"Toward the Pass."

The outlaw ripped out an oath. "We've got 'em. They can't reach it without

horses as quick as we can with them." He whirled upon Melissy. "March into

the house, girl. Don't you dare make a move. I'm leaving Buck here to

watch you." Sharply he swung to the man Lane. "Buck, if she makes a break

to get away, riddle her full of holes. You hear me."

A minute later, from the place where she lay face down on the bed, Melissy

heard him and his men gallop away.

CHAPTER VIII

AN ESCAPE AND A CAPTURE

Far up in the mountains, in that section where head the Roaring Fork, One

Horse Creek, and the Del Oro, is a vast tract of wild, untraveled country

known vaguely as the Bad Lands. Somewhere among the thousand and one

canyons which cleft the huddled hills lay hidden Dead Man's Cache. Here

Black MacQueen retreated on those rare occasions when the pursuit grew hot

on his tracks. So the current report ran.

Whether the abductors of Simon West were to be found in the Cache or at

some other nest in the almost inaccessible ridges Jack Flatray had no

means of knowing. His plan was to follow the Roaring Fork almost to its

headquarters, and there establish a base for his hunt. It might take him a

week to flush his game. It might take a month. He clamped his bulldog jaw

to see the thing out to a finish.

Jack did not make the mistake of underestimating his job. He had followed

the trail of bad men often enough to know that, in a frontier country, no

hunt is so desperate as the man-hunt. Such men are never easily taken,

even if they do not have all the advantage in the deadly game of hide and

seek that is played in the timber and the pockets of the hills.

And here the odds all lay with the hunted. They knew every ravine and

gulch. Day by day their scout looked down from mountain ledges to watch

the progress of the posse.

Moreover, Flatray could never tell at what moment his covey might be

startled from its run. The greatest vigilance was necessary to make sure

his own party would not be ambushed. Yet slowly he combed the arroyos and

the ridges, drawing always closer to that net of gulches in which he knew

Dead Man's Cache must be located.

During the day the sheriff split his party into couples. Bellamy and Alan

McKinstra, Farnum and Charlie Hymer, young Yarnell and the sheriff. So

Jack had divided his posse, thus leaving at the head of each detail one

old and wise head. Each night the parties met at the rendezvous appointed

for the wranglers with the pack horses. From sunrise to sunset often no

face was seen other than those of their own outfit. Sometimes a solitary

sheep herder was discovered at his post. Always the work was hard,

discouraging, and apparently futile. But the young sheriff never thought

of quitting.

The provisions gave out. Jack sent back Hal Yarnell and Hegler, the

wrangler, to bring in a fresh supply. Meanwhile the young sheriff took a

big chance and scouted alone. He parted from the young Arkansan at the

head of a gulch which twisted snakelike into the mountains; Yarnell and

the pack outfit to ride to Mammoth, Flatray to dive still deeper into the

mesh of hills. He had the instinct of the scout to stick to the high

places as much as he could. Whenever it was possible he followed ridges,

so that no spy could look down upon him as he traveled. Sometimes the

contour of the country drove him into the open or down into hollows. But

in such places he advanced with the swift stealth of an Indian.

It was on one of these occasions, when he had been driven into a dark and

narrow canyon, that he came to a sudden halt. He was looking at an empty

tomato can. Swinging down from his saddle, he picked it up without

dismounting. A little juice dripped from the can to the ground.

Flatray needed no explanation. In Arizona men on the range often carry a

can of tomatoes instead of a water canteen. Nothing alleviates thirst like

the juice of this acid fruit. Some one had opened this can within two

hours. Otherwise the sun would have dried the moisture.

Jack took his rifle from its place beneath his legs and set it across the

saddle in front of him. Very carefully he continued on his way, watching

every rock and bush ahead of him. Here and there in the sand were printed

the signs of a horse going in the same direction as his.

Up and down, in and out of a maze of crooked paths, working by ever so

devious a way higher into the chain of mountains, Jack followed his

leader. Now he would lose the hoofmarks; now he would pick them up again.

And, at the last, they brought him to the rim of a basin, a bowl of wooded

ravines, of twisted ridges, of bleak spurs jutting into late pastures

almost green. It was now past sunset. Dusk was filtering down from the

blue peaks. As he looked a star peeped out low on the horizon.

But was it a star? He glimpsed it between trees. The conviction grew on

him that what he saw was the light of a lamp. A tangle of rough country

lay between him and that beacon, but there before him lay his destination.

At last he had found his way into Dead Man's Cache.

The sheriff lost no time, for he knew that if he should get lost in the

darkness on one of these forest slopes he might wander all night. A rough

trail led him down into the basin. Now he would lose sight of the light.

Half an hour later, pushing to the summit of a hill, he might find it.

After a time there twinkled a second beside the first. He was getting

close to a settlement of some kind.

Below him in the darkness lay a stretch of open meadow rising to the

wooded foothills. Behind these a wall of rugged mountains encircled the

valley like a gigantic crooked arm. Already he could make out faintly the

outlines of the huddled buildings.

Slipping from his horse, Jack went forward cautiously on foot. He was

still a hundred yards from the nearest hut when dogs bayed warning of his

approach. He waited, rifle in hand. No sign of human life showed except

the two lights shining from as many windows. Flatray counted four other

cabins as dark as Egypt.

Very slowly he crept forward, always with one eye to his retreat. Why did

nobody answer the barking of the dogs? Was he being watched all the time?

But how could he be, since he was completely cloaked in darkness?

So at last he came to the nearest cabin, crept to the window, and looked

in. A man lay on a bed. His hands and feet were securely tied and a second

rope wound round so as to bind him to the bunk.

Flatray tapped softly on a pane. Instantly the head of the bound man

slewed round.

"Friend?"

The prisoner asked it ever so gently, but the sheriff heard.

"Yes."

"The top part of the window is open. You can crawl over, I reckon."

Jack climbed on the sill and from it through the window. Almost before he

reached the floor his knife was out and he was slashing at the ropes.

"Better put the light out, pardner," suggested the man he was freeing,

and the officer noticed that there was no tremor in the cool, steady

voice.

"That's right. We'd make a fine mark through the window."

And the light went out.

"I'm Bucky O'Connor. Who are you?"

"Jack Flatray."

They spoke together in whispers. Though both were keyed to the highest

pitch of excitement they were as steady as eight-day clocks. O'Connor

stretched his limbs, flexing them this way and that, so that he might have

perfect control of them. He worked especially over the forearm and fingers

of his right arm.

Flatray handed him a revolver.

"Whenever you're ready, Lieutenant."

"All right. It's the cabin next to this."

They climbed out of the window noiselessly and crept to the next hut. The

door was locked, the window closed.

"We've got to smash the window. Nothing else for it," Flatray whispered.

"Looks like it. That means we'll have to shoot our way out."

With the butt of his rifle the sheriff shattered the woodwork of the

window, driving the whole frame into the room.

"What is it?" a frightened voice demanded.

"Friends, Mr. West. Just a minute."

It took them scarce longer than that to free him and to get him into the

open. A Mexican woman came screaming out of an adjoining cabin.

The young men caught each an arm of the capitalist and hurried him

forward.

"Hell'll be popping in a minute," Flatray explained.

But they reached the shelter of the underbrush without a shot having been

fired. Nor had a single man appeared to dispute their escape.

"Looks like most of the family is away from home to-night," Bucky

hazarded.

"Maybe so, but they're liable to drop in any minute. We'll keep covering

ground."

They circled round toward the sheriff's horse. As soon as they reached it

West, still stiff from want of circulation in his cramped limbs, was

boosted into the saddle.

"It's going to be a good deal of a guess to find our way out of the

Cache," Jack explained. "Even in the daytime it would take a 'Pache, but

at night--well, here's hoping the luck's good."

They found it not so good as they had hoped. For hours they wandered in

mesquit, dragged themselves through cactus, crossed washes, and climbed

hills.

"This will never do. We'd better give it up till daylight. We're not

getting anywhere," the sheriff suggested.

They did as he advised. As soon as a faint gray sifted into the sky they

were on the move again. But whichever way they climbed it was always to

come up against steep cliffs too precipitous to be scaled.

The ranger officer pointed to a notch beyond a cowbacked hill. "I wouldn't

be sure, but it looks like that was the way they brought me into the

Cache. I could tell if I were up there. What's the matter with my going

ahead and settling the thing? If I'm right I'll come back and let you

know."

Jack looked at West. The railroad man was tired and drawn. He was not used

to galloping over the hills all night.

"All right. We'll be here when you come back," Flatray said, and flung

himself on the ground.

West followed his example.

It must have been half an hour later that Flatray heard a twig snap under

an approaching foot. He had been scanning the valley with his glasses,

having given West instructions to keep a lookout in the rear. He swung his

head round sharply, and with it his rifle.

"You're covered, you fool," cried the man who was strutting toward them.

"Stop there. Not another step," Flatray called sharply.

The man stopped, his rifle half raised. "We've got you on every side,

man." He lifted his voice. "Jeff--Hank--Steve! Let him know you're

alive."

Three guns cracked and kicked up the dust close to the sheriff.

"What do you want with us?" Flatray asked, sparring for time.

"Drop your gun. If you don't we'll riddle you both."

West spoke to Jack promptly. "Do as he says. It's MacQueen."

Flatray hesitated. He could kill MacQueen probably, but almost certainly

he and West would pay the penalty. He reluctantly put his rifle down. "All

right. It's your call."

"Where's O'Connor?"

The sheriff looked straight at him. "Haven't you enough of us for one

gather?"

The outlaws were closing in on them cautiously.

"Not without that smart man hunter. Where is he?"

"I don't know."

"The devil you don't."

"We separated early this morning--thought it would give us a better chance

for a getaway." Jack gave a sudden exclamation of surprise. "So it was

Black MacQueen himself who posed as O'Connor down at Mesa."

