"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

THE END