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  CHAPTER XVII

  A WAR OF WITS

  "Kidnaped? Gordon Wade?"

  At Dorothy's announcement, Mrs. Purnell sank, with a gasp, into herrocking-chair, astonished beyond expression. She listened, with anxietyscarce less than her daughter's, to the girl's account of the event asshe had it from Trowbridge. Her mouth opened and shut aimlessly as shepicked at her gingham apron. If Wade had been her own son, she couldhardly have loved him more. He had been as tender to her as a son, andthe news of his disappearance and probable injury was a frightful shock.

  Weakly she attempted to relieve her own anxiety by disputing the fact ofhis danger.

  "Oh, I guess nothing's happened to him--nothing like that, anyway. Hemay have had a fall from his horse. Or maybe it broke away from him andran off."

  "Bill Santry found their trail," Dorothy said, with a gesture so tragicthat it wrung her mother's heart strings. "He followed it as far as hecould, then lost it." In any other case she would have tried to keep thebad news from her mother, because of her nerves, but just now the girlwas too distraught to think of any one but the man she loved. "Oh, if Icould only do something myself," she burst out. "It's staying here,helpless, that is killing me. I wish I'd gone with Lem up into themountains. I would have if he hadn't said I might better stay in town.But how can I help? There's nothing to do here."

  "The idea!" Mrs. Purnell exclaimed. "They'll be out all night. How couldyou have gone with them? I don't believe Gordon has been kidnaped atall. It's a false alarm, I tell you. Who could have done such a thing?"

  "Who?" The question broke Dorothy's patience. "Who's done everythingthat's abominable and contemptible lately here in Crawling Water? ThatMoran did it, of course, with Senator Rexhill behind him. Oh!"

  "Nonsense!" said her mother, indignantly.

  "Lem Trowbridge thinks so. Nearly everybody does."

  "Then he hasn't as good sense as I thought he had." Mrs. Purnell aroseand moved toward the kitchen. "You come on and help me make some wafflesfor supper. Perhaps that will take such foolishness out of your head.The idea of a Senator of the United States going about kidnapingpeople."

  Dorothy obeyed her mother's wish, but not very ably. Her face wasflushed and her eyes hot; ordinarily she was a splendid housekeeper anda dutiful daughter, but there are limits to human endurance. She mixedthe batter so clumsily and with such prodigal waste that her mother hadto stop her, and she was about to put salt into the sugar bowl whenMrs. Purnell snatched it out of her hands. "Go into the dining-room andsit down, Dorothy," she exclaimed. "You're beside yourself." It isfrequently the way with people, who are getting on in years and aresick, to charge their own shortcomings on any one who may be near. Mrs.Purnell was greatly worried.

  "What's the matter now?" she demanded, when Dorothy left her supperuntasted on her plate.

  "I was thinking."

  "Well, can't you tell a body what you're thinking about? What are yousitting there that way for?"

  "I was wondering," said Dorothy in despair, "if Helen Rexhill knowswhere Gordon is."

  Mrs. Purnell snorted in disdain.

  "Land's sakes, child, what put that into your head? Drink your tea.It'll do you good."

  "Why shouldn't she know, if her father does?" The girl pushed hertea-cup farther away from her. "She wouldn't have come all the way outhere with him--he wouldn't have brought her with him--if they weren'tworking together. She must know. But I don't see why...."

  "Dorothy Purnell, I declare to goodness, I believe you're going crazy."Mrs. Purnell dropped her fork. "All this about Gordon is bad enoughwithout my being worried so...."

  "I'd even give him up to her, if she'd tell me that." Dorothy's voicewas unsteady, and she seemed to be talking to herself rather than to hermother. "I know she thinks I've come between her and Gordon, but Ihaven't meant to. He's just seemed to like me better; that's all. ButI'd do anything to save him from Moran."

  "I should say that you might better wait until he asks you, before youtalk of giving him up to somebody." Mrs. Purnell spoke with the primnessthat was to be expected, but her daughter made no reply. She had nevermentioned the night in Moran's office, and her mother knew nothing ofWade's kiss. But to the girl it had meant more than any declaration inwords. She had kept her lips inviolate until that moment, and when hiskiss had fallen upon them it had fallen upon virgin soil, from out ofwhich had bloomed a white flower of passion. Before then she had lookedupon Wade as a warm friend, but since that night he had appeared to herin another guise; that of a lover, who has come into his own. She hadmet him then, a girl, and had left him a woman, and she felt that whathe had established as a fact in the one rare moment of his kiss,belonged to him and her. It seemed so wholly theirs that she had notbeen able to bring herself to discuss it with her mother. She had won itfairly, and she treasured it. The thought of giving him up to HelenRexhill, of promising her never to see Wade again, was overwhelming, andwas to be considered only as a last resource, but there was no sufferingthat she would not undertake for his sake.