"Guessed it right, my friend. And I'll tell you one thing: you've made the

mistake of your life butting into Dead Man's Cache. Your missing friend

O'Connor was due to hand in his checks to-day. Since you've taken his

place it will be you that crosses the divide, Mr. Sheriff. You'd better

tell where he is, for if we don't get Mr. Bucky it will be God help J.

Flatray."

The dapper little villain exuded a smug, complacent cruelty. It was no use

for the sheriff to remind himself that such things weren't done nowadays,

that the times of Geronimo and the Apache Kid were past forever. Black

MacQueen would go the limit in deviltry if he set his mind to it.

Yet Flatray answered easily, without any perceptible hesitation: "I reckon

I'll play my hand and let Bucky play his."

"Suits me if it does you. Jeff, collect that hardware. Now, while you boys

beat up the hills for O'Connor, I'll trail back to camp with these two

all-night picnickers."

CHAPTER IX

A BARGAIN

Melissy saw the two prisoners brought in, though she could not tell at

that distance who they were. Her watch told her that it was four-thirty.

She had slept scarcely at all during the night, but now she lay down on

the bed in her clothes.

The next she knew, Rosario was calling her to get up for breakfast. The

girl dressed and followed Rosario to the adjoining cabin. MacQueen was not

there, and Melissy ate alone. She was given to understand that she might

walk up and down in front of the houses for a few minutes after breakfast.

Naturally she made the most of the little liberty allowed her.

The old squaw Sit-in-the-Sun squatted in front of the last hut, her back

against the log wall. The man called Buck sat yawning on a rock a few

yards away. What struck Melissy as strange was that the squaw was figuring

on the back of an old envelope with the stub of a lead pencil.

The young woman walked leisurely past the cabin for perhaps a dozen

yards.

"That'll be about far enough. You don't want to tire yourself, Miss Lee,"

Buck Lane called, with a grin.

Melissy stopped, stood looking at the mountains for a few minutes, and

turned back. Sit-in-the-Sun looked quickly at her, and at the same moment

she tore the paper in two and her fingers opened to release one piece of

the envelope upon which she had been writing. A puff of wind carried it

almost directly in front of the girl. Lane was still yawning sleepily, his

gaze directed toward the spot where he presently expected Rosario to step

out and call him to breakfast. Melissy dropped her handkerchief, stooped

to pick it up, and gathered at the same time in a crumpled heap into her

hand the fragment of an envelope. Without another glance at the squaw, the

young woman kept on her way, sauntered to the porch, and lingered there as

if in doubt.

"I'm tired," she announced to Rosario, and turned to her rooms.

"_Si, senorita,_" answered her attendant quietly.

Once inside, Melissy lay down on her bed, with her back to the window, and

smoothed out the torn envelope. On one side were some disjointed memoranda

which she did not understand.

K. C. & T. 93

D. & R. B. 87

Float $10,000,000 Cortes for extension.

That was all, but certainly a strange puzzle for a Navajo squaw to set

her.

She turned the paper over, to find the other side close-packed with

writing.

Miss Lee:

In the last cabin but one is a prisoner, your friend Sheriff Flatray.

He is to be shot in an hour. I have offered any sum for his life and

been refused. For God's sake save him somehow.

Simon West.

Jack Flatray here, and about to be murdered! The thing was incredible. And

yet--and yet---- Was it so impossible, after all? Some one had broken into

the Cache and released the prisoners. Who more likely than Jack to have

done this? And later they had captured him and condemned him for what he

had done.

Melissy reconstructed the scene in a flash. The Indian squaw was West. He

had been rigged up in that paraphernalia to deceive any chance mountaineer

who might drop into the valley by accident.

No doubt, when he first saw Melissy, the railroad magnate had been passing

his time in making notes about his plans for the system he controlled. But

when he had caught sight of her, he had written the note, under the very

eyes of the guard, had torn the envelope as if it were of no importance,

and tossed the pieces away. He had taken the thousandth chance that his

note might fall into the hands of the person to whom it was directed.

All this she understood without giving it conscious thought. For her whole

mind was filled with the horror of what she had learned. Jack Flatray, the

man she loved, was to be killed. He was to be shot down in an hour.

With the thought, she was at her door--only to find that it had been

quietly locked while she lay on the bed. No doubt they had meant to keep

her a close prisoner until the thing they were about to do was finished.

She beat upon it, called to Rosario to let her out, wrung her hands in her

desperation. Then she remembered the window. It was a cheap and flimsy

case, and had been jammed so that her strength was not sufficient to raise

it.

Her eye searched the room for a weapon, and found an Indian tom-tom club.

With this she smashed the panes and beat down the wooden cross bars of the

sash. Agile as a forest fawn, she slipped through the opening she had made

and ran toward the far cabin.

A group of men surrounded the door; and, as she drew near, it opened to

show three central figures. MacQueen was one, Rosario Chaves a second; but

the most conspicuous was a bareheaded young man, with his hands tied

behind him. He was going to his death, but a glance was enough to show

that he went unconquered and unconquerable. His step did not drag. There

was a faint, grave smile on his lips; and in his eye was the dynamic spark

that proclaimed him still master of his fate. The woolen shirt had been

unbuttoned and pulled back to make way for the rope that lay loosely about

his neck, so that she could not miss the well-muscled slope of his fine

shoulders, or the gallant set of the small head upon the brown throat.

The man who first caught sight of Melissy spoke in a low voice to his

chief. MacQueen turned his head sharply to see her, took a dozen steps

toward her, then upbraided the Mexican woman, who had run out after

Melissy.

"I told you to lock her door--to make sure of it."

"_Si, senor_--I did."

"Then how----" He stopped, and looked to Miss Lee for an explanation.

"I broke the window."

The outlaw noticed then that her hand was bleeding. "Broke the window!

Why?"

"I had to get out! I had to stop you!"

He attempted no denial of what he was about to do. "How did you know? Did

Rosario tell you?" he asked curtly.

"No--no! I found out--just by chance."

"What chance?" He was plainly disconcerted that she had come to interfere,

and as plainly eager to punish the person who had disclosed to her this

thing, which he would have liked to do quietly, without her knowledge.

"Never mind that. Nobody is to blame. Say I overheard a sentence. Thank

God I did, and I am in time."

There was no avoiding it now. He had to fight it out with her. "In time

for what?" he wanted to know, his eyes narrowing to vicious pin points.

"To save him."

"No--no! He must die," cried the Mexican woman.

Melissy was amazed at her vehemence, at the passion of hate that trembled

in the voice of the old woman.

MacQueen nodded. "It is out of my hands, you see. He has been condemned."

"But why?"

"Tell her, Rosario."

The woman poured her story forth fluently in the native tongue. O'Connor

had killed her son--did not deny that he had done it. And just because

Tony had tried to escape. This man had freed the ranger. Very well. He

should take O'Connor's place. Let him die the death. A life for a life.

Was that not fair?

Flatray turned his head and caught sight of Melissy. A startled cry died

on his lips.

"Jack!" She held out both hands to him as she ran toward him.

The sheriff took her in his arms to console her. For the girl's face was

working in a stress of emotion.

"Oh, I'm in time--I'm in time. Thank God I'm in time."

Jack waited a moment to steady his voice. "How came you here, Melissy?"

"He brought me--Black MacQueen. I hated him for it, but now I'm glad--so

glad--because I can save you."

Jack winced. He looked over her shoulder at MacQueen, taking it all in

with an air of pleasant politeness. And one look was enough to tell him

that there was no hope for him. The outlaw had the complacent manner of a

cat which has just got at the cream. That Melissy loved him would be an

additional reason for wiping him off the map. And in that instant a fierce

joy leaped up in Flatray and surged through him, an emotion stronger than

the fear of death. She loved him. MacQueen could not take that away from

him.

"It's all a mistake," Melissy went on eagerly. "Of course they can't blame

you for what Lieutenant O'Connor did. It is absurd--ridiculous."

"Certainly." MacQueen tugged at his little black mustache and kept his

black eyes on her constantly. "That's not what we're blaming him for. The

indictment against your friend is that he interfered when it wasn't his

business."

"But it was his business. Don't you know he's sheriff? He had to do it."

Melissy turned to the outlaw impetuously.

"So. And I have to play my hand out, too. It wipes out Mr. Flatray. Sorry,

but business is business."

"But--but----" Melissy grew pale as the icy fear gripped her heart that

the man meant to go on with the crime. "Don't you see? He's the sheriff?"

"And I never did love sheriffs," drawled MacQueen.

The girl repeated herself helplessly. "It was his sworn duty. That was how

he looked at it."

A ghost of an ironic smile flitted across the face of the outlaw chief.

"Rosario's sworn duty is to avenge her son's death. That is how she looks

at it. The rest of us swore the oath with her."

"But Lieutenant O'Connor had the law back of him. This is murder!"

"Not at all. It is the law of the valley--a life for a life."

"But---- Oh, no--no--no!"

"Yes."

The finality of it appalled her. She felt as if she were butting her head

against a stone wall. She knew that argument and entreaty were of no

avail, yet she desperately besought first one and then another of them to

save the prisoner. Each in turn shook his head. She could see that none of

them, save Rosario, bore him a grudge; yet none would move to break the

valley oath. At the last, she was through with her promises and her

prayers. She had spent them all, and had come up against the wall of blank

despair.

Then Jack's grave smile thanked her. "You've done what you could,

Melissy."

She clung to him wildly. "Oh, no--no! I can't let you go, Jack. I can't. I

can't."

"I reckon it's got to be, dear," he told her gently.

But her breaking heart could not stand that. There must somehow be a way

to save him. She cast about desperately for one, and had not found it when

she begged the outlaw chief to see her alone.

"No use." He shook his head.

"But just for five minutes! That can't do any harm, can it?"

"And no good, either."

"Yet I ask it. You might do that much for me," she pleaded.

