a bit till I think. " he muttered. "That sounds mightyfamiliar--Stella Donovan! My God, I've heard that name before somewhere;ah, I have it--she's on the New York _Star_. I've seen her name signedto articles in the Sunday edition. " He wheeled and faced Miss La Rue. "Do you remember them?"

"No; I never see the _Star_. "

"Well, I do, and sometimes she's damn clever. I'll bet she's the girl. "

"A New York newspaperwoman; well, what do you suppose she is doing outhere? After us?"

Enright had a grip on himself again and slowly relit his cigar, leaningback, and staring out the window. His mind gripped the situation coldly. 

"Well, we'd best be careful, " he said slowly. "Probably it's merely acoincidence, but I don't like her lying to Beaton. That don't look justright. Yet the _Star_ can't have anything on us: the case is closed inNew York; forgotten and buried nearly a month ago. Even my partner don'tknow where I am. "

"I had to show John the telegram in order to get some money. "

"You can gamble he won't say anything--there's no one else?"

"No; this game ain't the kind you talk about. "

"You'd be a fool to trust anybody. So, if there's no leak we don't needto be afraid of her, only don't let anything slip. We'll lay quiet andtry the young lady out. Beaton here can give her an introduction to MissLa Rue, and the rest is easy. What do you say, Celeste?"

"Oh, I'll get her goat; you boys trot on now while I tog up a little fordinner; when is it, six o'clock?"

"Yes, " answered Beaton, still somewhat dazed by this revealment of MissDonovan's actual identity. "But don't try to put on too much dog outhere, Celeste; it ain't the style. "

She laughed. 

"The simple life, eh! What does your latest charmer wear--a skirt and ashirtwaist?"

"I don't know; she was all in black, but looked mighty neat. "

"Well, I'll go her one better--a bit of Broadway for luck. So-long, bothof you, and, Enright, you better come up for me; Ned, no doubt, has aprevious engagement with Miss Donovan. "

Mr. Enright paused at the door, his features exhibiting no signs ofamusement. 

"Better do as Beaton says, make it plain, " he said shortly. "The lessattention we attract the less talk there will be, and this is too damnserious an affair to be bungled. You hear?"

She crossed over and rested her hands on his arm. 

"Sure; I was only guying Ned--it's a shirt-waist for me. I'll play thegame, old man. "

CHAPTER XIII: THE SHOT OF DEATH

Westcott's purpose in visiting the La Rosita mine was a rather vagueone. His thought had naturally associated Bill Lacy with whatever formof deviltry had brought Beaton to the neighbourhood of Haskell, and hefelt convinced firmly that this special brand of deviltry had somedirect connection with the disappearance of Frederick Cavendish. Justwhat the connection between these people might prove to be was still amatter of doubt, but as Miss Donovan was seeking this information atthe hotel, all that remained for him to do at present was aninvestigation of Lacy. 

Yet it was not in the nature of the big miner to go at anythingrecklessly. He possessed a logical mind and needed to think outclearly a course of action before putting it into execution. Thisrevelation had come to him suddenly, and the conclusion which he hadarrived at, and expressed to the girl, was more of an inspiration thanthe result of calm mental judgment. After she had disappeared on herwalk back to Haskell, Westcott lit his pipe and resumed his seat on thebig rock again, to think it all out in detail, and decide on a courseof action. He was surprised how swiftly and surely the facts of thecase as already understood marshalled themselves into line in supportof the theory he had advanced. The careful review of all Miss Donovanhad told him only served to increase his confidence that his oldpartner still lived. No other conception seemed possible, or wouldaccount for the presence of Ned Beaton in Haskell, or the hurried callfor Miss La Rue. Yet it was equally evident this was not caused by anymiscarriage of their original plans. It was not fear that had led tothis meeting--no escape of their prisoner, no suspicion that theirconspiracy had been discovered, no alarm of exposure--but merely thecareful completion of plans long before perfected. Apparently everydetail of the crime, which meant the winning of Frederick Cavendish'sfortune, had been thus far successfully carried out. The money wasalready practically in their possession, and not the slightestsuspicion had been aroused. It had been a masterpiece of criminalingenuity, so boldly carried out as to avoid danger of discovery. 

Westcott believed he saw the purpose which had actuated the rulingspirit--a desire to attain these millions without bloodshed; withoutrisking any charge of murder. This whole affair had been no vulgar, clumsy crime; it was more nearly a business proposition, cold-blooded, deliberately planned, cautiously executed. Every step had been takenexactly in accord with the original outlines, except possibly that theyhad been hurried by Cavendish's sudden determination to return West, and his will disinheriting John. These had compelled earlier action, yet no radical change in plans, as the machinery was already preparedand in position. Luck had been with the conspirators when Frederickcalled in Enright to draw up the will. What followed was merely thepressure of his finger on the button. 

Enright! Beyond doubt his were the brains dominating the affair. Itwas impossible to believe that either Celeste La Rue or NedBeaton--chorus girl or gunman--could have ever figured out such ascheme. They were nothing but pawns, moved by the hand of the chiefplayer. Aye! and John Cavendish was another!

The whole foul thing lay before Westcott's imagination in itsdiabolical ingenuity--Enright's legal mind had left no loophole. Heintended to play the game absolutely safe, so far, at least, as he waspersonally concerned. 

The money was to go legally to John without the shadow of a suspicionresting upon it; and then--well, he knew how to do the rest; already hehad a firm grip on a large portion. Yes, all this was reasonablyclear; what remained obscure was the fate of Frederick Cavendish. 

Had they originally intended to take his life, and been compelled tochange the plan? Had his sudden, unexpected departure from New York, on the very eve possibly of their contemplated action, driven them tothe substitution of another body? It hardly seemed probable--for a manbearing so close a resemblance could not have been discovered in soshort a time. The knowledge of the existence of such a person, however, might have been part of the original conspiracy--perhaps wasthe very basis of it; may have first put the conception into Enright'sready brain. Aye, that was doubtless the way of it. Frederick was tobe spirited out of the city, accompanied, taken care of by Beaton orsome other murderous crook, and this fellow, a corpse, substituted. Ifhe resembled Frederick at all closely, there was scarcely a chance thathis identity would be questioned. Why should it be--found in hisapartments? There was nothing to arouse suspicion; while, if anythingdid occur, the conspirators were in no danger of discovery. Theyrisked a possible failure of their plan, but that was all. But if thiswas true what had since become of Frederick?

Westcott came back from his musings to this one important question. The answer puzzled him. If the man was dead why should Beaton remainat Haskell and insist on Miss La Rue's joining him? And if the man wasalive and concealed somewhere in the neighbourhood, what was theirpresent object? Had they decided they were risking too much inpermitting him to live? Had something occurred to make them feel itsafer to have him out of the way permanently? What connection did BillLacy have with the gang?

Westcott rose to his feet and began following the trail up the cañon. He was not serving Cavendish nor Miss Donovan by sitting there. Hewould, at least, discover where Lacy was and learn what the fellow wasengaged at. He walked rapidly, but the sun was nearly down by the timehe reached the mouth of his own drift. 

While waiting word from the East which would enable him to develop theclaim, Westcott had thought it best to discontinue work, and hide, asbest he could, from others the fact that he had again discovered thelost lead of rich ore. To that end, after taking out enough for hisimmediate requirements in the form of nuggets gathered from a singlepocket, which he had later negotiated quietly at a town down therailroad, he had blocked up the new tunnel and discontinued operations. He had fondly believed his secret secure, until Lacy's careless wordshad aroused suspicion that the latter might have seen his telegrams toCavendish. His only assistant, a Mexican, who had been with him forsome time, remained on guard at the bunk-house, and, so far as he knew, no serious effort had been made to explore the drift by any of Lacy'ssatellites. Now, as he came up the darkening gulch, and crunched hisway across the rock-pile before the tunnel entrance, he saw thecheerful blaze of a fire in the Mexican's quarters and stopped toquestion him. 

"_Señor_--you!"

"Yes, José, " and Westcott dropped on to a bench. "Anything wrong? Youseem nervous. "

"No, _señor_. I expected you not to-night; there was a man there bythe big tree at sunset. "

"You saw him?"

"Yes, but not his face, _señor_. He think me gone at first, but when Iwalk out on the edge of the cliff then he go--quick, like that. Whenthe door creak I say maybe he come back. "

"One of the La Rosita gang likely. Don't fight them, José. Let thempoke around inside if they want to; they won't find anything but rock. There is no better way to fool that bunch than let them investigate totheir heart's content. Got a bite there for me?"

"_Si, señor_, aplenty. "

"All right then; I'm hungry and have a bit of work ahead. Put it onthe table here, and sit down yourself, José. "

The Mexican did as ordered, glancing across at the other between eachmouthful of food, as though not exactly at ease. Westcott ateheartily, without pausing to talk. 

"You hear yet Señor Cavendish?" José asked at last. 

"No. " Westcott hesitated an instant, but decided not to explainfurther. "He must be away, I think. "

"What you do if you no hear at all?"

"We'll go on with the digging ourselves, José. It'll pay wages until Ican interest capital somewhere to come in on shares. "

"You no sell Lacy then?"

"Sell Lacy! Not in a thousand years. What put that in your head?"

The Mexican rubbed the back of his pate. 

"You know Señor Moore--no hair so?" an expressive gesture. 

"Sure; what about him?"

"He meet me at the spring; he come up the trail from Haskell onhorseback with another man not belong 'round here. "

"What did he look like--big, red-faced fellow, with checked suit andround hat?"

"_Si, señor_; he say to Moore, 'Why the hell you talk that damngreaser, ' an' Moore laugh, an' say because I work for Señor Westcott. "

"But what was it Moore said to you, José?"

"He cussed me first, an' when I wouldn't move, he swore that Lacy wouldown this whole hill before thirty days. "

"Was that all? Didn't the other fellow say anything?"

"No, _señor_; but he swung his horse against me as they went by--hemighty poor rider. "

"No doubt; that is not one of the amusements of the Bowery. Where didthey go? Up to La Rosita?"

"_Si, señor_; I watched, they were there two hour. "

Westcott stared into the fireplace; then the gravity of his facerelaxed into a smile. 

"Things are growing interesting, José, " he said cheerfully. "If I onlyknew just which way the cat was about to jump I'd be somewhat happier. There seemed to be more light than usual across the gulch as I cameup--what's going on?"

"They have put on more men, _señor_--a night shift. Last night I wentin our drift clear to the end, and put my ear to the rock. It was faraway, but I hear. "

"No, no, José; that's impossible. Why, their tunnel as over a hundredyards away; not even the sound of dynamite would penetrate thatdistance through solid rock. You heard your heart beat. "

"No, _señor_, " and José was upon his feet gesticulating. "It was thepick--strike, strike, strike; then stop an' begin, strike, strike, strike again. I hear, I know. "

"Then they must be running a lateral, hoping to cut across our veinsomewhere within their lines. "

"And will that give them the right, _señor_?"

Westcott sat, his head resting on one hand, staring thoughtfully intothe dying fire; the yellow flame of the oil lamp between them on thetable flickered in the draft from the open window. Here was athreatening combination of forces. 

"I am not sure, Jose, " he answered slowly. "The mining law is full ofquirks, although, of course, the first discoverer of a lead is entitledto follow it--it's his. The trouble here is, that instead of givingnotice of discovery, I have kept it a secret, and even blocked up thetunnel. If the La Rosita gang push their drift in, and strike thatsame vein, they will claim original discovery, and I reckon they'd makeit stick. I didn't suppose Lacy had the slightest idea we had struckcolour. Nobody knew it, but you and I, Jose. "

"Never I say a word, _señor_. "

"I am sure of that, for I know exactly where the news came from. Lacyspilled the beans in a bit of misunderstanding we had last night downin Haskell. My letters and telegrams East to Cavendish went wrong, andthe news has come back here to those fellows. They know just whatwe've struck, and how our tunnel runs; I was fool enough to describe itall to Cavendish and send him a map of the vein. Now they are drivingtheir tunnel to get in ahead of us. "

He got to his feet, bringing his fist down with such a crash on thetable as to set the lamp dancing. 

"But, by God, it's not too late! We've got them yet. The very factthat Lacy is working a night shift is evidence he hasn't uncovered thevein. We'll tear open that tunnel the first thing in the morning, José, and I'll make proof of discovery before noon. Then we'll put abunch of good men in here, and fight it out, if those lads get ugly. Come on, let's take a look in there to-night. "

He picked up the lamp, and turned. At the same instant a sudden redglare flamed in the black of the open window, accompanied by a sharpreport. The bullet whizzed past Westcott's head so closely as to searthe flesh, crashed into the lamp in his hand, extinguishing it, thenstruck something beyond. There was no cry, no sound except a slightmovement in the dark. Westcott dropped to the floor, below the radiusof dim light thrown by the few embers left in the fireplace, andrevolver in hand, sought to distinguish the outlines of the windowframe. Failing in this, he crept noiselessly across the floor, unlatched the closed door, and emerged into the open air. 

It was a dark night, with scarcely a star visible, the only gleam ofradiance coming from a light across the gulch, which he knew burned inthe shaft-house of the La Rosita. 

Everything about was still, with the intense silence of mountainsolitude. Not a breath of air stirred the motionless cedars. Cautiously he circled the black cabin, every nerve taut for struggle, every sense alert. He found nothing to reward his search--whoever thecoward had been, he had disappeared among the rocks, vanishingcompletely in the black night. The fellow had not even waited to learnthe effect of his shot. He had fired pointblank into the lighted room, sighting at Westcott's head, and then ran, assured no doubt thespeeding bullet had gone straight to the mark. It was not until hecame back to the open door that the miner thought of his companion. What had become of José? Could it be that the Mexican was hit? Heentered, shrinking from the task, yet resolute to learn the truth; felthis way along the wall as far as the fireplace, and stirred the embersinto flame. They leaped up, casting a flickering glow over theinterior. A black, shapeless figure, scarcely discernible as a man, lay huddled beneath the table. Westcott bent over it, feeling for theheart and turning the face upward. There was no visible mark of thebullet wound, but the body was limp, the face ghastly in the grotesquedance of the flames. The assassin had not wasted his shot--JoséSalvari would never see Mexico again. 

CHAPTER XIV: LACY LEARNS THE TRUTH

Westcott straightened the body out, crossing the dead hands, andcovered the face with a blanket stripped from a bunk. The brief burstof flame died down, leaving the room in semi-darkness. The miner wasconscious only of a feeling of dull rage, a desire for revenge. Theshot had been clearly intended for himself. The killing of José hadbeen a mere accident. In all probability the murderer had crept awaybelieving he had succeeded in his purpose. If he had lingered longenough to see any one emerge from the hut, he would naturally imaginethe survivor to be the Mexican. Good! This very confidence would tendto throw the fellow off his guard; he would have no fear of José. 

Westcott's heart rose in his throat as he stood hesitating. The deadman was only a Mexican, a servant, but he had been faithful, had provenhimself an honest soul; and he had died in his service, as hissubstitute. All right, the affair was not going to end now; this waswar, and, while he might not know who had fired the fatal shot, healready felt abundantly satisfied as to who had suggested its efficacy. There was only one outfit to be benefited by his being put out of theway--Bill Lacy's gang. If they already had Fred Cavendish killed, orheld prisoner in their power, it would greatly simplify matters if heshould meet death accidentally, or at the hands of parties unknown. Why not? Did he not stand alone between them and fortune? Once hislips were sealed, who else could combat their claims? No one; not ahuman being knew his secret--except the little he had confided thatafternoon to Stella Donovan. 

The thought of the girl served to break his reflections. This was alla part of that tragedy in New York. Both were in some way connectedtogether, the assassination in the Waldron apartments, and the shootingof José here in this mountain shack. They seemed far apart, yet theywere but steps in the same scheme. 

He could not figure it all out, yet no doubt this was true--thestruggle for the Cavendish millions had come to include the gold he haddiscovered here in the hills. Bill Lacy was merely the agent of thoseothers, of Ned Beaton, of Celeste La Rue, of Patrick Enright. Aye, that was it--Enright! Instinctively, from the very first moment whenhe had listened to the girl's story, his mind had settled on Enright asthe real leader. The lawyer's arrival in Haskell with the La Rue womanonly served to strengthen that conviction. For certainly a man playingfor potential stakes as big as those Enright was gaming for, wouldintrust no cunning moves to a mere Broadway chorus-girl. No, Enrightwas on the ground in person because the matter in prospect needed adirector, an excessively shrewd trickster, and the others were with himto do his bidding. If Cavendish really lived, all their plans dependedon his being kept out of sight, disposed of, at least until they hadthe money safe in their grasp. 

He reached beneath the blanket and drew forth the dead Mexican'srevolver, slipped the weapon into his own belt, opened the door andwent out, closing it tightly behind him. José could lie there untilmorning. While the darkness lasted he had work to do. His purposesettled, there was no hesitancy in his movements. His was the code ofthe West; his methods those of the desert and the mountains, the codeand method of a fighting man. 

A dim trail, rock strewn, led to the spring, where it connected with anore road extending down the valley to Haskell. Another trail acrossthe spur shortened the distance to the La Rosita shaft-house. ButWestcott chose to follow none of these, lest he run into someambuscade. The fellow who had fired into the shack was, unquestionably, hiding somewhere in the darkness, probably along one ofthese trails in the hope of completing his work. 

To avoid encountering him the miner crept along the far side of thecabin through the dense shadow, and then struck directly across thehill crest, guided by the distant gleam of light. It was a roughclimb, dangerous in places, but not unfamiliar. Slowly and silently, cautious to dislodge no rolling stone, and keeping well concealed amongthe rocks, he finally descended to the level of the shaft feelingconfident that his presence was not discovered. He was near enough nowto hear the noise of the hoisting-engine, and to mark the figure of theengineer in the dim light of a lantern. 

Rock was being brought up the shaft, and cast onto the dump, but wasevidently of small value, proof to the mind of the watcher that thegang below were merely engaged in tunnel work, and had not yet struckore in any paying quantity. 

He lay there watching operations for several minutes, carefullystudying out the situation. He had no clearly defined plan, only adesire to learn exactly what was being done. The office beyond theshaft was lighted, although the faint gleam was only dimly revealedalong the edge of lowered curtains concealing the interior. However, this evidence that some one was within served to attract Westcott'sattention, and he crept around, under the shadow of the dump, andapproached the farther corner. He could perceive now two men on thehoisting platform, and hear the growl of their voices, but withoutbeing able to distinguish speech. Every few moments there sounded thecrash of falling rock as the buckets were emptied. Revolver in hand hemade the round of the building to assure himself that no guard had beenposted there, then chose the window farthest away from the shaft, andendeavoured to look in. 

The heavy green curtain extended to the sill, but was slit in onecorner. With his eye close to this slight opening he gained a partialglimpse of the interior. It was that of a rough office with a cot inone corner as though occasionally utilised for a sleeping room, theother furniture consisting of a small desk with roll-top, an unpaintedtable, and a few chairs. In one corner stood a rusty-looking safe, thedoor open, and a fat-bellied wood-stove occupied the centre of thefloor. 

There were three men in the room, and Westcott drew a quick breath ofsurprise as he recognised the two faces fronting him--Bill Lacy at thedesk, a pipe in his mouth, his feet elevated on a convenient chair, andBeaton, leaning back against the wall, apparently half asleep with hiseyes closed. The third man was facing Lacy, but concealed by thestove; he seemed to be doing the talking, and held a paper in his handresembling a map. Suddenly he arose to his feet, and bent over theedge of the desk, and Westcott knew him--Enright!

The man spoke earnestly, evidently arguing a point with emphasis, butthe sound of his voice failed to penetrate to the ears of the listenerwithout. Desperately determined to learn what was being said, theminer thrust the heavy blade of his jack-knife beneath the ill-fittingwindow sash, and succeeded in noiselessly lifting it a scant half inch. He bent lower, the speaker's voice clearly audible through the narrowopening. 

"That isn't the point, Lacy, " the tone smooth enough, yet containing atrace of anger. "You are paid to do these things the way I plan. Thismining proposition is all right, but our important job just now is atthe other end. A false move at this time will not only cost us afortune, but would send some of us to the pen. Don't you know that?"

"Sure I do; but I thought this was my end of it. "

"So it is; but it can wait until later, until we have the money inhand, and have decided about Cavendish. You say your tunnel is withintwenty feet of the lead, which it must be according to this map, andyou propose breaking through and holding on until the courts decide. Now don't you know that will kick up a hell of a row? It will bring usall in the limelight, and just at present we are better offunderground. That's why I came out here. I am no expert in mininglaw, and am not prepared to say that your claim is not legal. It maybe, and it may not be--we'll waive that discussion. The point isthis--from all I can learn of Westcott, he is the kind who will fightto the last ditch. Perhaps he hasn't any chance, but if he ever doeslearn how we got hold of his letters and discovered the location ofthat vein of ore, he's going to turn this whole affair inside out, andcatch us red-handed. You made a fool play to-night. "

"That wasn't my fault, " Lacy protested sullenly. "The fellowmisunderstood; however, there won't be no fuss made over a Mexican. "

"I'm not so sure of that; Westcott will know it was meant for him andbe on his guard. Anyhow it was a fool's trick. "

"Well, we do things different out here from what you do in New York. It's my way to take no chances, and when a man's dead he can't talk. "

"I'm not so sure of that; there's been many a lad hung on the testimonyof a dead man. Now see here, Lacy, this is my game, and I proposeplaying it in my own way. You came in under those conditions, didn'tyou?"

"I reckon so, still there wasn't much to it when I came in. Thismining stunt developed later out of those letters Westcott sent East. This man Beaton here offered me so much to do a small job for him, andI named my price without caring a whoop in hell what it was all about. I don't now, but I've learned a few things since, and am beginning tothink my price was damn low. You never came way out here just to stopme from tunnelling into Westcott's mine. "

The other hesitated. 

"No, " he admitted at last, "I did not even learn what was being doneuntil after I got here. "

"Beaton sent for you?"

"Not exactly. I never had any personal connection with him in thecase. I am not sure he ever heard of me, unless the woman told him. He was working under her orders, and wired her when Cavendish got awayto come out at once. He didn't know what to do. "

Lacy laughed, and began to refill his pipe. 

"That was when I first began to smell a mouse, " he said, more at ease. "The fellow was so scared I caught on that this was no commonkidnapping outfit, like I had thought before. He wasn't easy pumped, but I pumped him. I told him we'd have the guy safe enough inside oftwenty-four hours--hell! there wasn't no chance for him to get away, for the blame fool headed East on foot straight across the desert--buthe sent off the wire just the same. That's what I thought brought youalong. " He leaned over, and lowered his voice. "There was a dead manback East, wasn't there?"

"What difference does that make?"

"None, particularly, except to naturally increase the worth of myservices. I'm not squeamish about stiffs, but I like to know what I amdoing. What are you holding on to this other fellow for?"

Enright walked nervously across the room, chewing at his cigar, only tocome back and face his questioner. 

"Well, I suppose I might as well tell you, " he said almost savagely. "You know so damn much now, you better know it all. You're in too deepalready to wiggle out. We made rather a mess of it in New York, andonly a bit of luck helped us through. We had the plans ready for threemonths, but nothing occurred to give us a chance. Then all at onceCavendish got his first telegram from Westcott, and decided to pullout, not telling any one where he was going. That would have been allright, for we had a man shadowing him, but at the last moment hequarrelled with the boy we had the woman slated up with. "

"Hold on; what boy? Let me get this straight. "

"His nephew, and only relative--John Cavendish. "

"Oh, I see; he was his heir; and you had him fixed?"

"We had him where he couldn't squeal, and have yet. That was Miss LaRue's part of the game. But, as I was saying, there was a quarrel andthe uncle suddenly decided to draw up a will, practically cutting Johnout entirely. "

"Hell! Some joke that!"

"There was where luck came to our help. He employed me to draw thewill, and told me he planned to leave the city for some time. As soonas I could I told the others over the phone, and we got busy. "

Lacy struck his knee with his hand, and burst into a laugh. 

"So, he simply disappeared! Your idea was that an accident mighthappen, and our friend Beaton here took the same train to render anynecessary assistance. "

"No, " said Enright frankly, "murder wasn't part of our plan; it's toorisky. We had other means for getting this money--legally. "

Lacy stared incredulous. 

"And there hasn't been no killin'?"

Enright shook his head. 

"Not by any of us. "

"Then how about that dead man in New York--the one that was buried forCavendish? Oh, I read about that. Beaton showed it to me in thepaper. "

"That's the whole trouble, " Enright answered gravely. "I do not knowwho he was, or how he came there. All I know is, he was not FrederickCavendish. But his being found there dead in Cavendish's apartments, and identified, puts us in an awful hole, if the rest of this affairshould ever become known. Do you see? The charge would be murder, andhow are we going to hold the real Cavendish alive, and not have it comeout?"

"The other one--the stiff--wasn't Cavendish?"

"Certainly not; you know where Cavendish is. "

"I never saw Fred Cavendish; I wouldn't know him from Adam's off-ox. I've got the fellow Beaton turned over to me. "

"Well, he's the man; the dead one isn't. "

"How do you know?"

"Because Frederick Cavendish bought and signed a round-trip ticket toLos Angeles, and boarded the midnight train. My man reported that tome, and Beaton just had time to catch the same train before it pulledout. Isn't that true, Ned?"

"Yes, it is, and I never left him. "

"But, " insisted Lacy stubbornly, "did you see the dead one?"

"Yes. I kept away from the inquest, but attended the funeral to get aglance at his face. It seemed too strange to be true. The fellowwasn't Cavendish; I'd swear to that, but he did look enough like him tofool anybody who had no suspicions aroused. You see no one so much asquestioned his identity--Cavendish had disappeared without a word evento his valet; this fellow, despite the wounds on his face, lookingenough like him to be a twin, dressed like him, is found dead in hisapartments. Dammit, it's spooky, the very thought of it. "

"But you saw a difference?"

"Because I looked for it; I never would have otherwise. Of course whatI looked at was a dead face in the coffin, a dead face that was searedand burned. But anyway, I was already convinced that he was not theman. I am not sure what I should have thought if I had met him aliveupon the street. "

Lacy appeared amused, crossing the room, and expectorating into theopen stove. 

"You fellows make me laugh, " he said grimly. "I am hardly idiot enoughto be taken in by that sort of old wives' tale. However, if that isyour story stick to it--but if you were to ever tell it in court, itwould take a jury about five minutes to bring in their verdict. StillI see what you're up against--the death of this fellow means that youare afraid now to leave Cavendish alive. If he ever appears again inthe flesh this New York murder will have to be accounted for. Is thatit?"

"It leaves us in an awkward position. "

"All right. We understand each other then. Let's get to business. You want me to help out in a sort of accident, I presume--a fall over acliff, or the premature discharge of blasting powder; these things arequite common out here. "

Neither Enright nor Beaton answered, but Lacy was in no way embarrassedby their silence. He knew now he had the whip-hand. 

"And to prevent any stir at this end, before you fellows get hold ofthe stuff, you want me to call off my working gang and let Westcottalone. Come, now, speak up. "

"Yes, " acknowledged Enright. "I don't care so much for Westcott, but Iwant things kept quiet. There's a newspaperwoman down at the hotel. Ihaven't been able to discover yet what she is doing out here, but she'sone of the big writers on the New York _Star_. If she got an inklingof this affair----"

"Who is she? Not the girl you had that row over, Beaton?"

The gunman nodded. 

"She's the one. "

"Do you suppose Jim Westcott knew her before? He brought her to thehotel and was mighty touchy about her. "

"Hell, no; she told me all about that--why she cut that fellow dead inthe dining-room when he tried to speak to her the next day. "

Lacy whistled a few bars, his hands thrust deep into histrouser-pockets. Then, after a few minutes' cogitation, he resumed:

"All right then; we'll take it as it lies. The only questionunsettled, Enright, is--what is all this worth to me?"

CHAPTER XV: MISS LA RUE PAYS A CALL

Some slight noise caused Westcott to straighten up, and turn partiallyaround. He had barely time to fling up one arm in the warding off of ablow. The next instant was one of mad, desperate struggle, in which herealised only that he dare not relax his grip on the wrist of hisunknown antagonist. It was a fierce, intense grapple, every musclestrained to the utmost, silent except for the stamping of feet, deadlyin purpose. 

The knife fell from the cramped fingers, but the fellow struggled likea demon, clutching at the miner's throat, but unable to confine hisarms. Twice Westcott drove his clenched right into the shadowed face, smashing it the last time so hard the man's grip relaxed, and he wentstaggering back. With a leap forward, the battle-fury on him, Westcottclosed before the other could regain position. Again the clenched fiststruck and the fellow went down in the darkness, whirling backward tothe earth--and lay there, motionless. 

An instant, panting, breathless, scarcely yet comprehending what hadoccurred, the victor stared at the huddled figure, his arm drawn back. Then he became aware of excitement within, the sound of voices, thetramp of feet on the floor, the sudden opening of a door. A gleam oflight shot out, revealing the figures of men. With one spring he wasacross the shapeless form on the ground, and had vanished into thedarkness beyond. 

Lacy was first to reach the unconscious body, stumbling over it in theblack shadow, as he rushed forward, revolver in hand. He cursed, rising to his knees, and staring about in the silent darkness. 

"There's a man lying here--dead likely. Bring a light. No, the fellowis alive. Dammit, it's Moore, and completely knocked out. Hereyou--what happened?"

The fellow groaned, opened his eyes, and looked about dazedly. 

"Speak up, man!" and Lacy dragged him to a sitting position in nogentle fashion. "Who hit you?"

"There--there was a fellow at that window there. I--I saw him frombelow, and crept up behind but he turned around just as I struck. "

"Who was he?"

"I never saw his face. He hit me first. "

"He was at that window, you say?"

"Yes; kneelin' down like he was lookin' into the room. Oh, Lord!"

Lacy crunched over to the side of the shack, and bent down to get abetter view. His fingers came in contact with the knife which upheldthe sash, and he plucked it out, holding it up into the beam of lightpassing through the rent in the torn curtain. He stared at thecuriously carved handle intently. 

"This is certainly hell, " he said soberly. "That's Jim Westcott'sjack-knife. He's been listening to all we said. Now we are up againstit. "

"What's that?" The question came from Enright, still at the corner ofthe house, unable to tell what had happened. 

"Westcott has been here listening to our talk. He pried up the windowwith this knife, so he could hear. Moore caught him, and got knockedout. "

"He--he heard our talk in--in there, " repeated the dazed lawyer, hislips trembling. "And--has got away? Good God! man, where has he gone?After the sheriff?"

Lacy stared at him through the darkness, and burst into a roar ofunrestrained laughter. 

"Who? Jim Westcott? The sheriff? Well, hardly at this stage of thegame. That's your way down East, no doubt, but out in this country thestyle is different. No, sir; Westcott isn't after any sheriff. In thefirst place he hasn't any evidence. He knows a thing or two, but hecan't prove it; and if we move faster than he does we'll block hisgame--see?"

"What do you mean?"

Lacy leaned forward, and hissed his answer into Enright's ear. 

"Put Cavendish where he can't get at him. There's no other chance. IfJim Westcott ever finds that fellow alive our goose is cooked. Andwe've got the advantage--we know where the man is. "

"And Westcott doesn't?"

"Exactly, but he will know. He'll comb these hills until he finds thetrail--that's Jim Westcott. Come on back inside, both of you, and I'lltell you my plan. No, there is no use trying to run him downto-night--a hundred men couldn't do it. What's that, Moore? Go on tothe shaft-house, and let Dan fix you up. No, we won't need any guard. That fellow will never come back here again to-night. Come on, boys. "

The door closed behind them, shutting out the yellow glow, and leavingthe hillside black and lonely. A bucket of rock rattled onto the dump, and Moore, limping painfully, swearing with every step, clambered upthe dark trail toward the shaft-house. 

Miss Donovan did not go down to supper. Beaton waited some time in theoffice, his eyes on the stairs, but she failed to appear, and he lackedthe necessary courage to seek her in her own room. Then Enright calledhim and compelled his attendance. The absence of the girl was notcaused from any lack of appetite as she subsidised the Chinaman tosmuggle her a supply of food by way of the back stairs, which she atewith decided relish, but she had no desire to show any anxietyregarding a meeting with the newcomers. 

Her newspaper experience had given her some knowledge of human natureand she felt convinced that her task of extracting information would begreatly simplified if these people sought her company first. To holdaloof would have a tendency to increase their interest, for Beatonwould certainly tell of her presence in the hotel, and, if theirpurpose there had any criminal intent, suspicion would be aroused. 

This theory, however, became somewhat strained as the time passedquietly, and seemed to break entirely when from her window she sawBeaton and the heavy-set man ride out of town on a pair of liveryhorses. She watched them move down the long street, and turn into thetrail leading out across the purple hills. The lowering darknessfinally hid them from view. She was still at the window beginning toregret her choice when some one rapped at the door. She arose to herfeet, and took a step or two forward, her heart beating swifter. 

"Come in. "

The door opened, and the light from the windows revealed Miss La Rue, rather tastefully attired in green silk, her blond hair fluffedartfully, and a dainty patch of black court-plaster adorning one cheek. She stood hesitating on the threshold, her eyes searching the other'sface. 

"Pardon me, please, " the voice somewhat high-pitched, "but they told medown-stairs you were from New York. "

"Yes, that is my home; won't you come in?"

"Sure I will. Why I was so lonesome in this hole I simply couldn'tstand it any longer. Have you only one chair?" She glanced about, hereyes widening. "Heavens, what a funny room! Why, I thought mine wasthe limit, but it's a palace beside this. You been here long?"

"Since yesterday; take the chair, please; I am used to the bed--no, really, I don't mind in the least. It is rather funny, but then Ihaven't always lived at the Ritz-Carlton, so I don't mind. "

"Huh! for the matter of that no more have I, but believe me, therewould be some howl if they ever gave me a room like this--even inHaskell. I know your name; it's Stella Donovan--well, mine is CelesteLa Rue. "

"A very pretty name; rather unusual. Are you French?"

The other laughed, crossing her feet carelessly, and extracting acigarette case from a hand-bag. 

"French? Well, I guess not. You don't mind if I smoke, do you?Thanks. Have one yourself--they're imported. No? All right. Isuppose it is a beastly habit, but most of the girls I know have pickedit up. Seems sociable, somehow. No, I'm not French. My dad's namewas Capley, and I annexed this other when I went on the stage. Ittickles the Johnnies, and sounds better than Sadie Capley. You likedit yourself. "

"It is better adapted to that purpose--you are an actress then?"

"Well, nobody ever said so. I can dance and sing a bit, and know howto wear clothes. It's an easier job than some others I've had, andgets me into a swell set. Tell me, when were you in New York?"

"About a month ago. "

"Well, didn't you see the Revue?"

"The last one? Certainly. "

"That's where I shone--second girl on the right in the chorus, and Iwas in the eccentric dance with Joe Steams; some hit--what?"

"Yes, I remember now; they called you the Red Fairy--because of yourruby ring. What in the world ever brought you out here?"

Celeste laughed, a cloud of smoke curling gracefully above her blondehair. 

"Some joke, isn't it? Well, it's no engagement at the Good Luck DanceHall yonder, you can bet on that. The fact is I've quit the business, and am going to take a flier in mining. "

"Mining? That sounds like money in these days. They tell me there isno placer-mining any longer, and that it requires a fortune to develop. I wouldn't suppose a chorus girl----"

"Oh, pshaw!" and Miss La Rue leaned forward, a bright glow on eachcheek. "There are more ways of making money in New York than drawing asalary. Still, that wasn't so bad. I pulled down fifty a week, but ofcourse that was only a drop in the bucket. I don't mind telling you, but all a good-looking girl needs is a chance before thepublic--there's plenty of rich fools in the world yet. I've caught onto a few things in the last five years. It pays better to be CelesteLa Rue than it ever did to be Sadie Capley. Do you get me?"

Miss Donovan nodded. Her acquaintance with New York fast life suppliedall necessary details, and it was quite evident this girl had no senseof shame. Instead she was rather proud of the success she had achieved. 

"I imagine you are right, " she admitted pleasantly. "So you found abacker? A mining man?"

"Not on your life. None of your wild west for me. As soon as somebusiness is straightened out here, it's back to Broadway. "

"Who is it?" ventured the other cautiously. "Mr. Beaton?"

"Ned Beaton!" Miss La Rue's voice rose to a shriek. "Oh, Lord! Ishould say not! Why that fellow never had fifty dollars of his own atone time in his life. You know Beaton, don't you?"

"Well, hardly that. We have conversed at the table down-stairs. "

"I suppose any sort of a man in a decent suit of clothes looks goodenough to talk to out here. But don't let Beaton fool you. He's onlya tin-horn sport. "

"Then it is the other?"

"Sure; he's the real thing. Not much to look at, maybe, but he fairlyoozes the long green. He's a lawyer. "

"Oh, indeed, " and Miss Donovan's eyes darkened. She was interested, now feeling herself on the verge of discovery. "From New York?"

"Sure, maybe you've heard of him? He knew you as soon as Beatonmentioned your name; he's Patrick Enright of Enright and Dougherty. "

Miss Donovan's fingers gripped hard on the footboard of the bed, andher teeth clinched to keep back a sudden exclamation of surprise. Thiswas more than she had bargained for, yet the other woman, coollywatching, in spite of her apparent flippancy, observed no change in thegirl's manner. Apparently the disclosure meant little. 

"Enright, you say? No, I think not. He claimed to know me? That israther strange. Who did he think I was?"

Miss La Rue bit her lip. She had found her match evidently, but wouldstrike harder. 

"A reporter on the _Star_. Naturally we couldn't help wondering whatyou was doing out here. You are in the newspaper business, ain't you?"

"Yes, " realising further concealment was useless, "but on my vacation. I thought I explained all that to Mr. Beaton. I am not exactly areporter. I am what they call a special writer--sometimes write formagazines like _Scribbler's_, other times for newspapers. I dofeature-stuff. "

"Whatever that is. "

"Human-interest stories; anything unusual; strange happenings inevery-day life, you know. "

"Murders, and--and robberies. "

"Occasionally, if they are out of the ordinary. " She took a swiftbreath, and made the plunge. "Like the Frederick Cavendish case--doyou remember that?"

Miss La Rue stared at her across the darkening room, but if she changedcolour the gloom concealed it, and her voice was steady enough. 

"No, " she said shortly, "I never read those things. What happened?"

"Oh, nothing much. It occurred to my mind because it was about thelast thing I worked on before leaving home. He was very rich, and wasfound dead in his apartments at the Waldron--evidently killed by aburglar. "

"Did they get the fellow?"

"No, there was no clue; the case is probably forgotten by this time. Let's speak about something else--I hate to talk shop. "

Miss La Rue stood up, and shook out her skirt. 

"That's what I say; and it seems to me it would be more social if wehad something to drink. You ain't too nice to partake of a cocktail, are you? Good! Then we'll have one. What's the hotelkeeper's name?"

"Timmons. "

"Do you suppose he'd come up if I pounded on the floor?"

Miss Donovan slipped off the bed. 

"I don't believe he is in the office. He went up the street justbefore dark. You light the lamp while I'll see if I can find theChinaman out in the hall. "

She closed the door behind her, strode noisily down the hall, thensilently and swiftly retraced her steps and stooped silently down towhere a crack yawned in the lower panel. That same instant a matchflared within the room and was applied to the wick of the lamp. Thenarrow opening gave only a glimpse of half the room--the wash-stand, the chair, and lower part of the bed. She saw Miss La Rue drop thematch, then open her valise and go through it, swiftly. She foundnothing, and turned to the wash-stand drawer. The latter was empty, and was instantly closed again, the girl staring about the room, asthough at her wit's end. Suddenly she disappeared along the edge ofthe bed, beyond the radius of the crack in the door. What was it shewas doing? Searching the bed, no doubt; seeking something hiddenbeneath the pillow, or mattress. 

Whatever her purpose, she was gone scarcely a moment, gliding silentlyback to the chair beside the window, with watchful eyes again fixed onthe closed door. Miss Donovan smiled, and straightened up, wellsatisfied with her ruse. It had served to demonstrate that theex-chorus-girl was far from being as calmly indifferent as she hadassumed and it had made equally evident the fact that her visit had anobject--the discovery of why Miss Donovan was in Haskell. Doubtlessshe had made the call at Enright's suggestion. Very well, the lady wasquite welcome to all the information obtained. Stella opened the door, and the eyes of the two met. 

"The Chinaman seems to have gone home, " the mistress of the room saidquietly. "At least he is not on this floor or in the office, and Icould see nothing of Timmons anywhere. "

"Then I suppose we don't drink, " complained Miss La Rue. "Well, Imight as well go to bed. There ain't much else to do in this jay town. "

She got up, and moved toward the door. 

"If you're only here viewing the scenery, I guess you won't remainlong. "

"Not more than a day or so. I am planning a ride into the mountainsbefore leaving, " pleasantly. "I hope I shall see you again. "

"You're quite liable to, " an ugly curl to the lip, "maybe more thanyou'll want. Good night. "

Miss Donovan stood there motionless after the door closed behind herguest. She was conscious of the sting in those final words, thehalf-expressed threat, but the smile did not desert her lips. Her onlythought was that the other was angry, irritated over her failure, herinability to make a report to her masters. She looked at the valise onthe floor, and laughed outright, but as her eyes lifted once more, shebeheld her travelling suit draped over the head-board of the bed, andinstantly the expression of her face changed. She had forgottenhanging it there. That must have been where the woman went when shedisappeared. It was not to rummage the bed at all, but to hastily runthrough the pockets of her jacket. The girl swiftly crossed the room, and flung coat and skirt onto the bed. She remembered now thrustingthe telegram from Farriss into a pocket on the morning of its receipt. It was gone!

CHAPTER XVI: CAPTURED

Her first thought was to search elsewhere, although she immediatelyrealised the uselessness of any such attempt. The message had been inher pocket as she recalled distinctly; she had fully intendeddestroying it at the same time she had torn up the letter ofinstruction, but failed to do so. Now it was in the hands of the LaRue woman, and would be shown to the others. Stella blew out the lightand sat down by the open window endeavouring to figure out what allthis would mean. It was some time before she could recall to memorythe exact wording of the telegram, but finally it came to her bit bybit:

If any clues, advise immediately. Willis digging hard. Letter ofinstruction follows. 

FARRISS. 

There was no mention of names, yet these people could scarcely fail torecognise that this had reference to the Cavendish case. Their fearswould lead to this conclusion, and they could safely argue that nothingelse would require the presence in Haskell of a New York newspaperwriter. Besides, if the man Enright had recognised her and knew of herconnection with the _Star_, it was scarcely probable that he would bewholly unfamiliar with the name of Farriss, the city editor. No, theywould be on guard now, and she could hope to win no confidence. Thethought of personal danger never once entered her mind. Timidity wasnot part of her nature and she gave this phase of the matter nothought. All that seriously troubled her was the knowledge that shewas handicapped in the case, unable to carry out the plans previouslyoutlined. 

From now on she would be watched, guarded against, deceived. Thatthese people--Enright particularly--were playing a desperate game forbig stakes, was already evident. They had not hesitated at murder toachieve their ends, and yet the girl somehow failed to comprehend thatthis discovery by them, that she was on their trail, placed her inpersonal peril. 

There were two reasons causing indifference--a carelessness engenderedby long newspaper experience, and a feeling that the telegram told solittle they would never realise how far the investigation hadprogressed. All she could do then, would be to remain quiet, watchclosely for results, and, if necessary, have some one else sent outfrom the home office to take up the work. But meanwhile she mustcommunicate with Westcott, tell him all that had occurred. She wouldsend him a note the first thing in the morning. 

Somewhat reassured by this reasoning, she was still seated there, staring out into the night, when Enright and Beaton returned. It musthave been late, for the street was practically deserted, the saloonseven being closed. The hotel was silent, although a lamp yet burned inthe office, the dull glow falling across the roadway in front of thedoor. Stella heard the tread of horses' feet, before her eyesdistinguished the party approaching, and she drew back cautiously. Inthe glow of the light she could perceive four men in saddle halted infront of the hotel, three of whom dismounted, and entered the building, the fourth grasping the reins of the riderless animals, and leadingthem up the street. No word was spoken, except an order to thedeparting horseman, and the girl could not be certain of the identityof those below, although convinced the first two to disappear withinwere Enright and Beaton. She heard the murmur of voices below and theheavy steps of the men as they came slowly up the stairs. Then a dooropened creakingly and she caught the sound of a woman's voice. 

"Is that you, Ned?"

"Sure; what are you doing up at this hour?"

"Never mind that. Who have you got with you?"

"Enright and Lacy--why?"

"I want you all to come in here a minute; don't make so much noise. "

A voice or two grumbled, but feet shuffled along the bare floor, andthe door creaked again as it was carefully closed behind them. Stellaopened her own door a crack and listened; the hall, lighted only by asingle oil-lamp at the head of the stairs, was deserted and silent. She stole cautiously forward, but the voices in Miss La Rue's room weremuffled and indistinct, not an audible word reaching her ears. The keywas in the lock, shutting out all view of the interior. Well, what wasthe difference? She knew what was occurring within--the stolentelegram was being displayed, and discussed. That would not delay themlong, and it would never do for her to be discovered in the hall. 

Convinced of the uselessness of remaining, she returned to her ownroom, closing and bolting the door. 

This time she removed some of her clothing, and lay down on the bed, conscious of being exceedingly tired, yet in no degree sleepy. Sherested there, with wide-open eyes, listening until the distant doorcreaked again, and she heard the footsteps of the men in the hall. They had not remained in the chorus girl's room long, nor was anythingsaid outside to arouse her suspicions. Reassured, Miss Donovansnuggled down into her pillow, unable to distinguish where the menwent, but satisfied they had sought their rooms. They would attemptnothing more that night, and she had better gain what rest she could. It was not easy falling asleep, in spite of the silence, but at lastshe dropped off into a doze. 

Suddenly some unusual noise aroused her, and she sat upright, unablefor the moment to comprehend what had occurred. All was still, oppressively still; she could hear the pounding of her own heart. Thensomething tingled at the glass of her window, sharply distinct, asthough a pebble had been tossed upward. Instantly she was upon herfeet, and had crossed the room, her head thrust out. The light in theoffice had been extinguished, and the night was black, yet she couldmake out dimly the figure of a man close in against the side of thehouse, a mere hulking shadow. At the same instant he seemed to moveslightly, and some missile grazed her face, and fell upon the floor, striking the rug with a dull thud. She drew back in alarm, yetimmediately grasped the thought that this must be some secret message, some communication from Westcott. 

Drawing down the torn curtain, she touched a match to the lamp andsought the intruding missile. It had rolled beneath the bed--a smallstone with a bit of paper securely attached. The girl tore this openeagerly, her eyes searching the few lines:

Must see you to-night. Have learned things, and am going away. Godown back stairs, and meet me at big cottonwood behind hotel; don'tfail. 

J. W. 

Her breath came fast as she read, and crunched the paper into the palmof her hand. She understood, and felt no hesitancy. Westcott had madediscoveries so important he must communicate them at once and there wasno other way. He dare not come to her openly at that hour. Well, shewas not afraid--not of Jim Westcott. Even in her hurry she was dimlyconscious of the utter, complete confidence she felt in the man; evenof the strange interest he had inspired. She paused in her hastydressing, wondering at herself, dimly aware that a new feeling partlyactuated her desire to meet the man again--a feeling thoroughly aliento the Cavendish mystery. She glanced into the cracked mirror andlaughed, half ashamed at her eagerness, yet utterly unable to suppressthe quickened beat of her pulse. 

She was ready almost in a minute, and had blown out the lamp. Againshe ventured a glance out into the street below, but the skulkingfigure had disappeared, no one lurked anywhere in the gloom. There wasnot a sound to disturb the night. She almost held her breath as sheopened the door silently and crept out into the hall. Stella possessedno knowledge of any back stairway, but the dim light enabled her toadvance in comparative quiet. 

Once a board creaked slightly, even under her light tread, and shepaused, listening intently. She could distinguish the sound of heavysleepers, but no movement to cause alarm, and, assured of this, creptforward. The hall turned sharply to the right, narrowing and becomingdark as the rays of light failed to negotiate the corner. Twenty feetdown this passage ended in a door. This was unlocked, and yieldedeasily to the grasp of her hand. It opened upon a narrow platform, andshe ventured forth. Gripping the hand-rail she descended slowly intothe darkness below, the excitement of the adventure causing her heartto beat like a trip-hammer. 

At the bottom she was in a gloom almost impenetrable, but her feet felta cinder path and against the slightly lighter sky her eyes managed todistinguish the gaunt limbs of a tree not far distant, the only onevisible and doubtless the cottonwood referred to in the note. 

Shrinking there in the black shadow of the building she realisedsuddenly the terror of her position--the intense loneliness; thesilence seemed to smite her. There occurred to her mind the wild, rough nature of the camp, the drunkenness of the night before; the widecontrast between that other scene of debauchery and this solitude ofsilence leaving her almost unnerved. She endeavoured to recall hersurroundings, how the land lay here at the rear of the hotel. Shecould see only a few shapeless outlines of scattered buildings, notenough to determine what they were like. She had passed along that waytoward the bridge that afternoon, yet now she could remember little, except piles of discarded tin cans, a few scattered tents, and a cattlecorral on the summit of the ridge. 

Still it was not far to the tree, and surely there could be no dangerat this hour. If there had been Westcott would never have asked her tocome. The very recurrence of his name gave her strength and courage. Her hands clenched with determination and she drew in a long breath, her body straightening. Why, actually, she had been frightened of thedark; like a child she had been peopling the void with the demons offancy. It struck her as so ridiculous that she actually laughed toherself as she started straight toward the tree, which now seemed tobeckon her. 

It was a rough path, sandy, interspersed with small rocks, and led downinto a gully. The tree stood on the opposite bank, which was so steepshe had to grasp its outcropping roots in order to pull herself up. Even after gaining footing she saw nothing of Westcott, heard no soundindicating his presence. 

A coyote howled mournfully in the distance, and a stray breath of airstirred one of the great leaves above into a startled rustling. Shecrept about the gnarled trunk, every nerve aquiver, shaded her eyeswith one hand, and peered anxiously around into the gloom. Suddenlysomething moved to her right, and she shrank back against the tree, uncertain if the shapeless thing approaching was man or beast. He wasalmost upon her before she was sure; then her lips gave utterance to alittle sob of relief. 

"Oh! You frightened me so!"

The man stopped, scarcely a yard away, a burly figure, but with faceindistinguishable. 

"Sorry to do that, " he said, "but no noise, please. "

She shrank back to the edge of the bank, conscious of the grip of agreat fear. 

"You--you are not Mr. Westcott?" she choked. "Who are you? What is ityou want?"

The man laughed, but made no move. 

"Hard luck to come out here to meet Jim, an' run up against a totallydifferent proposition--hey, miss?" he said grimly. "However, thisain't goin' ter be no love affair--not yit, at least. If I wuz you Iwouldn't try makin' no run fer it; an' if yer let out a screech, I'llhav' ter be a bit rough. "

"You--you are after me?"

"Sure; you've been playin' in a game what's none o' your business. NowI reckon it's the other party's turn to throw some cards. Thought yerwas comin' out yere ter meet up with Jim Westcott, didn't yer?"

She made no answer, desperately seeking some means of escape, the fullsignificance of her position clear before her. 

"Got a nice little note from Jim, " the fellow went on, "an' lost notime a gittin' yere. Well, Westcott is not liable to be sendin' feryer again very soon. What ther hell----"

She had dashed forward, seeking to place the trunk of the tree betweenthem, the unexpected movement so sudden, she avoided his grasp. Butsuccess was only for an instant. Another hand gripped her, hurling herback helplessly. 

"You are some sweet little lady's man, Moore, " snarled a new voiceraspingly. "Now let me handle this business my own way. Go get thatteam turned around. I'll bring the girl. Come on now, miss, and theless you have to say the better. "

She grasped at the bark, but the fellow wrenched her loose, forcing herforward. Her resistance evidently angered him, for he suddenlysnatched her up into the iron grip of his arms and held her there, despite her struggles. 

"Keep still, you damn tiger-cat, " he hissed, "or I'll quiet you forgood. Don't take this for any play acting, or you'll soon be sorry. There now, try it again on your own feet. "

"Take your hands off me then. "

"Very well--I will; but I've got something here to keep you quiet, " andhe touched his belt threateningly. 

"What is it you want of me? Who are you?"

"We'll discuss that later. Just now, move on--yes, straight ahead. You see that wagon over there? Well, that is where you are bound atpresent. Move on pronto. "

She realised the completeness of the trap into which she had fallen, the futility of resistance. If the man who seemed in control exhibitedany consideration, it was not from the slightest desire to show mercy, but rather to render the work as easy as possible. She was ashelplessly in his power as though bound and gagged. Before themappeared the dim outline of a canvas covered wagon silhouetted againstthe sky, to which was hitched a team of horses. 

As they approached the shapeless figures of two men appeared in thegloom, one at the head of the team and the other holding back thecanvas top. Her guard gripped her arm, and peered about through thedarkness. 

"Isn't Ned here yet?"

"Yes, all right, " answered a muffled voice to the left. "I just cameout; here are the grips and other things. "

"Sure you cleaned up everything?"

"Never left a pin; here, Moore, pass them up inside. "

"And about the note?"

"She wrote that, and pinned it on the pillow. "

"Good, that will leave things in fine shape, " he laughed. "I'd like tosee Jim's face when he reads that, and the madder he gets the less hewill know what to do. "

"And you want us to stay?" asked the other doubtfully. 

"Stay--of course; I am going to stay myself. It is the only way todivert suspicion. Good Lord, man, if we all disappeared at once theywould know easy enough what had happened. Don't you ever believeWestcott is that kind of a fool. More than that--there will be nosafety for us now until we get him out of the way; he knows too much. Whereas your fat friend--old money-bags?"

"He thought it best to keep out of it; he's back inside. "

"I imagined so; this sort of thing is not in his line. All ready, Joe?"

The man at the wagon muttered some response. 

"Then up you go, miss; here, put your foot on the wheel; give her alift, will you?"

Anxious to escape further indignities, and comprehending theuselessness of any further struggle, with a man on either side of her, Miss Donovan silently clambered into the wagon, and seated herself on awide board, evidently arranged for that purpose. The fellow who hadheld back the top followed, and snuggled into the seat beside her. Shenoticed now he held a gun in his hand, which he deposited between hisknees. The leader drew back the flap of canvas endeavouring to peerinto the dark interior. 

"All set?"

"Sure. "

"Well, keep awake, Joe, and mind what I told yer. Now, Moore, up withyou, and drive like hell; you must be in the bad lands before daylight. "

A fellow clambered to the seat in front, his figure outlined againstthe sky, and picked up the reins. Those within could hear theshuffling of the horses' feet as though they were eager to be off. Thedriver leaned forward. 

"Whoa, there, now; quiet, Jerry. Did you say I was to take the ridgeroad?"

"You bet; it's all rock and will leave no trail. Take it easy andquiet until you are beyond Hennessey's ranch, and then give them thewhip. "

The next moment they were under way, slowly advancing through thedarkness. 

CHAPTER XVII: IN THE SHOSHONE DESERT

Her guard spoke no word as the wagon rolled slowly onward, but shejudged that he leaned back against the bow supporting the canvas in aneffort to make himself as comfortable as possible. She could seenothing of the fellow in the darkness, but had formed an impressionthat he was of medium size, his face covered with a scraggly beard. The driver sat bundled up in formless perspective against the line ofsky, but she knew from his voice that he was the man who had firstaccosted her. In small measure this knowledge afforded some degree ofcourage, for he had then appeared less brutal, more approachable thanthe others. Perhaps she might lead him to talk, once they were alonetogether, and thus learn the purpose of this outrage. 

Yet deep down in her mind she felt little doubt of the object in view, or who were involved. Excited as she was, and frightened, the girl wasstill composed enough to grasp the nature of her surroundings, and shehad time now, as the wagon rumbled forward, to think over all that hadbeen said, and fit it into the circumstances. 

Moreover she had recognised another voice--although the speaker hadkept out of sight, and spoken only in disguised, rumbling tones--thatof Ned Beaton. The fact of his presence alone served to make theaffair reasonably clear. The telegram stolen from her room by Miss LaRue had led to this action. They had suspected her before, but thathad served to confirm their suspicions, and as soon as it had beenshown to Enright, he had determined to place her where she would behelpless to interfere with their plans. 

But what did they propose doing with her? The question caused herblood to run cold. That these people were desperate she had everyreason to believe; they were battling for big stakes: not even murderhad hitherto stood in their way? Why then, should they hesitate totake her life, if they actually deemed it necessary to the finalsuccess of their plans? She remembered what Beaton had said about herroom--the condition in which it had been left. It was not all clear, yet it was clear enough, that they had taken every precaution to makeher sudden disappearance appear natural. They had removed all herthings, and left a note behind in womanly handwriting to explain herhurried departure. There was a master criminal mind, watchful of everydetail, behind this conspiracy. He was guarding against everypossibility of rescue. 

The driver began to use his whip and urge the team forward, the wagonpounding along over the rough road at a rate which compelled the girlto hang on closely to keep her seat. The man beside her bounced about, and swore, but made no effort to touch her, or open conversation. Theuncertainty, the fear engendered by her thought, the drear silencealmost caused her to scream. She conquered this, yet could remainspeechless no longer. 

"Where are you taking me?" she asked suddenly. 

There was no reply, and she stared toward her silent companion, unableto even perceive his outlines. His silence sent a thrill of angerthrough her, and she lost control. Her hand gripped the coarseshirt-sleeve in determination to compel him to speak. 

"Answer me or I'll scream!"

He chuckled grimly, not in the least alarmed. 

"Little good that'll do yer now, young woman, " he said gruffly, and thedriver turned his head at the sound, "unless yer voice will carry fivemiles or so; where are we now, Matt?"

"Comin' down ter the Big Slough, " answered the other, expectoratingover the wheel, and flickering a horse with his whip-lash. "'Twouldn'tdo no harm now ter fasten back the canvas, Joe; maybe she'd feel a bitmore ter home that away. "

There was a good-natured drawl to the voice which had a tendency tohearten the girl. The driver seemed human, sympathetic: perhaps hewould respond to questioning. The other merely grunted, and began tounloosen the cover. She leaned forward, and addressed the rounded backof the fellow in front. 

"Are you Mr. Moore?"

He wheeled partly about, surprised into acknowledgment. 

"Well, I ain't heered the mister part fer some time, but my name's MattMoore, though, how the hell did you know it?"

"The other man called you by name--don't you remember? Besides I hadheard about you before. "

"Well, I'll be damned. Do yer hear that, Joe? Who told yer 'bout me?"

"Mr. Westcott; he mentioned you as being one of the men who attackedhim in the hotel office yesterday. He said you were one of Lacy's men. So when I heard your name mentioned to-night I knew in whose hands Ihad fallen. Was the brute who ordered you about Bill Lacy?"

"I reckon it was, miss, " doubtfully. "It don't make no difference, does it, Joe?"

"Not as I kin see, " growled the other. "Leastwise, her knowin' thetmuch. 'Tain't likely to do her no good, whichever way the cat jumps. I reckon I'll have a smoke, Matt; I'm dry as a fish. "

"Same here; 'bout an hour till daylight, I reckon, Joe; pass theterbacco after yer light up. "

The glow of the match gave her swift view of the man's face; it wasstrange and by no means reassuring, showing hard, repulsive, thecomplexion as dark as an Indian's, the eyes bold and a bit bloodshotfrom drink. Meeting her glance, he grinned unpleasantly. 

"I don't pose fer no lady's man, like Matt, " he said sneeringly, thematch flaring between his fingers. "That's what Bill sent me 'longfer, 'cause he know'd I'd 'tend ter business, an' not talk too much. "

"Your name is Joe?"

"Out yere--yes; Joe Sikes, if it pleases yer eny ter know. Yer mightcall me Mr. Sikes, if yer want ter be real polite. "

He passed the tobacco-bag up to Moore, who thrust the reins under himwhile deliberately filling his pipe, the team trotting quietly alongwhat seemed to be a hard road. The wagon lurched occasionally, as thewheels struck a stone, but the night was still so dark, the girl couldperceive little of their surroundings in spite of the looped-upcurtains. There seemed to be a high ridge of earth to their right, crowned by a fringe of low trees, but everything appeared indistinctand desolate. Outside the rumble of their own progress the silence wasprofound. 

"And you will not tell me where we are going?" she insisted, "or whatyou propose doing with me?"

The pipe-glow revealed Sikes's evil countenance; Moore resumed hisreins, and there was the sharp swish of a whip lash. 

"'Twouldn't mean nuthin' ter yer if I did, " said the former finally, after apparently turning the matter over slowly in his mind. "Yerdon't know nuthin' 'bout this country. 'Tain't no place a tenderfootlike you kin find yer way back frum; so, as fer as I see, thar ain'tnuthin' fer yer to do but just naturally wait till we takes yer back. "

"I am to be held a prisoner--indefinitely?"

"I reckon so; not that I knows enything 'bout the programme, miss; butthat's 'bout the understandin' that Matt an' I has--ain't it, Matt?"

The driver turned his head, and nodded. 

"Sure; we're just ter take keer of yer till he comes. "

"Lacy?"

"Er--some word from him, miss. It might not be safe for him to comehimself. Yer see, " apologetically, "I don't just know what the gameis, and Bill might want to skip out before you was turned loose. Iknowed wunst when he was gone eight months, an' nobody knowed where hewas--do yer mind thet time, Joe, after he shot up Medicine Lodge?Well, I reckon thar must be some big money in this job, an' he won'ttake no chance of gettin' pinched. That seems to be the trouble, miss--you've sorter stuck yerself in whar it warn't none o' yerbusiness. Thet's what got Lacy down on yer. "

"Yes; but what is it to you, and--and Mr. Sikes, here?"

Matt grinned. 

"Nuthin' much ter me, or ter--ter Mr. Sikes--how's it sound, Joe?--'cept maybe a slice o' coin. Still there's reason fer us bothter jump when Bill Lacy whistles. Enyhow thar ain't no use a talkin''bout it, fer we've got ter do what we're told. So let's shut up. "

"You say you do not know what this all means?"

"No, an' what's more, we don't give a damn. "

"But if I told you it was robbery and murder---that you were aiding inthe commission of crime!"

"It wouldn't make a plum bit o' difference, ma'm, " said Sikesdeliberately, "we never reckoned it wus enything else--so yer mightjust as well stop hollerin', fer yer goin' whar we take yer, an' ye'llstay thar till Bill Lacy says yer ter go. Hit 'em up, Matt; I'm plum'tired of talkin'. "

The grey dawn came at last, spectral and ghastly, gradually yieldingglimpse of the surroundings. They were travelling steadily south, thehorses beginning to exhibit traces of weariness, yet still keeping up adogged trot. All about extended a wild, desolate scene of rock andsand, bounded on every horizon by barren ridges. The only vegetationwas sage brush, while the trail, scarcely visible to the eye, wouldcircle here and there among grotesque formations, and occasionallyseemed to disappear altogether. Nowhere was there slightest sign oflife--no bird, no beast, no snake even, crossed their path. All wasdead, silent, stricken with desolation. The spires and chimneys ofrock, ugly and distorted in form, assumed strange shapes in the greydusk. It was all grey wherever the eyes turned; grey of all shades, grey sand, grey rocks, grey over-arching sky, relieved only by the softpurple of the sage--a picture of utter loneliness, of intensedesolation, which was a horror. The eye found nothing to rest upon--nolandmark, no distant tree, no gleam of water, no flash of colour--onlythat dull monotony of drab, motionless, and with no apparent end. 

Stella stared about at it, and closed her eyes, unable to bear thesight; her head drooped wearily, every nerve giving away before thedepressing scene outspread in every direction. Sikes, watching herslightest movement, seemed to sense the meaning of the action. 

"Hell, ain't it?" he said expressively. "You know whar we are?"

"No; but I never before dreamed any spot could be so terrible. "

"This is the Shoshone desert; thar ain't nobody ever comes in yere'cept wunst in a while a prospector, maybe, er a band o' cattlerustlers. Even the Injuns keep out. "

She lifted her eyes again, shuddering as they swept about over thedismal waste. 

"But there is a trail; you could not become lost?"

"Well, yer might call it a trail, tho' thar ain't much left of it aftera sand storm. I reckon thar ain't so many as could follow it any timeo' year, but Matt knows the way all right--you don't need to worry noneabout that. He's drove many a load along yere--hey, Matt?"

"You bet; I've got it all marked out, the same as a pilot on theMissouri. Ye see that sway-back ridge yonder?" pointing with his whipinto the distance ahead. "That's what I'm headin' for now an' when Igit thar a round rock will show up down a sorter gully. Furst time Icame over yere long with Lacy, I wrote all these yere things down. "

Conversation ceased, the drear depression of the scene resting heavilyon the minds of all three. Moore sat humped shapelessly in his seat, permitting the horses to toil on wearily, the wagon rumbling alongacross the hard packed sand, the wheels leaving scarcely a mark behind. Sikes stared gloomily out on his side, the rifle still between hisknees, his jaws working vigorously on a fresh chew of tobacco. Stellalooked at the two men, their faces now clearly revealed in thebrightening dawn, but the survey brought little comfort. Sikes wasevidently of wild blood--a half-breed, if his swarthy skin and highcheek bones meant any characteristics of race--scarcely more than asavage by nature, and rendered even more decadent by the ravages ofdrink. He was sober enough now, but this only left him the more moroseand sullen, his bloodshot eyes ugly and malignant. The girl shrankfrom him as a full realisation of what the man truly was came to herwith this first distinct view. 

Moore was a much younger man, his face roughened, and tanned, to almostthe colour of mahogany, yet somehow retaining a youthful look. He wasnot unprepossessing in a bold, daring way; a fellow who would seekadventure, and meet danger with a laugh. He turned as she looked athim, and grinned back at her, pointing humorously to a badlydiscoloured eye. 

"Friend o' yours gave me that, " he admitted, quite as a matter ofcourse. "Did a good job, too. "

"A friend of mine?" in surprise. 

"Sure; you're a friend o' Jim Westcott, ain't yer? Lacy said so, andJim's the laddy-buck who whaled me. "

"Mr. Westcott! When?"

"Last night. You see it was this way. I caught him hanging round theoffice at La Rosita, an' we had a fight. I don't just know what I didto him, but that's part o' what he did to me. I never knowed muchabout him afore, but he's sure some scrapper; an' I had a knife in myfist, too. "

"Then--then, " her breath choking her, "he got away?"

Moore laughed, no evidence of animosity in his actions. 

"I reckon so, miss. I ain't seen nuthin' of him since, an' the wayBill Lacy wus cussing when I got breathin' straight agin would 'a'shocked a coyote. He'll git him, though. "

"Get him?"

"Sure--Bill will. He always gets his man. I've seen more'n one fellowtry to put something over on Lacy, but it never worked in the end. He's hell on the trigger, an' the next time he and Bill come together, Westcott's bound to get his. Ain't that the truth, Joe?"

Sikes nodded his head, a gleam of appreciation in his eyes. 

"I'd like fer to see the scrap, " he said slowly. "They tell meWestcott ain't so slow on the draw--but Bill will get him!"

The sun rose a red ball of fire, colouring the ridges of sand, andpainting the grotesque rocks with crimson streamers. As it ascendedhigher into the pale blue of the sky the heat-waves began to sweepacross the sandy waste. In the shadow of a bald cliff the wagon washalted briefly, and the two men brought forth materials from within, making a hasty fire, and preparing breakfast. Water was given the teamalso, before the journey was resumed; while during the brief halt thegirl was left to do as she pleased. Then they moved on again, surrounded by the same drear landscape, the very depression of itkeeping them silent. Sikes nodded sleepily, his head against a wagonbow. Once Moore roused up, pointing into the distance with one hand. 

"What do yer make o' that out thar?" he asked sharply. "'Tain't ahuman, is it?"

Sikes straightened up with a start, and stared blankly in the directionindicated. Apparently he could perceive nothing clearly, for hereached back into the wagon-box, and drew forth a battered field-glass, quickly adjusting it to his eyes. Stella's keener vision made out ablack, indistinct figure moving against the yellow background of a faraway sand-ridge, and she stood up, clinging to Moore's seat, to gain abetter view. Sikes got the object in focus. 

"Nothin' doing, " he announced. "It's travellin' on four legs--a b'ar, likely, although I never afore heard of a b'ar being in yere. "

They settled down to the same monotony, mile after mile. The waybecame rockier with less sand, but with no more evidence of life. Ahigh cliff rose menacingly to their right, bare of the slightest traceof vegetation, while in the opposite direction the plain assumed a deadlevel, mirages appearing occasionally in the far distance. Far awayahead a strange buttress of rock rose into the sky resembling theturret of a huge castle. The sun was directly overhead when Mooreturned his team suddenly to the left, and drove down a sharp declivityleading into a ravine. 

"Drop the canvas, Joe, " he said shortly, "there's only 'bout a milemore. "

CHAPTER XVIII: IN MEXICAN POWER

The passage was so narrow, and so diversified by sharp turns, that MissDonovan, shut in behind the closed cover, could perceive little of itsnature. Apparently the ravine was a mere gash in the surface of thedesert plain, to be originally discovered purely through accident. Onemight pass a hundred yards to either side, and never realise itsexistence, the hard rock, covered by a thin layer of sand, retaining notrace of wheel-marks in guidance. How Moore had ever driven sounerringly to the spot was a mystery. Yet he had done so, and now theteam was slowly creeping down the narrow ledge utilised as a road, theslipping wheels securely locked, as they drifted here and there aboutthe sharp corners, ever descending into the unknown depths. 

The cliffs arose precipitously on either side, absolutely bare. To theleft nothing could be seen but black rock, but on the other side anopen space yawned, perhaps twenty feet across, its bottomimperceptible. The horses stumbled over the rough stones, held only byMoore's firm grip on the reins, and the light began to fade as theydescended. At last nothing appeared above but a narrow strip of sky, and the glimmer of sun had totally vanished. Almost at the same momentthe driver released the creaking brake, and at a trot the wagon sweptforward between two pinnacles of rock, and came out into an open valley. 

The transition was so sudden and startling as to cause the girl to giveutterance to a cry of surprise. She had been clinging desperately tothe seat in front, expecting every instant to be hurled headlong. Intense fear gripped her and it seemed as if every drop of blood in herveins stood still. The change was like a leap into fairy land; asthough they had emerged from the mouth of hell into the beauty ofparadise. They were in a green, watered valley, a clear streamwandering here and there through its centre, shadowed by groves oftrees. All about, as far as eye could reach, stood great precipices, their bold, rugged fronts rising hundreds of feet, unbroken, andunscalable; the sun directly above bathed these with showers of gold, and cast a blanket of colour across the sheltered valley. 

This valley itself was nearly square, possibly extending not over amile in either direction, merely a great hole rimmed by desert, astrange, hidden oasis, rendered fertile and green by some outburst offresh water from the rocks. Emerging upon it in midst of the barrendesolation through which they had been toiling for hours, blinded byalkali dust, jolted down that dangerous decline, it seemed like somebeautiful dream, a fantasy of imagination. 

Miss Donovan doubted the evidence of her own eyes, half convinced thatshe slept. It was Moore's voice which aroused her. 

"Mendez must have got back, Joe, " he said eagerly. "There are horsesand cattle over yonder. "

The other pushed up the canvas and looked out. 

"That's right. Must just got here, or there'd 'a' been a guard upabove. The fellow is comin' now--see?"

He was loping along carelessly, Mexican from high hat to jinglingspurs, sitting the saddle as though moulded there, a young fellow, darkfaced, but with a livid scar along one cheek. 

"Juan Cateras, the little devil, " muttered Sikes, as the rider drewnearer. "There's some pot brewing if he is in it. "

The rider drew up his horse, and lifted his hat, his smiling lipsrevealing a row of white teeth. 

"A pleasant day, _señor_, " he said graciously, his dark eyes searchingthe faces of the two men, and then dwelling with interest on the woman. "Ah, your pardon, _señorita_; your presence is more than welcome here. "He rested one hand on the wagon box, the expression of his facehardening. "Yet an explanation might not be out of place--the SeñorMendez may not be pleased. "

"We came under orders from Lacy, " replied Moore confidently. "You haveseen us both before. "

"True, but not the lady; you will tell me about her?"

Sikes climbed down over the wheel. 

"It is like this, _señor_, " he began. "Lacy did not know your partywas here; he thought you were all south for another month yet. Hewould keep this girl quiet, out of the way for a time. She is from NewYork, and knows too much. "

"From New York?" The quick eyes of the Mexican again sought her face. "She is to be held prisoner?"

"Yes, _señor_. "

"Again the case of that man Cavendish?"

"We were not told, only ordered to bring her here and guard her untilwe heard otherwise. It was not known you were back. "

"We came three hours ago; you see what we brought, " with a wave of thehand. "All was clear above?"

"Not a sign; I searched with field-glasses. "

"Then I will ride with you to Mendez; 'tis well to have the matterpromptly over with. "

The wagon, rumbled on, Moore urging the wearied team with whip andvoice to little result. Sikes remained on foot, glad of the change, striding along in front, while the Mexican rode beside the wheel, hisequipment jingling, the sunlight flashing over his bright attire. Hemade a rather gallant figure, of which he was fully conscious, glancingfrequently aside into the shadow beneath the canvas top to gain glimpseof its occupant. At last their eyes met, and he could no longerforbear speech, his English expression a bit precise. 

"Pardon, _señorita_, I would be held your friend, " he murmured, leaningcloser, "for it is ever a misfortune to incur the enmity of Señor Lacy. You will trust me?"

"But, " she ventured timidly, "I do not know you, _señor_; who you maybe. "

"You know Señor Mendez?"