Her despair had moved him; for he was human, after all. That he was

troubled about it annoyed him a good deal. Her arrival on the scene had

made things unpleasant for everybody. Ungraciously he assented, as the

easiest way out of the difficulty.

The two moved off to the corral. It was perhaps thirty yards distant, and

they reached it before either of them spoke. She was the first to break

the silence.

[Illustration: "OH, NO--NO! I CAN'T LET YOU GO, JACK. I CAN'T. I CAN'T."

_Page 294._]

"You won't do this dreadful thing--surely, you won't do it."

"No use saying another word about it. I told you that," he answered

doggedly.

"But---- Oh, don't you see? It's one of those things no white man can do.

Once it's done, you have put the bars up against decency for the rest of

your life."

"I reckon I'll have to risk that--and down in your heart you don't believe

it, because you think I've had the bars up for years."

She had come to an impasse already. She tried another turn. "And you said

you cared for me! Yet you are willing to make me unhappy for the rest of

my life."

"Why, no! I'm willing to make you happy. There's fish in the sea just as

good as any that ever were caught," he smirked.

"But it would help you to free him. Don't you see? It's your chance. You

can begin again, now. You can make him your friend."

His eyes were hard and grim. "I don't want him for a friend, and you're

dead wrong if you think I could make this a lever to square myself with

the law. I couldn't. He wouldn't let me, for one thing--he isn't that

kind."

"And you said you cared for me!" she repeated helplessly, wringing her

hands in her despair. "But at the first chance you fail me."

"Can't you see it isn't a personal matter? I've got nothing against

him--nothing to speak of. I'd give him to you, if I could. But it's not my

say-so. The thing is out of my hands."

"You could save him, if you set yourself to."

"Sure, I could--if I would pay the price. But I won't pay."

"That's it. You would have to give Rosario something--make some

concession," she said eagerly.

"And I'm not willing to pay the price," he told her. "His life's forfeit.

Hasn't he been hunting us for a week?"

"Let me pay it," she cried. "I have money in my own right--seven thousand

dollars. I'll give it all to save him."

He shook his head. "No use. We've turned down a big offer from West. Your

seven thousand isn't a drop in the bucket."

She beat her hands together wildly. "There must be some way to save him."

The outlaw was looking at her with narrowed eyes. He saw a way, and was

working it out in his mind. "You're willing to pay, are you?" he asked.

"Yes--yes! All I have."

He put his arms akimbo on the corral fence, and looked long at her.

"Suppose the price can't be paid in money, Miss Lee."

"What do you mean?"

"Money isn't the only thing in this world. There are lots of things it

won't buy that other things will," he said slowly.

She groped for his meaning, her wide eyes fixed on his, and still did not

find it. "Be plainer, please. What can I do to save him?"

"You might marry me."

"Never!"

"Just as you say. You were looking for a way, and I suggested one. Anyhow,

you're mine."

"I won't do it!"

"You wanted me to pay the price; but you don't want to pay yourself."

"I couldn't do it. It would be horrible!" But she knew she could and

must.

"Why couldn't you? I'm ready to cut loose from this way of living. When I

pull off this one big thing, I'll quit. We'll go somewhere and begin life

again. You said I could. Well, I will. You'll help me to keep straight. It

won't be only his life you are saving. It will be mine, too."

"No--I don't love you! How could a girl marry a man she didn't care for

and didn't respect?"

"I'll make you do both before long. I'm the kind of man women love."

"You're the kind I hate," she flashed bitterly.

"I'll risk your hate, my dear," he laughed easily.

She did not look at him. Her eyes were on the horizon line, where sky and

pine tops met. He knew that she was fighting it out to a decision, and he

did not speak again.

After all, she was only a girl. Right and wrong were inextricably mixed in

her mind. It was not right to marry this man. It was not right to let the

sheriff die while she could save him. She was generous to the core. But

there was something deeper than generosity. Her banked love for Flatray

flooded her in a great cry of protest against his death. She loved him.

She loved him. Much as she detested this man, revolting as she found the

thought of being linked to him, the impulse to sacrifice herself was the

stronger feeling of the two. Deep in her heart she knew that she could not

let Jack go to his death so long as it was possible to prevent it.

Her grave eyes came back to MacQueen. "I'll have to tell you one

thing--I'll hate you worse than ever after this. Don't think I'll ever

change my mind about that. I won't."

He twirled his little mustache complacently.

"I'll have to risk that, as I said."

"You'll take me to Mesa to-day. As soon as we get there a justice of the

peace will marry us. From his house we'll go directly to father's. You

won't lie to me."

"No. I'll play out the game square, if you do."

"And after we're married, what then?"

"You may stay at home until I get this ransom business settled. Then we'll

go to Sonora."

"How do you know I'll go?"

"I'll trust you."

"Then it's a bargain."

Without another word, they turned back to rejoin the group by the cabin.

Before they had gone a dozen steps she stopped.

"What about Mr. Flatray? You will free him, of course."

"Yes. I'll take him right out due north of here, about four miles. He'll

be blindfolded. There we'll leave him, with instructions how to reach

Mesa."

"I'll go with you," she announced promptly.

"What for?"

"To make sure that you do let him go--alive."

He shrugged his shoulders. "All right. I told you I was going to play

fair. I haven't many good points, but that is one of them. I don't give my

word and then break it."

"Still, I'll go."

He laughed angrily. "That's your privilege."

She turned on him passionately. "You've got no right to resent it, though

I don't care a jackstraw whether you do or not. I'm not going into this

because I want to, but to save this man from the den of wolves into which

he has fallen. If you knew how I despise and hate you, how my whole soul

loathes you, maybe you wouldn't be so eager to go on with it! You'll get

nothing out of this but the pleasure of torturing a girl who can't defend

herself."

"We'll see about that," he answered doggedly.

CHAPTER X

THE PRICE

MacQueen lost no time in announcing his new program.

"Boys, the hanging's off. I've decided to accept West's offer for

Flatray's life. It's too good to turn down."

"That's what I told you all the time," growled Buck.

"Well, I'm telling _you_ now. The money will be divided equally among you,

except that Rosario will get my share as well as hers."

Rosario Chaves broke into fierce protests. Finding these unheeded, she

cursed the outlaws furiously and threatened vengeance upon them. She did

not want money; she wanted this man's life. The men accepted this as a

matter of course, and paid little attention to the ravings of the old

woman.

At the first news of his reprieve, Jack saw things through a haze for a

moment. But he neither broke down nor showed undue exultation.

His first thought was of relief, of profound comfort; his next of wonder

and suspicion. How under heaven had Melissy won his life for him? He

looked quickly at her, but the eyes of the girl did not meet his.

"Melissy." Flatray spoke very gently, but something in the way he spoke

compelled the young woman to meet his eyes.

Almost instantly the long lashes went down to her pale cheeks again.

MacQueen cut in suavely: "I reckon this is the time for announcements.

Boys, Miss Lee has promised to marry me."

Before the stir which this produced had died away, Flatray flashed a

question: "In exchange for my life?"

The chief of the outlaws looked at him with insolence smoldering in his

black eyes. "Now, I wonder when you ever will learn to mind your own

business, sheriff! Nobody invited you to sit into this game."

"This _is_ my business. I make it mine. Give me a straight answer,

Melissy. Am I right? Is it for my life?"

"Yes." Her voice was so low he could hardly hear it.

"Then I won't have it! The thing is infamous. I can't hide behind the

skirts of a girl, least of all you. I can die, but, by God, I'll keep my

self-respect."

"It's all arranged," Melissy answered in a whisper.

Flatray laughed harshly. "I guess not. You can't pay my debts by giving

yourself to life-long misery."

"You're right pessimistic, sheriff," sneered MacQueen.

"What do you take me for? I won't have it. I won't have it." The sheriff's

voice was rough and hoarse. "I'd rather die fifty times."

"It's not up to you to choose, as it happens," the leader of the outlaws

suggested suavely.

"You villain! You damned white-livered coward!" The look of the young

sheriff scorched.

"Speaks right out in meeting, don't he?" grinned Lane.

"I know what he is, Jack," Melissy cried. "And he knows I think he's the

lowest thing that crawls. But I've got to save you. Don't you see, I've

got to do it?"

"No, I don't see it," Flatray answered hotly. "I can take what's coming to

me, can't I? But if you save my life that way you make me as low a thing

as he is. I say I'll not have it."

Melissy could stand it no longer. She began to sob. "I--I--Oh, Jack, I've

got to do it. Don't you see? Don't you see? _It won't make any difference

with me if I don't._ No difference--except that you'll be--dead."

She was in his embrace, her arms around his neck, whispering the horrible

truth in his ear brokenly. And as he felt her dear young fragrance of

hair in his nostrils, the warm, soft litheness of her body against his,

the rage and terror in him flooded his veins. Could such things be? Was it

possible a man like that could live? Not if he could help it.

Gently he unfastened her arms from his neck. MacQueen was standing a dozen

feet away, his hands behind his back and his legs wide apart. As Flatray

swung around the outlaw read a warning in the blazing eyes. Just as Jack

tore loose from his guards MacQueen reached for his revolver.

The gun flashed. A red hot blaze scorched through Jack's arm. Next instant

MacQueen lay flat on his back, the sheriff's fingers tight around his

throat. If he could have had five seconds more the man's neck would have

been broken. But they dragged him away, fighting like a wild cat. They

flung him down and tied his hands behind him.

Melissy caught a glimpse of his bleeding arm, his torn and dusty face, the

appalling ferocity of the men who were hammering him into the ground. She

took a step forward blindly. The mountains in front of her tilted into the

sky. She moved forward another step, then stumbled and went down. She had

fainted.

"Just as well," MacQueen nodded. "Here, Rosario, look after the young

lady. Lift Flatray to a horse, boys, after you've blindfolded him. Good

enough. Oh, and one thing more, Flatray. You're covered by a rifle. If you

lift a hand to slip that handkerchief from your eyes, you're giving the

signal for Jeff to turn loose at you. We're going to take you away, but we

don't aim to let you out of the Cache for a few days yet."