She shook her head negatively. 

"'Tis strange! Yet I forget you come from New York. They know himhere on this border. If you ask these men they will tell you. EvenSeñor Lacy takes his orders from Pascual Mendez. He care not who hekill, who he fight--some day it come his turn, and then he liberateMexico--see? The day is not yet, but it will come. "

"You mean he is a revolutionist?"

"He hate; he live to hate; to revenge the wrong. Twice already he leadthe people, but they fail him--the cowards. He return here where it issafe: yet the right time will come. "

"But you, _señor_?"

"I am his lieutenant--Juan Cateras, " and he bowed low, "and I ride nowto tell him of his guest. "

She watched him as he spurred forward, proud of his horsemanship, andmaking every effort to attract her attention. Moore turned in hisseat, and grinned. 

"Some tin soldier, " he said sneeringly, "that's a feller I alwayswanted ter kick, an' some day I'm a goin' ter do it. "

"You heard what he said?"

"Sure; he was tellin' yer 'bout old Mendez being a Mexicanrevolutionary leader down in Mex, wa'n't he? Hell of a leader he is!I reckon he's been mixed up in scrapes enough down thar, but they hadmighty little to do with revolutin'. He's just plain bad man, miss--cattle thief, an' all round outlaw. There's a price on his headin three States, but nobody dares go after it, because of the dangerousgang he controls. "

Her eyes sought the distant figure doubtfully. 

"And this man--this Juan Cateras--what of him?"

"One of the devil's own imps; I'd a heap rather play with a rattlesnakethan him. " He paused, to assure him self that Sikes was safely out ofhearing. "I thought maybe I better tell yer while I had a chance. That fellar is plumb pisen, miss. "

She reached out her hand, and touched him. 

"Thank you, " she said gratefully, "I--I am glad you did. Am--am I tobe left here with these--these men?"

"No, not exactly. I suppose they'll naturally sorter expect to runthings while they're here, fer this yere valley is their camp, Mendezhas been hidin' out yere fer some time. But Joe and I are goin' tostay, and even old Mendez ain't liable to make no enemy outer BillLacy. They had a row wunst, an' I reckon they don't neither of 'emwant another. I ain't greatly afeerd o' Mendez, but I wouldn't putnuthin' past this Cateras lad, if he got some hell idea in his head. He's Injun-Mex, an' that's the worst kind. "

The wagon lurched down a steep bank, splashed its way across the narrowstream, and up the other side, the horses straining in their harness tothe sharp snap of the driver's whip. A towering precipice of rockconfronted them, and at its very foot stood two cabins of logconstruction, so closely resembling their stone background as to bealmost imperceptible, at the distance of a few yards. Sikes leaned onhis rifle waiting, and as Moore halted the panting team, and leapedover the wheel to the ground, Cateras came forth from one of the opendoors and crossed the intervening space on foot. He was smoking acigarette, the blue wreath of smoke circling above his head in thestill air. 

"The lady is to be placed in my care, " he said almost insolently. "Your hand, _señorita_. "

Miss Donovan hesitated, the memory of Moore's words of warning yetringing in her ears. The handsome face, with its smiling lips andeyes, suddenly appeared to her a mask assumed to conceal the uncleansoul behind. Moore broke the silence with a protest. 

"In your care, _señor_? The girl is here as prisoner to Bill Lacy. "

"So I told Mendez, " he said indifferently. "But he is in ill humourthis morning, and took small interest in the affair. It was only whenI promised to take full charge that he consented to your remaining atall. 'Tis my advice that you let well enough alone. You know whorules here. "

"If there is evil done, the debt will be paid. "

Cateras laughed, one hand at his incipient moustache. 

"Billy Lacy, you mean, no doubt. That is a matter for him to settlewith Mendez. It is not my affair, for I only obey my chief. However, _señors_, 'tis no evil that is contemplated, only we prefer guardingthe secrets of this valley ourselves. That is what angers Mendez, thefact that Lacy uses this rendezvous as a prison during our absence. Wefound one here when we returned--guarded by an American. Now you comewith another. _Caramba_! You think we stand this quietly? How do weknow what may result from such acts? What sheriff's posse may be onyour trail? Bill Lacy! _Dios_! if Bill Lacy would make prisoners, lethim keep them somewhere else than here. Mendez takes no prisoners--heknows a better way than doing things like that. "

"But, _señor_, this is a woman. "

"Of which I am well aware, " bowing gallantly. "Otherwise I should nothave interfered, and offered my services. But we have talked enough. You have had the word, and you know the law of our compact. Do youobey me, or shall I call the chief--God be merciful to your soul, if Ido. "

Moore stood silent, realising the full meaning of the threat; heglanced aside at Sikes, but that individual only shook his head. 

"All right then, " went on the Mexican sharply. "'Tis well you showsense. You know what to do with your team; then the both of you reportto Casas at the upper camp--you know him?"

"Yes, _señor_. "

"Tell him I sent you. He will have his orders; they are that you beshot if you attempt to leave before Mendez gives the word. 'Tis notlong now till we learn who is chief here--Bill Lacy or Pascual Mendez. Come, _señorita_, you are safe with me. "

Concealing a dread that was almost overpowering, yet realising theimpossibility of resistance, Stella permitted him to touch her hand, and assist her to clamber over the wheel. The baffled, helpless ragein Moore's face was sufficient proof of the true power possessed byCateras, that his was no idle boast. Under some conditions the changein captors might have been welcomed--certainly she felt no desire toremain in the hands of the two who had brought her there, for Sikes, plainly enough, was a mere drunken brute, and Moore, while of somewhatfiner fibre, lacked the courage and manhood to ever develop into a truefriend. 

Yet she would have infinitely preferred such as these--men, at least, of her own race--to this smirking Mexican, hiding his devilishinstincts behind a pretence at gallantry. She knew him, now, understood him, felt convinced, indeed, that this was all some cunningscheme originating within his own brain. He had hastened ahead toMendez; told a tale in his own way, rendering the chief's suspicions ofLacy more acute, and thus gaining permission to assume full charge. Her only hope was to go herself into the presence of the leader, andmake a plea to him face to face. Moore was already at the horses'heads, and was turning them about in the trail. Cateras, smiling, pressed her arm with his fingers. 

"This way, _señorita_. "

"Wait, " and her eyes met his, showing no sign of fear. "You take me, Ipresume, to Señor Mendez?"

"Of what need?" in surprise. "He has already placed me in charge. "

"Yet without hearing a word as to why I am here, " indignantly. "I aman American woman, and you will yet pay dearly for this outrage. Idemand an interview with the chief, and refuse to go with you until itis granted. "

"You refuse! Ha!" and he burst into laughter. "Why, what power haveyou got, you little fool? Do you know where you are? What fear do wehave of your damn Americanos. None!" and he snapped his fingersderisively. "We spit on the dogs. I will show you--come!"

He gripped her shoulder in his lean hand, his eyes glaring into herface savagely. The grasp hurt, and a sudden anger spurred her toaction. With a quick twist she freed herself, and, scarcely knowinghow it was done, snatched the heavy driver's whip from Moore's hand. The next instant, before the astounded Mexican could even throw up anarm in defence, the infuriated girl struck, the stinging lash raising ared welt across the swarthy cheek. Cateras staggered back, his lipsgiving utterance to a curse. 

Again she struck, but this time his fingers gripped the leather, andtore it from her hands, with sufficient force to send her to her knees. With a spring forward the man had her in his grasp, all tiger now, thepretence at gentleness forgotten. He jerked her to her feet, withfingers clutching her neck mercilessly. 

"Here, Silva, Merodez, " he cried, "come take this spitfire. _Caramba_!we'll teach her. "

Two men ran from between the huts and Cateras flung her, helpless fromher choking, into their grasp. 

"Take her within--no, there; the second door, you fools. "

Breathless from effort, a mere child in their grip, Miss Donovanstruggled vainly. They forced her through the door, and Cateras, stillcursing furiously followed, the whip in his hands. 

CHAPTER XIX: WESTCOTT FINDS HIMSELF ALONE

It never occurred to Westcott on his escape through the darkness thathis night's adventure would in any way endanger Miss Donovan. He wason the property of La Rosita Mining Company upon his own account, andnot in reference to the Cavendish Case at all--or, at least, this lastwas merely incidental. 

To be sure he had listened to a confession from Enright bearingdirectly upon the affair in New York, a confession so strange he couldscarcely grasp its true meaning. But this never brought to his mindthe thought that suspicion already rested upon the girl's presence inHaskell. His whole interest centred for the moment on Lacy's daringattempt to break through the wall of rock below and lay claim to hislead of ore. Not until this effort had been abandoned would he dare todesert his mine--and even then safety could be assured only by theestablishment of an armed guard in the tunnel prepared to repel anyinvasion. 

While undoubtedly the mining law of the State would eventually sustainhis claim, yet the fact that he had for so long kept his discoverysecret would seriously operate against him; while, if Lacy's gang onceacquired actual possession of the property, the only way of provingprior ownership would be through an official survey and long protractedproceedings in court. 

Here he would be at great disadvantage because of lack of money andinfluence. In this respect Westcott realised, fully what he was upagainst, for while it was quietly known that Lacy was a questionablecharacter, his name associated with the leadership of a desperate gang, yet his wealth and power rendered him a decidedly dangerous opponent. As proprietor of the biggest saloon, dance-hall, and gambling den inHaskell, he wielded an influence not to be ignored--especially as thesheriff of the county was directly indebted to him for his office. Adangerous man himself, with the reputation of a killer, he had abouthim others capable of any crime to carry out his orders, confident thathis wealth and influence would assure their safety. To such as he thestealing of a mine was a mere incident. 

This was the situation confronting Westcott as he crouched behind arock on the black hillside, endeavouring to decide upon a course ofaction. The events of the last few hours had almost entirely forcedaside memory of the girl at the hotel--and her mission. He wasfighting now for his own life, his own future--and fighting alone. Theblade of Moore's knife had slashed his forearm, in the early moments oftheir fierce struggle, and blood was trickling down his wrist, yet notin sufficient quantity to give him any great concern. Once beyond theprobability of pursuit, he turned up his sleeve and made some effort tominister to the gash, satisfying himself quickly that it was of trivialnature. 

From where he lay he could see across the bare, rock-strewn hillside tothe distant hut, outlined by the gleam of light within, and perceivethe black silhouette of the shaft-house. The sound of clankingmachinery reached his ears, but the voices of the men failed to carryso far. He could dimly distinguish their figures as they passed in andout of the glare of light, and was aware that Moore had been found andcarried within the hut, but remained ignorant of the fact that theleaving of a knife in the window had revealed his identity. There wasno attempt at pursuit, which gave him confidence that Lacy failed tocomprehend the importance of what had been overheard, yet he clungclosely to his hiding-place until all the men had re-entered the office. 

However, he was too wary to approach the window again, fearing sometrap, but crept cautiously along the slope of the hill through theblack shadows until he attained safe shelter close in against the dump. His hope was that Enright's arguments would induce Lacy to discontinueoperations for the present and thus give him time in which to preparefor resistance. In this he was not disappointed. What took placewithin the office could only be guessed at, but in less than half anhour a man emerged from the open door and hailed the fellows at work inthe shaft-house. The messenger stood in the full glare of light, revealing to the silent watcher the face and figure of Moore, convincing evidence that this worthy had not been seriously injuredduring the late encounter. 

"Hey, Tom!" he shouted. 

The lantern above was waved out over the edge of the timbered platformand a deep voice responded. 

"Well, what'che want?"

"Send word down to the boys to come up. They're laid off fer a while, an' their pay's ready for 'em. "

"Lay 'em off! Who says so?"

"Lacy, of course; hustle them out now--them's the orders. "

"Well, that beats hell!" But the lantern vanished as he went grumblingback to his engine. 

They came up, talking excitedly among themselves, stumbled down therough path, and filed into the open door of the lighted office. Therewere twenty of them, according to Westcott's count, and the interviewwithin must have been satisfactory as they departed quietly enough, disappearing down the trail toward Haskell. Moore remained outside, apparently checking the fellows off as they passed, and when the lastone vanished again hailed the shaft-house:

"What's the matter with you, Tom? Why don't you close down and comeand get your stuff?"

"You want me too?"

"Sure--we're here waitin' fer yer. "

Westcott clung to his hiding-place, but greatly relieved in mind. Thisunexpected action had postponed his struggle and left him free to planfor defence. For the first time almost his brain grasped the fullsignificance of this movement, its direct connection with thedisappearance of Frederick Cavendish, and the presence of StellaDonovan. Enright had suggested and urged the closing down of the minetemporarily to avoid unnecessary publicity--to throw Westcott off thetrail. His argument must have been a powerful one to thus influenceLacy--nothing less than a pledge of money could cause the latter toforego immediate profit. 

Undoubtedly the lawyer had convinced the man of the certainty of theirgaining possession of the Cavendish fortune, and had offered him agoodly share for his assistance. Then the plan was at a head--ifCavendish was not dead he was safely in their hands, where his deathcould be easily accomplished, if other means failed. 

This was to be Lacy's part of the bargain, and he was already toodeeply involved in the hellish conspiracy to withdraw. Enright, withhis lawyer-astuteness, had seen to that--had even got this Westerngambler securely into his grip and put on the screws. The miner, realising now the full situation, or, at least, imagining that he did, smiled grimly and waited in his covert on the hillside for theconspirators to make their next move. He dare not approach the cabinany closer, or permit his presence to become known, for Moore was keptoutside the door on guard. However, the delay was not a long one, horses being brought up from the near-by corral, and the entire partymounting rode down the trail toward Haskell. The cabin was left darkand deserted, the mine silent. Westcott made no effort to follow, feeling assured that no important movement would be attempted thatnight. 

It was late the next morning before he rode into Haskell and, stablinghis horse, which bore all the marks of hard riding, proceeded towardthe Timmons House. He had utilised, as best he could, the hours sincethat cavalcade had departed from La Rosita to put his own affairs inorder so that he might feel free to camp on the conspirators' trail andrisk all in an effort to rescue Cavendish. The night had been a hardone, but Westcott was still totally unconscious of fatigue--his wholethought centred on his purpose. 

Alone he had explored the tunnels in Lacy's mine, creeping about in thedarkness, guided only by the flash of an electric torch, until hethoroughly understood the nature of the work being accomplished. Assoon as dawn came he sought two reliable men in the valley below, andposted them as guards over his own property; but, before he finallyrode away, the three brought forth the body of the murdered Mexican andreverently buried it on a secluded spot of the bleak hillside. 

Then, convinced that every precaution had been taken, Westcott turnedhis horse's head toward Haskell. As he rode slowly up the street inthe bright sunlight his mind reverted to Stella Donovan. The sternadventures of the night had temporarily driven the girl from histhoughts, but now the memory returned, and her bright, womanly facearose before him, full of allurement. He seemed to look once more intothe wonderful depths of her eyes and to feel the fascination of hersmile. Eager for the greeting, which he felt assured awaited him, hestrode through the open door into the office. The room was vacant, butas he crossed the floor toward the desk the proprietor entered throughthe opening leading into the barroom beyond. Timmons had quiteevidently been drinking more than usual--the effect being largelydisclosed by loquacity of speech. 

"Hello, Jim!" he cried at sight of the other. "Thought you'd be back, but, damn it, yer too late--she's--she's gone; almighty pretty girl, too. I told the boys it was a blame shame fer her ter run offthataway. "

"Who has run off?" And Westcott's hand crushed down on the man'sshoulder with a force that half-sobered him. "What are you talkingabout?"

"Me! Let up, will yer? Yer was here hopin' ter see that New Yorkgirl, wasn't yer?"

"Miss Donovan? Yes. "

"I'd forgot her name. Well, she ain't yere--she's left. "

"Left--gone from town?"

"Sure; skipped out sudden in the night; took the late train East, Ireckon. Never sed no word to nobody--just naturally packed up her dudsan' hiked. "

Westcott drew a deep breath. 

"Surely you do not mean she left without any explanation? She musthave paid her bill. "

"Oh, she was square enough--sure. She left money an' a note pinned toher pillow; sed she'd just got a message callin' her back home--wantter see whut she wrote?"

"You bet I do, Timmons! Have you got the note here?"

Timmons waddled around behind the desk and ran his hand into a drawer. Evidently he considered the matter a huge joke, but Westcott snatchedthe paper from his fingers impatiently and eagerly read the few hastilypencilled lines:

Have received a message calling me East at once. Shall take the nighttrain, and enclose sufficient money to pay for my entertainment. 

S. D. 

He stared at the words, a deep crease between his eyes. It was awoman's handwriting, and at first glance there was nothing impossiblein such an action on her part. Yet it was strange, if she had departedso suddenly, without leaving any message for him. After that meetingat the bridge, and the understanding between them, it didn't seem toWestcott at all probable that she would thus desert without someplausible explanation. His eyes narrowed with aroused suspicion as helooked up from the slip of paper and confronted the amused Timmonsacross the desk. 

"I'll keep this, " he said soberly, folding it and thrusting it into hispocket. 

"All right"--and Timmons smiled blandly--"I got the money. "

"And that was all, was it--just this note and the cash? There wasnothing addressed to me?"

The hotel-keeper shook his head. 

"When did you see her last?"

"'Bout nine o'clock, I reckon; she come down inter the dinin'-room fera drink o' water. "

"She said nothing then about going away?"

"She didn't speak to nobody--just got a swig an' went up-stairs agin. "

"How much longer were you up?"

"Oh, maybe an hour; there was some boys playing poker here an' I waitedround till they quit. "

"No message for Miss Donovan up to that time?"

"No. "

"You left the door unlocked?"

"Sure; them New York fellers was both out. I oughter waited till theycome in, maybe, but I was plum' tired out. "

"When did they come back?"

"Oh, 'bout midnight, I reckon. Bill Lacy an' Matt Moore was along with'em. They didn't disturb me none; just went inter the sample-room, an'slept on the floor. I found 'em thar in the mornin', and Bill told mehow they come to be thar--leastwise 'bout himself, fer Moore had got upan' gone afore I got down. "

"I see! And these New York people--they are still here?"

"They wus all three down ter breakfast; ain't seen nuthin' of 'emsince; I reckon they're up-stairs somewhar. "

"What became of Lacy?"

"He's down in his saloon; he sed if you showed up, an' asked fer him, ter tell yer that's whar he'd be. "

"He told you that? He expected me to show up then?"

"I reckon as how he did, " and Timmons grinned in drunken good humour. "He's pretty blame smart, Bill Lacy is; he most allars knows whut'sgoin' ter happen. " He leaned over the desk and lowered his voice. "Ifyer do hunt him up, Jim, " he said confidentially, "you better goheeled. "

Westcott laughed. The first shock of the discovery of Miss Donovan'sdisappearance had passed, and he was himself again. He must have timeto think and arrange some plan and, above all, must retain a clear mindand proceed coolly. 

"All right, old man, " he said easily. "I'll try and look out formyself. I haven't eaten yet to-day. What can you find for me in thelarder?"

CHAPTER XX: TO COMPEL AN ANSWER

Although feeling the need of food, Westcott entered the dining-room ofthe Timmons' House more desirous of being alone than for any otherpurpose. He realised that he was suddenly brought face to face with amost serious condition, and one which must be solved unaided. He darenot venture upon a single step forward until he had first thought outcarefully the entire course to be followed. Two lives, and perhapsthree, including his own, were now in imminent peril, and any mistakeon his part would prove most disastrous. First of all he must keep hisown counsel. Not even the half-drunken Timmons could be allowed tosuspect the real depth of his interest in this affair. 

Fortunately, it was so late in the morning he was left undisturbed at aside table, screened from the open door leading into the office. Sadie, the waitress, took his order and immediately disappeared, leaving him to his own thoughts. These were far from happy ones, ashis mind rapidly reviewed the situation and endeavoured to concentrateupon some practical plan of action. 

So Bill Lacy expected him? Had left word where he was to be found?What was the probable meaning of this? Westcott did not connect thismessage directly with the strange disappearance of Miss Donovan. Whether or not Lacy was concerned in that outrage had nothing to dowith this, for the man could scarcely be aware of his deep interest inthe girl. No, this must be his own personal affair, complicated by thecase of Cavendish. Moore must have recognised him during their fight, and reported to his master who it was that had been discoveredlistening at the window. Realising the nature of that conversation, Lacy naturally anticipated being sought the very moment Westcott cameto town. That was what this meant. All right, he would hunt Lacy assoon as he was ready to do so; and, as Timmons suggested, would go"heeled. "

But the girl? What had really become of the girl? There was no way ofproving she had not gone East, for there was no agent at the station atthat hour, and the night train could be halted by any one waving asignal light. Westcott drew the brief note from his pocket, smoothedout its creases and read the few words over again. The writing wasunquestionably feminine, and he could recall seeing nothing MissDonovan had ever indited, with which it could be compared. But wouldshe have departed, however hurriedly, without leaving him some message?To be sure there had been little enough between them of intimacy orunderstanding; nothing he could really construe into a promise--yet hehad given her complete trust, and had felt a friendly response. Hecould not compel himself to believe she would prove unfaithful. Unconsciously he still held the letter in his hand when the waitresscame in with his breakfast. She glanced about to make certain theywere alone and leaned over, her lips close to his ear. 

"Is that the note they say that New York young lady left?"

"Yes, Sadie, " in surprise. "Why?"

"Well, she never wrote it, Mr. Westcott, " hurriedly placing the dishesbefore him, "that's all. Now don't yer say a word to anybody that Itold yer; but she didn't go East at all; she wus took in a wagon downthe desert road. I saw 'em take her. "

"You saw them? Who?"

"Well, I don't just know that, 'cept it was Matt Moore's team, an' hewus drivin' it. I didn't see the others so es to be sure. Yer see ushelp sleep over the kitchen, an' 'bout one o'clock I woke up--herecomes Timmons; he mustn't see me talkin' ter yer. "

She flicked her napkin over the table, picked up an emptied dish andvanished through the swinging-doors. Timmons, however, merely came insearching for the Chinaman, and not finding the latter immediately, retired again to the office, without even addressing his guest, who wasbusily eating. Sadie peered in once more and, seeing all was clear, crossed over beside Westcott. 

"Well, as I was sayin', " she resumed, "I thought I heard a noiseoutside, an' got up an' went to the winder. I couldn't see much, not'nough so I could swear to nuthin'; but there was three or four men outthere just across that little gully, you know, an' they had a womanwith 'em. She didn't scream none, but she was tryin' ter git away;wunst she run, but they caught her. I didn't see no wagon then, it wasbehind the ridge, I reckon. After a while it drove off down the southtrail, an' a little later three men come up them outside stairs backinto the hotel. They was mighty still 'bout it, too. "

"You couldn't tell who they were?"

"They wa'n't like nuthin' but shadders; it was a purty dark night. "

"So it was, Sadie. Do you imagine Timmons had anything to do with theaffair?"

"Timmons? Not him. There wa'n't no figure like his in that bunch; I'dknow him in the dark. "

"But the woman might not have been Miss Donovan; isn't there anotheryoung lady here from the East?"

Sadie tossed her head, but with her eyes cautiously fixed on the officedoor. 

"Humph; you mean the peroxid blonde! She ain't no _lady_. Well, itwa'n't her, that's a cinch; she was down yere to breakfast, a laughin'an' gigglin' with them two men 'bout an hour ago. They seemed ter feelmighty good over something but I couldn't quite make out just what thejoke was. Say, did yer ever hear tell of a Mexican named Mendez?"

"Well, rather; he's a cattle thief, or worse. Arizona has a big rewardout for him, dead or alive. "

"That's the gink, I bet yer; has he got a hang-out anywhar 'round thiscountry?"

"Not so far as I know; in fact, I haven't heard the fellow's namementioned for six months, or more. What makes you suspect this?"

Sadie leaned even closer, her voice trembling with excitement, evidently convinced that her information was of the utmost importance. 

"For God's sake, Mr. Westcott, " she whispered, "don't never tellanybody I told yer, but she was awful good ter me, an' that pasty-facedblonde makes me sick just ter look at her. You know the feller theycall Enright, I reckon he's a lawyer. "

Westcott nodded. 

"Well, he was doin' most of the talkin', an' I was foolin' round thesideboard yonder, pretendin' ter clean it up. Nobody thought I was inear distance, but I got hold ov a word now an' then. He kept tellin''em, 'specially the blonde, 'bout this Mexican, who's a friend of BillLacy, an' I judge has a place whar he hangs out with his gang somewharin the big desert. "

"Was anything said about Miss Donovan?"

"Not by name; they was too smart for that; but that was the directionMatt Moore drove off last night--there's Enright comin' down-stairsnow; won't yer hav' some more cakes, sir?"

Westcott pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. He had extractedall the information the girl possessed, and had no wish to expose herto suspicion. There was no longer a doubt in his mind as to the fateof Miss Donovan. She had been forcibly abducted by this gang ofthieves, and put where her knowledge could do them no harm. But where?The clue had been given him, but before it could be of any value hemust learn more of this Mexican, Mendez. The name itself was familiarenough, for it was one often spoken along the border in connection withcrime, but beyond this meant nothing to him. The fellow had alwaysappeared a rather mythical character, but now became suddenly real. The marshal might know; if not, then he must choke the truth out ofLacy. Determined to make the effort, he muttered a swift word ofthanks to Sadie and left the room. 

Enright was not in the office, but had evidently merely passed throughand gone out. Timmons was sound asleep in a chair by the window, oblivious to any ordinary noise. From the open doorway Westcott tookcareful survey Of the street, adjusting his belt so that the butt ofhis revolver was more convenient to the hand. He had no conceptionthat his coming interview with Lacy was to be altogether a pleasantone, and realised fully the danger confronting him. 

Very few of the citizens of Haskell were abroad, although a small groupwere ornamenting the platform in front of Healey's saloon opposite. Atthat moment the little marshal, his broad-brimmed hat cocked over oneeye, emerged from the narrow alleyway between the Red Dog and theadjacent dance-hall, and stood there doubtfully, his gaze wandering upand down the deserted street. As Westcott descended the hotel-steps, the marshal saw him, and came forward. His manner was prompt andbusinesslike. 

"Hello, Jim, " he said rather briskly, "I was sorter lookin' 'round feryer; somebody said yer hoss was up at the stable. Had a little troubleup your way last night, I hear. "

"Nothing to bother you, Dan; my Mexican watchman was shot up through awindow of the shack. "

"Kill him?"

"Instantly; I told the coroner all about it. Whoever the fellow was Ireckon he meant the shot for me, but poor José got it. "

"Yer didn't glimpse the critter?"

"No, it was long after dark. I've got my suspicions, but they'll keep. Seen Bill Lacy this morning?"

The marshal's thin lips smiled grimly as his eyes lifted to Westcott'sface. 

"He's back there in his office. That's what I stopped yer for. Hesaid he rather expected ye'd be along after awhile. What's up betweenyer, Jim? Not this Mexican shootin' scrape?"

"Not unless he mentions it, Dan, although I reckon he might be able toguess how it happened. Just now I've got some other things to talkabout--he's cutting into my vein. "

"The hell he is!"

"Sure; I got proof of it last night. He's running a cross channel. Iwas down his shaft. "

"I heard he's knocked off work; discharged his men. "

"Yes, but only to give him time in which to pull off some otherdeviltry. That gave me opportunity to learn just what was being done. I slipped into the workings after the gang had left, and now I'veblocked his game. Say, Dan, what do you know about that Mexican, Mendez?"

"Nuthin' good. I never put eyes on the fellow. Some claim he's got aplace where he hides, out thar in the Shoshone desert, but I never gothold of anybody yet as really knew. "

"There is such a man, then?"

"Sure. Why he an' his gang had a pitched battle down on Rattlesnake'bout six months ago; killed three of the sheriff's posse, an' gotaway. Seemed like the whole outfit naturally dropped inter the earth. Never saw hide ner hair of 'em afterward. "

"I've heard that he and Bill Lacy were in cahoots. "

"Likely enough; ain't much Lacy ain't into. He's been sellin' a pileof cattle over at Taylorsville lately, an' likely most of 'em wasstole. But hell! What can I do? Besides, that's the sheriff's job, ain't it? What yer goin' in to see him about, Jim?"

"Only to ask a few questions. "

"There ain't goin' ter be no fight er nuthin'?" anxiously. 

Westcott laughed. 

"I don't see any cause for any, " he answered. "But Bill might be a bittouchy. Maybe, Dan, it might be worth while for you to hang around. Do as you please about that. "

He turned away and went up the wooden steps to the door of the Red Dog. The marshal's eyes followed him solicitously until he disappearedwithin; then he slipped back into the alleyway, skirting the side ofthe building, until he reached a window near the rear. 

Westcott closed the door behind him and took a swift view of thebarroom. There were not many present at that hour--only a few habitualloafers, mostly playing cards; a porter was sweeping up sawdust and asingle bartender was industriously swabbing the bar with a towel. Westcott recognised most of the faces with a slight feeling of relief. Neither Enright nor Beaton were present, and it was his desire to meetLacy alone, away from the influence of these others. He crossed overto the bar. 

"Where's Bill?" he asked. 

"Back there, " and the dispenser of drinks inclined his head toward adoor at the rear. "Go on in. "

The fellow's manner was civil enough, yet Westcott's teeth set with afeeling that he was about to face an emergency. Yet there was no otherway; he must make Lacy talk. He walked straight to the door, openedit, stepped into the room beyond, and turned the key in the lock, dropping it into his pocket. Then he faced about. He was not alonewith Lacy; Enright sat beside the desk of the other and was staring athim in startled surprise. Westcott also had a hazy impression thatthere was or had been another person. The saloon-keeper rose to hisfeet, angry, and thrown completely off his guard by Westcott'sunexpected action. 

"What the hell does that mean?" he demanded hotly. "Why did you lockthe door?"

"Naturally, to keep you in here until I am through with you, " returnedthe miner coldly. "Sit down, Lacy; we've got a few things to talkover. You left word for me at the hotel, and, being a polite man, Iaccepted your invitation. I supposed I would find you alone. "

Lacy sank back into his chair, endeavouring to smile. 

"This gentleman is a friend of mine, " he explained. "Whatever you careto say can be said before him. "

"I am quite well aware of that and also that he is now present so thatyou may use him as a witness in case anything goes wrong. This is onceyou have got in bad, Mr. Patrick Enright, of New York. "

The lawyer's face whitened, and his hands gripped the arms of his chair. 

"You--you know me?"

"By reputation only, " and Westcott bowed, "but that is scarcely to yourcredit. I know this, however, that for various reasons you possess nodesire to advertise your presence in Haskell. It would be rather adifficult matter to explain back in the city just what you were doingout here in such intimate association with a chorus girl and a Bowerygunman, let alone our immaculate friend, Lacy, yonder. The courts, Ibelieve, have not yet distributed the Cavendish money. "

Enright's mouth was open, but no sound came from his lips; he seemed tobe gasping for breath. 

"I merely mention this, " went on Westcott slowly, "to help you graspthe situation. We have a rough, rude way of handling such matters outhere. Now Lacy and I have got a little affair to settle between usand, being a fair-minded man, he sent for me to talk it over. However, he realises that an argument of that nature might easily becomepersonal and that if anything unpleasant occurred he would require awitness. So he arranges to have you present. Do you see the point, Mr. Enright?"

The lawyer's eyes sought Lacy, and then returned to the stern faceconfronting him. His lips sputtered:

"As--as a witness?"

"Sure; there may be honour among thieves, but not Lacy's kind. " Hestrode forward and with one hand crunched Enright back into his chair. "Now, listen to me, " he said fiercely. "I've got only one word ofadvice for you: don't take any hand in this affair, except as apeacemaker, for if you do, you are going to get hurt. Now, Bill Lacy, I'm ready to talk with you. I was down in your shaft last night. "

The saloonman lit a cigar and leaned back in his chair. 

"I ought to have thought of that, Westcott, " he admitted. "Still, Idon't know that I give a damn. "

"The work hadn't been left in very good shape, and I found the crosstunnel and measured it. You are within a few feet of my vein. Thecounty surveyor ought to have been out there two hours ago. "

Lacy straightened up, all semblance of indifference gone, an oath onhis lips. 

"You cur! You filed complaint? When?"

"At seven o'clock this morning. We'll fight that out in the courts. However, that isn't what I came here for at all. I came to ask you aquestion and one of you two are going to answer before I leave--keepyour hand up, and in sight, Lacy; make another move like that and it'sliable to be your last. I am not here in any playful mood, and I knowyour style. Lay that gun on the desk where I can see it--that's right. Now move your chair back. "

Lacy did this with no good grace, his face purple with passion. Westcott had been too quick, too thoroughly prepared for him, but hewould watch his opportunity. He could afford to wait, knowing thecards he had up his sleeve. 

"Some considerable gun-play just to ask a question, " he saidtauntingly, "must be mighty important. All right, what is it?"

"Where did your man Moore take Miss Donovan last night?"

CHAPTER XXI: THE MARSHAL PLAYS A HAND

Neither man had anticipated this; neither had the slightest conceptionthat any suspicion of this kind pointed at them. The direct questionwas like the sudden explosion of a bomb. What did Westcott know? Howhad he discovered their participation in the affair? The fact thatWestcott unhesitatingly connected Matt Moore with the abduction was initself alone sufficient evidence that he based his inquiry on actualknowledge. Enright had totally lost power of speech, positive terrorplainly depicted in his eyes, but Lacy belonged to another class of the_genus homo_. He was a Western type, prepared to bluff to the end. His first start of surprise ended in a sarcastic smile. 

"You have rather got the better of me, Westcott, " he said, shrugginghis shoulders, as though dismissing the subject. "You refer to the NewYork newspaper woman?"

"I do--Miss Stella Donovan. "

"I have not the pleasure of that lady's acquaintance, but Timmonsinformed me this morning that she had taken the late train last nightfor the East--isn't that true, Enright?"

The lawyer managed to nod, but without venturing to remove his gazefrom Westcott's face. The latter never moved, but his eyes seemed toharden. 

"I have had quite enough of that, Lacy, " he said sternly, and thewatchful saloon-keeper noted his fingers close more tightly on the buttof his revolver. "This is no case for an alibi. I know exactly what Iam talking about, and--I am going to have a direct answer, either fromyou or Enright. 

"This is the situation: I was the man listening at the window of yourshack last night. Moore may, or may not have recognised me, but, nevertheless, I was the man. I was there long enough to overhear alarge part of your conversation. I know why you consented to closedown La Rosita for the present; I know your connection with this gangof crooks from New York; I know that Fred Cavendish was not murdered, but is being held a prisoner somewhere, until Enright, here, can stealhis money under some legal form. I know you have claimed, and beenpromised, your share of the swag--isn't that true?"

"It's very damn interesting anyway--but not so easy to prove. Whatnext?"

"This: Enright told you who Stella Donovan was, and what he suspectedher object might be. Force is the only method you know anything about, and no other means occurred to you whereby the girl could be quicklyput out of the way. This was resorted to last night after you returnedto Haskell. I do not pretend to know how it was accomplished, nor do Igreatly care. Through some lie, no doubt. But, anyway, she wasinveigled into leaving the hotel, seized by you and some of your gang, forced into a wagon, and driven off by Matt Moore. "

"You are a good dreamer. Why not ask Timmons to show you the lettershe left?"

"I have already seen it. You thought you had the trail well covered. That note was written not by Miss Donovan, but by the blonde in youroutfit. The whole trouble is that your abduction of Stella Donovan waswitnessed from a back window of the hotel. "

Lacy leaped to his feet, but Westcott's gun rose steadily, and the manstood with clenched hands, helpless in his tracks. 

"Who says that?" he demanded. 

"I am mentioning no names at present, but the very fact that I knowthese things ought to be sufficient. You better sit down, Lacy, beforeyou forget yourself and get hurt. If you imagine this gun isn'tloaded, a single step forward will test it. Sit down! I am notthrough yet. "

There was a quiet, earnest threat in the voice which Lacy understood, the sort of threat which meant strict attention to business, and herelaxed into his chair. 

"I'll get you for this, Westcott, " he muttered savagely, hate burningin his eyes. "I haven't played my last cards--yet. "

The miner smiled grimly, but with no relaxation of vigilance. He wasinto it now, and proposed seeing it through. 

"I have a few left myself, " he returned soberly. "Your man Moore drovesouth, taking the road leading into the Shoshone desert, and he hadanother one of your gang with him. Then you, and two others, went backinto the hotel, using the outside stairs. I take it the two otherswere Enright, here, and Ned Beaton. "

He leaned forward, his face set like flint. 

"Now see here, Lacy. I know these things. I can prove them by aperfectly competent witness. It is up to you to answer my questions, and answer them straight. I've got you two fellows dead to rightsanyway you look at it. If you dare lay hands on me I'll kill you; ifyou refuse to tell me what I want to know, I'll swear out warrantsinside of thirty minutes. Now what do you choose?"

For the first time Lacy's eyes wavered, their defiance gone, as heglanced aside at Enright, who had collapsed in his chair, a mereheavily breathing, shapeless thing. The sight of the coward seemed tostiffen him to a species of resistance. 

"If I answer--what then?" he growled desperately. 

"What is offered me?"

Westcott moistened his lips. He had not before faced the situationfrom this standpoint, yet, with only one thought in his mind, heanswered promptly. 

"I am not the law, " he said, "and all I am interested in now is therelease of Fred Cavendish and Stella Donovan. I'll accomplish that ifit has to be over your dead bodies. Beyond this, I wash my hands ofthe whole affair. What I want to know is--where are these two?"

"Would you believe me if I said I did not know?"

"No, Lacy. It has come down to the truth, or your life. Where isPasqual Mendez?"

He heard no warning, no sound of movement, yet some change in theexpression of the man's eyes confronting him caused him to slightlyturn his head so as to vaguely perceive a shadow behind. It was allso quickly, silently done, he barely had time to throw up one hand indefence, when his arms were gripped as though in a vise, and he wasthrown backward to the floor, the chair crushed beneath his weight. Lacy fairly leaped on his prostrate body, forgetting his gun lying onthe desk in the violence of hate, his hands clutching at the exposedthroat. For an instant Westcott was so dazed and stunned by thissudden attack from behind as to lie there prone and helpless, fairlycrushed beneath the bodies of his two antagonists. 

It was this that gave him his chance, for, convinced that he wasunconscious, both men slightly relaxed their grip, thus giving himopportunity to regain breath, and stiffen his muscles for a supremeeffort. With one lashing out of a foot that sent Enright hurtlingagainst the farther wall, he cracked Lacy's head against a corner ofthe desk, and closed in deadly struggle with the third man, whom he nowrecognised as Beaton. 

Before the latter could comprehend what had happened the miner was ontop, and a clenched fist was driven into his face with all the force ofa sledge-hammer. But barroom fighting was no novelty to the gunman, nor had he any scruples as to the methods employed. With teeth sunk inhis opponent's arm, and fingers gouging at his eyes, the fellowstruggled like a mad dog; yet, in spite of every effort to restrainhim, Westcott, now filled with the fierce rage of battle, broke free, fairly tearing himself from Beaton's desperate clutch, and pinning himhelplessly against the wall. 

At the same instant Lacy, who had regained his feet, leaped upon himfrom behind, striking with all his force, the violence of the blow, even though a grazing one, driving the miner's head into the face ofthe gunman. 

Both went down together, but Westcott was on his feet again before Lacycould act, closing with the latter. It was hand-to-hand, the silentstruggle for mastery between two men not unevenly matched, men askingand receiving no mercy. The revolver of one lay on the floor, theother still reposed on the open desk, and neither could be reached. Itwas a battle to be fought out with bare hands. Twice Westcott struck, his clenched fist bringing blood, but Lacy clung to him, one handtwisted in his neck-band, the other viciously forcing back his head. Unable to release the grip, Westcott gave back, bending until hisadversary was beyond balance; then, suddenly straightening, hurled thefellow sidewise. But by now Beaton, dazed and confused, was upon hisfeet. With the bellow of a wild bull he flung himself on thestruggling men, forcing Lacy aside, and smashing into Westcott with allthe strength of his body. The impetus sent all three crashing to thefloor. 

Excited voices sounded without; then blows resounded against the woodof the locked door, but the three men were oblivious to all but theirown struggle. Like so many wild beasts they clutched and struck, unable to disentangle themselves. Enright, his face like chalk, got tohis knees and crept across the floor until his hand closed onWestcott's revolver. Lifting himself by a grip on the desk, he swungthe weapon forward at the very instant the miner rose staggering, dragging Beaton with him. There was a flash of flame, a sharp report, and Westcott sprang aside, gripping the back of a chair. The gunmansank into shapelessness on the floor as the chair hurtled through theair straight at Enright's head. 

With a crash the door fell, and a black mass of men surged in throughthe opening, the big bartender leading them, an axe in his hand. Beaton lay motionless just as he had dropped; Enright was in onecorner, dazed, unnerved, a red gash across his forehead, from whichblood dripped, the revolver, struck from his fingers, yet smoking onthe floor; Westcott, his clothes torn, his face bruised by blows, breathing heavily, went slowly backward, step by step, to the fartherwall, conscious of nothing now but the savagely hostile faces of thesenew enemies. Lacy, staggering as though drunk, managed to attain hisfeet, hate, the desire for revenge, yielding him strength. This washis crowd, and his mind was quick to grasp the opportunity. 

"There's the man who did it, " he shouted, his arm flung out towardWestcott. "I saw him shoot. See, that's his gun lying on the floor. Don't let the murderer get away!"

He started forward, an oath on his lips, and the excited crowd surgedafter, growling anger. Then the mass of them seemed suddenly rentasunder, and the marshal ploughed his way through heedlessly, his hatgone, and a blue-barrelled gun in either hand. He swept the muzzle ofone of these into the bartender's face menacingly, his eyes searchingthe maddened crowd. 

"Wait a minute, you, " he commanded sharply. "I reckon I've gotsomething to say 'bout this. Put down that axe, Mike, or ye'll neverdraw another glass o' beer in this camp. You know me, lads, an' Inever draw except fer business. Shut your mouth, Lacy; don't touchthat gun, you fool! I am in charge here--this is my job; and if thereis going to be any lynching done, it will be after you get me. Standback now; all of you--yes, get out into that barroom. I mean you, Mike! This man is my prisoner, and, by God, I'll defend him. Ay! I'lldo more, I'll let him defend himself. Here, Westcott, pick up your gunon the floor. Now stand here with me! We're going out through thatbunch, and if one of those coyotes puts a paw on you, let him have it. "

The crowd made way, reluctantly enough, growling curses, but with noman among them sufficiently reckless to attempt resistance. Theylacked leadership, for the little marshal never once took his eye offLacy. At the door he turned, walking backward, trusting in Westcott tokeep their path clear, both levelled revolvers ready for any movement. He knew Haskell, and he knew the character of these hangers-on at the"Red Dog. " He realised fully the influence of Bill Lacy, andcomprehended that the affair was far from being ended; but just now hehad but one object before him--to get his prisoner safely outside intothe open. Beyond that he would trust to luck, and a fair chance. Hisgrey eyes were almost black as they gleamed over the levelled revolverbarrels, and his clipped moustache fairly bristled. 

"Not a step, you!" he muttered. "What's the matter, Lacy? Do you wantto die in your tracks? Mike, all I desire is an excuse to make you thedeadest bung-starter in Colorado. Put down that gun, Carter! If justone of you lads come through that door, I'll plug these twelve shots, and you know how I shoot--Lacy will get the first one, and Mike thesecond. Stand there now! Go on out, Jim; I'm right along with you. "

They were far from free even outside the swinging doors and in thesunshine. Already a rumour of what had occurred had spread likewildfire, and men were on the street, eager enough to take some hand inthe affray. A few were already about the steps, while others wererunning rapidly toward them, excited but uncertain. 

It was this uncertainty which gave the little marshal his one slenderchance. His eyes swept the crowd, but there was no face visible onwhom he could rely in this emergency. They were the roughs of thecamp, the idlers, largely parasites of Lacy; those fellows would onlyhoot him if he asked for help. No, there was no way but to fight itout themselves, and the only possibility of escape came to him in aflash. Suddenly as this emergency had arisen the marshal was prepared;he knew the lawless nature of the camp, and had anticipated that sometime just such a situation as this might arise. Now that it had come, he was ready. There was scarcely an instant of hesitancy, his quicksearching eyes surveying the scene, and then seeking the face of hisprisoner. 

"Willing to fight this out, Jim?" he asked shortly. 

"You bet, Dan; what's the plan?"

"The big rock in Bear Creek. We can hold out there until dark. Perhaps there'll be some men come to help us by that time; if not wemight crawl away in the night. Take the alley and turn at the hotel. Don't let anybody stop you; here comes those hell-hounds from inside. Christopher Columbus, I hate to run from such cattle, but it's our onlychance. "

There was no time to waste. They were not yet at the mouth of thealley when the infuriated pursuers burst through the saloon doors, cursing and shouting. Lacy led them, animated by the one desire tokill Westcott, fully aware that this alone would prevent the exposureof his own crime. 

"There they go!" he yelled madly, and fired. "Get that dirty murderer, boys--get him!"

There were a dozen shots, but the two runners plunged about the cornerof the building, and disappeared, apparently untouched. Lacy leapedfrom the platform to the ground, shouting his orders, and the crowdsurged after him in pursuit, some choosing the alley, others thestreet. Revolvers cracked sharply, little spits of smoke showing inthe sunlight; men shouted excitedly, and two mounted cowboys lashedtheir ponies up the dusty road in an effort to head off the fugitives. Twice the two turned and fired, yet at that, hardly paused in theirrace. Westcott held back, retarded by the shorter legs of hiscompanion, nevertheless they were fully a hundred feet in advance oftheir nearest pursuers when they reached the hotel. In spite of Lacy'surging the cowardly crew exhibited small desire to close in. Themarshal, glancing back over his shoulder, grinned cheerfully. 

"We've got 'em beat, Jim, " he panted, "less thar's others headin' usoff; run like a white-head; don't mind me. "

The road ahead was clear, except for the speeding cowboys, and themarshal made extremely quick work of them. There was a fusillade ofshots, and when these ended, one rider was down in the dust, the othergalloping madly away, lying flat on his pony, with no purpose but toget out of range. The two fugitives plunged into the bushes opposite, taking the roughest but most direct course to where the ratherprecipitous banks dropped off to the stream below. There was a dam ahalf mile down, and even at this point the water was wide and deepenough to make any attempt at crossing dangerous. But half-way over anupheaval of rock parted the current, forcing the swirling waters toeither side, and presenting a stern grey face to the shore. Themarshal, pausing for nothing, flung himself bodily down the steep bank, unclasping his belt, as he half ran, half rolled to the bottom. 

"Here, take these cartridges, " he said, "and hold 'em up. Save yerown, too, fer we're going to need 'em. That water out thar is plumb upto my neck. Come on now; keep them things dry, an' don't bother 'boutme. "

He plunged in, and Westcott followed, both cartridge belts held abovehis head. There was a crackling of bushes on the bank behind them, showing their pursuers had crossed the road and were already beating upthe brush. Neither man glanced back, assured that those fellows wouldhunt them first in the chaparral, cautiously beating the coverts, before venturing beyond. 

The water deepened rapidly, and Westcott was soon to his waist, leaningto his right to keep his feet; he heard the marshal splashing alongbehind, convinced by his ceaseless profanity that he also made progressin spite of his shortness of limbs. Indeed they attained the rockshelter almost together, creeping up through a narrow crevasse, leavinga wet trail along the grey stone. This was accomplished none too soon, a yell from the bank telling of their discovery, followed by the crackof a gun. The marshal, who was still exposed, hastily crept undercover, wiping a drop of blood from his cheek where a splinter of rockdislodged by the bullet had slashed the flesh. He was, nevertheless, in excellent humour, his keen grey eyes laughing, as he peered out overthe rock rampart. 

"If they keep up shootin' like that, Jim, I reckon our insurance won'tbe high, " he said, "I'm plumb ashamed of the camp, the way them boyswaste lead. Must 'a' took twenty shots at us so far an' only skinnedme with a rock. Hell! 'tain't even interestin'. Hand over themcartridges; let's see what sorter stock we got. "

CHAPTER XXII: THE ROCK IN THE STREAM

Westcott was sensible now of a feeling of intense exhaustion. Thefierce fighting in the room behind the saloon; the excitement of theattempt to escape; the chase, ending with the plunge through the streamhad left him pitifully weak. He could perceive his hand tremble as hehanded over the cartridge belt. The marshal noticed it also, and casta swift glance into the other's face. 

"About all in, Jim?" he inquired understandingly. "Little out of yourusual line, I reckon. Take a bit o' rest thar, an' ye'll be all right. It's safe 'nough fer the present whar we are, fer as thet bunch o'chicken thieves is concerned. Yer wa'n't hurt, or nuthin', durin' thescrap?"

"No more than a few bruises, but it an happened so quickly I haven'tany breath left. I'll be all right in a minute. How are we fixed forammunition?"

"Blame pore, if yer ask me; not more'n twenty cartridges atween us. Iwa'n't a lookin' fer no such scrap just now; but we'll get along, Ireckon, fer thar ain't any o' that bunch anxious ter get hurt none, less maybe it might be Lacy. What gets my goat is this yere plugtobacco, " and he gazed mournfully at the small fragment in his hand. "That ain't hardly 'nough ov it left fer a good chaw; how are youfixed, Jim?"

"Never use it, Dan, but here's a badly smashed cigar. "

"That'll help some--say, ain't that one o' them shirky birds yonder?Sure; it's Bill himself. I don't know whether ter take a snap-shot atthe cuss, er wait an' hear what he's got ter say--Hello, there!"

The fellow who stood partially revealed above the bank stared in thedirection of the voice, and then ventured to expose himself further. 

"Hello yourself, " he answered. "Is that you, Brennan?"

The marshal hoisted himself to the top of the rock, the revolver in hishand clearly revealed in the bright sunlight. 

"It's me all right, Lacy, " he replied deliberately. "You ought terorganise a sharpshooters' club among that gang o' yours; I was plumbdisgusted the way they handle fire-arms. "

"Well, we've got yer now, Dan, so yer might as well quit yer crowin'. We don't have ter do no more shootin'; we'll just naturally sit downyere, an' starve yer out. Maybe yer ready to talk now?"

"Sure; what's the idea?"

"Well, yer an officer ov the law, ain't yer? Yer was chose marshal terkeep the peace, an' take care o' them that raised hell in Haskell. Ain't that yer job?"

"I reckon it is. "

"And didn't I do more'n anybody else ter get yer appointed? Then whatare yer goin' back on me for, and the rest ov the boys, an' takin'sides along with a murderer? We want Jim Westcott, an' you bet we'rea-goin' ter get him. "

The little marshal spat into the water below, his face expressionless. To all appearances he felt slight interest in the controversy. 

"Nice of yer ter declare yer intentions, Lacy, " he admitted soberly, "only it sorter looks as if yer didn't consider me as bein' much in theway. I reckon yer outlined my duty all right; that's exactly my way o'looking at it--ter keep the peace, an' take care o' them that raisedhell in Haskell. I couldn't 'a' told it no better myself. "

"Then what are yer fightin' fer Westcott fer?"

"'Cause he's my prisoner, an' is goin' ter get a fair trial. If he wasthe orneriest Mexican that ever come 'cross the line I'd stay withhim--that's the law. "

"An' yer won't give him up?"

"Not in a thousand years, an' yer might as well save yer breath, Bill, an' get out. I've told you straight, and I reckon you and your gangknow me. Nobody never told you that Dan Brennan was a quitter, didthey?"

"But you blame fool, " and Lacy's voice plainly indicated his anger. "You can't fight this whole camp; we'll get yer, dead or alive. "

"Yer welcome ter try; I ain't askin' no sorter favour; only yer betterbe blame keerful about it, fer my trigger finger appears ter bealmighty nervous ter-day--drop that!"

His hand shot out like lightning, the blue steel of his revolverflashing. Lacy flung up his arms, and backed down out of view, butjust beyond where he had stood, a gun barked from out the chaparral anda bullet crashed against the rock scarcely a foot from Brennan's head. The latter answered it so promptly the two reports sounded almost asone, and then rolled back into shelter, laughing as though the wholeaffair was a joke. 

"One ov Mike's little tricks, " he chuckled, peering back at the shore, "I know the bark of that old girl. Hope I pricked him. That guy usedto be a good shot, too, afore he got to drinkin' so much. I reckonwe're in fer a siege, Jim. "

Westcott extended his hand. 

"It's mighty white of you, Dan, to stay by me, " he said gravely. "It'sliable to cost you your job. "

"Ter hell with the job. I kin earn more in the mines eny day. I'm notdoin' eny more for you than I would fer eny other galoot in bad. Iwouldn't let 'em lynch a hoss-thief without givin' 'em a fight first. Don't be givin' any sympathy ter me. "

"But we haven't any chance. "

"Well, I don't know about that now, " and the marshal looked up and downthe stream thoughtfully. "It might be worse. Look a here, Jim. Isaid I'd 'a' stayed with yer no matter what yer was guilty of, so longas yer was my prisoner, an' that's the gospel truth. There ain't agoin' ter be no lynchin' in Haskell while I'm marshal, unless them ratsget me first. But this yere case ain't even that kind. It's a put-upjob frum the beginnin' an' Bill Lacy ain't a goin' ter get away withit, as long as I kin either fight er bluff. This yere fuss ain't yourfault, an' yer never shot the man either. "

"No. I didn't, Dan. I never fired a gun. "

"I know it; that's why all hell can't pry me loose. I saw most ov therow, an' I reckon I ain't so dumb that I can't catch onto the game whatLacy is tryin' ter play. I didn't hear what you an' him was talkin'about, so I don't know just the cause o' the rumpus, but the way heplayed his hand didn't make no hit with me. "

"You saw what happened?"

"Sure; it didn't look good ter me, his gittin' yer ter come ter hisplace, specially when I knew he wasn't there alone; so, after ye'd gonein through the saloon, I sasshayed down the alley an' took a peek inthrough that rear window. The tarnation thing is barred up with sheetiron, an' I couldn't see much, nor hear a blame word, but I caught onthat there was liable ter be a row a fore it was over with. Throughthat peep-hole I got sight o' you, Lacy, an' that fat feller--what'shis name?"

"Enright, a New York lawyer. "

"That's it; well I could make out the three of yer, but I never gotsight of the other buck--his name was Beaton, wasn't it?--till he cameout from behind the curtain and gripped yer. It was a put-up job allright, an' maybe I ought to have hustled round to the door an' took ahand. But I don't aim to mix up in no scrimmage as long as both sideshas got a fair show. Course thar was three ag'in' one, but arter youkicked the wind out o' the lawyer, the odds wasn't so bad, an' I sorterhated to lose out seeing how the scrap came out. Holy smoke! but yousure put up some dandy fight, Jim. I ain't seen nuthin' better since Istruck this yere camp. You had them two guys licked to a frazzle, whenthat Enright come back to life agin, an' crawled out on the floor an'picked up your gun. The fust thing I knew he had it, an' the nextthing I knew he'd pulled the trigger. He meant it fer you, but Beatongot it. "

"It was Enright then who fired the shot?"

"Sure it was Enright; I saw him, but that didn't cut any ice after Igot inside. Do you see? The whole crowd was Lacy's gang; they'd dowhatever he said. It was your gun that had the discharged cartridge;Bill was yellin' that you fired it, and Enright, o' course, would havebacked him up to save his own neck. You was in a fight with the fellerwhat was shot. See! It was a mighty ugly fix, an' nobody in thatoutfit would 'a' listened to me. It struck me, son, that Lacy wasall-fired anxious to get rid of you--he saw a chance, and jumped forit. What was the row about--your mine?"

"Partly, but mostly another affair. The best thing I can do is tellyou about it. What's going on up there?"

He pointed up the stream, and Brennan shaded his eyes to look, althoughcareful to keep well under cover, confident that any movement would beobserved from the shore. He gazed for some time before he seemedentirely satisfied. 

"A bunch of the boys crossin' the old ford, " he said quietly. "Goin'to picket the other bank, I reckon. There's likely to be some morecomin' down the opposite way from the bridge. That's Lacy's idea--tostarve us out. "

"They seem quiet enough. "

"There won't be any more fightin' unless we try to get away, I reckon. They know we are armed and can shoot. You better keep down, though, Jim, for they're sure a watchin' us all right, an' all Lacy cares aboutis to put you out o' the way. He'd just as soon do it with a bullet asa rope. Go on with your story. "

Westcott told it simply, but in full detail, beginning with thediscovery of ore in his mine, and including his telegram to FredCavendish; the discovery of what was supposed to be the dead body ofthe latter in the Waldron Apartments, New York; the investigations intothe mystery of his death by Willis and Miss Donovan, and thedespatching of Miss Donovan to Haskell to intercept Enright's party;the arrival of the latter and the events, so far as he understood them, leading up to the forcible abduction of the girl. 

The marshal listened quietly to the narrative, the quick action of hisjaws alone evidencing his interest, although he occasionally interposeda question. Except for Westcott's voice there was no sound, beyond thelapping of water against the rock, and no figures of men became visiblealong either bank. The party above had crossed the stream, anddisappeared up a ravine, and nothing remained to indicate that thesetwo were fugitives, hiding for their lives, and facing a desperateexpedient in an effort to escape their pursuers. As the speakerfinally concluded the silence was almost oppressive. 

"How do yer suppose Bill Lacy got into the affair?" asked Brennan, atlast thoughtfully. "I don't put no sorter deviltry beyond him, yerunderstand, but I don't quite see how he ever come to get mixed up inthis yere New York mess. Seems like he had enough hell brewing here athome. "

"I'm just as much in the dark as you are, as to that, " admittedWestcott doubtfully. "I am convinced, however, that Cavendish is stillalive, and that another body strangely resembling his was found in theNew York apartments. According to Enright this was not part of theirscheme, but merely an accident of which they took advantage. How truethis is will never be known unless we discover Cavendish, and learn hisstory. Now, if he is alive, where has he been concealed, and for whatpurpose? Another thing begins to loom up. The mere hiding of the manwas all right so long as the conspirators were not suspected. But nowwhen they are aware that they are being followed, what is likely tohappen? Will they become desperate enough to kill their victim, hopingthus to destroy absolutely the evidence of their crime? Will theirvengeance also include Miss Donovan?"

"Not unless they can get you out of the way first, " decided the marshalgrimly. "That is Lacy's most important job--you are more dangerous tothem now than the girl. That meeting to-day was prearranged, andBeaton was expected to land you. That was why he hid behind thecurtain, but something caused him to make a false move; they neverexpected you to put up that sort o' fight, Jim, for nobody knew yer inthis camp fer a fightin' man. But what's yer theory 'bout Cavendish?Let's leave the dead man in New York go, an' get down ter cases. "

"I figure it out like this, Dan. I believe Fred got my telegram, anddecided to come out here at once without telling anybody what his planswere. All he did was to make a will, so as to dispose of his propertyin case anything happened. His employing Enright for that jobunfortunately put the whole thing in the hands of this crowd. Theywere ready to act, and they acted. Beaton must have taken the sametrain, and the two men got friendly; probably they never knew eachother in New York, but, being from the same place, it was easy enoughto strike up an acquaintance. What occurred on board is all guesswork, but a sudden blow at night, on an observation platform, at some desertstation, is not impossible; or it might be sickness, and the two menleft behind to seek a physician. Here was where Lacy must have comein. He goes East occasionally, doesn't he?"

"Sure; come to think of it he was in New York 'bout three months ago onsome cattle deal, an' I heard he had an agent there sellin' wildcatminin' stock. There ain't no doubt in my mind but he knew some o'these fellers. They wouldn't 'a' planned this unless they had somecache fixed out yere in this country--that's plain as a wart on thenose. But whar is it? I'll bet yer that if we ever find Cavendish, we'll find the girl along with him; an' what's more, that spot ain'tliable ter be more'n fifty miles from Haskell. "

"What makes you think that?"

"'Cause this is Lacy's bailiwick, an' thar ain't no man knows thiscountry better'n he does; he's rode it night and day for ten years, an'most o' the hangers-on in this camp get money out o' him one way eranother--mostly another. Then, why should Enright an' his crowd comeyere, unless that was a fact? They must have come for something; thatlawyer ain't yere on no minin' deal; an' no more has Beaton been layin'round town fer a month doin' nuthin' but drinkin' whisky. The wholeblame outfit is right here in Haskell, and they wouldn't be if thiswasn't headquarters. That's good common sense, ain't it?" He stoppedsuddenly, patting his hand on the rock, and then lifting his head toscan the line of shore. "They're there all right, Jim, " he announced. "I just got a glimpse o' two back in the brush yonder. What made yerask me 'bout Pasqual Mendez this mornin'? You don't hook the Mexicanup with this affair, do yer?"

"Sadie told me she heard Enright speak of him at breakfast; that wasall she heard, just the name. "

"Sadie? Oh, the red-headed waitress at Timmons's, you mean? Big Tim'sgirl?"

"Yes; she was the one who saw Miss Donovan forced into the wagon, anddriven off. "

"And they took the old Shoshone trail; out past Hennessey's ranch?"

"So she described it. Does that mean anything?"

Brennan did not answer at once, sitting silent, his brows wrinkled, staring through a crevasse of the rock up the stream. Finally hegrinned into the anxious face of the other. 

"Danged if I know, " he said drawlingly. "Maybe it does, and maybeagain it don't. I was sorter puttin' this an' that tergether. There'sa Mex who used to hang about here a couple of years ago they allerssaid belonged to Mendez's gang. His name is Cateras, a young feller, an' a hell ov a gambler. It just comes ter me that he was in the RedDog three er four nights ago playin' monte. I didn't see him myself, but Joe Mapes said he was there, an' that makes it likely 'nough thatMendez isn't so blame far away. "

"And he and Lacy have interests in common?"

"That is the rumour. I never got hold ov any proof, but Lacy hasshipped a pile o' cattle out o' Villa Real, although why he should everdrive his cows there across the desert instead o' shippin' them here inHaskell or Taylorville, I never could understand. That's the principalreason I've got for thinkin' he an' Mendez are in cahoots, an' if theybe, then the Mexican must have some kind o' a camp out there in thesand whar he hides between raids; though, damn if I know whar it canbe. " He paused reflectively. "It'll be like hunting a needle in thehaystack, Jim, but I reckon you an' I'll have to get out that way, an'we might have luck enough to stumble onto the old devil. "

Westcott changed his position, inadvertently bringing his head abovethe protection of the rock. Instantly there was a sharp report, and aspeeding bullet grazed his hair, flattening out against the stone. Therapidity with which he ducked caused the marshal to laugh. 

"Not hurt, are you? No. That was a rifle; Mike isn't such a bad shotwith that weapon. He's over there behind that tree--see the smoke? Ifthe cuss pokes his head out, I'll try the virtue of this . 45; it oughtto carry that far. Hah! there he is; I made the bark fly anyway. "

CHAPTER XXIII: THE ESCAPE

The afternoon wore away slowly, the two men realising more and moreclearly the nature of the siege. Their only safety lay in theprotection of the rocks, as they were now entirely surrounded, andfired upon from either bank the moment either raised a head. Noattempt was made, however, to assault their position, nor did theyoften return the fire, desiring to preserve for future use their smallsupply of ammunition. Brennan remained watchful, but silent, broodingover his plans for the night, but Westcott became overpowered byfatigue and slept quietly for several hours. 

The sun was already sinking behind the range of mountains when hefinally aroused himself, and sat up. There was no apparent change inthe situation; the running water murmured musically against the rocks, the distant banks, already in shadow, exhibited no sign of humanpresence. Below in the distance was the deserted street of the town, and farther away a few of the shacks were visible. The scene waspeaceable enough, and the awakened sleeper could scarcely comprehendthat he was in truth a fugitive being hunted for his life, that allabout him were men eager to kill, watchful of the slightest movement. It was rather the sight of Brennan which restored his faculties, andyielded clear memory. The latter greeted him with a good-humoured grin. 

"Well, do you feel better, Jim?" he asked pleasantly. "Thought I'd letyou sleep as long as I could, for we've got some job ahead of us. Sorry thar ain't no breakfast waitin', fer I wouldn't object ter a bito' ham bone myself. I reckon if Lacy coops me up yere much longer, he's liable ter win his bet; I'm plumb near starved out already. "

"I'm afraid they've got us, Dan. "

"Oh, I don't know; leastwise I ain't put up no white flag yet. You'regame fer a try at gettin' out o' yere, ain't yer, old man? I've sorterbeen reckonin' on yer. "

"I'll take any chance there is, " returned Westcott heartily, staringinto the other's face. "Have you some plan?"

"Maybe 'tain't that exactly, but I've been doin' a powerful lot o'thinkin' since you was asleep, Jim, an' I reckon we might beat thesefellers with a fair show o' luck. This is how I figure it out. Tharwon't be no attack; that's a cinch. Lacy knows we can shoot, an' healso knows we're marooned yere without food. The easiest thing is terstarve us out. "

"But there are good men in this camp, law abiding men, " interrupted theminer. "What about them? Won't they take a hand?"

"Maybe they might if I was free ter get 'em together; but I ain't. Most o' 'em are out in the mines anyway; they don't know which party isright in this rumpus, an' they ain't got no leader. Lacy runs thetown, an' he's got a big gang o' toughs behind him. There ain't nobodywants to buck up against his game. Of course the boys might get madafter a while, but I reckon we'd be starved plumb ter death long aforethat happened. An' that ain't the worst ov it, Jim--the sheriff isLacy's man. I wouldn't never dare turn you over ter him--not by ajugful. "

"Then we are blocked at every turn. "

"We sure are, unless we can dig out ourselves, " gravely. "My notion isto get a fair start, drift out into Shoshone, whar we'll leave notrail, an' then hit for over the line. Sam Watts is sheriff ofCoconino, an' he'd give us a square deal. "

"On foot?"

"Hell, no! I ain't no such walker as all that. Come over yere; keepyer head down; now look out between these two rocks. Do yer see themcow-ponies hitched ter the rack alongside o' the Red Dog? Well, they've been thar fer a matter o' three hours, I reckon, an' theirriders ain't liable ter leave as long as thar's any excitement in town. They're XL men, and mostly drunk by this time. It's my aim ter get aleg over one o' them animals. How does that notion strike you?"

Westcott shook his head doubtfully, his eyes still on those distantspecks. The prospect looked practically hopeless. 

"You don't think it can be done? Well now listen. Here's my scheme, an' I reckon it'll work. Naturally Lacy will think we'll try to getaway--make a break for it in the dark. He'll have both them banksguarded, an' ther fellers will have orders ter shoot. He'd rather haveus dead than alive. But, to my notion, he won't expect us ter try anygetaway before midnight. Anyhow, that's how I'd figure if I was in hisplace. But my idea is to pull one off on him, an' start the minute itgets dark enough, so them lads can't see what's goin' on out yere. "

"We'll fight our way through?"

"Not a fight, my son; we'll make it so softly that not a son-of-a-gunwill ever know how it happened. When they wake up we'll be twentymiles out in the desert, an' still a goin'. Thar's a big log clingingter the upper end o' the rock. I saw it when I fust come over; an''bout an hour ago I crept back through that gully an' took a good look. A shove will send it floatin'. An' with a good pair o' legs to steerwith, thar ain't nuthin' to stop it this side the curve, an' I don'tcalculate any o' the rifle brigade will be down as fur as that--do you?"

"Not likely, " and Westcott measured the distance with eyes that hadlost their despondency. "Your idea is that we drift past under coverof the log?"

"Sure. We'll tie our guns an' cartridges on top, where they'll be outo' water, an' keep down below ourselves. Them fellers may glimpse thelog an' blaze away, but 'tain't likely they'll have luck enough to hiteither one o' us, an' the flare will show 'em it's only a log, an'they'll likely quit an' pass the word along. It sounds blame good terme, Jim; what d'ye say?"

Westcott's hand went out, and the fingers of the two men claspedsilently. There was no need for more speech; they understood eachother. 

The night closed down swiftly, as it does in the West, the purple ofthe hills becoming black as though by some magic. There was a heavycloud hanging in the Western sky, constantly sweeping higher in pledgeof a dark night. The banks of the stream became obscured, and finallyvanished altogether; while the water ceased to glimmer and turned to aninky blackness. Lights twinkled in the distant shacks, and the frontof the Red Dog burst into illumination. The saloon was too far awayfor the watchers to pick out the moving figures of men, but Brennanchuckled, and pointed his finger at the glare. 

"Lacy ain't fergettin' the profit in all this, " he whispered hoarsely. "The boys are goin' ter be dry, an' he'll sell 'em all theywant--wouldn't mind if I had some myself. Is it dark enough, mate?"

"The sooner the better!"

"That's my ticket. Come on then, but don't make a sound; them lads aremore liable to hear than they are to see us. Let me go first. "

The log was at the other end of the little island, but there was aconsiderable rift in the rock surface, not deep, but of sufficientwidth to permit the passage of a body. The jagged stone made the wayrough in the dark, and Westcott found himself at the upper extremity, gashed and bruised by the contact. 

Brennan had already lowered himself into the water, assisted in thedownward climb by some low, tough bushes whose tendrils clungtenaciously to the smooth rock. Westcott followed silently, and foundfooting in about three feet of water, where it swirled around the baseof the island. From this low point, their eyes close to the surface ofthe stream, the men could dimly discern the shore lines silhouettedagainst the slightly lighter sky. They crouched there in deep shadow, but discovered no evidence that their effort at escape had beenobserved. A dog was barking somewhere not far away, and once there wasa rustle along the nearer bank, as though a man wormed his waycautiously through the thick chaparral. But this sound also ceasedafter a moment, and all was still. Brennan put his lips close to hiscompanion's ear. 

"Got yer cartridges tied up? That's all right; hand 'em over. Nowgive me your belt. No; pass the end under the log an' buckle it; nottoo tight. You hang on to the outside, an' I'll push off. If yer haveter paddle ter keep in the current don't let yer hands er feet come tothe surface--understand?"

"Certainly. "

"All right then; are you all set? Holy smoke, this is going to be someyacht ride. "

The log did not even grate as it loosened its slight hold on the rock, and began the voyage down-stream. The current was swift enough to bearit and its burden free from the island, although it moved slowly andnoiselessly on its way. The two men deeply emerged on either side, with heads held rigid against the wet bark, were indistinguishable. Out from the deeper shadow of the rock they drifted into the widerstream below, Brennan gently controlling the unwieldy affair, andkeeping it as nearly as possible to the centre, by the noiselessmovement of a hand under water. The men scarcely ventured to breatheand it seemed as though they were ages slowly sidling along, barelyable to perceive that they really moved. They must have gone a hundredyards or more before there was any alarm. Then a voice spoke from thebank to the right, followed almost instantly by the flash of a gun anda sharp report. The flare lit up the stream, and the bullet thuddedinto the log, without damage. 

"What was it, Jack?" the voice unmistakably Lacy's. "Did you seesomething?"

"Nothin' but a floatin' log, " was the disgusted reply, "but I made abull's-eye. "

"That's better than you did any time before to-day. Where is it? Oh, yes, I see the blame thing now. You don't need ter be any quail-hunterter hit that. It's goin' 'bout a mile an hour. However, there is noharm done; the shot will show those fellows that we are awake out here. "

Slowly the log floated on, vanishing in the darkness. No other alarmgreeted its progress, and at last, confident that they were alreadysafely below the extent of the guard lines, the two men, clinging toits wet sides, ventured to kick out quietly, and thus hasten itsprogress. It came ashore at the extreme end of the curve, and, after amoment of intent listening, the voyagers crept up the sand, and inwhispers discussed the next effort of their escape. The belts wereunstrapped from about the log, reloaded with cartridges, and buckledaround dripping waists before they clambered cautiously up the lowbank. The road was just beyond, but between them and it arose thealmost shapeless form of a small house, a mere darker shadow in thegloom of the night. 

"Where are we?" questioned Westcott. 

"Just back of old Beecher's shack. He's trucking down Benson way, butis liable to have some grub stored inside. I was countin' on this forour commissary department. Come on, Jim; time is money just now. "

The door was unlocked, and they trusted wholly to the sense of touch tolocate the object of their search. However, as there were but tworooms, not overly stocked with furniture, the gloom was not a seriousobstacle, so that in less than ten minutes they emerged once more intothe open bearing their spoils--Westcott, a slab of bacon and a smallfrying-pan; Brennan, a paper sack of corn meal, with a couple ofspecimens of canned goods. He had also resurrected a gunny sacksomewhere, in which their things were carefully wrapped, and madesecure for transportation. 

"Didn't feel no terbacco, did yer, Jim?" the marshal questionedsolicitously. "I reckon not though; ol' Beecher never would leavenuthin' like that lyin' round. Well, Lord! we ought ter be thankfulfer what we've got. Now if we can only get away with them hosses. "

They wormed their way forward to the edge of the road through a fringeof bushes, Westcott laden with the bundle. Except for the sound ofdistant voices and an occasional loud laugh, the night was still. Theycould almost hear their own breathing, and the crackle of a dry twigunderfoot sounded to strained nerves like the report of a gun. Crouching at the edge of the road they could see fairly well what wasbefore them, as revealed by the lights shining forth through the dingywindows of the saloon. The Red Dog was not more than a hundred yardsaway, and seemingly well patronised in spite of the fact that its ownerand many of his parasites were busily engaged elsewhere. The wide-openfront gave view of much of the barroom including even a section of thebar. Numerous figures moving about were easily discernible, while upabove in the gambling rooms, the outlines of men were reflected uponthe windows. 