"What do you mean?"

MacQueen jeered at his prisoner openly. "I mean, Mr. Sheriff, that you'll

stay with us till the girl does as she has promised. Understand?"

"I think so, you hellhound. You're going to hold me against her so that

she can't change her mind."

"Exactly. So that she can't rue back. You've guessed it."

They rode for hours, but in what direction it was impossible for Flatray

to guess. He could tell when they were ascending, when dropping down hill,

but in a country so rugged this meant nothing.

When at last he dismounted and the kerchief was taken from his eyes he

found himself in a little pocket of the hills in front of an old log

cabin. Jeff stayed with him. The others rode away. But not till they had

him safely tied to a heavy table leg within the hut.

CHAPTER XI

SQUIRE LATIMER TAKES A HAND

"You're to make ready for a trip to town, _senorita_."

"When?"

"At once," Rosario answered. "By orders of _Senor_ MacQueen."

"Then he is back?" the girl flashed.

"Just back."

"Tell him I want to see him--immediately."

"I am to take you to him as soon as you are ready to ride."

"Oh, very well."

In a very few minutes the young woman was ready. Rosario led her to the

cabin in front of which she had seen the old Indian squaw. In it were

seated Simon West and Black MacQueen. Both of them rose at her entrance.

"Please take a chair, Miss Lee. We have some business to talk over," the

outlaw suggested.

Melissy looked straight at him, her lips shut tight. "What have you done

with Jack Flatray?" she presently demanded.

"Left him to find his way back to his friends."

"You didn't hurt him ... any more?"

"No."

"And you left him alone, wounded as he was."

"We fixed up his wound," lied MacQueen.

"Was it very bad?"

"A scratch. I had to do it."

"You needn't apologize to me."

"I'm not apologizing, you little wild-cat."

"What do you want with me? Why did you send for me?"

"We're going to Mesa to see a parson. But before we start there's some

business to fix up. Mr. West and I will need your help to fix up the

negotiations for his release."

"My help!" She looked at him in surprise. "How can I help?"

"I've laid my demands before his friends. They'll come through with the

money, sure. But I want them to understand the conditions right plainly,

so there won't be any mistake. What they have got to get soaked into their

heads is that, if they do make any mistakes, they will not see Simon West

again alive. You put that up to them strong."

"I'm not going to be your agent in robbing people of their money!" she

told him swiftly.

"You don't understand. Mr. West wants you to do it. He wants you to

explain the facts to his friends, so they won't act rash and get off wrong

foot first."

"Oh! If Mr. West wishes it," she conceded.

"I do wish it," the great man added.

Though his face and hands were still stained with the dye that had been

used on them, the railroad builder was now dressed in his own clothes. The

girl thought that he looked haggard and anxious, and she was sure that her

presence brought him relief. In his own way he was an indomitable fighter,

but his experience had not included anything of this nature.

Jack Flatray could look at death level-eyed, and with an even pulse,

because for him it was all in the day's work; but the prospect of it shook

West's high-strung nerves. Nevertheless, he took command of the

explanations, because it had been his custom for years to lead.

MacQueen, his sardonic smile in play, sat back and let West do most of the

talking. Both men were working for the same end--to get the ransom paid as

soon as possible--and the multimillionaire released; and the outlaw

realized that Melissy would cooeperate the more heartily if she felt she

were working for West and not for himself.

"This is Tuesday, Miss Lee. You will reach Mesa some time to-night. My

friends ought to be on the ground already. I want you and your father to

get in touch with them right away, and arrange the details along the line

laid down by Mr. MacQueen. In case they agree to everything and understand

fully, have the Stars and Stripes flying from your house all day

to-morrow as a signal. Don't on any account omit this--because, if you do,

my captors will have to hold me longer, pending further negotiations. I

have written a letter to Mr. Lucas, exonerating you completely, Miss Lee;

and I have ordered him to comply with all these demands without parley."

"Our proposition seems to Mr. West very reasonable and fair," grinned

MacQueen impishly, paring his finger nails.

"At any rate, I think that my life is worth to this country a good deal

more than three hundred thousand dollars," West corrected.

"Besides being worth something to Simon West," the outlaw added

carelessly.

West plunged into the details of delivering the money. Once or twice the

other man corrected him or amplified some statement. In order that there

could be no mistake, a map of Sweetwater canyon was handed to Melissy to be

used by the man who would bring the money to the rendezvous at the Devil's

Causeway.

When it came to saying good-bye, the old man could scarce make up his mind

to release the girl's hand. It seemed to him that she was the visible sign

of his safety, and that with her departure went a safeguard from these

desperate men. He could not forget that she had saved the life of the

sheriff, even though he did not know what sacrifice she had made so to do.

"I know you'll do your best for me," he said, with tears in his eyes.

"Make Lucas see this thing right. Don't let any fool detectives bunco him

into refusing to pay the ransom. Put it to him as strongly as you can,

that it will be either my life or the money. I have ordered him to pay it,

and I want it paid."

Melissy nodded. "I'll tell him how it is, Mr. West. I know it will be all

right. By Thursday afternoon we shall have you with us to dinner again.

Trust us."

"I do." He lowered his voice and glanced at MacQueen, who had been called

aside to speak to one of his men. "And I'm glad you're going away from

here. This is no place for you."

"It isn't quite the place for you, either," she answered, with a faint,

joyless smile.

They started an hour before midday. Rosario had packed a lunch for both of

them in MacQueen's saddlebags, for it was the intention of the latter to

avoid ranches and traveled trails on the way down. He believed that the

girl would go through with what she had pledged herself to do, but he did

not mean to take chances of a rescue.

In the middle of the afternoon they stopped for lunch at Round-up

Spring--a water hole which had not dried up in a dozen years. It was a

somber meal. Melissy's spirits had been sinking lower and lower with every

mile that brought her nearer the destiny into which this man was forcing

her. Food choked her, and she ate but little. Occasionally, with staring

eyes, she would fall into a reverie, from which his least word would

startle her to a shiver of apprehension. This she always controlled after

the first instinctive shudder.

"What's the matter with you, girl? I'm not going to hurt you any. I never

hit a woman in my life," the man said once roughly.

"Perhaps you may, after you're married. It's usually one's wife one beats.

Don't be discouraged. You'll have the experience yet," she retorted, but

without much spirit.

"To hear you tell it, I'm a devil through and through! It's that kind of

talk that drives a man to drink," he flung out angrily.

"And to wife beating. Of course, I'm not your chattel yet, because the

ceremony hasn't been read; but if you would like to anticipate a few hours

and beat me, I don't suppose there is any reason you shouldn't."

"Gad! How you hate me!"

Her inveteracy discouraged him. His good looks, his debonair manner, the

magnetic charm he knew how to exert--these, which had availed him with

other women, did not seem to reach her at all. She really gave him no

chance to prove himself. He was ready to be grave or gay--to be a

light-hearted boy or a blase man of the world--to adopt any role that

would suit her. But how could one play up effectively to a chill silence

which took no note of him, to a depression of the soul which would not

let itself be lifted? He felt that she was living up to the barest letter

of the law in fulfilling their contract, and because of it he steeled

himself against her sufferings.

There was one moment of their ride when she stood on the tiptoe of

expectation and showed again the sparkle of eager life. MacQueen had

resaddled after their luncheon, and they were climbing a long sidehill

that looked over a dry valley. With a gesture, the outlaw checked her

horse.

"Look!"

Some quarter of a mile from them two men were riding up a wash that ran

through the valley. The mesquite and the cactus were thick, and it was for

only an occasional moment that they could be seen. Black and the girl were

screened from view by a live oak in front of them, so that there was no

danger of being observed. The outlaw got out his field glasses and watched

the men intently.

Melissy could not contain the question that trembled on her lips: "Do you

know them?"

"I reckon not."

"Perhaps----"

"Well!"

"May I look--please?"

He handed her the glasses. She had to wait for the riders to reappear, but

when they did she gave a little cry.

"It's Mr. Bellamy!"

"Oh, is it?"

He looked at her steadily, ready to crush in her throat any call she might

utter for help. But he soon saw that she had no intention of making her

presence known. Her eyes were glued to the glasses. As long as the men

were in sight she focused her gaze on them ravenously. At last a bend in

the dry river bed hid them from view. She lowered the binoculars with a

sigh.

"Lucky they didn't see us," he said, with his easy, sinister laugh. "Lucky

for them."

She noticed for the first time that he had uncased his rifle and was

holding it across the saddle-tree.

Night slipped silently down from the hills--the soft, cool, velvet night

of the Arizona uplands. The girl drooped in the saddle from sheer

exhaustion. The past few days had been hard ones, and last night she had

lost most of her sleep. She had ridden far on rough trails, had been

subjected to a stress of emotion to which her placid maiden life had been

unused. But she made no complaint. It was part of the creed she had

unconsciously learned from her father to game out whatever had to be

endured.

The outlaw, though he saw her fatigue, would not heed it. She had chosen

to set herself apart from him. Let her ask him to stop and rest, if she

wanted to. It would do her pride good to be humbled. Yet in his heart he

admired her the more, because she asked no favors of him and forbore the

womanish appeal of tears.

His watch showed eleven o'clock by the moon when the lights of Mesa

glimmered in the valley below.

"We'll be in now in half an hour," he said.

She had no comment to make, and silence fell between them again until they

reached the outskirts of the town.

"We'll get off here and walk in," he ordered; and, after she had

dismounted, he picketed the horses close to the road. "You can send for

yours in the mornin'. Mine will be in the livery barn by that time."

The streets were practically deserted in the residential part of the town.

Only one man they saw, and at his approach MacQueen drew Melissy behind a

large lilac bush.