A hum of voices echoed out into the night, but the platform in front ofthe door was deserted. Occasionally some wanderer either entered ordeparted, merging into the crowd within or disappearing through thedarkness without. To the left of the building, largely within itsshadow, stretched the hitch rail to which were fastened fully a dozencow-ponies, most of them revealed only by their restless movements, although the few nearest the door were plainly enough visible in thereflection of light. A fellow, ungainly in "chaps, " reeled drunkenlydown the steps, mounted one of these and spurred up the road, yellingas he disappeared. The noise he made was re-echoed by the restlesscrowd within. The two men, crouched in the bushes, surveyed the sceneanxiously, marking its every detail. Brennan's hand closed heavily onthe arm of the other. 

"We better pick out the two critters farthest from the light, " hemuttered, "an' trust ter luck. We'll have to lead 'em a ways afore wemount. They're XL outfit mostly, an' that means fair stock. Shall wetry it, now?"

"The sooner the better. "

"That's me. Blamed if ever I thought I'd be a hoss thief, but when afeller associates with Bill Lacy there's no knowin' what he will cometo. Howsumever, the foreman an' I are good friends, an' I don't reckonhe'd ever let me be hung fer this job. We better try the other side o'the road, Jim. "

They were in the flicker of light for scarcely an instant, merely twodarting shadows, vanishing once more swiftly and silently into thegloom. Nor were they much longer in releasing the two cow-ponies. Westcott tied his bundle to the cantle of the saddle and then, bridlereins in hand, the docile animals following their new masters withoutresistance, the men led them over the smooth turf well back from therange of light. They were a quarter of a mile from the Red Dog beforeBrennan, slightly in advance, ventured to enter the road. 

"It's safe enough now, Jim, an' we don't wanter lose no time. Got thegrub, haven't yer?"

"Tied it on the saddle; which way do we go?"

"Straight south at the bridge; that will bring us to the old trail inabout five miles, an' after that the devil himself couldn't find us. Ever crossed Shoshone?"

"No. "

"Well, it's a little bit o' hell after sunup, an' we'll have a twentymile ride before we strike water. We'll start slow. "

They swung into saddle, the road before them a mere black ribbonrevealed only by the gleam of a few far-off stars peering through riftsin the clouds. Brennan rode slightly in advance, trusting his mountlargely to pick out the way, yet leaning forward eagerly scanning everyshadow and listening for the slightest warning sound. They were uponthe grade leading to the bridge when his vigilance was rewarded. Therewas some movement to the left, where the hotel trail led down the bank, and instantly both men drew up their ponies and remained intent andrigid. Brennan's hand rested on the butt of his revolver, but for themoment neither could determine what was moving in the intense blacknessof the hillside. Then something spectral advanced into the starlightof the road and confronted them. 

"Is this you, Mr. Cassady?" asked a woman's voice softly. 

CHAPTER XXIV: THE CAVE IN THE CLIFF

Dazed, helpless, yet continuing to struggle futilely, Stella realisedlittle except giving a glance at the hated faces of her captors. Sheheard Cateras's voice ordering the men forward, vibrant with Spanishoaths, and trembling yet with the fury which possessed him--but allelse was a dim haze, out of which few remembrances ever came. Theywere in a large room, opening into another behind, a heavy doorbetween. She was dragged forward, and thrust through this with noknowledge of what it was like. She could not think; she was onlyconscious of a deadly, paralysing horror. Cateras slammed theintervening door, and strode past. 

What occurred was not clear to her mind; but suddenly what appeared tobe an open fireplace seemed to swing aside, leaving revealed a greatblack opening in the rock. To the lieutenant's snarl of command, oneof the men released his grip of her arm, and lit a lantern which hetook from a near-by shelf. The dim flicker of light penetrated a fewfeet into the dark hole, only serving to render the opening more grimand sinister. The girl shrank back, but the fellow still holding hertightened his grip. Cateras seemed to have regained his good humour, although the red welt across his face stood forth ugly in the flare. His thin lips smiled, and he bowed hat in hand, hatefully polite. 

"Go ahead with the light, Silva; not too fast, my man; the room beyondthe _señor's_. Now, Merodez, release the girl. "

"Ah, so you can stand alone, _señorita_; that is well. Step in here, ahead of me, and follow the lantern--there is nothing to fear. "

She hesitated, and the smile on the Mexican's lips changed into a cruelgrin. 

"Shall I make you again?"

"No, _señor_. "

"Then you will do as I bid. "

"Yes, _señor_; I cannot resist. "

The passage was clean and dry, and seemed to lead directly back intothe cliff. The faint light revealed the side walls and low roof, andthe girl, again partially mistress of herself, recognised the nature ofthe rock to be limestone. Occasionally the floor exhibited evidencesthat human hands had been employed in levelling it, and there weremarks along the side-walls to show where the passage had been widened;but the opening itself was originally a cave, through which water hadrun in long past ages--a cave wide enough to allow six men to walkabreast, but with an average height of about seven feet. For twentyfeet it ran almost straight in; then they came to a sharp turn to theright, and entered a much narrower passage. The air was so pure andfresh, even after this turn was made, as to lead her to believe theremust somewhere be another opening. The vague thought brought with it athrob of hope. 

Her view was limited to the slight radius illumined by the lantern, andeven within that small area, her own shadow, and those of the threemen, helped render everything indistinct. The side walls appeared tobe of solid rock; she perceived no evidence of entrances into any sidechamber, only that her eyes twice caught glimpses of what seemed likenarrow slits at about the level of her head. She could not be certainas to their purpose, or ascertain exactly what they were, only theybore resemblance to an opening cleft in the rock, either forventilation, or to permit of observation from without of some interiorcell. Near each of these was a strangely shaped bracket of woodfastened in some manner to the side wall, apparently intended for thesupport of a light, as the ceiling above exhibited marks of smoke. 

They had turned the sharp corner, and advanced a few feet beyond whenthe man with the lantern stopped suddenly, and held it up to permit thelight to stream full on the exposed wall to the right. Another ofthese odd slits in the rock was visible here, and the girl was able toperceive more clearly its nature--beyond question it was an artificialopening, leading into a space on the farther side of the wall. Cateraspushed past her, his body interfering with her view, and bent down, fumbling along the rock surface. 

"Hold the light closer, " he demanded. "Aye, that's it. 'Tis sometrick to find the thing---- Ah! now I have it. "

It seemed like a bit of wood, so resembling the colour of the rock asto be practically imperceptible to the eye in that dim light--a bit ofwood which slid back to reveal a heavy iron bolt, shot firmly into thestone. This the Mexican forced back, and an opening yawned in the sidewall, the rays of the lantern revealing the interior of a black cave. Cateras stepped within. 

"Bring the woman, " he commanded shortly, "and you, Merodez, see firstto the light. "

Silva thrust her forward, his grip no light one, while the other strucka match and applied it to the wick of a lamp occupying a bracket besidethe doorway. As this caught the full interior was revealed beneath thesickly glow, a cell-like place, although of a fair size, unfurnishedexcept for a rude bench, and one three-legged stool, the floor ofstone, and the sides and roof apparently of the same solid structure. It was gloomy, bare, horrible in its dreariness--a veritable grave. The girl covered her face with her hands, appalled at the sight, unnerved at the thought of being left alone in such a place. Caterassaw the movement, and laughed, gazing about carelessly. 

"Some boudoir, _señorita_, " he said meaningly. "Well, we will see whatcan be done for you later. Perhaps a few hours in such a hole may worka miracle. When I come again you will be glad to see even me. That'sall, lads; there's plenty of oil, and you can bring along some blanketswith the evening meal. "

He stopped, standing alone in the narrow opening, the light of thelantern without bringing his face into bold relief. The girl had sunkhelplessly onto the bench, her head bowed within her hands. TheMexican eyed her frowningly. 

"Quite tamed already, " he said sarcastically. "Bah! I have done it toworse than you. Look up at me. "

She lifted her eyes slowly, her lips pressed tightly together. She wasconscious of depression, of fear, yet as her glance encountered his, asudden spirit of defiance caused her to stand erect. 

"There are some women with whom you are not acquainted, Señor Cateras, "she said quietly, desperation rendering her voice firm. "And possiblyI may prove one of them. I am your prisoner it seems, yet I advise younot to go too far, or I may prove to be a dangerous one. In the firstplace it might be well for you to remember that, helpless as I seem atpresent, I have friends--whatever befalls me will be known. "

"How known?" his white teeth gleamed. "Do you think what goes on hereis published to the world? If I should tell you the history of thissecret valley it would take some of the defiance out of you, I imagine. "

"Then you reckon wrong, I am not afraid of you, and I believe in myfriends. All I ask now is that I be left alone. "

"Which will bring you to your senses. I have seen that tried out here, and know how it works. All right, I'll leave you to think it over;then I'll come back for an answer. Until then, _señorita, adios_. "

The fellow lifted his hat, and stepped back into the passage, hismanner insolent. She remained motionless, contempt in her eyes, but intruth hopeless and crushed. Silva closed the door silently, althoughher ears caught the click of the bolt when it was shot home. 

No sound of their retreating footsteps reached her through the thickwall. The stillness of her prison seemed to strike her like a blow. For a moment she stood staring at the bare wall, her lips parted, herlimbs trembling from the reaction of excitement; then she steppedforward, and felt along the smooth surface of rock. 

The door fitted so closely she could not even determine its exactoutlines. Baffled, her glance wandered about the cell, seeking vainlyfor any sign of weakness, and then, giving way utterly to her despair, the girl flung herself on the bench, covering her eyes to shut outthose hideous surroundings. What should she do? What could she do?What possibility of hope lay in her own endeavours? From what sourcecould she expect any outside help?

After those first moments of complete despair, there came greatercalmness, in which her mind began to grapple with the situation. Lifehad never been an easy problem, and discouragement was no part of hercreed. She sat up once more, her lips pressed tightly together, hereyes dry of tears. 

In spite of Cateras's cowardly threats these outlaws would never dareto take her life. There was no occasion for them to resort to sodesperate a deed. Besides this Mexican was only an under officer ofthe band, and would never venture to oppose the will of his chief. Herfate rested not on his word, but upon the decision of Pasqual Mendez, and, if that bandit was associated with Bill Lacy, as undoubtedly hewas, then as the prisoner of the American, she was certainly safe untilthe latter expressed his own wish regarding her. 

And why should Lacy desire to take her life? Most assuredly he didnot, or the act would have been already accomplished. The very fact ofher having been transported such a distance was sufficient evidence ofhis purpose. The conspirators merely suspected her mission in Haskell;they were afraid she knew more of their plans than she really did. Thetelegram, stolen by Miss La Rue, had convinced the leaders that shemight prove dangerous if left at large, and they had determined to holdher helpless until their scheme had been worked out and they weresafely beyond pursuit. That was undoubtedly the one object of hercapture. Lacy had no knowledge that Mendez's band was at therendezvous; he supposed them to be on a cattle raid to the south, withonly a man or two of his own left as guard over Cavendish. 

Cavendish! Her mind grasped clearly now the fact that the man was notdead. It had not been his body found in the Waldron Apartments, butthat of some other man substituted for purposes of crime. Cavendishhimself had been lured westward, waylaid in some manner and madeprisoner, as she and Westcott had suspected. 

Through the co-operation of Lacy he had been brought to this desertden, where he could be held indefinitely, with no chance ofdiscovery--killed if necessary. She had heard of such places as this, read of them, yet never before had she realised the possibility oftheir real existence. It all seemed more like a delirium of fever thanan actual fact. She rubbed her eyes, gazing about on the rock walls, scarcely sure she was actually awake. Why, one might ride across thatdesert, and pass by within a hundred yards of its rim, and never evenbe aware of the existence of this sunken valley. Perhaps not a dozenmen outside this gang of outlaws had ever gazed down into its greendepths, and possibly no others knew of that narrow, winding trailleading down to its level. Yet these men must have made use of it foryears, as a place to hide stolen cattle, and into which to retreatwhenever pursuit became dangerous. 

Those huts without were not newly built, and this underground cavernhad been extended and changed by no small labour. What deeds ofviolence must have happened here; what scenes of unbridled debaucherythis desert rendezvous must have witnessed. She shuddered at thethought, comprehending that these cells had never been chiselledwithout a purpose, and that she was utterly helpless in the hands of aband of thieves and cutthroats, to whom murder meant little enough, ifit only served their ends. Mendez, no doubt, was brute and monster, yet it was Juan Cateras whom she really feared--he was cruel, slimy, seeking to hide his hatefulness behind that hideous smile; and he hadalready chosen her for his victim. Who would save her--Mendez? Lacy?God, she did not know: and somehow neither of these was the name whicharose to her lips, almost in the form of prayer; the name she whisperedwith a faint throb of hope in its utterance--Jim Westcott. 

The big miner was all she had to rely upon; he had been in her mind allthrough the long ride; he arose before her again now, and she welcomedthe memory with a conscious throb of expectation. Those people backthere could not conceal for long her absence from him; if he lived hewould surely seek her again. 

Her womanly instinct had read the message in the man's eyes; she was ofinterest to him, he cared; it was no mere ordinary friendliness whichwould bring him back; no! not even their mutual connection with thecase of Frederick Cavendish. Her eyes brightened, and a flush ofcolour crept into her cheeks. She believed in him, in his courage--hehad appealed to her as a man. 

Suddenly she seemed to realise the yearning of her own heart, her utterfaith in him. He would come, he must come; even now he might havediscovered her sudden disappearance, and suspected the cause. He wouldnever believe any lies they might tell--that she had departed without aword, without a message--he would find out the truth somehow; he wasnot the kind to lie down, to avoid danger when it confronted duty--and, besides, he cared. She knew this, comprehended without question; therehad been no word spoken, yet she knew. 

Once she had accepted this knowledge with a smile, but now it thrilledher with hope, and set her heart throbbing strangely. Not that shedreamed love in return, or permitted it to even enter her mind; yet thevery thought that this man would, if necessary, wade into the verywaters of death for her sake, was somehow sweet and consoling. She wasno longer alone; no longer hopeless and unnerved--deep down in herconsciousness she trusted him. 

"If"--how often that recurred; how it brought back memory of Lacy, ofEnright, of Beaton, of the La Rue woman. What else could they haveremained behind for, except to hide and close the trail? It wasWestcott they would guard against; he was the only one they now had anycause to fear. They suspected his connection with her, his knowledgeof their purpose; they knew of his presence the night before at theshaft-house of Lacy's mine; they would "get" him, if they could, and byno such simple methods as they got her. If she could only have warnedhim; if he was only placed on guard before they were ready toact--"if"----

Suddenly the girl's slender body grew taut, and her thin white, delicate hands clutched the granite wall back of her, and into her greyeyes crept the light of terror, a terror that was new and strange toher, a nameless clutching fear that her varied experiences in the cityhad never brought her, an insidious, terrible fright for her bodilysafety. Her delicate ears, strained under their spun-brown covering ofhair--there was no doubt of it; she heard footsteps in the passageway. Juan Cateras with his leering, lustful smile was coming back. 

CHAPTER XXV: IN THE DARK PASSAGE

The uncertainty was of scarcely an instant. The open slit above thedoor was a perfect conveyer of sound, and a voice pierced the silence. It was the voice of Juan Cateras, vibrant with anger. 

"You sleepy swine, " he ejaculated fiercely, "and is this the way youkeep watch? Come out of that!" the command punctuated by the scufflingof feet. "Damn you, Silva, but I will teach you a lesson for this whenI return. Now go to the hut and stay there until I come. This is amatter where Mendez shall name the penalty. Get you gone, you sleepydog. "

He either struck or kicked the man, hurrying the fellow down thepassage to the echo of Spanish oaths. Apparently no resistance wasmade, for the next instant the key turned in the lock and the dooropened. Cateras, smiling, seemingly unruffled by this encounter, stepped within, calmly closed the door behind him, and then turned togreet the lady. She met his bow with eyes of firm resolve, though herheart ached. 

"Why do you come, _señor_?" she asked so quietly that the man insurprise halted his step forward. 

"To keep my word, " and his white teeth gleamed in an effort atpleasantness. "I am always truthful with your sex; and I told you Iwould return shortly. "

"Yet why?" she insisted, anxious only to keep him away as long aspossible, and yet enchain his interest. "If I am prisoner here, I amnot your prisoner. Do you come, then, to serve me?"

"Can you doubt that, _señorita_?" still endeavouring to retain the maskhe had first assumed. "Because circumstances make me defy the law--amere love of adventure, no more--is no reason why I should be devoid ofheart and sympathy. " He took a step nearer. "Since leaving here Ihave questioned the men who brought you, and learned why you were madeprisoner. I care nothing for this Bill Lacy--nothing, " and he snappedhis fingers derisively. "Why should I? But, instead, I would be yourfriend. "

"You mean your purpose is to aid me to escape?"

He bowed low. 

"It would be my great happiness to do so. There is danger, yet what isdanger to Juan Cateras? 'Tis only part of my life. The _señorita_ isan American, and to her one of my race may not appeal, yet I wouldprove my devotion with my life. "

"Your devotion, _señor_!"'

"Is not the word expressive! Though I have seen you but once before, my heart is already devoted to your interest. I am of a Southern race, _señorita_, and we do not calculate--we feel. Why, then, should Iconceal my eagerness? It is love which causes me to thus defy all andoffer you freedom. "

"Love!" she laughed. "Why, that is impossible. Surely you only jest, _señor_. "

The smile deserted his lips, and with a quick, unexpected movement hegrasped her hand. 

"Jest! You would call it a jest. You will not think so for long. Why, what can you do? No; stop shrinking back from me. It will bewell that you listen. This is no parlour where you can turn me awaywith a word of scorn, " and his eyes swept the bare walls. "I come toyou with a chance of escape; I will take the risk and pledge you myaid. I alone can save you; there is no other to whom you can turn. Inreturn I but ask my reward. "

She hesitated, her eyes lifting to his face. 

"You promise me your assistance?"

"Within the hour. "

"How? What plan have you?"

"That I will not tell; you must trust me. I am the lieutenant ofPasqual Mendez, " a touch of pride in his voice. "And my word alonewill open the way. You will come?"

"Wait; I must know more. You say it is love which prompts your offer, _señor_. I cannot understand; and even if this be true, I must befrank and honest in my answer--I do not return your love. "

"Bah! That is nothing. I know women; they learn love quickly when theway opens. I am not so ill to look at, _señorita_. A kiss now willseal the bargain! I will wait the rest. "

"You ask no pledge, then, of me?"

"Only your consent to accompany me, and the kiss. Beyond that I takethe gambler's chance. Only you must say yes or no; for it will requiretime for me to clear the road. "

"It must be to-night?"

"The sooner the better; they tell me Lacy will be here himself soon, and after he comes the one chance is over with. You will give thekiss?"

"Do not ask it, _señor_!"

"Oh, but I will--aye, more, I'll take it. A dozen will do no harm, andno scream from those lips will be heard. You may as well be nice, mybeauty. "

She was against the wall, helpless, and the grip of his hands was likesteel. She made no sound, although struggling to break free. Hisbreath was on her cheek; his eyes burning with lust gazing straightinto her own. 

Slowly, remorselessly, he bent her head backward until she feared herneck would snap. A sob started in her throat, but she silenced it withthe will of a superwoman. Into her terror-stricken mind leaped thesudden conclusion that resistance with this beast was futile; she mustoutwit him with her brains. Suddenly relaxing herself, she slipped tothe granite floor on her knees. 

"Please, please, " she begged. "I give in, _señor_, I give in. "

But as she spoke her right hand closed about a square jagged bit ofrock. 

"So, my pretty, " sneered Cateras, "you have learned that Juan Caterasis not a man to trifle with. It is well. " And, releasing his gripupon her, he allowed the girl to rise. 

As she stood there in the half light, her grey eyes flashing, her youngbosom rising and falling, she was a vaguely defined but alluringfigure. So Juan Cateras thought, and he took a step nearer, his thick, red lips curling with lust, eager to claim their rich reward. As theycame closer Stella Donovan stiffened. 

"Look, _señor_, " she whispered--"behind you!"

The Mexican in his eagerness was off his guard. He turned to look, andat that instant the girl drew back her sturdy arm and then brought itforward again with all her vigour. _Cluk_! She heard the rock soundagainst her oppressor's head, heard a low moan escape his lips, and sawhim sink slowly to the floor at her feet. 

The next instant she was beside him, in terror lest she had killed him;but a hurried glance, supplemented by her fingers which reached for hispulse, assured her that she had only stunned her assailant. Her heartbeat less rapidly now, and she again had control of her mentalprocesses. With deft hands that worked speedily in the darkness sheunstrapped from around his waist the belt with its thirty-sixcartridges and revolver, then pulled from his pocket the keys, not onlyto her cell, but, she judged, to others. 

The feel of their bronze coldness in her hot hands brought a quickmessage to her brain; beyond a question of doubt, the missing Cavendishwas concealed in one of the dark, dank cells in the immediate vicinage, if not actually in this same passage, then in another one perhaps notgreatly distant. The speculation gave her determination and decision. 

Reaching beneath her outer skirt, she jerked loose her white petticoat, and then began tearing it into long strips which she knotted together. This done, she bound Juan Cateras's hand and foot, and, with somedifficulty, turned him over on his face after first thrusting into hishalf-open mouth a gag, which she had fashioned from stray ends of theprovidential petticoat. 

Then leaping to her feet and strapping the ammunition belt and revolverabout her waist, she stole on tiptoe to the doorway and peered out; thesilent, cavernous passage was empty. 

Lithely, like a young panther, she slipped out of the cell and beganmaking down the passageway to a spot of light which she judged to beits opening. She had scarcely gone ten feet, however, before shestopped short--somewhere in the dark she heard a voice. 

Flattening herself against the sides of the passage, she thoughtquickly; to return to the cell in which lay Juan Cateras would beunwise, for he might break the bonds, which were none too strong, and, in his fury at having been so easily duped, subject her to unknown butanyway horrible indignities, if not death itself. But what othercourse was there?

As she stood there a fraction of a second against the wall, knowing notwhich way to turn, the girl wished with all her heart that big JimWestcott, strong, cool, collected, the master of any situationrequiring force, tact, and acumen, were there by her side to take herarm and guide her out of this terrible predicament. But Jim waselsewhere--where, she could hardly guess. 

What was to be done? Her temples throbbed as the voices soundednearer. Then it came home to her--why not try one of the other cells?Possibly she would be lucky enough to find an empty one; the chanceswere, she felt, that most of them were. 

Suiting action to the thought, she stepped quietly from the niche inthe wall, moved noiselessly along its surface, and came at length toanother dungeon similar to She one she had occupied, except that it hadno window in its oaken door. Fumbling with the bunch of keys, she tookthe first one around which her fingers fell and thrust it hurriedlyinto the lock. Would it open the haven to temporary safety? Shestruggled with it--turning it first to the left and then to the right. The footsteps were sounding nearer and nearer every minute, the voiceswere growing louder. 

Frantic, she gave the key a final desperate twist, and as a sigh ofrelief escaped her lips the door swung open. Slipping through theaperture, she closed it softly after her and, panting from excitementand her exertions, turned and faced the recesses of her hiding-place. 

It was black, pitch-black, except for a long ray of light thatstruggled in between the heavy door and its casing, but as StellaDonovan stood there in the gloom she was aware that she was not theonly occupant of the cell. She crouched back, gripped in the hands ofanother fear, but the next moment her alarm was lessened somewhat bythe sound of a soft, well-modulated voice. 

"Who's that?" it said faintly. 

Then followed the repeated scratching of a wet match, a flame of yellowlight, which was immediately carried to a short tallow candle, and inthe aura of its sickly flame Stella Donovan saw the face of a man withlong, unkempt beard and feverish eyes that stared at her as though shewere an apparition. 

CHAPTER XXVI: THE REAPPEARANCE OF CAVENDISH

As her eyes became more accustomed to the light she saw that thestranger was a man of approximately thirty, of good robust health. Hishair was sandy of colour and thin, and his beard, which was of the samehue, had evidently gone untrimmed for days, perhaps weeks; yet for allof his unkempt appearance, for all the strangeness of his presencethere, he was a gentleman, that was plain. And as she scrutinised himMiss Donovan thought she beheld a mild similarity in the contour of theman's head, the shape of his face, the lines of his body, to the manwhom, several weeks before, she had seen lying dead upon the floor ofhis rooms in the Waldron apartments. 

Could this be Frederick Cavendish? By all that had gone before, heshould be; but the longer she looked at him the less certain she was ofthe correctness of this surmise. Of course the face of the man in theWaldron apartments had been singed by fire so that it was virtuallyunrecognisable, thus making comparisons in the present instancedifficult. At any rate, she dismissed the speculation temporarily fromher mind, and resolved to divulge nothing for the time, but merely todraw the man out. Her thoughts, rapid as they had been, wereinterrupted by the fellow's sudden exclamation. 

"My God!" he cried in a high voice, "I--I thought I was seeing things. You are really a woman--and alive?"

Miss Donovan hesitated a moment before she answered, wondering whetherto tell him of her narrow escape. This she decided to do. 

"Alive, but only by luck, " she said in a friendly voice, and thenrecounted the insults of Cateras, her struggle with him, and capture ofhis cartridge belt and revolver, and how finally she had left him boundand gagged in the adjoining cell. The man listened attentively, thoughhis mind seemed slow to grasp details. 

"But, " he insisted, unable to clear his brain, "why are you here?Surely you are not one of this gang of outlaws?"

"I am inclined to think, " she answered soberly, "that much the samecause must account for the presence of both of us. I am a prisoner. That is true of you also, is it not?"

"Yes, " his voice lowered almost to a whisper. "But do not speak soloud, please; there is an opening above the door, so voices can beheard by any guard in the corridor. I--I am a prisoner, although I donot in the least know why. When did you come?"

"Not more than two hours ago. Two men brought me across the desertfrom Haskell. "

"I do not know how I came. I was unconscious until I woke up in thatcell. I was on the platform of an observation car the last Iremember, " his utterance slow, as though his mind struggled with avague memory, "talking with a gentleman whom I had met on the train. There--there must have been an accident, I think, for I never knewanything more until I woke up here. "

"Do you know how long ago that was?"

He shook his head. 

"It was a long while. There has been no light, so I could not countthe days, but, if they have fed me twice every twenty-hours, it iscertainly a month since I came. "

"A month! Do you recall the name of the man you were conversing withon the observation car?"

He pressed his hand against his forehead, a wrinkle appearing straightbetween his eyes. 

"I've tried to remember that, " he admitted regretfully, "but it doesn'tquite come to me. "

"Was it Beaton?"

"Yes. Why, how strange! Of course, he was Edward Beaton, of New York. He told me he was a broker. Why, how did you know?"

She hesitated for an instant, uncertain just how far it was best toconfide in him. Unquestionably, the man's mind was not entirely clear, and he might say and do things to the injury of them both if he oncebecame aware of the whole truth. Besides, the meeting him there alivewas in itself a shock. She had firmly believed him dead--murdered inNew York. No, she would keep that part of the story to herself for thepresent; let it be told to him later by others. 

"It is not so strange, " she said at last, "for your disappearance isindirectly the occasion of my being here also. I believe I can evencall you by name. You are Mr. Cavendish?"

"Yes, " he admitted, his hands gripping the back of the bench nervously, his eyes filled with amazement "But--but I do not know you. "

"For the best of reasons, " she answered smilingly, advancing andextending her hand--"because we have never met before. Howevermysterious all this must seem to you, Mr. Cavendish, it is extremelysimple when explained. I am Stella Donovan, a newspaperwoman. Yourstrange disappearance about a month ago aroused considerable interest, and I chanced to be detailed on the case. My investigations led me tovisit Haskell, where unfortunately my mission became known to those whowere responsible for your imprisonment here. So, to keep me quiet, Iwas also abducted and brought to this place. "

"You--you mean it was not an accident--that I was brought herepurposely?"

"Exactly; you were trailed from New York by a gang of thieves havingconfederates in this country. I am unable to give you all the details;but this man Beaton, whom you met on the train, is a notorious gunmanand gambler. His being on the same train with you was a part of awell-laid plan, and I have no doubt but what he deliberately sluggedyou while you two were alone on the observation platform. As Iunderstand, that is exactly his line of work. "

"But--but, " he stammered, "what was his object? Why did those peoplescheme to get me?"

"Why! Money, no doubt; you are wealthy, are you not?"

"Yes, to an extent. I inherited property, but I had no considerablesum with me that day; not more than a few hundred dollars. "

"As I told you, Mr. Cavendish, I do not know all the details, but Ithink these men--one of whom is a lawyer--planned to gain possession ofyour fortune, possibly by means of a forged will; and, in order toaccomplish this, it was necessary to get you out of the way. It looksas though they were afraid to resort to actual murder, but ready enoughto take any other desperate chance. Do you see what I mean?"

"They will rob me! While holding me here a prisoner they proposerobbing me through the courts?"

"That is undoubtedly their object, but, I happen to know, it has notyet been fully accomplished. If either of us can make escape from thisplace we shall be in time to foil them completely. "

"But how, " he questioned, still confused and with only the one thoughtdominating his mind, "could they hope to obtain possession of myfortune unless I was dead?"

"They are prepared to prove you dead. I believed so myself. The onlyway to convince the courts otherwise will be your appearance in person. After they once get full possession of the money they do not care whatbecomes of you. Living or dead, you can never get it back again. "

He sank down on the bench and buried his face in his hands, thoroughlyunnerved. The girl looked at him a moment in silence, then touched hisshoulder. 

"Look here, Mr. Cavendish, " she said firmly, "there is no use losingyour nerve. Surely there must be some way of getting out of here. Forone, I am going to try. "

He looked up at her, but with no gleam of hope in his eyes. 

"I have tried, " he replied despondently, "but it is no use. We areburied alive. "

"Yet there must be ways out, " she insisted. "The air in that passagewas perfectly pure; do you know anything about it?"

"Yes; it leads to the top of the cliff, up a steep flight of steps. But it is impossible to reach the passage, and since these Mexicanscame I have reason to believe they keep a guard. "

"They were not here, then, at first?"

"Only for a few days; before that two rough-looking fellows, butAmericans, were all I saw. Now they have gone, and Mexicans have takentheir places--they are worse than the others. Do you know what itmeans?"

"Only partially. I have overheard some talk. It seems this is arendezvous for a band of outlaws headed by one known as Pasqual Mendez. I have not seen their leader; but his lieutenant had charge of me. "

"Miss Donovan, " he said with gravity, "we are in the hands of desperatemen. We will have to take desperate measures to outwit them, and wewill have to make desperate breaks to obtain our freedom. "

The girl nodded. 

"Mr. Cavendish, " she said with womanly courage, "you will not find mewanting. I am ready for anything, even shooting. I do hope you're agood shot. "

Cavendish smiled. 

"I have had some experience, " he said. 

"Then, " the girl added, "you had better take the revolver. I neverfired one except on the Fourth of July, and I would not want to trustto my marksmanship in a pinch. Not that we will meet any suchsituation, Mr. Cavendish--I hope we do not--but in case we do I want todepend upon you. "

"I am glad you said that, Miss Donovan; it gives me courage. "

The girl handed the revolver over to him without a word and then heldout the cartridge belt. He snapped open the weapon to assure himselfit was loaded and then ran his fingers over the belt pockets. 

"Thirty-six rounds, " adjusting the belt to his waist; "that ought topromise a good fight. Do you feel confidence in me again?"

"Yes, " she answered, her eyes lifting to meet his. "I trust you. "

"Good. I am not a very desperate character, but will do the best Ican. Shall we try the passage?"

"Yes. It is the only hope. "

"All right then; I'll go first, and you follow as close as possible. There mustn't be the slightest sound made. "

Cavendish thrust his head cautiously through the door, the revolvergripped in his hand; Miss Donovan, struggling to keep her nervessteady, touched the coat of her companion, fearful of being alone. Thepassage-way was dark, except for the little bars of light streaming outthrough the slits in the stone above the cell doors. These, however, were sufficient to convince Cavendish that no guards were in theimmediate neighbourhood. He felt the grip of the girl's fingers on hiscoat, and reached back to clasp her hand. 

"All clear, " he whispered. "Hurry, and let's get this door closed. "

They slipped through, crouching in the shadow as the door shut behindthem, eagerly seeking to pierce the mystery of the gloom into which thenarrow corridor vanished. Beyond the two cells and their dim rays allwas black silence, yet both felt a strange relief at escaping from theconfines of their prison. The open passage was cool, and the fugitivesfelt fresh air upon their cheeks; nowhere did any sound break thesilence. Stella had a feeling as though they were buried alive. 

"That--that is the way, is it not?" she asked. "I was brought frombelow. "

"Yes; it is not far; see, the passage leads upward. Come, we might aswell learn what is ahead. "

They advanced slowly, keeping closely against the wall, and testing thefloor cautiously before venturing a step. A few yards plunged theminto total darkness, and, although Cavendish had been conducted alongthere a prisoner, he retained small recollection of the nature of thepassage. 

Their progress was slow but silent, neither venturing to exchangespeech, but with ears anxiously strained to catch the least sound. Stella was conscious of the loud beating of her heart, the slightrasping of Cavendish's feet on the rock floor. The slightest noiseseemed magnified. The grade rose sharply, until it became almost aclimb, yet the floor had evidently been levelled, and there were noobstructions to add to the difficulty of advance. Then the passageswerved rather sharply to the right, and Cavendish, leading, halted topeer about the corner. An instant they both remained motionless, andthen, seeing and hearing nothing, she could restrain her impatience nolonger. 

"What is it?" she questioned. "Is there something wrong?"

He reached back and drew her closer, without answering, until her eyesalso were able to look around the sharp edge of rock. Far away, itseemed a long distance up that narrow tunnel, a lantern glowed dully, the light so dim and flickering as to scarcely reveal even itsimmediate surroundings; yet from that distance, her eyes accustomed tothe dense gloom, she could distinguish enough to quicken her breathingand cause her to clutch the sleeve of her companion. 

The lantern occupied a niche in the side wall at the bottom of a flightof rude steps. Not more than a half-dozen of these were revealed, butat their foot, where the passage had been widened somewhat, extended astone bench, on which lounged two men. One was lying back, his headpillowed on a rolled coat, yet was evidently awake; for the other, seated below him, with knees drawn up for comfort, kept up conversationin a low voice, the words being inaudible at that distance. Even inthat dim light the two were clearly Mexican. 

"What shall we do?" she asked, her lips at Cavendish's ear. "We cannotpass them--they are on guard. "

"I was wondering how close I could creep in before they saw me, " heanswered, using the same caution. "If I was only sure they were alone, and could once get the drop, we might make it. "

"You fear there may be others posted at the top?"

"There is quite likely to be; the fellows are evidently taking nochances of surprise. What do you think best?"

"Even if you succeeded in overawing these two, we would have no way ofsecuring them. An alarm would be given before we could get beyondreach. Our only hope of escape lies in getting out of here unseen. "

"Yes, and before Cateras is discovered. "

"He gave no orders to the guard to return?"

"No; but he will be missed after a while and sought for. We cannotcount on any long delay, and when it is found that he has been knockedout, and we have disappeared, every inch of this cave will be searched. There is no place to hide, and only the two ways by which to get out. "

"Then, let's go back and try the other, " she urged. "That opensdirectly into the valley and is probably not guarded. What ishappening now?"

A grey gleam of light struck the steps from above, recognised instantlyas a reflection of day, as though some cover had been upliftedconnecting this underground labyrinth with the clear sky. A dim shadowtouched the illumined rocks for a brief moment, a moving shadowuncertain in its outlines, grotesque, shapeless: and then the daylightvanished as suddenly as it dawned. There was a faint click, as thougha door closed, while darkness resumed sway, the silence unbroken, butfor the scraping of a step on those rude stairs. The two guards belowcame to their feet, rigid in the glow of the lantern, their facesturned upward. Then a man came slowly down the last few steps andjoined them. 

CHAPTER XXVII: A DANGEROUS PRISONER

He was tall and thin, wearing a wide cloak about his shoulders, andhigh hat with broad brim. Even at that distance it could be seen thathis long hair was grey, and that a heavy moustache, snow-white, mademore noticeable the thin features of his face. The man was Mexican, nodoubt of that, but of the higher class, the dead pallor of his skinaccented by the black, deep-seated eyes. He looked at the two menclosely, and his voice easily reached the ears of the listeners. 

"Who posted you here?"

"Juan Cateras, _señor_, " answered one. 

"Not on my order. Dias is watching above. Did the lieutenant give youa reason?"

"The prisoners, _señor_. "

"The prisoners! Oh, yes; those that Lacy had confined here. Well, they will not be here for long. I do not believe in prisoners, andbecause I do business with that dog is no reason why he is privilegedto use this place to hold his victims. I have just despatched amessenger to Haskell to that effect, and we'll soon be rid of them. Where is Cateras?"

"In the valley, _señor_! he went back down the passage with Silva afterposting us here. "

"And the prisoners?"

"Occupy the two inner cells. Merodiz here says one of them is a girl. "

"A girl!" the tall man laughed. "That then will account for theunusual interest of Juan Cateras, and why he preferred being left incharge. A girl, hey, Merodiz! You saw the witch? What sort was she?"

"An American, _señor_, young, and good to look at, " the other manexplained. "Her eyes as blue as the skies. "

"Good! 'tis not often the gods serve us so well. I forgive Cateras forfailure to report such a prize, but from now on will see that he takeshis proper place. She was here when we came?"

"No, _señor_; the two Americanos brought her; it was Silva and I whoput her in the cell. "

"At Cateras's order?"

"Yes, _señor_. "

"In what cell?"

"The second in the passage; the man who was here when we came has theone this way. "

"Caramba! this is all pleasant enough. I will pay my respects to thelady, and there is no time like the present. "

He turned away, thumbing his moustache, quite pleased with his conceit, but one of the men stopped him with a question. 

"We remain here, _señor_?"

"Yes, you might as well, " his lips smiling, "and if the Señor Cateraspasses, you can tell him that I visit the fair American. It will givehim joy. "

The girl drew Cavendish back hurriedly, her mind working in a flash ofinspiration. 

"Quick, " she breathed in his ear. "There is a niche where we can hidea few yards back. If he follows the other wall he might pass, and notnotice. "

"But he goes to your cell; 'tis Pasqual Mendez. "

"I know, but come. He must not go there. I will tell you my plan. "

They were pressed back within the slight recess before the Mexicanturned the corner, and she had hastily breathed her desperate scheme. 

"It can be done, " she insisted, "and there is nought else possible. Wedare not let him enter, and find Cateras, and to kill the man willserve no good end. You will not? Then give me the revolver. Good!Be silent now. "

Mendez came down the black passage evidently in rare good humour, humming a tune, with one hand pressed upon the wall to better guide hismovements. So dark it was, even the outlines of his form wereindistinguishable, yet, as he felt no need for caution, it was easyenough to trace his forward progress. The girl stood erect, therevolver gripped in one hand, the other pressing back her companioninto the recess. She had lost all sense of fear in the determinationto act; better risk all than surrender without a struggle. Mendezfumbled along the wall, stumbled over some slight projection and swore;another step, and his groping hand would touch her. He never took thestep, but was whirled against the side wall, with the cold barrel of arevolver pressed against his cheek. A stern, sibilant whisper held himmotionless. 

"If you move I fire, _señor_; raise your hands--quick!"

He responded mechanically, too profoundly astounded to dream ofresistance. It was the sound of the voice which impressed him. 

"Santa Maria! A woman?"

"Yes, _señor_, a woman; the same you sought, but I have found youfirst. "

He chuckled. 

"A good jest surely; how came you here?"

"Not to discuss that, _señor_, " quietly. "Nor is this to be laughedover. If you would live, do as I say. Mr. Cavendish, see if the manbears weapons. "

"Only a belt with a knife. "

"Keep the knife; it may come handy for some purpose. Now bind hishands with the belt. Cross your wrists, _señor_. "

He had lost his temper, no longer deeming this a joke. 

"You damn vixen, " he growled savagely. "This play will soon be done;do you know who I am?"

"The Señor Pasqual Mendez, but that means nothing, " she answered. "This revolver will kill you as surely as any one else. Do what I saythen, and talk no more--cross your wrists behind. "

He did so, and Cavendish strapped the stout belt about them, winding itin and out until he had sure purchase. He drew it so tightly thefellow winced. 

"It hurts, _señor_, " she said, satisfied. "Well, to hurt you a littleis better than what you planned for me. Now lead on. No, listenfirst. I know who you are and your power here. That is why we tookthis chance of making you prisoner. We are desperate; it is eitheryour life, or ours, _señor_. You are an outlaw, with a price on yourhead, and you realise what chances one will take to escape. Now thereis just one opportunity given you to live. "

"What, _señorita_?"

"That you accompany us down this passage into the valley as hostage. You will compel your men, if we encounter any, to furnish us horses. "

"But the men may not obey. I cannot promise; Señor Cateras----"

"Señor Cateras will not be there, " she interrupted sharply. "We havealready seen to Señor Cateras. The others will obey you?"

"They may; I cannot promise. "

"Then it will be your own loss; for if there be a shot fired, you willget either a bullet or a knife thrust. I would try no sharp tricks, Señor Mendez. Now we go on. "

Mendez smiled grimly in the dark, his mind busy. He had seen much oflife of a kind and felt no doubt but this young woman would keep herword. She had become sufficiently desperate to be dangerous, and hefelt no desire to drive her to extremes. Besides he was helpless toresist, but would watch for opportunity, trusting in luck. 

"I am to go first?" and his voice assumed polite deference. 

"Beside Mr. Cavendish, " she replied, "and I will be behind. "

"This gentleman, you mean?"

"Yes; and there is no need for any more acting. This is the revolverpressing against your back, _señor_. I could scarcely miss you at thatdistance. "

They advanced in silence, through the faint gleam of light whichillumined the passage through the stone slits over the cell doors. Only then did Mendez venture to pause, and glance back at his captor. 

"Pardon, _señorita_, " he said gallantly, "but I would have view of thefirst lady who ever took Pasqual Mendez prisoner. The sight robs me ofall displeasure. In truth it is hardly necessary for you to resort tofire-arms. "

"I prefer them, " shortly. "Go on!"

The darkness swallowed them again, but the way was clear, and, oncearound the sharp turn, a glimmer of distant daylight made advanceeasier. There was no sign of any guard visible, nor any movementperceptible in the open vista beyond the cave entrance. The girltouched Mendez's arm. 

"Wait; I would ask a question, or two first, before we venture further. I was brought in this way, yet my memory is not clear. There are twolog houses before the cave?"

"Yes, " he answered readily, "one somewhat larger than the other--themen occupy that; the other is for myself and my officers. "

"Besides Cateras?"

"No, not at present; at times I have guests. It would be pleasurableto entertain you, and your friend. "

"No doubt. You expect Lacy?"

"You know that also? How did you learn?"

"I heard you talk to the men at the other end. It is true, is it not?"

"I have sent for him; it was yesterday. "

"And he could be here now?"

"Not before night; it is a hard ride; why ask all this?"

"I have reasons. Now another thing; where are your men?"

His eyes wandered to the gleam of daylight. 

"There will be one or two in the bunk-house likely; the others are withthe cattle up the valley. "

"But none in your cabin?"

He shook his head. 

"And you say Lacy cannot get here before dark? How late?"

He hesitated over his reply, endeavouring shrewdly to conjecture whatcould be the object of all this questioning, yet finally concludingthat the truth would make very little difference. 

"Well, _señorita_, I may as well tell you, I suppose. It is the rulenot to enter this valley until after dark. I expect the Americanos toarrive about ten o'clock. "

"The Americanos?"

"_Si_, there will be three in the party, one of them a man from NewYork, who has business with me. "

Miss Donovan's decision was rapidly made, her mind instantly graspingthe situation. This man would be Enright, and the business he had withMendez concerned Cavendish, and possibly herself also. She glancedagain into the stern, hawklike face of the Mexican, recognising itslines of relentless cruelty, the complete absence of any sense ofmercy. His piercing eyes and thin lips gave evidence enough that hewas open to any bargain if the reward should be commensurate with therisk. The man's age, and grey hair, only served to render morenoticeable his real character--he was a human tiger, held now inrestraint, but only waiting a chance to break his chains, and sinkteeth in any victim. The very sight of him sent a shudder through herbody, even as it stiffened her purpose. 

Her clear, thoughtful eyes turned inquiringly toward Cavendish, but thesurvey brought with it no encouragement. The man meant well, no doubt, and would fight valiantly on occasion; he was no coward, noweakling--equally clear his was not the stuff from which leaders aremade. There was uncertainty in his eyes, a lack of force in his facewhich told the story. Whatever was decided upon, or accomplished, mustbe by her volition; she could trust him to obey, but that was all. Herbody straightened into new resolve, all her womanhood called to thefront by this emergency. 

"Then we will make no attempt to leave the valley until after dark, "she said slowly. "Even if we got away now, we would be pursued, andovertaken, for the desert offers few chances for concealment. If wecan reach that smaller cabin unseen we ought to be safe enough therefor hours. Cateras will not bother, and with Mendez captive, his menwill not learn what has occurred. Is not this our best plan, Mr. Cavendish?"

"And at night?"

"We must work some scheme to get horses, and depart before those othersreach here. There will be plenty of time between dark and ten o'clock. If we leave this man securely bound, his plight will not even bediscovered until Lacy arrives. By that time, with any good fortune, wewill be beyond pursuit, lost in the desert. Do you think of anythingbetter?"

That he did not was evidenced by the vacant look in his eyes, and shewaited for no answer. 

"Here, " she said, thrusting the revolver into his hand, "take this, andguard Mendez until I return. It will only be a moment. Don't takeyour eyes off him; there must be no alarm. "

She moved forward through the gloomy shadows toward the light showingat the mouth of the cave. The rocks here were in their natural state, exactly as left by the forces which had originally disrupted them, thecavern's mouth much wider than the tunnel piercing the hill, andsomewhat obstructed by ridges of stone. 

Sheltered by these Stella crept to the very edge of the opening, andwas able to gain a comprehensive view of the entire scene beyond. Within the cave itself there was no movement, no evidence of life. Quite clearly no guard had been posted here, and no precautions taken, although doubtless the only entrance to the deep valley was carefullywatched. 

A glance without convinced her that no other guardianship was necessaryto assure safety. The valley lay before her, almost a level plain, except for the stream winding through its centre, and all about, unbroken and precipitous, arose the rampart of rocks, which seemedunscalable. 

She rested there long enough to trace this barrier inch by inch in itscomplete circle, but found no opening, no cleft, promising a possibleexit, except where the trail led up almost directly opposite, and onlymemory of her descent enabled her to recognise this. Satisfied thatthe top could be attained in no other way, her eyes sought the thingsof more immediate interest. The two cabins were directly before theentrance, the smaller closely in against the cliff, the larger slightlyadvanced. Neither exhibited any sign of life; indeed the only evidencethat the valley contained human occupants was the distant view of twoherders, busily engaged in rounding up a bunch of cattle on theopposite bank of the stream. These were too far away, and too intentlyengaged at their task, to observe any movement at this distance. 

Her study of the situation concentrated on the small cabin immediatelyin front. It was low, a scant story in height, but slightly elevatedfrom the ground, leaving a vacant space beneath. It was built of logs, well mortised together, and plastered between with clay. The roofsloped barely enough to shed water, and there were no windows on theend toward the cliff, or along the one side which she could see fromwhere she lay. The single door must open from the front, andapparently the house had been erected with the thought that it mightsome time be used for purposes of defence, as it had almost theappearance of a fort. The larger building was not entirely unlike thisin general design, except that small openings had been cut in the logwalls, and a rude chimney arose through the roof. Both appeareddeserted. Confident there could be no better time for the venture, Stella signalled with her hand for the others to join her. 

They advanced slowly, Cavendish holding the revolver at the Mexican'shead, the latter grinning savagely, his dark eyes never still. Bitterhate, desperate resolve, marked his every action, although he sought toappear indifferent. The girl's lips were compressed, and her eyes methis firmly. 

"The way is clear, " she said, "and, listen to my warning, _señor_. Weare going straight along the north side of your cabin there, until wereach the door. For about twenty feet we shall be exposed to view fromthat other cabin, if any of your men are there. If you dare utter asound, or make a motion, this man will shoot you dead in yourtracks--do you understand?"

His look was ugly enough, although he compelled the thin lips to smile. 

"Quite clearly--yes; but pardon me if I doubt. You might kill me; Ithink that, yet how would it serve you? One shot fired would bringhere a dozen men--then what?"

"I thank you, _señor_; there will be no shot fired. Give me therevolver, Mr. Cavendish; now take this knife. As we advance walk onestep behind Mendez. You will know what to do. Now, _señor_, if youwish to try an experiment--we go now. "

There was not a sound, not a word. Not unlike three shadows theycrossed the open space, and found shelter behind the walls of the hut. The girl never removed her eyes from the other cabin, and Cavendish, astep behind his prisoner, poised for a quick blow, the steel bladeglittering in uplifted hand, saw nothing but the back of the man beforehim. The latter shrugged his shoulders and marched forward, his eyesalone evidencing the passion raging within. 

Without pausing they reached the door, which stood slightly ajar. Stella pushed it open, took one swift glance within and stepped aside. The other two entered, and she instantly followed, closing the door, and securing it with a stout wooden bar. Her face was white, marked bynervous emotion, her eyes bright and fearless. With one swift glanceshe visioned the interior; there were two rooms, both small, divided bya solid log partition, pierced by a narrow door-way. 

The back room was dark, seemingly without windows, but this in whichthey stood had an opening to the right, letting in the sunlight. Itwas a mere slash in the logs, unframed, and could be closed by a heavywooden shutter. She stepped across and glanced out. The view revealedincluded a large portion of the valley, and the entrance to the othercabin. There was no excitement, no evidence of any alarm--theircrossing from the mouth of the cave had escaped observation. Thus farat least they were safe. 

Her heart beat faster as she turned away, satisfied with the success ofher plan. Nothing remained now but to secure Mendez, to make itimpossible for him to raise an alarm. If he could be bound, and lockedinto that rear room. She looked at the two men--the Mexican hadslouched down into a chair, apparently having abandoned all hope ofescape, his chin lowered on his breast, his eyes hidden beneath thewide brim of his hat. He was a perfect picture of depression, butCavendish appeared alert enough, the deadly knife still gripped in hishand, a motionless, threatening figure. Feeling no trepidation, shecrossed toward the other room, noting as she passed that Mendez liftedhis head to observe her movements. She paused at the door, turningsuspiciously, but the man had already seemingly lost interest, and hishead again drooped. She stepped within. 

CHAPTER XXVIII: WITH BACK TO THE WALL

It was dingy dark once she had crossed the threshold, yet enough oflight flickered in through the doorway to enable her to perceive thefew articles of furniture. The room itself was a small one, butcontained a roughly constructed wooden bed, two stools, and a squaretable of unplaned boards. A strip of rag carpet covered a portion ofthe floor, and there was a sort of cupboard in one corner, the door ofwhich stood open, revealing a variety of parcels, littering theshelves. Against the wall in a corner leaned a short-barrelled gun, acanvas bag draped over its muzzle. 

She had no opportunity to observe more. To her ears there came thesound of a blow in the room she had just left, a groan, the dull thudof a body striking the floor, accompanied by a Spanish oath, and ashuffling of feet. She sprang back into the open doorway, startled, certain only of some catastrophe, her fingers gripping hard on therevolver. 

Cavendish lay writhing on the floor, the chair overturned beside him, and the Mexican, with one swift leap forward, cleared the body, andreached the window. Even as she caught this movement, too dazed forthe instant to act, the injured man struggled up on one elbow, and, with all the force he possessed, hurled the knife straight at thefleeing figure. It flashed through the air, a savage gleam of steel, barely missing Mendez's shoulder, and buried itself in a log, quiveringfrom the force of impact. With a yell of derision, his hands stillbound, the desperate fugitive cast himself head-first through theopening. Without aim, scarcely aware of what she did, the girl flungup her weapon and fired. With revolver yet smoking she rushed forwardto look without. Rolling over and over on the ground, his face coveredwith blood, Mendez was seeking to round the corner of the cabin, to getbeyond range. Again she pulled the trigger, the powder smoke blowingback into her face, and blinding her. When she could see once more, hewas gone, but men were leaping out through the door of the bunk-house, shouting in excitement. 

One of these caught sight of her, and fired, the bullet chugging intothe end of a log, so closely it caught a strand of her hair, but, before another shot could follow, she had seized the shutter, andclosed the opening, driving the latch fast with the revolver butt. Shewas cool enough now, every nerve on edge, realising fully the danger oftheir position. All the blood of a fighting race surged through herveins, and she was conscious of no fear, only of a wild exultation, astrange desire to win. As she turned she faced Cavendish, only vaguelyvisible in the twilight caused by the closed window. He was stillseated on the floor, his expression betraying bewilderment. 

"Are you hurt?"

"No--not--not much. He knocked all the wind out of me. I--I'm allright now. "

"Get up then! There's fighting enough ahead to make you forget that. What happened?"

"He--he kicked me, I guess. I--I don't exactly know. I heard you gopast us into that other room, and--and just turned my head to see. Thenext I knew I was on the floor, so damned sick--I beg your pardon--Ithought I was going to faint. Did I get him with the knife?"

"No, it's over there, and I am afraid I didn't touch him either; it wasall so sudden I got no aim. Do you hear those voices? There must be adozen of the band outside already. "

He looked up at her, his glance almost vacant, and she could butperceive how his chin shook. 

"What shall we do?"

"Do!" she gripped his shoulder. "Are you a man and ask that? We willfight! Did you imagine I would ever surrender myself into the hands ofthat devil, after what has happened? I would rather die; yes, I willdie before he ever puts hand on me. And what about you, Mr. Cavendish?Are you going to lie there moping? Answer me--I thought you were aman--a gentleman. "

The words were like a blow in his face, and under their sting hestaggered to his feet; scarlet blazed in both his cheeks. 

"You have no right to say that to me, " he said angrily. "I'm not thatkind. "

"I know it, " she admitted, "but you lose your nerve; this isn't yourgame. Well, it isn't mine either, for the matter of that. Nevertheless it has got to be played, and we're going to play ittogether. Those fellows will be at that door presently--just so soonas Mendez tells them who are inside here. They'll try us once, and, ifwe can beat them back, that will give us a breathing spell. "

She paused, glancing swiftly about, listening to the increasing hubbubwithout. 

"There is no other way they can break in except through this door, unless, perhaps, they smash that shutter. Two of us ought to hold themfor some time. "

"But we have only one weapon--that knife is no use. "

"There is a sawed-off shotgun back yonder; go get it, and hunt for somecartridges. They may be in the cupboard--quick now; that's Mendez'svoice, and he'll be savage. "

There was a shouting of commands without in Spanish, punctuated byoaths, the meaning of which the girl alone understood. She leanedforward, her eyes on the door, the cocked revolver held ready. She hadmeant what she said to Cavendish; to her mind death was far preferableto any surrender to that infuriated Mexican; she expected death, butone hope yet buoyed her up--Westcott. Odd that any memory of himshould have come to her at that moment--yet it did; as though he spoke, and bade her believe in his coming. She had thought of him before, often in the past two days, but now he was real, tangible; she couldalmost feel the strong grip of his hand, and hear the sound of hisvoice. It was exactly as though the man called to her, and sheresponded. A dream, or what, it brought her courage, hope. 

He would come; she had faith in that--and he would find she had foughtto the end, even if he came too late. She buried her face in herhands, stifling a sob that shook her body, yet when she lifted the headagain, there was no glimmer of tears in her eyes, and her cheeks werecrimson. She waited motionless, scarcely seeming to breathe--thestatue of a woman at bay. 

All this was but for a moment, a moment of swift thought, of equallyswift decision. The next Cavendish stood beside her, grasping theshotgun, no longer a victim of weakness, his eyes meeting hers eagerly. 

"I could only find twelve cartridges, " he exclaimed, "but I know how touse those. "

He took a step forward, and held out his hand. 

"Forgive me, Miss Donovan, " he pleaded. "Really I do not know whatmakes me like that, but you would make a man out of anybody. "

Her firm, slim fingers met his eagerly, her eyes instantly glowing inappreciation. 

"Of course I forgive you, " she exclaimed. "Your fear is no greaterthan my own. I am a woman, and dread this sort of thing. All thatgives me courage is the knowledge that death is preferable todishonour, " her voice lost its firmness, "and--and my faith in a man. "

"You mean in possible rescue?"

Her eyes lifted to his face. 

"Yes, Mr. Cavendish. It may prove all imagination, yet there is one--areal man, I am sure--who must know of my plight before this. If hedoes, and lives, he will come to me. If we can only defend ourselveslong enough there will be rescue. "

He hesitated, yet something told him this was no time to fear askingall. 

"Surely you are not married? Of course not; then he----"

"Is merely a friend; no, there has been no other word spoken betweenus, yet, " her voice trembling slightly, "there are secrets a womanknows instinctively without speech. I know this man cares--enough tocome. Isn't that strange, Mr. Cavendish, when we have only met threetimes?"

"No, " he said gallantly, "not to any one who has known you. I believeyou might even trust me. Where is this man?"

"In Haskell; but please do not ask any more--there! They are coming. "

A blow struck the outer door, and was repeated, evidently dealt by thebutt of a gun; then the two, standing silent and almost breathlesswithin, heard Mendez's voice. There was no mistaking his slow, carefully chosen English. 

"_Senorita_, and you also, Señor Cavendish, " he called his wordsintended to be conciliatory. "It is of no use that you resist. We aremany and armed. If you surrender, and not fight, I pledge youprotection. "

The girl glanced at Cavendish. 

"You answer him. "

He stepped closer to the door. 

"Protection from whom?" he asked briefly. 

"From my men; I am Pasqual Mendez. "

"But you propose holding us prisoners? You intend delivering us up tothe man Lacy as soon as he arrives?"

"Yes, " he admitted, "but I hold no animosity--none. The _señorita_need not fear. I will intercede for you both with the Senor Lacy, andhe will listen to what I say. You may trust me, if you unbar the door. "

"And if we refuse?"

"We shall break in, and there will be no promise. I ask you now forthe last time. "

Cavendish turned his head slightly to regard his companion. 

"What shall I say?" he whispered. 

"The man lies; he will keep no promise once we are in his power. Besides they have not yet found Cateras. When they do there will be nothought of mercy. "

"Then we fight it out?"

"I shall; I will never give myself into the hands of that creature. "

"Señor, " and Cavendish stepped aside to the protection of the logs, "wewill not surrender. That is our answer. "

"Fools!" he called back, his voice rising harsh above the growling ofothers. "We will show you. Silva, Felipe, quick now; do what I toldyou. We will teach these Americano dogs a lesson. No, stand back!Wait until I speak the word. "'

A faint glimmer of light through one of the log crevices caughtCavendish's attention, and he bent down, his eye to the crack, one handgrasping the barrel of his gun. Stella watched him motionless andsilent, her face again pale from strain. A moment he stared out, without speaking, the only noise the movement of men beyond the logwalls, and the occasional sound of a voice in Spanish. 

"I can count about a dozen out there, " he said finally, his wordsbarely audible, and his eye still at the slight opening. "All Mexicanexcept two--they look American. Most of them are armed. You must havepricked Mendez, for he has one arm in a sling, and the cloth showsbloody. Ah! Wait! The fellows have searched the cells and discoveredCateras. Do you hear that yell? It will be a fight to a finish now. Here come two men with a log--that's their game then; they mean tosmash in the door. "

He straightened up, casting a swift glance about the apartment. Allhesitancy, doubt, had left him, now that the supreme test had come. Hewas again capable of thinking clearly, and acting. 

"Miss Donovan, " he burst out, "we can never hope to hold back those menhere--in this room. There must be fifteen of them, and our ammunitionis scanty. We shall be in bright light as soon as the door is battereddown, and then, if they crush in the window also, we shall surely beattacked from two sides. "

"What will be better?" she asked. 

"The back room; it is dark, with no windows, and there are stripsnailed between the logs. We can force that heavy wooden bed across thedoor, and hide behind it. We ought to hold them there as long as ourcartridges last, unless they set the cabin afire. Good God! They havebegun already. Three more blows like that and the door goes down. Come; it's our only chance. "

It was the work of a moment; it had to be. The inner room was so darkthey had to feel their way about blindly, yet those splintering crasheson the outer door, interspersed by the shouts of the men, spurred bothto hurried effort. Nor was there much to be done. The heavy bed wasthrown upon its side, and hauled and pushed forward until it restedagainst the door jambs, the mattress and blankets so caught and held asto form protection against bullets. Breathless the two sank to theirknees in the darkness behind, their eyes on the brightening daylight ofthe room beyond. Already a hole had been stove through the upper panelof the door, the surrounding wood splintered. Some one fired oncethrough the jagged opening, and an exultant yell followed from without. 

"No firing!" the voice was Mendez's rising sharply above the othersounds. "I don't want the girl shot, you fools. Take that other logaround to the window. They'll surrender fast enough once we're inside. Now, another one. Here, five of you swing her!"

Stella touched Cavendish's sleeve. 

"Show me how to load, please, " she urged feverishly. "I've fired twoshots already. "

His gun rested across the rude barricade, and he left it there, seizingthe revolver from her hand. 

"You have never handled one before?"

"No; not like this. Oh, I see; you press that spring. I can do that. You have the belt with the revolver cartridges--fasten it about mywaist; quick! The door is almost down. "

"Rest your barrel on the edge of the bed, " he muttered, gripping theshotgun again, "and aim at that door. The instant you see one of thosedevils, give it to him. "

With a crash the remaining wood gave way, the end of the log, used as abattering ram, projecting into the room. Over the shattered door, nowheld only by one bent hinge, a half dozen forms swarmed inward, thequick rush blocking their passage. 

Cavendish pulled trigger, the deep boom of his shotgun echoed instantlyby the sharper report of the girl's revolver. She fired twice beforethe swirling smoke obstructed the view, conscious only that one man hadleaped straight into the air, and another had sprawled forward on handsand knees. Cavendish pushed home a fresh cartridge, and the smokecloud lifted just enough to permit them to perceive the fartherdoorway. A Mexican lay curled up in the centre of the floor, his gun adozen feet away; another hung dangling across an over-turned stool, butthe opening was vacant. Just outside, a fellow, wounded, was dragginghimself out of range. 

"Great Scott!" exclaimed Cavendish, excitedly. "Every shot counted. Here, load up quick. They'll try the window next. Get down!"

The warning was not an instant too soon, the hasty volley largelythudding harmlessly into the thick mattress, although a bullet or twosang past and found billets in the logs behind. Cavendish returned thefire, shooting blindly into the smoke, but the girl only lifted herhead, staring intently into the smother, until the cloud floated awaythrough the door. The attackers had again vanished, all semblance ofthem, except those two motionless bodies. 

She had not before been conscious of any feeling; all she had done hadbeen automatic, as though under compulsion; but now she felt strangelysick, and faint. An unutterable horror seized her and her handsgripped the edge of the bed to keep her erect. She could seem to seenothing but the ghastly face of that dead man hanging over the stool, and she closed her eyes. Yet this reaction was only momentary. Shehad fired in defence; in a struggle for the preservation of life andhonour. Under spur of this thought she once more gained control. 

But how still it was! Even the sound of voices had ceased; and outthrough the open door there was no sign of movement. The light seemeddimmer, also, as though the sun had sunk below the opposite cliffs, andnight was slowly descending upon the valley. What could be happeningout there? Were those men planning some new attempt? Or had theydecided it was better to wait for a larger force? The silence anduncertainty were harder to combat than the violence of assault; shestruggled to refrain from screaming. Cavendish never moved, his gunflung forward across the improvised barricade, the very grip of hishand proving the intensity of nervous strain. Something caused him toglance toward her. 

"Looks as though they had enough of it, " he said grimly, "and havedecided to starve us out. "

"Oh, do you think so? I heard a noise then. "

He heard it also, his glance returning instantly to the front, his formstiffening into preparation. For a moment neither could determine themeaning of the sounds. Then he cocked his gun, the sharp click echoingalmost loudly in the stillness. 

"Trying the window this time, " he murmured, "Do you hear that? Beready. "

Nothing happened; even the slight noise in the outer room ceased; therewas not a sound except their own breathing. The two knelt motionless, peering over the edge of the bed into the dim twilight, seeing nothing, each with finger on trigger--tense, expectant. Then, without warning, the flying figure of a man leaped across the doorway into the securityof the opposite wall. It was done so quickly neither fired, butCavendish licked his parched lips with a dry tongue. 

"I'll get the next one who tries that trick, " he muttered, "It will beeasier than partridge shooting. "

A minute--two passed, every nerve on edge; then a second flying form, almost a blur in the gathering gloom, shot across the narrow opening. The shotgun spoke, and the wildly leaping figure seemed to crumble tothe floor--its lower half had reached shelter, but head and shoulderslay exposed, revealing grey hair and a white moustache. Cavendishsprang erect, all caution forgotten. 

"It's Mendez, " he cried. "I got the arch-fiend of them----"

A rifle cracked and he went plunging back, his body striking the girl, and crushing her to the floor beside him. There was no cry, no groanof agony, yet he lay there motionless. She crept across and bent overhim, almost dumb with fear. 

"You--you are shot?" she made herself speak. 

"Yes; they've got me, " the utterance of the words a struggle. "It'shere in the chest; I--I don't know how bad; perhaps if you tear open myshirt, you--you might stop the blood. "

She could see nothing, not even the man's face, yet her fingers rentthe shirt asunder and searched for the wound. It was not bleedinggreatly, and she had no water, but not knowing what else to do, shetore a strip from her skirt and bound it hastily. He never moved, orspoke, and she bent her head closer. The wounded man had lostconsciousness. 

Alone, in the dark, she crept back on her knees to her place behind thebarricade. Her hand touched the empty gun he had dropped, and shereloaded it slowly, only half comprehending its mechanism. Therevolver, every chamber filled, rested on the upturned edge of the bed;her lips were firmly pressed together. Quietly she pushed forward thebarrel of the shotgun, and waited. 

CHAPTER XXIX: A NEEDLE IN A HAYSTACK

The little marshal of Haskell had the reputation of being as quick ofwit as of trigger finger. Startled as he was by that sudden apparitionappearing before them in the dark road, and at being addressed by awoman's voice, the mention of the name Cassady gave him an instantclue. There was but one Cassady in camp, and that individual'sreputation was scarcely of a kind to recommend him in the eyes of thelaw. If any woman sought that fellow in this out-of-the-way spot, itwas surely for no good purpose. Brennan caught his breath, thesethoughts flashing through his brain. He leaned forward over his saddlehorn, lowering his voice confidentially, and managing to achieve ahighly meritorious brogue. 

"Sure, Oi'm Cassady, " he admitted grouchily. "How iver come yer terguess thot?"

"I was sent here to meet you, " she explained hurriedly, as though eagerto have her task done. "I thought maybe it wasn't you, with anotherman along. Who is he?"

"His noime's Crowley; just a friend o' moine; mebbe yer know the lad?"

"No; certainly not. Does he go along with you?"

"Fer only a bit o' ther way"; he lowered his voice to even greaterintimacy. "Shure, it's a parfectly still tongue the b'y has in thecheek o' him. "

She laughed nervously. 

"Well, I'm glad of that; and we'll not stand here discussing thematter. Do you know who I am?"

"Divil a thought have Oi. "

"You were expecting to meet Mr. Enright, weren't you? That was whatBill Lacy told you. He was to explain to you just what you were to do. "

Brennan mumbled something indistinctly, now thoroughly aroused to thesituation. 

"Well, Mr. Enright couldn't come, and Lacy is over across the creekyet, hunting down Ned Beaton's murderer. I am Miss La Rue, " shehurried on, almost breathlessly, "and I've brought you Lacy's note, which you are to give to that Mexican--Pasqual Mendez. You understand?You are to give it to him, and no one else. Lacy said you could killyour horse, if necessary, but the note must be there by daylightto-morrow. Here--take it. "

Brennan thrust it into an inner pocket, and cleared his throat. Therewas no small risk in asking questions, yet, unless he learned more, this information might prove utterly useless. The note to Mendez meantlittle until he discovered where that bandit was to be found. He felthis flesh prickle in the intensity of his suppressed excitement. 

"Shure now, miss, " he said insinuatingly. "Mr. Lacy must hev' sintmore insthructions 'long with ye then them. All ther word thet ivercome ter me wus ter saddle oop, ride down here an' mate this manEnright. I don't aven know fer shure whar ol' Mendez is--likely 'noughhe be in Mexico. "

"In Mexico!" indignantly. "Of course not. Lacy said you knew thetrail. It's a place they call 'Sunken Valley'--out there somewhere, "and Brennan could barely distinguish the movement of her armdesert-ward. "It's across that sand flat. "

"Shoshone?"

"Yes; I couldn't remember the name. That's all I know about it, onlyLacy said you'd been there before. "

"Shure, miss, " assured the marshal softly, clearly realising that hehad already gone the limit, and that any further questioning must leadinevitably to trouble. "If it is Sunken Valley I'm ter ride ter, thet's aisy. "

"Then it's good night. "

She vanished up the side-trail, as though the wind had blown away ashadow. Except for the slight rustling of dried leaves under her feet, the two men, staring blindly through the darkness, could not have toldthe direction in which she had gone. Then all was silence, the mysteryof night. Brennan gathered up his reins, straightening his body in thesaddle. He glanced back toward the dim shade of his companion, chuckling. 

"Some bit of luck that, Jim. "

"Doesn't seem to me we know much more than we did before, " Westcottanswered gloomily. "Only that this chap Mendez is at a place calledSunken Valley. I never heard of it; did you?"

"No; I reckon it's no spot the law has ever had any use for. I'vesupposed all along them Mexican cattle thieves had a hidden corralsomewhar in this country; but nobody has ever found it yet. Right now, thanks to this Miss La Rue, I've got a hunch that we're goin' to makethe discovery, and put Bill Lacy and ol' Mendez out of business. Butthere's no sense of our gassin' here. We got a right smart bit o'ridin' to do afore daylight. "

They advanced cautiously as far as the bridge, but at that pointBrennan turned his pony's head southward, and spurred the reluctantanimal up the steep bank. Without question Westcott followed, and thetwo horses broke into a trot as soon as they attained the more levelland beyond. They were slightly above the town now, and could gazeback at the glittering lights in the valley below. The sound of men'svoices failed to reach them over the soft pounding of the ponies' hoofson the prairie sod, but suddenly the distant crackling of a half dozenshots pierced the silence, and their eyes caught the sparkle of thedischarges, winking like fireflies in the night. Before they coulddraw up their mounts, the fusillade had ended, and all beneath them wasunbroken gloom. 

"Must be rushing the rock, " commented Westcott. 

"More likely saw something and blazed away at it, just as they did atthat log, " and Brennan laughed. "Anyhow they haven't discovered wehave vanished yet. With an hour more we'll be where trails areunknown. "

"In the desert?"

"That is the only safe hiding place around here. Besides we'recarrying a message to Mendez. "

"Without the slightest knowledge of where that party is. "

"Well, hardly that, Jim. I may not know exactly, but I've got aglimmer of a notion about where the cuss hangs out, an' I'm going tohave a hunt for it. There's five thousand dollars posted down inArizona for that fellow, dead or alive; an' I need the money. Besides, I reckon this yere Miss Donovan, an' yer ol' partner--what's hisname?--sure, Cavendish--will be mighty glad to see us. You're game fora try, ain't yer?"

"I shall never stop until I do find them, Dan, " said the otherearnestly, the very tone of his voice carrying conviction. "Every centof reward is yours; it will be satisfaction enough for me to know thosetwo are safe. "

"That's how I figured it. Now let's trot on; we ain't gaining nothingby sittin' our saddles here. We can talk while we travel. "

There was a few moments of silence, both men evidently busied withtheir thoughts; then Westcott asked:

"What is your idea, Dan?"

The marshal rode steadily, humped up over his saddle-horn, his eyes onthe uncertainties in front. 

"I ain't really got none, " he admitted doggedly, "less it be a blindtrust in Divine Providence; still I got a medium strong grip on a fewthings. That Capley girl told you that Matt Moore drove out on theridge road?"

"Yes; I asked her about that twice. "

"Well, he likely was headed for this yere Sunken Valley. That's pointnumber one. But he never followed the ridge road very far, for itskirts the desert. He must have turned off south--but where?"

"Near the lone cottonwood is my guess. "

"Why?"

"Because there is a swale there of hard sand, which is easily followed, and leaves no trail. On either side for miles the sand is in drifts, and no two horses would ever pull a wagon through it. This hard ridge, which is more rock than sand, goes straight south to Badger Springs, the only place to get water. I was there once, three years ago. "

"You've hit it, old man, " exclaimed the other confidently. "That'sexactly how I had it doped out. He'd have to use that swale, or go tenmiles farther east. I never was at Badger myself, but I've travelledthat ridge road some, with my eyes open. Then, I take it, that ourcourse is already laid out pretty straight as far as them springs. Beyond there the general lay of the land may help us, and I aim toreach that point along about daylight. Accordin' to Miss La Rue--she'sthat blond female I seen at the hotel, ain't she--Cassady was expectedto reach this place where Mendez is about dawn, if he had to kill hishoss to do it. That would mean some considerable of a ride, I reckon. "

"And yet, " put in Westcott, with increasing interest, "would seemnaturally to limit the spot to within a radius of ten miles from BadgerSprings. "

"Likely enough--yes; either south, southeast, or southwest; what sorto' country is it?"

"Absolutely barren; a desolate waste as far as the eye can see, exceptthat range of mountains away to the south, fifty miles or more off. Itwould be a dead level, except for the sand-hills; that's all the memoryI've got of it. "

"Well, thar's allers some landmark to a trail, an' I used ter be apretty fair tracker. Speed yer hoss up a bit, Jim; we've got to ridefaster than this. "

"How about the note she gave you?"