As the man drew near the outlaw's hand tightened on the shoulder of the

girl. For the man was her father--dusty, hollow-eyed, and haggard. The two

crouching behind the lilacs knew that this iron man was broken by his

fears for his only child, the girl who was the apple of his eye.

Not until he was out of hearing did Melissy open her lips to the stifled

cry she had suppressed. Her arms went out to him, and the tears rolled

down her cheeks. For herself she had not let herself break down, but for

her father's grief her heart was like water.

"All right. Don't break down now. You'll be with him inside of half an

hour," the outlaw told her gruffly.

They stopped at a house not much farther down the street, and he rang the

bell. It took a second ring to bring a head out of the open window

upstairs.

"Well?" a sleepy voice demanded.

"Is this Squire Latimer?"

"Yes."

"Come down. We want to get married."

"Then why can't you come at a reasonable hour?--consarn it!"

"Never mind that. There's a good fee in it. Hurry up!"

Presently the door opened. "Come in. You can wait in the hall till I get a

light."

"No--I don't want a light. We'll step into this room, and be married at

once," MacQueen told him crisply.

"I don't know about that. I'm not marrying folks that can't be looked

at."

"You'll marry us, and at once. I'm Black MacQueen!"

It was ludicrous to see how the justice of the peace fell back in terror

before the redoubtable bad man of the hills.

"Well, I don't know as a light is a legal necessity; but we got to have

witnesses."

"Have you any in the house?"

"My daughter and a girl friend of hers are sleeping upstairs. I'll call

them, Mr. Black--er--I mean Mr. MacQueen."

The outlaw went with the squire to the foot of the stairs, whence Latimer

wakened the girls and told them to dress at once, as quickly as possible.

A few minutes later they came down--towsled, eyes heavy with sleep,

giggling at each other in girlish fashion. But when they knew whose

marriage they were witnessing, giggles and sleep fled together.

They were due for another surprise later. MacQueen and his bride were

standing in the heavy shadows, so that both bulked vaguely in mere

outline. Hitherto, Melissy had not spoken a word. The time came when it

was necessary for the justice to know the name of the girl whom he was

marrying. Her answer came at once, in a low, scarcely audible voice:

"Melissy Lee."

An electric shock could scarce have startled them more. Of all the girls

in Mesa none was so proud as Melissy Lee, none had been so far above

criticism, such a queen in the frontier town. She had spent a year in

school at Denver; she had always been a social leader. While she had

always been friendly to the other girls, they had looked upon her with a

touch of awe. She had all the things they craved, from beauty to money.

And now she was marrying at midnight, in the dark, the most notorious bad

man of Arizona!

Here was a wonder of wonders to tell the other girls to-morrow. The only

pity was that they could not see her face--and his. They had heard that he

was handsome. No doubt that accounted for it. And what could be more

romantic than a love match with such a fascinating villain? Probably he

had stormed her heart irresistibly.

The service proceeded. The responses of the man came clearly and

triumphantly, those of the girl low but distinctly. It was the custom of

the justice to join the hands of the parties he was marrying; but when he

moved to do so this girl put both of hers quickly behind her. It was his

custom also to kiss the bride after pronouncing them man and wife; but he

omitted this, too, on the present occasion. Nor did the groom kiss her.

The voice of the justice died away. They stood before him man and wife.

The witnesses craned forward to see the outlaw embrace his bride. Instead,

he reached into his pocket and handed Latimer a bill. The denomination of

it was one hundred dollars, but the justice did not discover that until

later.

"I reckon that squares us," the bad man said unsentimentally. "Now, all of

you back to bed."

MacQueen and his bride passed out into the night. The girls noticed that

she did not take his arm; that she even drew back, as if to avoid touching

him as they crossed the threshold.

Not until they reached the gate of her father's house did MacQueen speak.

"I'm not all coyote, girl. I'll give you the three days I promised you.

After that you'll join me wherever I say."

"Yes," she answered without spirit.

"You'll stand pat to our agreement. When they try to talk you out of it

you won't give in?"

"No."

She was deadly weary, could scarce hold up her head.

"If you lie to me I'll take it out on your folks. Don't forget that Jack

Flatray will have to pay if you double-cross me."

"No."

"He'll have to pay in full."

"You mean you'll capture him again."

"I mean we won't have to do that. We haven't turned him loose yet."

"Then you lied to me?" She stared at him with wide open eyes of horror.

"I had to keep him to make sure of you."

Her groan touched his vanity, or was it perhaps his pity?

"I'm not going to hurt him--if you play fair. I tell you I'm no cur. Help

me, girl, and I'll quit this hell raising and live decent."

She laughed without joy, bitterly.

"Oh, I know what you think," he continued. "I can't blame you. But what do

you know about my life? What do you know about what I've had to fight

against? All my life there has been some devil in me, strangling all the

good. There has been nobody to give me a helping hand--none to hold me

back. I was a dog with a bad name--good enough for hanging, and nothing

else."

He was holding the gate, and perforce she had to hear him out.

"What do I care about that?" she cried, in a fierce gust of passion. "I

see you are cur and coward! You lied to me. You didn't keep faith and free

Jack Flatray. That is enough."

She was the one person in the world who had power to wound him. Nor did it

hurt the less that it was the truth. He drew back as if the lash of a whip

had swept across his face.

"No man alive can say that to me and live!" he told her. "Cur I may be;

but you're my wife, 'Lissie MacQueen. Don't forget that."

"Go! Go!" she choked. "I hope to God I'll never see your face again!"

She flew along the grass-bordered walk, whipped open the front door, and

disappeared within. She turned the key in the lock, and stood trembling in

the darkness. She half expected him to follow, to attempt to regain

possession of her.

But the creak of his quick step on the porch did not come. Only her

hammering heart stirred in the black silence. She drew a long breath of

relief, and sank down on the stairs. It was over at last, the horrible

nightmare through which she had been living.

Gradually she fought down her fears and took hold of herself. She must

find her father and relieve his anxiety. Quietly she opened the door of

the hall into the living room.

A man sat at the table, with his back to her, in an attitude of utter

dejection. He was leaning forward, with his head buried in his arms. It

was her father. She stepped forward, and put her hands on his bowed

shoulders.

"Daddy," she said softly.

At her touch the haggard, hopeless, unshaven face was lifted toward her.

For a moment Lee looked at her as if she had been a wraith. Then, with a

hoarse cry, he arose and caught her in his arms.

Neither of them could speak for emotion. He tried it twice before he could

get out:

"Baby! Honey!"

He choked back the sobs in his throat. "Where did you come from? I thought

sure MacQueen had you."

"He had. He took me to Dead Man's Cache with him."

"And you escaped. Praise the Lord, honey!"

"No--he brought me back."

"MacQueen did! Goddlemighty--he knows what's best for him!"

"He brought me back to--to----" She broke down, and buried her head in his

shoulder.

Long, dry sobs racked her. The father divined with alarm that he did not

know the worst.

"Tell me--tell me, 'Lissie! Brought you back to do what, honey?" He held

her back from him, his hands on her shoulders.

"To marry me."

"What!"

"To marry me. And he did--fifteen minutes ago, I am Black MacQueen's

wife."

"Black MacQueen's wife! My God, girl!" Big Beauchamp Lee stared at her in

a horror of incredulity.

She told him the whole story, from beginning to end.

CHAPTER XII

THE TAKING OF THE CACHE

It was understood that in the absence of the sheriff Richard Bellamy

should have charge of the posse, and after the disappearance of Flatray he

took command.

With the passing years Bellamy had become a larger figure in the

community. The Monte Cristo mine had made him independently wealthy, even

though he had deeded one-third of it to Melissy Lee. Arizona had forgiven

him his experiment at importing sheep and he was being spoken of as a

territorial delegate to Congress, a place the mine owner by no means

wanted. For his interests were now bound up in the Southwest. His home was

there. Already a little toddler's soft fat fist was clinging to the skirt

of Ferne.

At first Bellamy, as well as Farnum, McKinstra, young Yarnell and the rest

of the posse looked expectantly for the return of the sheriff. It was hard

to believe that one so virile, so competent, so much a dominant factor of

every situation he confronted, could have fallen a victim to the men he

hunted. But as the days passed with no news of him the conviction grew

that he had been waylaid and shot. The hunt went on, but the rule now was

that no move should be made singly. Not even for an hour did the couples

separate.

One evening a woman drifted into camp just as they were getting ready to

roll into their blankets. McKinstra was on sentry duty, but she got by him

unobserved and startled Farnum into drawing his gun.

Yet all she said was: "_Buenos tardes, senor_."

The woman was a wrinkled Mexican with a close-shut, bitter mouth and

bright, snappy eyes.

Farnum stared at her in surprise. "Who in Arizona are you?"

It was decidedly disturbing to think what might have happened if

MacQueen's outfit had dropped in on them, instead of one lone old woman.

"Rosario Chaves."

"Glad to meet you, ma'am. Won't you sit down?"

The others had by this time gathered around.

Rosario spoke in Spanish, and Bob Farnum answered in the same language.

"You want to find the way into Dead Man's Cache, senor?"

"Do we? I reckon yes!"

"Let me be your guide."

"You know the way in?"

"I live there."

"Connected with MacQueen's outfit, maybe?"

"I cook for him. My son was one of his men."

"Was?"

"Yes. He was killed--shot by Lieutenant O'Connor, the same man who was a

prisoner at the Cache until yesterday morning."

"Killed lately, ma'am?"

"Two years ago. We swore revenge. MacQueen did not keep his oath, the oath

we all swore together."

Bellamy began to understand the situation. She wanted to get back at

MacQueen, unless she were trying to lead them into a trap.

"Let's get this straight. MacQueen turned O'Connor loose, did he?" Bellamy

questioned.

"No. He escaped. This man--what you call him?--the sheriff, helped him and

Senor West to break away."

The mine owner's eye met Farnum's. They were being told much news.

"So they all escaped, did they?"

"_Si, senor_, but MacQueen took West and the sheriff next morning. They

could not find their way out of the valley."