"We'll wait a while to read that. I don't want to strike no light justyet. Maybe it had best be kept till daybreak. "

The men rode steadily, and mostly in silence, a large part of the wayside by side. The animals they bestrode were fairly mated, quitecapable of maintaining their gait for several hours, and needing littleurging. The night air was cool, and a rather stiff breeze swept overthe wide extent of desert, occasionally hurling spits of loosened sandinto their faces, and causing them to ride with lowered heads. Thenight gloom enveloped them completely; their strained eyes werescarcely able to trace the dim outlines of the ridge road, but thehorses were desert broke, and held closely to the beaten track, Beforethey arrived at the lone cottonwood, Westcott's pony, which carried byfar the heavier load, began to show signs of fatigue. They drew uphere, and the marshal dismounted, searching about blindly in thedarkness. 

"Too damn dark, " he said, coming back, and catching up his rein. "Acat couldn't find anything there; but there's firm sand. Wait aminute; I've got a pocket compass. "

He struck a match, sheltering the sputtering blaze with one hand. Thelight illuminated his face for an instant, and then went out, leavingthe night blacker than before. 

"That's south, " he announced, snapping the compass-case shut, "and thisblame wind is southeast; that ought to keep us fairly straight. "

"The ponies will do that; they'll keep where the travelling is good. Shift this bag back of your saddle, Dan. You ride lighter, and myhorse is beginning to pant already; that will ease him a few pounds. "

The transfer was made, and the two men rode out into the rear desert, urging their animals forward, trusting largely to their naturalinstinct for guidance. They would follow the hard sand, and beforelong the scent of water would as certainly lead them directly towardthe spring. With reins dangling and bodies crouched to escape theblast of the sharp wind, neither spoke as they plunged through thegloom which circled about them like a black wall. 

Yet it was not long until dawn began to turn the desert grey, graduallyrevealing its forlorn desolation. Westcott lifted his head, and gazedabout with wearied eyes, smarting still from the whipping of thesand-grit. On every side stretched away a scene of utter desolation, unrelieved by either shrub or tree--an apparently endless ocean ofsand, in places levelled by the wind, and elsewhere piled intofantastic heaps. There were no landmarks, nothing on which the mindcould concentrate--just sand, barren, shapeless, ever-changing form, stretching to the far horizons. The breeze slackened somewhat as thesun reddened the east, and the ponies threw up their heads and whinniedslightly, increasing their speed. Westcott saw the marshal arousehimself, straighten in the saddle, and stare about, his eyes still dulland heavy. 

"One hell of a view, Jim, " he said disgustedly, "but I reckon we can'tbe a great ways from that spring. We've been ridin' right smart. "

"It's not far ahead; the ponies sniff water. Did you ever see anythingmore dismal and desolate?"

"Blamed if I see how even a Mex can run cattle through here. "

"They know the trails, and the water-holes--ah! there's a bunch o'green ahead; that'll likely be Badger Springs. "

Assured they were beyond pursuit, the two unsaddled, and turned theponies out to crop the few handfuls of wire grass which the sweet waterbubbling up from a slight depression had coaxed into stunted growth. There was no wood to be had, although they found evidence of severalcamp-fires, and consequently they were obliged to content themselveswith what they could find eatable in their bag. It was hardly asatisfying meal, and their surroundings did not tend toward a joyfulspirit. Except for a few sentences neither spoke, until Brennan, having partially satisfied his appetite, produced the note given him byMiss La Rue, and deliberately slashed open the sealed envelope. 

"In the name of the law, " he said grimly, hauling out the enclosure. "Now we'll see what's the row. Holy smoke! it's in Spanish! Here, Jim, do you read that lingo?"

"I know words here and there, " and Westcott bent over the paper, hisbrows wrinkling. "Let's see, it's not quite clear, but the sense isthat Mendez will be paid a thousand dollars for something--I can't makeout what, only it has to do with prisoners. Lacy says he'll be thereto confer with him some time to-night. "

"Where? At Sunken Valley?"

"The place is not mentioned. "

"Lacy write it?"

"Yes; at least he signed it; there's a message there about cattle, too, but I can't quite make it out. "

"Well, we don't care about that. If Lacy aims to meet Mendez to-night, he ought to be along here soon after nightfall. How'd it do to hide inthese sand-hills, and wait?"

"We can do that, Dan, if we don't hit any trail, " said Westcott, leaning over, his hand on the other's knee, "but if we can get thereearlier, I'd rather not waste time. There's no knowing what a devillike Mendez may do. Let's take a scout around anyhow. "

They started, the one going east, the other west, and made a semicircleuntil they met, a hundred yards or so, south of the spring, havingfound nothing. Again they circled out, ploughing their way through thesand, and all at once Brennan lifted his hand into the air and called. Westcott hurried over to where he stood motionless, staring down at thetrack of a wagon-wheel. It had slid along a slight declivity, and lefta mark so deep as not yet to be obliterated. They traced it for thirtyfeet before it entirely disappeared. 

"Still goin' south, " affirmed the marshal, gazing in that direction. "Don't look like there's nothin' out there, but we might try--what doyou say?"

"I vote we keep moving; that wagon is bound to leave a trail here andthere, and so long as we get the general direction, we can't go farwrong. "

"I reckon you're right. Come on then; let's saddle up. "

It was a blind trail, and progress was slow. The men separated, ridingback and forth, leaning forward in the saddles, scanning the sand forthe slightest sign. Again and again they were encouraged by somediscovery which proved they were on the right track--the clear print ofa horse's hoof; a bit of greasy paper which might have been tied rounda lunch, and thrown away; impresses in the sand which bore resemblanceto a man's footprints; a tin can, newly opened, and an emptiedtobacco-pouch. Twice they encountered an undoubted wheel mark, andonce traces of the whole four wheels were plainly visible. These couldbe followed easily for nearly a quarter of a mile, but then as quicklyvanished as the wagon came again to an outcropping of rock. Yet thiswas assured--the outfit had headed steadily southward. 

This was desperately slow work, and beyond that ridge of rock theydiscovered no other evidence. An hour passed, and not the slightestsign gave encouragement. Could the wagon have turned in some otherdirection? In the shadow of a sand-dune they halted finally to discussthe situation. Should they go on? Or explore further to the east andwest? Might it not even be better to retrace their way to the springs, and wait the coming of Lacy? All in front of them the vast sand plainstretched out, almost as level as a floor. So far as the eye wouldcarry there was no visible sign of any depression or change inconformity. Certainly there was no valley in that direction. Beyondthis dune, in whose shelter they stood, there was nothing on which thegaze could rest; all was utter desolation, apparently endless. 

Brennan was for turning back, arguing the uselessness of going further, and the necessity of water for the ponies. 

"Come on, Jim, " he urged. "Be sensible; we've lost the trail, andthat's no fault o' ours. An Apache Indian couldn't trace a herd o'steers through this sand. And look ahead thar! It's worse, an' moreof it. I'm for stalking Lacy at the springs. " He stopped suddenly, staring southward as though he had seen a vision. "Holy smoke! What'sthat? By God! It's a wagon, Jim; an' it come right up out of theearth. There wasn't no wagon there a second ago. "

CHAPTER XXX: ON THE EDGE OF THE CLIFF

For a moment both men suspected that what they looked upon was amirage--its actual existence there in that place seemed impossible. Yet there was no disputing the fact, that yonder in the very midst ofthat desolation of sand, a wagon drawn by straining horses was slowlymoving directly toward them. Westcott was first to grasp the truth, hastily jerking the marshal back to where the tired ponies stood withdrooping heads behind the protection of the dune. 

"It's the same outfit coming back, " he explained. "The Sunken Valleymust be out there--just a hole in the surface of the desert--and that'show that wagon popped up out of the earth the way it did. I couldn'tbelieve my eyes. "

"Nor me neither, " and the marshal drew one of his guns, and held itdangling in his hand. "I'm a bit flustered yet, but I reckon that'sabout the truth. Get them ponies round a bit more, an' we'll wait andsee what's behind that canvas. "

The distance must have been farther than it seemed, or else thetravelling difficult, for it was some time before the heavy wagon andstraining team drew near enough for the two watchers to determinedefinitely the character of the outfit. Westcott lay outstretched onthe far side of the dune, his hat beside him, and his eyes barely ableto peer over the summit, ready to report observations to the marshalcrouched below. 

"It's Moore's team, all right, " he whispered back, "and Matt is drivingthem. There isn't any one else on the seat, so I guess he must bealone. "

"We can't be sure of that, " returned Brennan, wise in guarding againstsurprises. "There was another fellow with him on the out trip, and hemight be lying down back in the wagon. We'd better both of us hold 'emup. I can hear the creak of the wheels now, so maybe you best slidedown. Is the outfit loaded?"

"Travelling light, I should say, " and Westcott, after one more glance, crept down the sand-heap and joined the waiting man below. Both stoodintent and ready, revolvers drawn, listening. The heavy wheels gratedin the sand, the driver whistling to while away the dreary pull and thehorses breathing heavily. Moore pulled them up with a jerk, as twofigures leaped into view, his whistle coming to an abrupt pause. 

"Hell's fire!" was all he said, staring dumbly down into Brennan's faceover the front wheel. "Where in Sam Hill did you come from?"

"I'm the one to ask questions, son, " returned the little marshal, thevicious blue barrel shining in the sunlight, "and the smarter youanswer, the less reason I shall have to hurt yer. Don't reach for thatgun! Are you travelling alone?"

Moore nodded, his hands up, but still grasping the reins. 

"Then climb down over the wheel. Jim, take a look under that canvas;Moore, here, is generally a genial sort o' liar, and we'd better besure. All right--hey? Then dismount, Matt, and be quick about it. Now unbuckle that belt, and hand the whole outfit over to Westcott;then we'll talk business together. "

He shoved his own weapon back into its holster, and faced the prisoner, who had recovered from his first shock of surprise, and whosepugnacious temper was beginning to assert itself. Brennan read this inthe man's sulky, defiant glance, and his lips smiled grimly. 

"Getting bullish, are you, Matt?" he said, rather softly. "Goin' terkeep a close tongue in your head; so that's the game? Well, Iwouldn't, son, if I was you. Now, see here, Moore, " and the voiceperceptibly hardened, and the marshal's eyes were like flints. "Youknow me, I reckon, an' that I ain't much on boys' play. You neverheard tell o' my hittin' anybody just fer fun, did yer?"

There was no answer. 

"An' yer never heard no one say, " went on Brennan, "that I was afraidter hit when I needed to. I reckon also yer know what sorter man JimWestcott is. Now the two ov us ain't out here in this damned Shoshonedesert fer the fun of it--not by a jugful. Get that fact into yerhead, son, an' maybe it'll bring yer some sense. Do yer get me?"

"Yes, " sullenly and reluctantly. "But yer haven't got nuthin' on me. "

"Oh, haven't I? Well, you shut up like a clam, and find out what I'vegot. You drove a young woman out here from Haskell night afore last, for Bill Lacy. Ain't abduction no crime? An' that's only one count. I've had an eye on you for more'n six months, an' Lacy's been makin' adamn cat's-paw out of you all that time. Well, Lacy is playin' hislast hand right now, an' I've got the cards. " The marshal paused, fully aware that he had struck home, then added quietly: "It allersstruck me, Matt, that naturally you was a pretty decent fellow, but haddrifted in with a bad crowd. I'm offering you now a chance to getstraight again. " He threw back his coat and exhibited his star. "Yersee, I ain't just talkin' ter yer as Dan Brennan--I'm the law. "

The boy, for he was scarcely more than that in years, shuffled his feetuneasily, and his eyes wandered from Brennan to Westcott. The look ofsullen defiance had vanished. 

"Whar is Lacy?" he asked. 

"Back in town, but he will be at Badger Springs about dark. We've gothim corralled this time. Yer better climb inter the band-wagon, son;it's the last call. "

"Wotcher wanter ask?"

"Who was with you the out-trip, along with Miss Donovan?"

"Joe Sikes. "

"And yer left him back there, guarding the girl?"

"He stayed; them was the orders, while I was to bring back the team;but I reckon he won't need to do no guardin' to speak of, fer we runinter a bunch o' fellows. "

"Mendez's outfit?"

"You got the right dope, marshal, so I reckon I ain't spillin' nobeans. It was the Mex all right, an' some o' his bunch. "

"And Lacy didn't know they were there?"

"I reckon not; leastways he never said so, an' they'd only come a fewdays. "

"How many are they?"

"Maybe a dozen; I don't just know. I saw eight, or ten, round thebunk-house, besides ol' Mendez an' that dude lieutenant of his, JuanCateras. I ain't got no use fer that duck; I allers did want ter soakhim. Then ther' was others out with the cow herd. "

"They had a bunch o' cattle?"

"Maybe three hundred head, run in from Arizona. I heard that much, butI don't talk their lingo. "

"What was done with the young lady?"

Moore spat vindictively into the sand, digging a hole with his heel. He had talked already more than he intended, but what was thedifference?

"Cateras took her, " he admitted, "but I don't know whar. I ratherliked that girl; she's got a hell ov a lot o' sand, an' never put up awhimper. I tried ter find out whar she was, but nobody'd tell me. Then I had ter pull out. "

Westcott interjected a question. 

"Did you learn if there was any other prisoner there?"

"Not that I heard of. Who do yer mean?"

"A man named Cavendish. "

"No, I reckon not. " He turned back to the marshal. 

"What are you guys goin' ter do with me?"

"That depends, Matt. When a lad is straight with me, I generally playsquare with him. All this took place in Sunken Valley?"

"Yep; whar'd you hear it called that?"

"Oh, I know more'n some ov you boys think I do. That name's beenfloatin' 'bout fer some time. I've even got the spot located--it'sstraight south thar a ways. But you've been in it, an' I never have. Here's whar you can serve the law, an' so get out of yer own trouble ifyer so minded. It don't make a hell ov a lot o' difference to mewhether yer speak up or not, but it's liable to ter you. What do yersay?"

"Fire away; I reckon I'm up against it anyhow. "

"What's the valley like, an' how do you get into it?"

"Well, I'd say it was just a sort o' sink in the desert, a kinderfreak. Anyhow, I never saw nuthin' like it afore. You'd never know itwas thar a hundred yards away; it kinder scares me sometimes when Icome up to it thro' all this sand. The walls is solid rock, almoststraight up an' down, but thar's a considerable stream flowin' downthar that just bursts out a hole in the rock, an' plenty o' grass ferquite a bunch of steers. "

"How do they get down into it?"

"'Long a windin' trail on the west side. It used to be mighty rough, Ireckon, an' only good fer hikers, but they fixed it up so they candrive cattle down, an' even a wagon if yer take it easy. "

"Mendez fixed it?"

"No; I heerd that Bill Lacy sorter handled that job. The Mex can't donuthin' but steal. "

"Then Lacy is the go-between? He sells the cattle?"

"Sure; I s'posed yer knew that. He ships them east from BoltonJunction, an' pretends they come from his ranch over on Clear Water. The Mexicans drive 'em in that way, an' they're all branded 'fore theyleave the valley. It's a cinch. "

The marshal's eyes brightened; he was gaining the information he mostdesired. 

"And there is no other way to the bottom except along this trail?"

"That's 'bout all. "

"Well, could Jim and I make it--say after dark?"

Moore laughed, the reckless boy in him again uppermost. 

"Mebbe so; but I reckon ye'd be dead when yer got thar. Thar's allerstwo Mexes on guard when Mendez is in the valley. He ain't takin' nochances o' gettin' caught that way. "

"Where are they?"

"Just below the top, whar they kin see out over the desert. Hell, yercouldn't get within half a mile an' not be spotted. It's bull luck yerrun inter me. "

Brennan and Westcott looked at each other, both uncertain as to thenext step. What were they to do with their prisoner? And how couldthey proceed toward effecting the rescue of the helpless girl? It wasa problem not easy to solve, if what Moore told them was true. Thelatter shuffled his feet in the sand, lifted his eyes shrewdly, andstudied the faces of his captors. He was figuring his own chance. 

"You fellows want ter get down inter the valley?" he asked at last. 

"Yes, " and Brennan turned again quickly, "if it can be done. Of coursethar's only two of us, an' it would be sort o' foolish tryin' ter fighta way through, even ag'in' Mexicans. Fifteen ter two is some odds, but'tain't in my nature, or Jim's here, ter turn round an' leave that girlin the hands o' them cusses--is it, Jim?"

"I never will, " replied Westcott earnestly. "Not if I have to tacklethe whole outfit alone. "

"You won't never have to do that. What's the idea, Moore?"

"Oh, I was just thinkin', " he answered, still uncertain. "She's a goodfellow, all right, an' I wouldn't mind givin' her a hand myself, pervidin' you men do the square thing. If I show yer a way, what isthar in it fer me?"

Brennan stiffened, his features expressing nothing. 

"What do yer mean? I'm an officer o' the law?"

"I know it; I ain't asking yer ter make no promise. But yer word willgo a hell ov a ways if this ever gets in court. 

"If I help yer I've got ter be protected frum Bill Lacy. He'd kill meas quick as he'd look at me. Then I'd want yer ter tell the judge howit all happened. If yer got the cards stacked, an' I reckon yer have, I ain't big enough fool to try an' play no hand against 'em. But Iwant ter know what's goin' ter happen ter me. You don't need terpromise nuthin'; only say yer'll give me a show. I know ye're square, Dan Brennan, an' whatever yer say goes. "

The marshal stuck out his hand. 

"That's the gospel truth, Matt, " he said gravely, "an' I'm with yertill the cows come home. What is it you know?"

"Well, " with a quick breath as he took the plunge, "it's like this, marshal; there is just one place out yonder, " and he waved his hand toindicate the direction, "on the east rim o' the valley, where yer mightget down. Ye'd have ter hang on, tooth an' toe-nail; but both of yerare mountain men, an' I reckon yer could make the trip if yer took itcareful an' slow like. Leastwise that's the one chance, an' I don'tbelieve thar's another white critter who even knows thar is such atrail. "

"Have you ever been down?"

"Wunst, an' that was enough fer me, " he confessed, drawling his words. "Yer see it was this a-way. One time I was out there in that hell holeplum' alone fer a whole week, just a waitin' fer Mendez ter show up soI could ride into Haskell and tell Lacy he'd come. It was so damnlonesome I explored every nook an' cranny between them rocks, an' oneday, lyin' out in front o' ther bunk-house, I happened to trace thisol' trail. I got a notion to give it a trial, an' I did that sameafternoon. I got down all right, but it was no place fer a lady, believe me, an' I reckon no white man ever made it afore. "

"It had been used once?"

"There was some signs made me think so; Injuns, I reckon, an' a longwhile ago. "

Westcott asked: "How can we get there safely? Can you guide us?"

Moore swept his eyes over the dull range of sand, expectoratedthoughtfully, and rammed his hands deep into his trouser-pockets. Hewas slow about answering, but the two men waited motionless. 

"If it was me, " he said finally. "I'd take it on foot. It'll be ajaunt ov near on to three miles, unless yer want ter risk bein' seen bythem Mexes on the main trail. You couldn't go straight, but would haveter circle out an' travel mostly behind that ridge o' sand thar to theleft. Goin' that a-way nobody's likely ter get sight o' yer on foot. You couldn't take no hoss, though. Here'd be my plan; lead this yereoutfit o' mine an' your ponies back inter them sand dunes whar nobodyever goes. They're tired 'nough ter stand, an' there ain't anythingfer 'em to graze on. Then we kin hoof it over ter the place I'mtellin' yer about, an' yer kin sorter size it up fer yerselves. That'sfair, ain't it?"

They went at it with a will, glad to have something clearly definedbefore them, Brennan in his slow, efficient way, but Westcott, eagerand hopeful, spurred on by his memory of the girl, whose rescue was thesole object which had brought him there. The team was driven into thesecurity of the sand drifts and unhitched. The saddles were taken fromthe backs of the ponies, and what grain Moore had in the wagon wascarefully apportioned among the four animals. Satisfied these wouldnot stray, the men looked carefully to their supply of ammunition andset forth on their tramp. 

This proved a harder journey than either Brennan or Westcott hadanticipated, for Moore led off briskly, taking a wide circle, until aconsiderable ridge concealed their movements from the south. The sandwas loose, and in places they sank deeply, their feet sliding back andretarding progress. All three were breathing heavily from the exertionwhen, under protection of the ridge, they found better walking. 

Even here, however, the way was treacherous and deceiving, yet theypressed forward steadily, following the twists and turns of the pile ofsand on their right. The distance seemed more than three miles, but atlast Moore turned sharply and plunged into what resembled a narrowravine through the ridge. Here they struggled knee deep in the sand, but finally emerged on the very rim overlooking the valley. 

So perfectly was it concealed they were within ten feet of the edgebefore the men, their heads bent in the strenuous effort to advance, even realised its immediate presence. They halted instantly, awestruck, and startled into silence by the wonder of that sceneoutspread below. Moore grinned as he noted the surprise depicted ontheir faces, and waved his hand. 

"Yer better lie down an' crawl up ter the edge, " he advised. "Somehole, ain't it?"

"I should say so, " and Westcott dropped to his knees. "I never dreamedof such a place. Why it looks like a glimpse into heaven from thissand. Dan, ain't this an eye-opener?"

"It sure is, " and the marshal crept cautiously forward. "Only it'sdevils who've got possession. Look at them cattle up at the furtherend; they don't look no bigger than sheep, but there's quite a bunch of'em. What's that down below, Matt? Houses, by Jingo! Well, don'tthat beat hell?--all the comforts of home. "

"Two big cabins, " explained Moore, rather proud of his knowledge. "Carted the logs in from ol' Baldy, more'n forty miles. One is thebunk-house; the other is whar Mendez stops when the ol' cuss is yere. Creep up a bit an' I'll show yer how the trail runs. Don't be afeerd;nobody kin see yer from down below. "

"All right, son, where is it?"

"It starts at the foot o' that boulder, " indicating with his finger, "an' goes along the shelf clear to the end; then thar's a drop ov maybefive feet to that outcroppin' o' rock just below. It's wider than itlooks to be from yere. After that yer can trace it quite a spell withyer eyes, kinder sidlin' ter the left, till yer come to that dead rootov a cedar. Then thar's a gap or two that ain't over easy, an' a slidedown ter another shelf. Yer can't miss it, cause there's no other wayter go. "

"And what's at the bottom?"

"Them huts, an' the mouth of a damn big cave just behind 'em. I reckonit's in the cave they've got the gal; there's places there they kinshut up, but I don't know what they was ever made fer. I asked Lacywunst, but he only laughed. "

The two men lay flat, staring down. It was almost a sheer wall, andthe very thought of climbing along the almost impassable path pointedout by Moore made Westcott dizzy. He had clambered along the raggedcrags of many a mountain in search for gold, but the necessity offinding blindly in the dark that obscure and perilous passage broughtwith it a sensation of horror which he had to fight in order toconquer. It was such a sheer, precipitous drop, a path--if path itcould be called--so thickly studded with danger the mind actuallyrecoiled in contemplation. 

"You have really been down there, Moore?" he questioned, halfunbelieving. 

"Oh, I made it all right, " boastfully. "But it's no picnic. I'd hatelike hell to risk it at night, but that's the only chance you fellowswill have to git down. It would be like trap-shootin' for them Mexesif you tried it now. "

They lay there for some time talking to each other, and staring down atthe strange scene so far beneath them, and which appeared almost like apainted picture within its dark frame of towering rocks and wideexpanse of sand. Except for the rather restless herd of cattle therewas little movement perceptible--a herder or two could be distinguishedriding here and there on some duty; there was a small horse corral ashort distance to their right, with something like a dozen poniesconfined within, and a bunch of saddles piled outside the fence. Oncea man came out of the bunk-house and went down to the stream for abucket of water, returning leisurely. He wore the braided jacket andhigh, wide-brimmed hat of the Mexican peon, and spurs glittered on hisboot-heels. Beyond this the cabins below gave no sign of occupancy. Moore pointed out to them the main trail leading across the valley andwinding up along the front of the opposite wall. They could trace it alarge part of the way, but it disappeared entirely as it approached thesummit. 

The three men, wearied with looking, and knowing there was nothing moreto do, except wait for night, crept back into the sand hollow andnibbled away at the few eatables brought with them in their pockets. Brennan alone seemed cheerful and talkative--Moore had liberallydivided with him his stock of chewing-tobacco. 

CHAPTER XXXI: WITH FORCE OF ARMS

They were still sitting there cross-legged in the sand when the silencewas suddenly punctuated by the sharp report of a revolver. The soundbarely reached their ears, yet it undoubtedly came from below, and allthree were upon their feet, when a second shot decided the matter. 

Westcott was first at the rim, staring eagerly downward. It wasgrowing dusk down there in the depths, yet was still light enough toenable him to perceive movement, and the outlines of the cabins. For amoment all he noticed was a man lying on the ground in front of thesmall hut, but almost immediately men began to swarm out through thedoor of the bunk-house, and a horseman came spurring from the fieldbeyond. 

The men were armed, several with guns in their hands; all withrevolvers buckled at the waist, and they bunched there, just outsidethe door, evidently startled, but not knowing which way to turn. Thefigure on the ground lifted itself partly, and the fellow must havecalled to the others, although no sound of a voice attained the summitof the cliff, for the whole gang rushed in that direction, andclustered about, gesticulating excitedly. 

An occasional Spanish oath exploded from the mass with sufficientvehemence to reach the strained ears above, and the watchers were ableto perceive the fellows lift the fallen man to his feet, and untie hishands, which were apparently secured behind his back. He must havebeen wounded also, for one sleeve was hastily rolled up, and waterbrought from the stream, in which it was bathed. Not until this hadbeen attended to did the crowd fall away, sufficiently to permit thefellow himself to be distinctly seen. Moore's hand closed convulsivelyon the marshal's arm. 

"It's ol' Mendez, as I'm a livin' sinner, ", he announced hoarsely. "An' somebody's plunked him. What'd yer make o' that?"

Brennan never removed his gaze from the scene below, but his face wastense with interest. 

"Blamed if I know; might be a mere row--hold on, there! Whoever did itis in that cabin; watch what they're up to, now. "

The three hung there scanning every movement of those below, toointently interested to talk, yet unable for some time to determineclearly what was impending. Occasionally the sound of a voice reachedthem, shouting orders in Spanish, and men came and went in obedience tothe commands. More guns were brought forth from the bunk-house, anddistributed; the single horseman rode swiftly up the valley, and ahalf-dozen of the fellows lugged a heavy timber up from the corral, anddropped it on the ground in front of the smaller cabin. Mendez, hisarm in a sling, passed from group to group, profanely busy, snappingout orders. 

"They are going to break in the door with that log!" muttered Westcottbetween his clenched teeth. "That white-head down there is boilingwith rage, and whoever the poor devil, or devils, may be, they'll haveto fight. "

"Yes, but who are they?" and Brennan sat up. "The whole gang must beoutside there; I counted fourteen. Then, did you notice? Mendez hadhis hands bound behind his back. He couldn't even get up until thosefellows untied him. That's what puzzles me. "

"It would take more than one to do that job. Maybe we'll find outnow--he's pounding with a revolver butt on the front door. "

They listened breathlessly, hanging recklessly over the rim of thechasm, and staring at that strange scene below, but the man's wordsonly reached them broken and detached. They got enough, however, torealise that he demanded the unbarring of the door, and that he boththreatened and promised protection to whoever was within. It was thelanguage he employed that aroused Westcott. 

"Did you hear that?" he asked shortly. "The man spoke English. Whoever's in there doesn't understand Spanish. Were any Americans downthere when you left, Moore?"

"Joe Sikes, and a fellow they call 'Shorty, ' but they're both outside;that was Joe who bound up ol' Mendez's arm, an' Shorty was helpin'bring up the log. "

The eyes of Brennan and Westcott met understandingly. 

"Yer don't suppose that girl----"

"Aye, but I do, " and Westcott's voice proved his conviction. "There'snothing too nervy for her to tackle if it needed to be done. But shenever could have corralled Mendez alone. "

"Then there must be another along with her--that fellow yer told meabout likely. "

"Fred Cavendish! By Jove, it would be like him. Say, boys, I'm goingdown and take a hand in this game. "

The marshal gripped him. 

"Not yet, Jim! It ain't dark enough. Wait a bit more an' I'm withyer, old man. It'll be blacker than hell down there in fifteenminutes, an' then we'll have some chance. They'd pot us now sure aforewe got as far as that cedar. What is the gang up to now, Matt?"

"They're a goin' ter bust in the door, " and Moore craned his headfarther out over the edge in eagerness to see. "I reckon they didn'tgit no answer that pleased 'em. See ol' Mendez hoppin' about! Lord!he's mad 'nough to eat nails. Thar comes the log--say, they hit thatsome thump; thar ain't no wood that's goin' ter stand agin them blowslong. Do yer hear?"

They did; the dull reverberation as the log butt crashed against theclosed door was plainly audible. Once, twice, three times it struck, giving forth at last the sharper crackling of splintered wood. Theycould see little now distinctly--only the dim outlines of the men'sfigures, Mendez shouting and gesticulating, the fellows grasping therough battering-ram, a group of others on either side the door, evidently gathered for a rush the moment the latter gave way. 

"My God!" cried Westcott, struggling to restrain himself. "Suppose Itake a crack at them!"

Brennan caught the hand tugging at the half-drawn revolver. 

"Are you mad, man? You couldn't even hit the house at that distance. Holy smoke! There she goes!"

The door crashed in; there was a fusillade of shots, the spits of firecleaving the dusk, and throwing the figures of the men into sudden boldrelief. The log wielders sprang aside, and the others leaped forward, yelling wildly and plunging in through the broken doorway. An instantlater three muffled reports rang out from the interior--one deep andbooming, the others sharper, more resonant--and the invaders tumbledbackward into the open, seeking shelter. Westcott was erect, Brennanon hands and knees. 

"Damn me!" ejaculated the latter, his excitement conquering restraint. "Whoever they are, Jim, they're givin' ol' Mendez his belly full. Didyer hear them shots? There's sure two of 'em in thar--one's got ashotgun an' the other a revolver. I'll bet yer they punctuated some o'those lads. Lord! They come out like rats. "

Westcott's teeth gripped. 

"I'm going down, " he said grimly, "if I have to go alone. "

Brennan scrambled to his feet. 

"Just a second, Jim, an' I'm with yer. Moore, get up yere. Now, whatdo yer say? Can we count you in on this shindig?"

"Go down thar with yer?"

"Sure! Y're a man, ain't yer? If yer say y're game, I'll playsquare--otherwise we'll see to your case afore we start. I don't leaveyer up yere to play no tricks--now which is it?"

Moore stared over the edge into the black depths. 

"Yer want me to show you the way?"

"Yer say you've made the trip wunst. If yer have, yer kin do it again. I'm askin' yer fer the last time. "

The boy shivered, but his jaw set. 

"I don't give a damn fer you, Dan Brennan, " he returned half angrily, "but I reckon that might be the girl down thar, an' I'll risk it ferher. "

"You'll go then?"

"Sure; didn't I just tell you so?"

Brennan wheeled about. 

"Give him his gun, Jim, and the belt, " he commanded briefly. "I don'tsend no man into a fracas like this unless he's heeled. Leave yercoats here, an' take it slow. Both of yer ready?"

Not until his dying day will Westcott ever forget the moment he hungdangling over the edge of that pit, following Moore who haddisappeared, and felt gingerly in the darkness for the narrow rockledge below. The young miner possessed imagination, and could notdrive from memory the mental picture of those depths beneath; thehorror was like a nightmare, and yet the one dominant thought was notof an awful death, of falling headlong, to be crushed shapelesshundreds of feet below. This dread was there, an intense agony atfirst, but beyond it arose the more important thought of what wouldbecome of her if he failed to attain the bottom of that cliff alive. Yet this was the very thing which steadied him, and brought back hiscourage. 

At best they could only creep, feeling a way blindly from crag to crag, clinging desperately to every projection, never venturing even theslightest movement until either hand or loot found solid support. Moore led, his boyish recklessness and knowledge of the way, giving himan advantage. Westcott followed, keeping as close as possible, endeavouring to shape his own efforts in accordance with the dimlyoutlined form below; while Brennan, short-legged and stout, probablyhad the hardest task of all in bringing up the rear. 

No one spoke, except as occasionally Moore sent back a brief whisper ofwarning at some spot of unusual danger, but they could hear eachother's laboured breathing, the brushing of their clothing against thesurface of the rock, the scraping of their feet, and occasionally thefaint tinkle of a small stone, dislodged by their passage and strikingfar below. There was nothing but intense blackness down there--ahideous chasm of death clutching at them; the houses, the men, thewhole valley was completely swallowed in the night. 

Above it all they clung to the almost smooth face of the cliff, gripping for support at every crevice, the rock under them barely wideenough to yield purchase to their feet. Twice Westcott had to let goentirely, trusting to a ledge below to stop his fail; once he travelleda yard, or more, dangling on his hands over the abyss, his feet feelingfor the support beyond; and several times he paused to assist theshorter-legged marshal down to a lower level. Their progress was thatof the snail, yet every inch of the way they played with death. 

Now and then voices shouted out of the gloom beneath them, and theyhung motionless to listen. The speech was Spanish garnished withoaths, its meaning not altogether clear. They could distinguishMendez's harsh croak easily among the others. 

"What's he saying, Moore?" whispered Westcott to the black shape justbelow. 

"Something 'bout the log. I don't just make it, but I reckon they aimnow to batter in the winder. "

"Well, go on, " passed down the marshal gruffly. "What in Sam Hill areyer holdin' us up yere for? I ain't got more'n two inches ter standon. "

Fifty feet below, just as Moore rounded the dead cedar, the guns beganagain, the spits of red flame lighting up the outlines of the cabin, and the dark figures of men. It was as though they looked down intothe pit, watching the brewing of some sport of demons--the movementsbelow them weird, grotesque--rendered horrible by those sudden glaresof light. This firing was all from without, and was unanswered; noboom of shotgun replied, no muffled crack of revolver. Yet it musthave been for a purpose, for the men crouching against the cliff, theirfaces showing ghastly in the flashes of powder, were able to perceive amassing of figures below. Then the shots ceased, and the butt of thegreat log crashed against something with the force of a catapult, and ayell rolled up through the night. 

At last Moore stopped, and waited until Westcott was near enough forhim to whisper in the other's ear. 

"There's a drop yere, 'bout ten er twelve feet, I reckon; an' then justa slope to ther bottom. Don't make no more noise then yer have to, an'give me a chance ter git out of ther way afore yer let go. "

Westcott passed the word back across his shoulder to Brennan who waspanting heavily, and, watched, as best he could on hands and knees, while Moore lowered himself at arm's length over the narrow rock ledge. The boy loosened his grip, but landed almost noiselessly. Westcott, peering over, could see nothing; there was beneath only impenetrableblackness. Silently he also dropped and his feet struck earth, slopingrapidly downward. Hardly had he advanced a yard, when the littlemarshal struck the dirt, with a force that made him grunt audibly. Atthe foot of this pile of debris, Moore waited for them, the night sodark down there in the depths, Westcott's outstretched hand touched thefellow before he was assured of his presence. 

The Mexicans were still; whatever deviltry they were up to, it wasbeing carried on now in silence; the only sound was a muffled scraping. Brennan yet struggled for breath, but was eager for action. He shovedhis head forward, listening. 

"What do yer make o' that noise?" he asked, his words scarcely audible. 

"I heerd it afore yer come up, " returned Moore. "'Tain't nuthin'regular. I figure the Mex are goin' in through that winder theybusted. That sound's their boots scaling the wall. "

"Ever been inside?"

"Wunst, ter take some papers ter Lacy. "

"Well, what's it like? For God's sake speak up--there's goin' ter behell to pay in a minute. "

"Thar's two rooms; ther outside door an' winder are in the front one, which is the biggest. The other is whar Mendez sleeps, an' thar's adoor between 'em. "

"No windows in the rear room?"

"None I ever see. "

"And just the one door; what sort o' partition?"

"Just plain log, I reckon. "

"That's all right, Jim, " and Westcott felt the marshal's fingers grasphis arm. "I got it sized up proper. Whoever them folks be, they'vebarricaded inter that back room. Likely they've got a dead range onthe front door, an' them Mexes have had all they want tryin' to get to'em in that way. So now they're crawlin' in through the window. There'll be some hellabaloo in there presently to my notion, an' I wantter be thar ter see the curtain go up. Wharabouts are we, Matt?"

"Back o' the bunk-house. Whar do yer want ter go? I kin travel 'roundyere with my eyes shut. "

"The front o' Mendez's cabin, " said the marshal shortly. "Better takethe other side; if that door is down we'll take those fellows in therear afore they know what's happening. " He chuckled grimly. "We'vesure played in luck so far, boys; go easy now, and draw yer guns. "

They were half-way along the side wall when the firing began--but itwas not the Mexicans this time who began it. The shotgun barked; therewas the sound of a falling body; two revolver shots and then the sharpping of a Winchester. Brennan leaped past the boy ahead, and roundedthe corner. A Mexican stood directly in front of the shattered doorpeering in, a rifle yet smoking in his hands. With one swift blow of arevolver butt the marshal dropped him in his tracks, the fellow rollingoff the steps onto the ground. With outstretched hands he stopped theothers, holding them back out of any possible view from within. 