"But O'Connor escaped. Is that it?"

Her eyes flashed hatred. "He escaped because the sheriff helped him. His

life was forfeit to me. So then was the sheriff's. MacQueen he admit it.

But when the girl promise to marry him he speak different."

"What girl?"

"_Senorita_ Lee."

"Not Melissy Lee."

"_Si, senor_."

"My God! Melissy Lee a prisoner of that infernal villain. How did she come

there?"

The Mexican woman was surprised at the sudden change that had come over

the men. They had grown tense and alert. Interest had flamed into a

passionate eagerness.

Rosario Chaves told the story from beginning to end, so far as she knew

it; and every sentence of it wrung the big heart of these men. The pathos

of it hit them hard. Their little comrade, the girl they had been fond of

for years--the bravest, truest lass in Arizona--had fallen a victim to

this intolerable fate! They could have wept with the agony of it if they

had known how.

"Are you sure they were married? Maybe the thing slipped up," Alan

suggested, the hope father to the thought.

But this hope was denied him; for the woman had brought with her a copy of

the Mesa _Sentinel_, with an account of the marriage and the reason for

it. This had been issued on the morning after the event, and MacQueen had

brought it back with him to the Cache.

Bellamy arranged with the Mexican woman a plan of attack upon the valley.

Camp was struck at once, and she guided them through tortuous ravines and

gulches deeper into the Roaring Fork country. She left them in a grove of

aspens, just above the lip of the valley, on the side least frequented by

the outlaws.

They were to lie low until they should receive from her a signal that most

of the gang had left to take West to the place appointed for the exchange.

They were then to wait through the day until dusk, slip quietly down, and

capture the ranch before the return of the party with the gold. In case

anything should occur to delay the attack on the ranch, another signal was

to be given by Rosario.

The first signal was to be the hanging of washing upon the line. If this

should be removed before nightfall, Bellamy was to wait until he should

hear from her again.

Bellamy believed that the Chaves woman was playing square with him, but he

preferred to take no chances. As soon as she had left to return to the

settlement of the outlaws he moved camp again to a point almost half a

mile from the place where she had last seen them. If the whole thing were

a "plant," and a night attack had been planned, he wanted to be where he

and his men could ambush the ambushers, if necessary.

But the night passed without any alarm. As the morning wore away the

scheduled washing appeared on the line. Farnum crept down to the valley

lip and trained his glasses on the ranch house. Occasionally he could

discern somebody moving about, though there were not enough signs of

activity to show the presence of many people. All day the wash hung

drying on the line. Dusk came, the blankets still signaling that all was

well.

Bellamy led his men forward under cover, following the wooded ridge above

the Cache so long as there was light enough by which they might be

observed from the valley. With the growing darkness he began the descent

into the bowl just behind the corral. A light shone in the larger cabin;

and Bellamy knew that, unless Rosario were playing him false, the men

would be at supper there. He left his men lying down behind the corral,

while he crept forward to the window from which the light was coming.

In the room were two men and the Mexican woman. The men, with elbows far

apart, and knives and forks very busy, were giving strict attention to the

business in hand. Rosario waited upon them, but with ear and eye guiltily

alert to catch the least sound. The mine owner could even overhear

fragments of the talk.

"Ought to get back by midnight, don't you reckon? Pass the cow and the

sugar, Buck. Keep a-coming with that coffee, Rosario. I ain't a mite

afraid but what MacQueen will pull it off all right, you bet."

"Sure, he will. Give that molasses a shove, Tom----"

Bellamy drew his revolver and slipped around to the front door. He came in

so quietly that neither of the men heard him. Both had their backs to the

door.

"Figure it up, and it makes a right good week's work. I reckon I'll go

down to Chihuahua and break the bank at Miguel's," one of them was

saying.

"Better go to Yuma and break stones for a spell, Buck," suggested a voice

from the doorway.

Both men slewed their heads around as if they had been worked by the same

lever. Their mouths opened, and their eyes bulged. A shining revolver

covered them competently.

"Now, don't you, Buck--nor you either, Tom!" This advice because of a

tentative movement each had made with his right hand. "I'm awful careless

about spilling lead, when I get excited. Better reach for the roof; then

you won't have any temptations to suicide."

The hard eyes of the outlaws swept swiftly over the cattleman. Had he

shown any sign of indecision, they would have taken a chance and shot it

out. But he was so easily master of himself that the impulse to "draw"

died stillborn.

Bellamy gave a sharp, shrill whistle. Footsteps came pounding across the

open, and three armed men showed at the door.

"Darn my skin if the old son of a gun hasn't hogged all the glory!" Bob

Farnum complained joyfully. "Won't you introduce us to your friends,

Bellamy?"

"This gentleman with the biscuit in his hand is Buck; the one so partial

to porterhouse steak is Tom," returned Bellamy gravely.

"Glad to death to meet you, gents. Your hands seem so busy drilling for

the ceiling, we won't shake right now. If it would be any kindness to you,

I'll unload all this hardware, though. My! You tote enough with you to

start a store, boys."

"How did you find your way in?" growled Buck.

"Jest drifted in on our automobiles and airships," Bob told him airily, as

he unbuckled the revolver belt and handed it to one of his friends.

The outlaws were bound, after which Rosario cooked the posse a dinner.

This was eaten voraciously by all, for camp life had sharpened the

appetite for a woman's cooking.

One of the men kept watch to notify them when MacQueen and his gang should

enter the valley, while the others played "pitch" to pass the time. In

spite of this, the hours dragged. It was a good deal like waiting for a

battle to begin. Bellamy and Farnum had no nerves, but the others became

nervous and anxious.

"I reckon something is keeping them," suggested Alan, after looking at his

watch for the fifth time in half an hour. "Don't you reckon we better go

up the trail a bit to meet them?"

"I reckon we better wait here, Alan. Bid three," returned Farnum evenly.

As he spoke, their scout came running in.

"They're here, boys!"

"Good enough! How many of them?"

"Four of 'em, looked like. They were winding down the trail, and I

couldn't make out how many."

"All right, boys. Steady, now, till they get down from their horses. Hal,

out with the light when I give the word."

It was a minute to shake nerves of steel. They could hear the sound of

voices, an echo of jubilant laughter, the sound of iron shoes striking

stones in the trail. Then some one shouted:

"Oh, you, Buck!"

The program might have gone through as arranged, but for an unlooked-for

factor in the proceedings. Buck let out a shout of warning to his trapped

friends. Almost at the same instant the butt of Farnum's revolver smashed

down on his head; but the damage was already done.

Bellamy and his friends swarmed out like bees. The outlaws were waiting

irresolutely--some mounted, others beside their horses. Among them were

two pack horses.

"Hands up!" ordered the mine owner sharply.

The answer was a streak of fire from a rifle. Instantly there followed a

fusillade. Flash after flash lit up the darkness. Staccato oaths, cries, a

moan of pain, the trampling of frightened horses, filled the night with

confusion.

In spite of the shout of warning, the situation had come upon the bandits

as a complete surprise. How many were against them, whether or not they

were betrayed, the certainty that the law had at last taken them at a

disadvantage--these things worked with the darkness for the posse. A man

flung himself on his pony, lay low on its back, and galloped wildly into

the night. A second wheeled and followed at his heels. Hank Irwin was

down, with a bullet from a carbine through his jaw and the back of his

head. A wild shot had brought down another. Of the outlaws only MacQueen,

standing behind his horse as he fired, remained on the field uninjured.

The cattlemen had scattered as the firing began, and had availed

themselves of such cover as was to be had. Now they concentrated their

fire on the leader of the outlaws. His horse staggered and went down,

badly torn by a rifle bullet. A moment later the special thirty-two

carbine he carried was knocked from his hands by another shot.

He crouched and ran to Irwin's horse, flung himself to the saddle,

deliberately emptied his revolver at his foes, and put spurs to the

broncho. As he vanished into the hills Bob Farnum slowly sank to the

ground.

"I've got mine, Bellamy. Blamed if he ain't plumb bust my laig!"

The mine owner covered the two wounded outlaws, while his men disarmed

them. Then he walked across to his friend, laid down his rifle, and knelt

beside him.

"Did he get you bad, old man?"

"Bad enough so I reckon I'll have a doc look at it one of these days." Bob

grinned to keep down the pain.

Once more there came the sound of hoofs beating the trail of decomposed

granite. Bellamy looked up and grasped his rifle. A single rider loomed

out of the darkness and dragged his horse to a halt, a dozen yards from

the mine owner, in such a position that he was directly behind one of the

pack horses.

"Up with your hands!" ordered Bellamy on suspicion.

Two hands went swiftly up from beside the saddle. The moonlight gleamed on

something bright in the right hand. A flash rent the night. A jagged,

red-hot pain tore through the shoulder of Hal Yarnell. He fired wildly,

the shock having spoiled his aim.

The attacker laughed exultantly, mockingly, as he swung his horse about.

"A present from Black MacQueen," he jeered.

With that, he was gone again, taking the pack animal with him. He had had

the audacity to come back after his loot--and had got some of it, too.

One of the unwounded cowpunchers gave pursuit, but half an hour later he

returned ruefully.

"I lost him somehow--darned if I know how. I seen him before me one

minute; the next he was gone. Must 'a' known some trail that led off from

the road, I reckon."

Bellamy said nothing. He intended to take up the trail in person; but

first the wounded had to be looked to, a man dispatched for a doctor, and

things made safe against another possible but improbable attack. It was to

be a busy night; for he had on hand three wounded men, as well as two

prisoners who were sound. An examination showed him that neither of the

two wounded outlaws nor Farnum nor Yarnell were fatally shot. All were

hardy outdoors men, who had lived in the balsamic air of the hills; if

complications did not ensue, they would recover beyond question.

In this extremity Rosario was a first aid to the injured. She had betrayed

the bandits without the least compunction, because they had ignored the

oath of vengeance against the slayer of her son; but she nursed them all

impartially and skillfully until the doctor arrived, late next day.

Meanwhile Bellamy and McKinstra, guided by one of the outlaws, surprised

Jeff and released Flatray, who returned with them to camp.

With the doctor had come also four members of the Lee posse. To the deputy

in charge Jack turned over his four prisoners and the gold recovered. As

soon as the doctor had examined and dressed his wound he mounted and took

the trail after MacQueen. With him rode Bellamy.

CHAPTER XIII

MELISSY ENTERTAINS

The notes of Schumann's "Trauemerei" died away. Melissy glanced over her

music, and presently ran lightly into Chopin's "Valse Au Petit Chien." She

was, after all, only a girl; and there were moments when she forgot to

remember that she was wedded to the worst of unhanged villains. When she

drowned herself fathoms deep in her music, she had the best chance of

forgetting.

Chaminade's "The Flatterer" followed. In the midst of this the door opened

quietly and closed again. Melissy finished, fingered her music, and became

somehow aware that she was not alone. She turned unhurriedly on the seat

and met the smiling eyes of her husband.

From his high-heeled boots to his black, glossy hair, Black MacQueen was

dusty with travel. Beside him was a gunny sack, tied in the middle and

filled at both ends. Picturesque he was and always would be, but his

present costume scarce fitted the presence of a lady. Yet of this he gave

no sign. He was leaning back in a morris chair, rakish, debonair, and at

his ease. Evidently, he had been giving appreciative ear to the music, and

more appreciative eye to the musician.

"So it's you," said Melissy, white to the lips.

MacQueen arose, recovered his dusty hat from the floor, and bowed

theatrically. "Your long-lost husband, my dear."

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm visiting my wife. The explanation seems a trifle obvious."

"What do you want?"

"Have I said I wanted anything?"

"Then you had better leave. I'll give you up if I get a chance."

He looked at her with lazy derision. "I like you angry. Your eyes snap

electricity, sweet."

"Oh!" She gave a gesture of impatience. "Do you know that, if I were to

step to that window and call out your name, the whole town would be in

arms against you?"

"Why don't you?"

"I shall, if you don't go."

"Are you alone in the house?"

"Why do you ask?" Her heart was beating fast.

"Because you must hide me till night. Is your father here?"

"Not now. He is hunting you--to kill you if he finds you."

"Servants?"

"The cook is out for the afternoon. She will be back in an hour or two."

"Good! Get me food."

She did not rise. "I must know more. What is it? Are they hunting you?

What have you done now?" A strong suppressed excitement beat in her

pulses.

"It is not what I have done, but what your friends have done. Yesterday I

went to exchange West for the ransom money. Most of my men I had to take

with me, to guard against foul play. We held the canyon from the flat tops,

and everything went all right. The exchange was made. We took the ransom

money back to the Cache. I don't know how it was--whether somebody played

me false and sold us, or whether your friend Flatray got loose and his

posse stumbled in by accident. But there they were in the Cache when we

got back."

"Yes?" The keenest agitation was in Melissy's voice.

"They took us by surprise. We fought. Two of my men ran away. Two were

shot down. I was alone."

"And then?"

The devil of torment moved in him. "Then I shot up one of your friend's

outfit, rode away, changed my mind, and went back, shot your friend, and

hiked off into the hills with a pack horse loaded with gold."

Out of all this one thing stood out terribly to her. "You shot Jack

Flatray--again!"

He laughed. One lie more or less made no difference. "I sure did."

She had to moisten her lips before she could ask the next question:

"You--killed him?"

"No--worse luck!"

"How do you know?"

"He and another man were on the trail after me to-day. I saw them pass up

Moose Creek from a ledge on which I was lying. If I had had a rifle, I

would have finished the job; but my carbine was gone. It was too far for a

six-gun."

"But, if you wounded him last night, how could he be trailing you

to-day?"

"I reckon it was a flesh wound. His shoulder was tied up, I noticed."

Impatiently he waved Flatray out of the conversation. "I didn't come here

to tell you about him. I got to get out on tonight's train. This country

has grown too hot for me. You're going with me?"

"No!"

"Yes, by God!"

"I'll never go with you--never--never!" she cried passionately. "I'm free

of the bargain. You broke faith. So shall I."

She saw his jaw clamp. "So you're going to throw me down, are you?"

Melissy stood before him, slim and straight, without yielding an inch. She

was quite colorless, for he was a man with whose impulses she could not

reckon. But one thing she knew. He could never take her away with him and

escape. And she knew that he must know it, too.

"If you want to call it that. You tricked me into marrying you. You meant

to betray me all the time. Go, while there's still a chance. I don't want

your blood on my hands."

It was characteristic of him that he always wanted more what he could not

get.

"Don't answer so quick, girl. Listen to me. I've got enough in that sack

to start us in the cattle business in Argentina. There's more buried in

the hills, if we need it. Girl, I tell you I'm going to run straight from

to-day!"

She laughed scornfully. "And in the same breath you tell me how much you

have stolen and are taking with you. If you were a Croesus, I wouldn't go

with you." She flamed into sudden, fierce passion. "Will you never

understand that I hate and detest you?"

"You think you do, but you don't. You love me--only you won't let yourself

believe it."

"There's no arguing with such colossal conceit," she retorted, with hard

laughter. "It's no use to tell you that I should like to see you dead at

my feet."

Swiftly he slid a revolver from its holster, and presented it to her, butt

first. "You can have your wish right easy, if you mean it. Go to it.

There's no danger. All you've got to give out is that I frightened you.

You'll be a heroine, too."

She looked at the weapon and at him, and the very thought of it made her

sick. She saw the thing almost as if it were already done--the smoking

revolver in her hand, and the man lying motionless before her.

"Take it away," she said, with a shudder.

"You see, you can't do it! You can't even go to the window there and shout

out that Black MacQueen is with you in the house. You don't hate me at

all, my dear."

"Because I won't kill you with my own hand? You reason logically."

"Then why don't you betray my presence? Why don't you call your friends in

to take me?"

"I'm not sure that I won't; but if I don't, it will be for their sakes,

and not for yours. They could not take you without loss of life."

"You're right there," he agreed, with a flash of his tigerish ferocity.

"They couldn't take me alive at all, and I reckon before I checked in a

few of them would."

CHAPTER XIV

BLACK MACQUEEN CASHES HIS CHECKS

It was part of his supreme audacity to trust her. While he was changing

his dusty, travel-stained clothes for some that belonged to her brother

she prepared a meal for him downstairs. A dozen times the impulse was on

her to fly into the street and call out that Black MacQueen was in the

house, but always she restrained herself. He was going to leave the

country within a few hours. Better let him go without bloodshed.

He came down to his dinner fresh from a bath and a shave, wearing a new

tweed suit, which fitted him a trifle loosely, but was not unbecoming to

his trim, lithe figure. No commercial traveler at a familiar hotel could

have been more jauntily and blithely at home.

"So you didn't run away!" He grinned.

"Not yet. I'm going to later. I owe you a meal, and I wanted to pay it

first."

It was his very contempt of fear that had held her. To fool away half an

hour in dressing, knowing that it was very likely she might be summoning

men to kill him--to come down confident and unperturbed, possibly to meet

his death--was such a piece of dare-deviltry as won reluctant admiration,

in spite of her detestation of him. Even if she did not give him up, his

situation was precarious in the extreme. All the trains were being

watched; and in spite of this he had to walk boldly to the station, buy a

ticket, and pass himself off for an ordinary traveler.

Both knew that the chances were against him, but he gave no sign of

concern or anxiety. Never had Melissy seen him so full of spirits. The

situation would have depressed most men; him it merely stimulated. The

excitement of it ran like wine through his blood. Driven from his hills,

with every man's hand against him, with the avenues of escape apparently

closed, he was in his glory. He would play his cards out to the end,

without whining, no matter how the game might go.

Melissy washed the dishes, in order that the cook might not know that she

had had a guest for luncheon. The two returned to the living room. It was

his whim to have her play for him; and she was glad to comply, because it

interfered with his wooing. She was no longer greatly afraid of him, for

she knew that he was on his good behavior to win her liking.

Fortune favored her. For some time they had heard the cook moving about in

the kitchen. Once she had poked her head in to know whether her young

mistress would like the cherry pie for dinner.

"I didn't know yez had company, Miss 'Lissie," she had apologized.

"This gentleman will stay to dinner," Melissy had announced.

At luncheon Melissy had not eaten with him; but at dinner it was

necessary, on account of the cook, that she sit down, too. The meal had

scarce begun when Kate came beaming in.

"Shure, Miss 'Lissie, there's another young gentleman at the door. It's

Mr. Bellamy. I tould him to come right in. He's washing his face first."

Melissy rose, white as a sheet. "All right, Kate."

But as soon as the cook had left the room she turned to the outlaw. "What

shall I do? What shall I do?"

Little whimsical imps of mischief shone in his eyes. "Have him in and

introduce him to your husband, my dear."

"You must go--quick. If I don't get rid of him, you'll be able to slip out

the back way and get to the depot. He doesn't know you are here."

MacQueen sat back and gave her his easy, reckless smile. "Guess again.

Bellamy can't drive me out."

She caught her hands together. "Oh, go--go! There will be trouble. You

wouldn't kill him before my very eyes!"

"Not unless he makes the first play. It's up to him." He laughed with the

very delight of it. "I'd as lief settle my account with him right now.

He's meddled too much in my affairs."

She broke out in a cry of distress: "You wouldn't! I've treated you fair.

I could have betrayed you, and I didn't. Aren't you going to play square

with me?"

He nodded. "All right. Show him in. He won't know me except as Lieutenant

O'Connor. It was too dark last night to see my face."

Bellamy came into the room.

"How's Jack?" Melissy asked quickly as she caught his hand.

"Good as new. And you?"

"All right."