"Quick now, before that bunch inside gets wise to what's up. We've got'em cornered. You, Matt, strip the jacket off that Mex, an' get hishat; bunch 'em up together, and set a match to 'em. That's the stuff!Now, the minute they blaze throw 'em in through that doorway. Come on, Westcott, be ready to jump. "

The hat was straw, and the bundle of blazing material landed almost inthe centre of the floor, lighting up the whole interior. Almost beforeit struck, the three men, revolvers gleaming in their hands, had leapedacross the shattered door, and confronted the startled band huddled inone corner. Brennan wasted no time, his eyes sweeping over the arrayof faces, revealed by the blaze of fire on the floor. 

"Hands up, my beauties--every mother's son of yer. Yes, I mean you, yer human catapiller. Don't waste any time about it; I'm the callerfer this dance. Put 'em up higher, less yer want ter commit suicide. Now drop them rifles on the floor--gently, friends, gently. Matt, frisk 'em and see what other weapons they carry. Ever see nicer buncho' lambs, Jim?" His lips smiling, but with an ugly look to hisgleaming teeth, and steady eyes. "Why they'd eat outer yer hand. Which one of yer is Mendez?"

"He dead, _señor_, " one fellow managed to answer in broken English. "That heem lie dar. "

"Well, that's some comfort, " but without glancing about. "Now kick theguns over this way, Matt, and touch a match to the lamp on that shelfyonder; and, Jim, perhaps you better stamp out the fire; we'll not needit any more. Great Scott! What's this?"

It was Miss Donovan, her dress torn, her hair dishevelled, a revolverstill clasped in her hand, half levelled as though she yet doubted herrealisation of what had occurred. She emerged from the blackness ofthe rear room, advanced a step and stood there hesitating, herwide-open eyes gazing about in bewilderment on the strange scenerevealed by the glow of the lamp. That searching, pathetic glanceswept from face to face about the motionless circle--the cowed Mexicanprisoners with uplifted hands backed against the wall; the three deadbodies huddled on the floor; Moore, with the slowly expiring match yetsmoking in his fingers; the little marshal, erect, a revolver poised ineither hand, his face set and stern. Then she saw Westcott, and herwhole expression changed. An instant their eyes met; then the revolverfell to the floor unnoticed, and the girl sprang toward him, both handsoutstretched. 

"You!" she cried, utterly giving way, forgetful of all else except thesense of relief the recognition brought her. "You! Oh! Now I know itis all right! I was so sure you would come. "

He caught the extended hands eagerly, drawing her close, and lookingstraight down into the depths of her uplifted eyes. To him, at thatmoment, there was no one else in the room, no one else in the wide, wide world. 

"You knew I would come?" he echoed. "You believed that much in me?"

"Yes; I have never had a doubt. I told him so; that if we could onlyhold out long enough we would be saved. But, " her lips quivered, andthere were tears glistening in the uplifted eyes, "you came too latefor him. "

"For him? The man who was with you, you mean? Has he been shot?"

She bent her head, the lips refusing to answer. 

"Who was he?"

"Mr. Cavendish--oh!"

It was a cry of complete reaction; the room reeled about her and shewould have fallen headlong had not Westcott clasped the slender formclosely in his arms. An instant he stood there gazing down into herface. Then he turned toward Brennan. 

"Leave us alone, Dan, " he said simply. "Get that gang of blacklegs outof here. "

CHAPTER XXXII: IN THE TWO CABINS

The marshal's lips smiled. 

"Sure, Jim, " he drawled, "anything to oblige, although this is a newone on me. Come on, Matt; it seems the gentleman does not wish to bedisturbed---- Well, neither would I under such circumstances. Hereyou! line up there in single file, and get a move on you--pronto! Show'em what I mean, Matt; put that guy that talks English at the head----Yes, he's the one. Now look here, _amigo_, you march straight outthrough that door, and head for the bunk-house--do you get that?"

"_Si, señor_; I savvy!"

"Well, you better; tell those fellows that if one of 'em makes a breakhe's goin' ter be a dead Mex--will yer? Get to the other side of them, Matt; now step ahead--not too fast. "

Westcott watched the procession file out, still clasping the partiallyunconscious girl in his arms. Moore, bringing up the rear, disappearedthrough the entrance, and vanished into the night without. Except forthe three motionless bodies, they were alone. The lamp on the highshelf flared fitfully in the wind, and the charred embers on the floorexhibited a glowing spark of colour. From a distance Brennan's voicegrowled out a gruff order to his line of prisoners. Then all wasstill. The eyes of the girl opened slowly, her lids trembling, but asthey rested on Westcott's face, she smiled. 

"You are glad I came?"

"Glad! Why I never really knew what gladness meant before. "

He bent lower, his heart pounding fiercely, strange words strugglingfor utterance. 

"You love me?"

She looked at him, all the fervent Irish soul of her in her eyes. Thenone arm stole upward to his shoulder. 

"As you love me, " she whispered softly, "as you love me!"

"I can ask no more, sweetheart, " he breathed soberly, and kissed her. At last she drew back, still restrained by his arms, but with her eyessuddenly grave and thoughtful. 

"We forget, " she chided, "where we are. You must let me go now, andsee if he is alive. I will wait on the bench, here. "

"But you said he had been killed. "

"I do not know; there was no time for me to be sure of that. The shotstruck him here in the chest, and when he fell he knocked me down. Itore open his shirt, and bound up the wound hastily; it did not bleedmuch. He never spoke after that, and lay perfectly still. "

"Poor old Fred. I'll do what I can for him--I'll not be away a minute, dear. "

He could see little from the doorway, only the dark shadow of a man'sform lying full length on the floor. To enter he pushed aside theuptilted bed, picking up the shotgun, and setting it against the logwall. Then he took the lamp down from the shelf, and held it so thefeeble light fell upon the upturned face. He stared down at thefeatures thus revealed, unable for the moment to find expression forhis bewilderment. 

"Can you come here, dear?" he called. 

She stood beside him, gazing from his face into those features on whichthe rays of the lamp fell. 

"What is it?" she questioned breathlessly. "Is he dead?"

"I do not know; but that man is not Cavendish. "

"Not Cavendish! Why he told me that was his name; he even describedbeing thrown from the back platform of a train by that Ned Beaton; whocan he be, then?"

"That is more than I can guess; only he is not Fred Cavendish. Willyou hold the lamp until I learn if he is alive?"

She took it in trembling hands, supporting herself against the wall, while he crossed the room, and knelt beside the motionless figure. Acareful examination revealed the man's wound to be painful though notparticularly serious, Westcott carefully redressed the wound as best hecould, then with one hand he lifted the man's head and the motioncaused the eyelids to flutter. Slowly the eyes opened, and stared upinto the face bending over him. The wounded man breathed heavily, thedull stare in his eyes changing to a look of bewildered intelligence. 

"Where am I?" he asked thickly. "Oh, yes, I remember; I was shot. Whoare you?"

"I am Jim Westcott; do you remember me?"

The searching eyes evidenced no sense of recollection. 

"No, " he said, struggling to make the words clear. "I never heard thatname before. "

Miss Donovan came forward, the lamp in her hand, the light shining fullin her face. 

"But you told me you were Mr. Cavendish, " she exclaimed, "and Mr. Westcott was an old friend of his--surely you must remember?"

He looked up at her, and endeavoured to smile, yet for the moment didnot answer. He seemed fascinated by the picture she made, as thoughsome vision had suddenly appeared before him. 

"I--I remember you, " he said at last. "You--you are Miss Donovan; I'llnever forget you; but I never saw this man before--I'm sure of that. "

"And I am equally convinced as to the truth of that remark, " returnedWestcott, "but why did you call yourself Cavendish?"

"Because that is my name--why shouldn't I?"

"Why, see here, man, " and Westcott's voice no longer concealed hisindignation, "you no more resemble Fred Cavendish than I do; there isnot a feature in common between you. "

"Fred Cavendish?"

"Certainly; of New York; who do you think we were talking about?"

"I've had no chance to think; you jump on me here, and insist I'm aliar, without even explaining what the trouble is all about. I claimmy name is Cavendish, and it is; but I've never once said I was FredCavendish of New York. If you must know, I am Ferdinand Cavendish ofLos Angeles. "

Westcott permitted the man's head to rest back on the floor, and hearose to his feet. He felt dazed, stunned, as though stricken a suddenblow. His gaze wandered from the startled face of the motionless girlto the figure of the man outstretched on the floor at his feet. 

"Good God!" he exclaimed. "What can all this mean? You came from NewYork City?"

"Yes; I had been there a month attending to some business. "

"And when you left for the coast, you took the midnight train on theNew York Central?"

"Yes. I had intended taking an earlier one, but was delayed. "

"You bought return tickets at the station?"

"No; I had return tickets; they had to be validated. "

"Then your name was signed to them; what is your usual signature?"

"F. Cavendish. "

"I thought so. Stella, this has all been a strange blunder, but it isperfectly clear how it happened. That man Beaton evidently had neverseen Frederick Cavendish. He was simply informed that he would leaveNew York on that train. He met this Cavendish on board, perhaps evensaw his signature on the ticket, and cultivated his acquaintance. Thefellow never doubted but what he had the right man. "

The wounded man managed to lift himself upon one elbow. 

"What's that?" he asked anxiously. "You think he knocked me overboard, believing I was some one else? That all this has happened on accountof my name?"

"No doubt of it. You have been the victim of mistaken identity. Sohave we, for the matter of that. "

He paused suddenly, overwhelmed by a swift thought. "But what aboutFred?" he asked breathless. 

Stella's hand touched his arm. 

"He--he must have been the dead man in the Waldron Apartments, " shefaltered. "There is no other theory possible now. "

The marshal of Haskell came out of the bunk-house, and closed the doorcarefully behind him. He was rather proud of his night's work, andfelt quite confident that the disarmed Mexicans locked within thosestrong log walls, and guarded by Moore, with a loaded rifle across hisknee, would remain quiet until daylight. The valley before him wasblack and silent. A blaze of light shone out through the broken doorand window of the smaller cabin, and he chuckled at remembrance of thelast scene he had witnessed there--the fainting girl lying inWestcott's arms. Naturally, and ordinarily, Mr. Brennan wasconsiderable of a cynic, but just now he felt in a far more genial andsympathetic mood. 

"Jim's some man, " he confided to himself, unconsciously speaking aloud. "An' the girl's a nervy little thing--almighty good lookin', too. Ireckon it'll cost me a month's salary fer a weddin' present, so maybethe joke's on me. " His mind reverted to Mendez. "Five thousand on theold cuss, " he muttered gloomily, "an' somebody else got the chance topot him. Well, by hooky, whoever it was sure did a good job--it wasthet shotgun cooked his goose, judgin' from the way his face waspeppered. Five thousand dollars--oh, hell!"

His eyes followed the outline of the valley, able to distinguish thedarker silhouette of the cliffs outstanding against the sky sprinkledwith stars. Far away toward the northern extremity a dull red glowindicated the presence of a small fire. 

"Herders, " Brennan soliloquised, his thought instantly shifting. "Likely to be two, maybe three ov 'em out there; an' then there's themtwo on guard at the head o' the trail. I reckon they're wonderin' whatall this yere shootin' means; but 'tain't probable they'll kick up anyfuss yet awhile. We can handle them all right, if they do--hullo, there! What's comin' now?"

It was the thud of a horse's hoofs being ridden rapidly. Brennandropped to the ground, and skurried out of the light. He couldperceive nothing of the approaching rider, but whoever the fellow washe made no effort at secrecy. He drove his horse down the bank andinto the stream at a gallop, splashed noisily through the water, andcame loping up the nearer incline. Almost in front of the bunk-househe seemed suddenly struck by the silence and gleam of lights, for hepulled his pony up with a jerk, and sat there, staring about. To themarshal, crouching against the earth, his revolver drawn, horse and manappeared a grotesque shadow. 

"Hullo!" the fellow shouted. "What's up? Did you think this wasChristmas Eve? Hey, there--Mendez; Cateras. "

The little marshal straightened up, and took a step forward; the lightfrom the cabin window glistened wickedly on the blue steel of his gunbarrel. 

"Hands up, Bill!" he said quietly, in a voice carrying conviction. "None of that--don't play with me. Take your left hand an' unbuckleyour belt--I said the left. Now drop it into the dirt. "

"Who the hell are you?"

"That doesn't make much difference, does it, as long as I've got thedrop?" asked the other genially. "But, if you must know to behappy--I'm the marshal o' Haskell. Go easy, boy; you've seen me shootafore this, an' I was born back in Texas with a weapon in each hand. Climb down off'n that hoss. "

Lacy did so, his hands above his head, cursing angrily. 

"What kind of a low-down trick is this, Brennan?" he snapped, glaringthrough the darkness at the face of his captor. "What's become ofPasqual Mendez? Ain't his outfit yere?"

"His outfit's here all right, dead an' alive, " and Brennan chuckledcheerfully, "but not being no gospel sharp I can't just say whar ol'Mendez is. What's left ov his body is in thet cabin yonder, so full o'buckshot it ought ter weigh a ton. "

"Dead?"

"As a door nail, if yer ask me. It was some nice ov yer ter comeridin' long here ter-night, Lacy. It sorter helps me ter make a good, decent clean-up ov this whole measly outfit. I reckon I'll stow yeraway, along with them others. Mosey up them steps there, an' don'ttake no chances lookin' back. "

"I'll get you for this, Brennan. "

"Not if the Circuit Court ain't gone out o' business, you won't. I'vegot yer cinched an' hog tied--here now; get in thar. "

He opened the door just wide enough for Lacy to pass, holding it withone hand, his revolver ready and eager in the other. 

A single lamp lit the room dingily, revealing the Mexicans bunched onthe farther side, a number of them lying down. Moore sat on a stoolbeside the door, a rifle in the hollow of his arm. He rose up as thedoor opened, and grinned at sight of Lacy's face. 

"Well, I'll be dinged, " he said. "What have we got here?"

Brennan thrust his new prisoner forward. 

"Another one of yer ol' pals, Matt. You two ought ter have a lot tertalk over, an' thar's six hours yet till daylight. "

The little marshal drew back, and closed the door. He heard the echoof an oath, or two, within as he turned the key in the lock. Then hestraightened up and laughed, slapping his knee with his hand. 

"Well, " he said at last, soberly. "I reckon my place will be aboutyere till sun-up; thar might be some more critters like thatgallivantin' round in these parts--I hope Matt's enjoyin' himself. "

CHAPTER XXXIII: THE REAL MR. CAVENDISH

It was a hard, slow journey back across the desert. Moore's team andwagon were requisitioned for the purpose, but Matt himself remainedbehind to help Brennan with the prisoners and cattle, until the partyreturning to Haskell could send them help. 

Westcott drove, with Miss Donovan perched beside him on thespring-seat, and Cavendish lying on a pile of blankets beneath theshadow of the canvas top. It became exceedingly hot as the sun mountedinto the sky, and once they encountered a sand storm, which so blindedhorses and driver, they were compelled to halt and turn aside from itsfury for nearly an hour. The wounded man must have suffered, yet madeno complaint. Indeed he seemed almost cheerful, and so deeplyinterested in the strange story in which he had unconsciously bornepart, as to constantly question those riding in front for details. 

Westcott and Stella, in spite of the drear, dread monotony of thosemiles of sand, the desolate barrenness of which extended about in everydirection, and, at last, weighed heavily upon their spirits, found theride anything but tedious. They had so much to be thankful for, hopeful over: so much to say to each other. She described all that hadoccurred during her imprisonment, and he, in turn, told the story ofwhat himself and Brennan had passed through in the search for hercaptors. Cavendish listened eagerly to each recital, lifting his headto interject a question of interest, and then dropping wearily backagain upon his blankets. 

They stopped to lunch at Baxter Springs, and to water the team; and itwas considerably after dark when they finally drove creaking up themain street of Haskell and stopped in front of the Timmons House tounload. The street was devoid of excitement, although the Red Dog waswide open for business, and Westcott caught a glimpse of Mike busilyengaged behind the bar. A man or two passing glanced at themcuriously, but, possibly because of failure to recognise him in thedarkness, no alarm was raised, or any effort made to block theirprogress. Without Lacy to urge them on, the disciples of Judge Lynchhad likely enough forgotten the whole affair. Timmons, hearing thecreak of approaching wheels, and surmising the arrival of guests, camelumbering out through the open door, his face beaming welcome. Behindhim the vacant office stood fully revealed in the light ofbracket-lamps. 

As Westcott clambered over the wheel, and then assisted the lady toalight, the face of the landlord was sufficiently expressive ofsurprise. 

"You!" he exclaimed, staring into their faces doubtfully. "What theSam Hill does this mean?"

"Only that we've got back, Timmons. Why this frigid reception?"

"Well, this yere is a respectable hotel, an' I ain't goin' ter have itall mussed up by no lynchin' party, " the landlord's voice full ofregret. "Then this yere gal; she wrote me she'd gone back East. "

Westcott laughed. 

"Stow your grouch, old man, and give us a hand. There will be nolynching, because Lacy is in the hands of the marshal. As to thislady, she never sent you that note. She was abducted by force, and hasjust escaped. Don't stand there like a fool. "

"But where did yer come from? This yere is Matt Moore's outfit. "

"From the Shoshone Desert, if you must know. I'll tell you the storylater. There's a wounded man under the canvas there. Come on, andhelp me carry him inside. "

Timmons, sputtering but impotent to resist, took hold reluctantly, andthe two together bore the helpless Cavendish through the desertedoffice and up the stairs to the second floor, where he was comfortablysettled and a doctor sent for. The task was sufficiently strenuous torequire all the breath Timmons possessed, and he managed to repress hiseager curiosity until the wounded man had been attended to. Once inthe hall, however, and the door closed, he could no longer controlhimself. 

"Now see yere, Jim Westcott, " he panted, one hand gripping thestair-rail. "I've got ter know what's up, afore I throw open this yerehotel to yer free use this-away. As a gineral thing I ain't 'roundhuntin' trouble--I reckon yer know that--but this yere affair beats me. What was it yer said about Bill Lacy?"

"He's under arrest, charged with cattle-stealing, abduction, conspiracy, and about everything else on the calendar. Brennan's gothim, and likewise the evidence to convict. "

"Good Lord! Is that so!"

"It is; the whole Mendez gang has been wiped out. Old Mendez has beenkilled. The rest of the outfit, including Juan Cateras, are prisoners. "

Timmons's eyes were fairly popping out of his head, his voice a merethread of sound. 

"Don't that beat hell!" he managed to articulate. "Where's themarshal?"

"Riding herd at a place they call Sunken Valley, about fifty milessouth of here. He and Moore have got ten or twelve Mexicans, and maybethree hundred head of cattle to look after, until I can send somebodyout there to help him bring them in. Now that's all you need to know, Timmons; but I've got a question or two I want to ask you. Come onback into the office. "

Miss Donovan sat in one of the chairs by the front window waiting. Asthey entered she arose to her feet. 

Westcott crossed the room and took her hand. 

"He's all right, " he assured her quickly, interpreting the question inher eyes. "Tired from the trip, of course, but a night's rest will dowonders. And now, Timmons, " he turned to the bewildered landlord, "isthat man Enright upstairs?"

"The New York lawyer? No, he got frightened and left. He skipped outthe next day after you fellers got away. Bill wanted him to go alongwith him, but he said he was too sick. Then he claimed to have atelegram callin' him East, but he never did. I reckon he must 've gotcold feet 'bout somethin'--enyhow he's gone. "

"And Miss La Rue?"

"Sure; she took the same train, " eager now to divulge all he knew. "But that ain't her real name--it's a kind o' long name, an' beginswith C. I saw it in a letter she left up-stairs, but I couldn't makeit all out. She's married. "

The eyes of Westcott and Miss Donovan met. Here was a bit of strangenews--the La Rue woman married, and to a man with a long name beginningwith C. The same thought occurred to them both, yet it was evidentlyuseless to question Timmons any longer. He would know nothing, andcomprehend less. The girl looked tired, completely worn out, and theaffair could rest until morning. 

"Take Miss Donovan to a room, " Westcott said shortly, "and I'll runup-stairs and have another look at Cavendish. "

"At who?"

"Cavendish, the wounded man we just carried in. "

"Well, that's blamed funny. Say, I don't remember ever hearin' thatname before in all my life till just now. Come ter think of it, Ibelieve that was the name in that La Rue girl's letter. I got it yerein the desk; it's torn some, an' don't mean nothin' to me; soundskinder nutty. " He threw open a drawer, rummaging within, but withoutpausing in speech, "Then a fellow blew in yere this mornin' off theLimited, asking about you, Jim, an' danged if I don't believe he saidhis name was Cavendish. The register was full so he didn't write itdown, but that was the name all right. And now you tote in anotherone. What is this, anyhow--a family reunion?"

"You say a man by that name was here--asking for me?"

"Yep; I reckon he's asleep up-stairs, for he never showed up at supper. "

"In what room, Pete?"

"Nine. "

Westcott, with a swift word of excuse to Stella, dashed into the hall, and disappeared up the stairway, taking three steps at a time. Amoment later those below heard him pounding at a door; then his voicesounded:

"This is Jim Westcott; open up. "

Timmons stood gazing blankly at the empty stair-case, mopping his facewith a bandanna handkerchief. Then he removed his horn-rimmedspectacles, and polished them, as though what mind he possessed hadbecome completely dazed. 

"Well, I'll be jiggered, " he confessed audibly. "What's a comin' now, I wonder?"

He turned around and noticed Miss Donovan, the sight of her standingthere bringing back a reminder of his duty. 

"He was a sayin' as how likely yer wanted to go to bed, Miss. "

"Not now; I'll wait until Mr. Westcott comes down. What is that paperin your hand? Is that the letter Miss La Rue left?"

He held it up in surprise, gazing at it through his glasses. 

"Why, Lord bless me--it is, isn't it? Must have took it out o' therdrawer an' never thought of the darned thing agin. "

"May I see it?"

"Sure; 'tain't o' no consequence ter me; I reckon the woman sorterpacked in a hurry, and this got lost. The Chink found it under thebed. "

She took it in her hand, and crossed the room, finding a seat beneathone of the bracket-lamps, but with her face turned toward the hall. Itwas just a single sheet of folded paper, not enclosed in an envelope, and had been torn across, so that the two parts barely held together. She stared at it for a moment, almost motionless, her fingers nervouslymoving up and down the crease, as though she dreaded to learn what waswithin. She felt that here was the key which was to unlock the secretof this strange crime. Whoever the man upstairs might prove to be--thereal Cavendish or some impostor--this paper she held in her hands wasdestined to be a link in the chain. She unfolded it slowly and hereyes traced the written words within. It was a hasty scrawl, writtenon the cheap paper of some obscure hotel in Jersey City, extremelydifficult to decipher, the hand of the man who wrote exhibiting plainlythe excitement under which he laboured. 

It was a message of warning, he was leaving New York, and would sailthat evening for some place in South America, where he did not say. Love only caused him to tell her what had occurred. A strange wordpuzzled her, and before she could decipher it, voices broke thesilence, followed by steps on the stairs. She glanced up quickly; itwas Westcott returning, accompanied by a tall, rather slender man witha closely-trimmed beard. The two crossed the room, and she met themstanding, the opened letter still in her hand. 

"Miss Donovan, this is Frederick Cavendish--the real FrederickCavendish. I have told him something of the trouble he has been to usall. "

The real Frederick Cavendish smiled down into her eyes, while he heldher fingers tightly clasped in his own. She believed in him, liked himinstantly. 

"A trouble which I regret very much, " he said humbly. "Westcott hastold me a little, a very little, of what has occurred since I left NewYork so hurriedly two months ago. This is the first I knew about it, and the mystery of the whole affair is as puzzling as ever. "

Her eyes widened wonderingly. 

"You cannot explain? Not even who the dead man was found murdered inyour apartments?"

"I haven't the least idea. "

"Fred has told me all he knows, " broke in Westcott "but it only extendsto midnight when he left the city. He was in his apartments less thanten minutes after his valet retired. He supposed he left everything ingood order, with a note on the writing-table instructing Valois what todo during his absence, and enclosing a sum of money. Afterward, on thetrain, he discovered that he had mislaid the key to his safe but thisoccasioned no worry, as he had taken with him all the cash it held, andthe papers were of slight importance. "

"But, " she broke in impatiently, "where did he go? How did he escapeencountering Beaton and why did he fail to answer your message?"

The eyes of the two men met, and they both smiled. "The very questionsI asked, " replied Westcott instantly. "In the instructions left Valoiswas a check for five thousand dollars made to my order, to be forwardedat once. Fred's destination was Sonora, Mexico, where he had somelarge copper interests. He intended to look after these and returnhere to Haskell within a week, or ten days. But the war in Mexico madethis impossible--once across the border he couldn't get back. He wroteme, but evidently the letter miscarried. "

"And Beaton missed him entirely. "

"By pure luck. Fred phoned the New York Central for a lower toChicago, and they were all gone. Enright must have learned, in someway, of his calling that office, and so informed Beaton, who took thattrain. Later, from his own rooms, Cavendish secured accommodations onthe Pennsylvania. "

He paused, endeavouring to see out through the window, hearing the hoofbeats of an approaching team. 

"What's that, Pete?" he asked of Timmons, who was hovering as closelyas he dared. "Pretty late, isn't it?"

"Guests, I reckon; the Overland was three hours late; sure, they'restoppin' yere. "

CHAPTER XXXIV: MISS DONOVAN DECIDES

Two men came in through the door together, each with a small grip inhis hand, which Timmons took from them, and deposited beside the stove. The larger wrote both names in the register, and then straightened up, and surveyed the landlord. 

"Any chance to eat?" he asked. "We're both of us about starved. "

Timmons scratched his head. 

"I reckon there's plenty o' cold provender out thar, " he saiddoubtfully, "an' maybe I could hustle you up some hot coffee, but wedon't aim ter do no feedin' at this time o' night. What's the matterwith the diner?"

"Hot box, and had to cut her off; be a good fellow, and hustle us upsomething. "

"I'll see what there is, " and Timmons started for the kitchen, "but Iwouldn't wake Ma Timmons up fer a thousand dollars. She'd never gitover it. "

The large man, a rather heavy-footed fellow, with scraggly greymoustache, turned to his companion. 

"Better luck than I expected at that, Colgate, " he said, restored togood humour. "The old duffer seems to be quite human. "

His eyes caught sight of Cavendish, and hardened, the grizzly moustacheseeming to stiffen. His mouth was close to the ear of his companion, and he spoke without moving his lips. 

"Our bird; stand ready. "

The three were talking earnestly, and he was standing before thembefore any of the group marked his approach. His eyes were onCavendish, who instantly arose to his feet, startled by the man'ssudden appearance. 

"There is no use making a scene, Burke, " the big man said sternly, "formy partner there has you covered. "

"My name is not Burke; it is Cavendish. "

"So I heard in Denver, " dryly. "We hardly expected to find you here, for we were down on another matter So you are not Gentleman Tom Burke?"

"No. "

"I know he is not, " interposed Westcott. "I have been acquainted withthis man for nearly twenty years; he is a New York capitalist. "

"And who the hell are you--a pal?" the fellow sneered. "Now, see here, both of you. I've met plenty of your kind before, and it is mybusiness not to forget a face. This man is under arrest, " and he laida hand heavily on Cavendish's shoulder. 

"Under the name of Burke? On what charge?"

"Robbery, at Poughkeepsie, New York; wanted also for burglary andassault in Denver. My name is Roberts, " he added, stiffly, "assistantsuperintendent of the Pinkerton agency; the man with me is an operativefrom the New York office. "

Cavendish glanced past Roberts toward Colgate, who stood with one handthrust in his side pocket. 

"You know this man Burke?" he asked. 

"I saw him once; that's why I was put on the case. You certainly gaveme some hot chase, Tom. "

"Some chase? What do you mean?"

"Well, I've been on your trail ever since that Poughkeepsie job--let'ssee, that was two months ago. You jumped first to New York City, and Ididn't really get track of you until the night of April 16. Then acopper in the Pennsylvania depot, to whom I showed your picture, gaveme a tip that you'd taken a late train West. After that I trailed youthrough Chicago, down into Mexico, and back as far as Denver. Itwasn't hard because you always signed the same name. "

"Of course; it's my own. You say you had a photograph of me?"

"A police picture; here it is if you want to look at it--taken inJoliet. "

Westcott grasped the sheet, and spread it open. It was Cavendish'sface clearly enough, even to the closely trimmed beard and the peculiartwinkle in the eyes. Below was printed a brief description, and thisalso fitted Cavendish almost exactly. 

"Well, " said Roberts, none too pleasantly, "what have you got to saynow?"

"Only this, " and the miner squared his shoulders, looking the otherstraight in the eyes. "This man is not Tom Burke, but I can tell youwhere Tom Burke is. "

"Yes, you can?"

"Yes, I can. I cannot only tell you, but I can prove it, " he went onearnestly. "This description says that Burke had a small piece clippedout of one ear, and that he had a gold-crowned tooth in front, ratherprominent. This man's ears are unmarked, and his teeth are of theordinary kind. "

The two detectives exchanged glances and Roberts grinned sarcastically. 

"You'll have to do better than that, " he said gruffly. "All right. Isthere any mention in that description of a peculiar and vivid scar onthe chest of this man Burke? It would be spoken about, if he had any, wouldn't it?"

"Sure; they never overlook them things. "

"Good; unbutton the front of your shirt, Fred. "

The two stared at the scar thus revealed, still incredulous, yet unableto refute the evidence of its existence. Roberts touched it with hisfingers to better assure himself of its reality. 

"Darn it all, " he confessed. "This beats hell. "

"It does, " coincided Westcott. "This whole affair has been of thatkind. Now I'll tell you where Tom Burke is--he lies buried in theCavendish family lot in Brooklyn. "

He turned to Colgate, who stood with mouth half open. 

"You're from New York; ever hear of the Cavendish murder?"

"Only saw a paragraph in the Chicago papers. It wasn't my case, andthe only thing that interested me was that the name happened to be thesame as assumed by the man I was following--why?"

"Because this gentleman here is Frederick Cavendish, who was reportedas killed--struck down in his apartments on the night of April 16. Instead he took the midnight flier West and you followed him. The deadman was Tom Burke; wait a minute and I'll tell you the story--all Iknow of it, at least. "

He told it rapidly, yet omitting no detail of any interest. The twodetectives, already half convinced of their mistake, listenedfascinated to the strange narrative; it was a tale of crime peculiarlyattractive to their minds; they could picture each scene in all itscolours of reality. As the speaker ended, Roberts drew in his breathsharply. 

"But who slugged Burke?" he asked. "The fellow went in there afterswag; but who got him?"

"That is the one question I can't answer, " replied Westcott gravely, "and neither can Fred. It doesn't seem to accord with the rest of ourtheories. Enright told Lacy he didn't know who the dead man was, orwho killed him. "

Miss Donovan pushed her way in front of Cavendish, and faced theothers, her cheeks flushed with excitement, a paper clasped in one hand. 

"Perhaps I can help clear that up, " she said clearly. "This is theletter found under Miss La Rue's bed. I have read part of it. It waswritten by Jack Cavendish just as he was taking a boat for SouthAmerica. It is not a confession, " she explained, her eyes searchingtheir faces, "just a frightened boy's letter. I wouldn't understand itat all if I didn't know so much about the case. What it seems to makeclear is this: The La Rue girl and Patrick Enright schemed to getpossession of the Cavendish property through her marriage to John; thispart of the programme worked out fairly well, but John could not gethold of enough money to satisfy them. 

"Enright and the girl decided to put Frederick out of the way, butlacked the nerve to commit murder--at least in New York. Their schemeseems to have been to inveigle their victim away from the city, andthen help him to get killed through an accident. In that case the lawwould award the entire estate to John. They never told John this plan, but their constant demands for money fairly drove the young man todesperation. 

"The making of the will, and the sudden proposed departure of Frederickfor the West, compelled immediate action, yet even then John was keptlargely in the dark as to what they proposed doing. All he knew wasthat Frederick had made a will disinheriting him; that he left theCollege Club with this document in his pocket, and intended later totake a night train. "

She paused, turning the letter over in her hands, and the men seemed todraw closer in the intensity of their interest. 

"Some of what I say I learned from this letter, " she went on quietly, "and some I merely deduce from the circumstances. I believe the boywent home half mad, his only thought being to destroy that will. Inthis state of mind, and fortified by drink, he stole later intoFrederick's apartments. I don't believe the boy actually intended tomurder his cousin, but he did intend to stun him with a blow frombehind, seize the paper, and escape unseen. It was a wild, hare-brained project, but he was only a boy, half drunk, worked intofrenzy by Celeste La Rue. He got into the room--probably through thebath-room window--unobserved, but after Frederick had departed. Thisother man--Burke--was then at the table, running through the papers hehad taken from the safe, to see if any were of value. John, convincedthe man was his cousin, stole up behind him and struck him down. Hehad no idea of the force of the blow delivered, and may even have leftthe apartment without realising that the blow had been a fatal one. Afterward there was nothing to do but keep still, and let matters taketheir own course. "

"And what happened then?"

"Naturally this: the La Rue woman wormed the truth out of him, and toldEnright. From that moment the boy was entirely in their hands. Whilethey remained in New York they helped him keep his nerve, but as soonas he was left alone, he went entirely to pieces. He was no criminal, merely a victim of circumstances. At last something happened tofrighten him into flight. "

The four men straightened up as her voice ceased speaking. ThenRoberts laughed, as though ashamed of the breathless interest he hadexhibited. 

"I guess she's got that doped out about right, Colgate, " he said, almost regretfully. "And it's clear enough that we are on the wrongtrail. Anyhow this man here isn't Tom Burke, although he would deceivethe very devil. What is it, landlord? Am I ready to eat? Just leadthe way, and I'll show you. " He glanced about at the others. "Any ofyou missed your supper? If so, we'd be glad to have your company. "

"I'll accept the invitation, " returned Cavendish. "I was asleepup-stairs, and failed to hear the bell. Perhaps you gentlemen can tellme what steps I'd better take in a case like mine. "

The three passed out together, following the guidance of Timmons, andas the sound of their voices subsided into a confused murmur, Westcottglanced into the face beside him. 

"You must be very tired, dear. "

"I am tired, Jim, " she said, "but I mustn't allow it. I have a big jobon hand. Farriss will want three thousand words of this and he'll wantit to-night so that he can scoop the town. "

"Scoop the town?" Westcott repeated. 

"Yes, that means my paper gets a story that no other paper gets. Andthis Cavendish case is going to be my scoop. Will you walk with medown to the station?"

Big Jim Westcott nodded silently and took her arm in his and togetherthey went out into the night. 

Each stone, shrub, each dark frowning cliff reminded them of theirmeeting, and silently, with their hearts full, they walked along untila dilapidated box car hove into view, with one oil-lamp still burning, twinkling evidence that Carson had not retired for the night; and asthey came abreast the door they found him dozing. 

"Wake up, Carson, " cried Jim, tapping him on the shoulder, "wake up andget ready to do a big job on the keys. And keep your ears open, too, old timer, for it's interesting, every word of it--Miss Donovan isgoing to tell a story. "

Carson rubbed his eyes, sat up, gave ample greeting, got up, litanother lamp, and tested his wire. 

"East wire free as air, Jim, " he said. "You can begin that there storywhenever you want. "

And so, weary as she was, and with nerves still high-pitched, StellaDonovan began, slowly at first, until she got the swing of her "lead, "and then more rapidly; one after another the yellow sheets on which shewrote were fed past Westcott's critical eyes and into the hands ofCarson, who operated his "bug" like a madman. 

An hour went past, an hour and a quarter--Stella Donovan was stillwriting. An hour and a half. Westcott saw her face tensing under thestrain, saw it grow wan and white, and, reaching down he gripped thefingers that clenched the pencil. 

"No more, Stella, " he said firmly, "you've sent four thousand!"

She looked at him tenderly. "Please, Jim, " she begged, "just let meadd one more paragraph. It's the most important one of all. "

The miner released her hand and the girl wrote hurriedly, this timepassing the sheets direct to Carson. Heroically the station agentstuck to his task, and as he tossed the first of the sheets aside, aneddying wisp of wind caught it, danced it a moment on the table-top, then slid it over under the very palm of big Jim Westcott's right hand. Slowly he picked it up and read it. 

"So!" he said, with something strangely like a cry in his deep voice, "so you've resigned from the _Star_, and you're going to stay inHaskell?"

The girl looked at him, her lips trembling. 

"I never want to be a lady reporter again, " she whispered. "Never!"

They were in the open doorway now, and through the lush, warm gloom abelated light twinkled down in Haskell, slumbering like a bad child inthe gulch below. And as they stood there watching a fair young moonmaking its first bow in a purple sky, their lips met in a long tenderkiss; when they lifted their eyes again it was to let them range overthe eternal misty hills with their hearts of gold in which lay thefuture--their future.