The outlaw stirred uneasily in his seat. His vanity objected to another

man holding the limelight while he was present.

Melissy turned. "I think you have never met Lieutenant O'Connor, Mr.

Bellamy. Lieutenant--Mr. Bellamy."

They shook hands. MacQueen smiled. He was enjoying himself.

"Glad to meet you, Mr. Bellamy. You and Flatray have won the honors

surely. You beat us all to it, sir. As I rode in this mornin', everybody

was telling how you rounded up the outlaws. Have you caught MacQueen

himself?"

"Not yet. We have reason to believe that he rode within ten miles of town

this morning before he cut across to the railroad. The chances are that

he will try to board a train at some water tank in the dark. We're having

them all watched. I came in to telephone all stations to look out for

him."

"Where's Jack?" Melissy asked.

"He'll be here presently. His arm was troubling him some, so he stopped to

see the doctor. Then he has to talk with his deputy."

"You're sure he isn't badly hurt?"

"No, only a scratch, he calls it."

"Did you happen on Dead Man's Cache by accident?" asked MacQueen with

well-assumed carelessness.

Bellamy had no intention of giving Rosario away to anybody. "You might

call it that," he said evenly. "You know, I had been near there once when

I was out hunting."

"Do you expect to catch MacQueen?" the outlaw asked, a faint hint of irony

in his amused voice.

"I can't tell. That's what I'm hoping, lieutenant."

"We hope for a heap of things we never get," returned the outlaw, in a

gentle voice, his eyes half shuttered behind drooping lids.

Melissy cut into the conversation hurriedly. "Lieutenant O'Connor is going

on the seven-five this evening, Mr. Bellamy. He has business that will

take him away for a while. It is time we were going. Won't you walk down

to the train with us?"

MacQueen swore softly under his breath, but there was nothing he could say

in protest. He knew he could not take the girl with him. Now he had been

cheated out of his good-byes by her woman's wit in dragging Bellamy to the

depot with them. He could not but admire the adroitness with which she had

utilized her friend to serve her end.

They walked to the station three abreast, the outlaw carrying as lightly

as he could the heavy suitcase that held his plunder. Melissy made small

talk while they waited for the train. She was very nervous, and she was

trying not to show it.

"Next time you come, lieutenant, we'll have a fine stone depot to show

you. Mr. West has promised to make Mesa the junction point, and we're sure

to have a boom," she said.

A young Mexican vaquero trailed softly behind them, the inevitable

cigarette between his lips. From under his broad, silver-laced sombrero he

looked keenly at each of the three as he passed.

A whistle sounded clearly in the distance.

The outlaw turned to the girl beside him. "I'm coming back some day soon.

Be sure of that, Mrs. MacQueen."

The audacity of the name used, designed as it was to stab her friend and

to remind Melissy how things stood, made the girl gasp. She looked quickly

at Bellamy and saw him crush the anger from his face.

The train drew into the station. Presently the conductor's "All aboard!"

served notice that it was starting. The outlaw shook hands with Melissy

and then with the mine owner.

"Good-bye. Don't forget that I'm coming back," he said, in a perfectly

distinct, low tone.

And with that he swung aboard the Pullman car with his heavy suitcase. An

instant later the Mexican vaquero pulled himself to the vestibule of the

smoking car ahead.

MacQueen looked back from the end of the train at the two figures on the

platform. A third figure had joined them. It was Jack Flatray. The girl

and the sheriff were looking at each other. With a furious oath, he turned

on his heel. For the evidence of his eyes had told him that they were

lovers.

MacQueen passed into the coach and flung himself down into his section

discontentedly. The savor of his adventure was gone. He had made his

escape with a large share of the plunder, in spite of spies and posses.

But in his heart he knew that he had lost forever the girl whom he had

forced to marry him. He was still thinking about it somberly when a figure

appeared in the aisle at the end of the car.

Instantly the outlaw came to alert attention, and his hand slipped to the

butt of a revolver. The figure was that of the Mexican vaquero whom he had

carelessly noted on the platform of the station. Vigilantly his gaze

covered the approaching man. Surely in Arizona there were not two men with

that elastic tread or that lithe, supple figure.

His revolver flashed in the air. "Stand back, Bucky O'Connor--or, by God,

I'll drill you!"

The vaquero smiled. "Right guess, Black MacQueen. I arrest you in the name

of the law."

Black's revolver spat flame twice before the ranger's gun got into action,

but the swaying of the train caused him to stagger as he rose to his

feet.

The first shot of Bucky's revolver went through the heart of the outlaw;

but so relentless was the man that, even after that, his twitching fingers

emptied the revolver. O'Connor fired only once. He watched his opponent

crumple up, fling wild shots into the upholstery and through the roof, and

sink into the silence from which there is no awakening on this side of the

grave. Then he went forward and looked down at him.

"I reckon that ends Black MacQueen," he said quietly. "And I reckon

Melissy Lee is a widow."

* * * * *

Jack Flatray had met O'Connor at his own office and the two had come down

to the station on the off chance that MacQueen might try to make his

getaway from Mesa in some disguise. But as soon as he saw Melissy the

sheriff had eyes for nobody else except the girl he loved. One sleeve of

his coat was empty, and his shoulder was bandaged. He looked very tired

and drawn; for he had ridden hard more than sixteen hours with a painful

wound. But the moment his gaze met hers she knew that his thoughts were

all for her and her trouble.

His free hand went out to meet hers. She forgot MacQueen and all the

sorrow he had brought her. Her eyes were dewy with love and his answered

eagerly. She knew now that she would love Jack Flatray for better or worse

until death should part them. But she knew, too, that the shadow of

MacQueen, her husband by law, was between them.

Together they walked back from the depot. In the shadow of the vines on

her father's porch they stopped. Jack caught her hands in his and looked

down into her tired, haggard face all lit with love. Tears were in the

eyes of both.

"You're entitled to the truth, Jack," she told him. "I love you. I think I

always have. And I know I always shall. But I'm another man's wife. It

will have to be good-bye between us, Jack," she told him wistfully.

He took her in his arms and kissed her. "You're my sweetheart. I'll not

give you up. Don't think it."

He spoke with such strength, such assurance, that she knew he would not

yield without a struggle.

"I'll never be anything to him--never. But he stands between us. Don't you

see he does?"

"No. Your marriage to him is empty words. We'll have it annulled. It will

not stand in any court. I've won you and I'm going to keep you. There's no

two ways about that."

She broke down and began to sob quietly in a heartbroken fashion, while he

tried to comfort her. It was not so easy as he thought. So long as

MacQueen lived Flatray would walk in danger if she did as he wanted her to

do.

Neither of them knew that Bucky O'Connor's bullet had already annulled the

marriage, that happiness was already on the wing to them.

This hour was to be for their grief, the next for their joy.

The End

NOVELS OF FRONTIER LIFE BY

WILLIAM MACLEOD RAINE

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.

MAVERICKS

A tale of the western frontier, where the "rustler" abounds. One of the

sweetest love stories ever told.

A TEXAS RANGER

How a member of the border police saved the life of an innocent man,

followed a fugitive to Wyoming, and then passed through deadly peril to

ultimate happiness.

WYOMING

In this vivid story the author brings out the turbid life of the frontier

with all its engaging dash and vigor.

RIDGWAY OF MONTANA

The scene is laid in the mining centers of Montana, where politics and

mining industries are the religion of the country.

BUCKY O'CONNOR

Every chapter teems with wholesome, stirring adventures, replete with the

dashing spirit of the border.

CROOKED TRAILS AND STRAIGHT

A story of Arizona; of swift-riding men and daring outlaws; of a bitter

feud between cattlemen and sheep-herders.

BRAND BLOTTERS

A story of the turbid life of the frontier with a charming love interest

running through its pages.

STEVE YEAGER

A story brimful of excitement, with enough gun-play and adventure to suit

anyone.

A DAUGHTER OF THE DONS

A Western story of romance and adventure, comprising a vivacious and

stirring tale.

THE HIGHGRADER

A breezy, pleasant and amusing love story of Western mining life.

THE PIRATE OF PANAMA

A tale of old-time pirates and of modern love, hate and adventure.

THE YUKON TRAIL

A crisply entertaining love story in the land where might makes right.

THE VISION SPLENDID

In which two cousins are contestants for the same prizes: political honors

and the hand of a girl.

THE SHERIFF'S SON

The hero finally conquers both himself and his enemies and wins the love

of a wonderful girl.

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York

JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD'S

STORIES OF ADVENTURE

May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.

THE RIVER'S END

A story of the Royal Mounted Police.

THE GOLDEN SNARE

Thrilling adventures in the Far Northland.

NOMADS OF THE NORTH

The story of a bear-cub and a dog.

KAZAN

The tale of a "quarter-strain wolf and three-quarters husky" torn between

the call of the human and his wild mate.

BAREE, SON OF KAZAN

The story of the son of the blind Grey Wolf and the gallant part he played

in the lives of a man and a woman.

THE COURAGE OF CAPTAIN PLUM

The story of the King of Beaver Island, a Mormon colony, and his battle

with Captain Plum.

THE DANGER TRAIL

A tale of love, Indian vengeance, and a mystery of the North.

THE HUNTED WOMAN

A tale of a great fight in the "valley of gold" for a woman.

THE FLOWER OF THE NORTH

The story of Fort o' God, where the wild flavor of the wilderness is

blended with the courtly atmosphere of France.

THE GRIZZLY KING

The story of Thor, the big grizzly.

ISOBEL

A love story of the Far North.

THE WOLF HUNTERS

A thrilling tale of adventure in the Canadian wilderness.

THE GOLD HUNTERS

The story of adventure in the Hudson Bay wilds.

THE COURAGE OF MARGE O'DOONE

Filled with exciting incidents in the land of strong men and women.

BACK TO GOD'S COUNTRY

A thrilling story of the Far North. The great Photoplay was made from this

book.

Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York