  Mrs. Purnell was as keenly alive as ever to the hope that the youngranch owner might some day incline toward her little girl, but she wassensitive also to the impression which the Rexhills had made upon her.Her life with Mr. Purnell had not brought her many luxuries, and perhapsshe over-valued their importance. She thought Miss Rexhill a mostimposing young woman and she believed in the impeccability of thewell-to-do. Her heart was still warmed by the memory of the courtesywith which she had been treated by the Senator's daughter, and was notwithout the gratification of feeling that it had been a tribute to herown worth. She had scolded Dorothy afterward for her frank speech toMiss Rexhill at the hotel, and she felt that further slurs on her wereuncalled for.

  "I'm sure that Miss Rexhill treated us as a lady should," she saidtartly. "She acted more like one than you did, if I do have to say it.She was as kind and sweet as could be. She's got a tender heart. I couldsee that when she up and gave me that blotter, just because I remarkedthat it reminded me of your childhood."

  "Oh, that old blotter!" Dorothy exclaimed petulantly. "What did itamount to? You talk as though it were something worth having." She wasso seldom in a pet that her mother now strove to make allowance for her.

  "I'm not saying that it's of any value, Dorothy, except to me; but itwas kind of her to seem to understand why I wanted it."

  "It wasn't kind of her. She just did it to get rid of us, because webored her. Oh, mother, you're daffy about the Rexhills, why not admit itand be done with it? You think they're perfect, but I tell you they'renot--they're not! They've been behind all our troubles here.They've...." Her voice broke under the stress of her emotion and sherose to her feet.

  "Dorothy, if you have no self-respect, at least have some...."

  "I won't have that blotter in the house." The strain was proving morethan the girl's nerves could stand. "I won't hear about it any longer.I'm going to--to tear it up!"

  "Dorothy!"

  For all the good that Mrs. Purnell's tone of authority did, it might aswell have fallen upon the wind. She hastily followed her daughter, whohad rushed from the room, and overtook her just in time to prevent herfrom destroying the little picture. Her own strength could not havesufficed to deter the girl in her purpose, if the latter had notrealized in her heart the shameful way in which she was treating hermother.

  "Aren't you ashamed of yourself, child? Look in that glass at your face!No wonder you don't think you look like the sweet child in the picture.You don't look like her now, nor act like her. That was why I wanted theblotter, to remind me of the way you used to look."

  "I'm sorry, mother."

  Blushing deeply as she recovered her self-control, Dorothy stole aglance at her reflection in the looking-glass of the bureau, beforewhich she stood, and shyly contrasted her angry expression ofcountenance with the sweet one of the child on the blotter. Suddenlyshe started, and leaned toward the mirror, staring at something she sawthere. The blood seemed driven from the surface of her skin; her l
ipswere parted; her eyes dilated. She drew a swift breath of amazedexultation, and turned to her mother, who had viewed the suddentransformation with surprise.

  "I'll be back soon, mother. I can't tell you what it is." Dorothy'svoice rang with the suggestion of victory. "But I've discoveredsomething, wonderful!"

  Before Mrs. Purnell could adjust herself to this new mood, the girl wasdown the stairs and running toward the little barn. Slipping the bridleon her pony, she swung to its back without thought of a saddle, andturned the willing creature into the street. As she passed the house,she waved her hand to her mother, at the window, and vanished like aspecter into the night.

  "Oh, hurry, Gypsy, hurry!" she breathed into the pony's twitching ear.

  Her way was not far, for she was going first to the hotel, but thatother way, into the mountains after Gordon, would be a long journey, andno time could be wasted now. She was going to see Helen Rexhill, not asa suppliant bearing the olive branch, but as a champion to wage battlein behalf of the missing ranchman. She no longer thought of giving himup, and the knowledge that she might now keep the love which she had wonfor her very own made her reel on the pony's back from pure joy. She washis as he was hers, but the Rexhills were his enemies: she knew thatpositively now, and she meant to defeat them at their own game. If theywould tell her where Gordon was, they might go free for all she cared;if they would not, she would give them over to the vengeance of CrawlingWater, and she would not worry about what might happen to them.Meanwhile she thanked her lucky stars that Trowbridge had promised tokeep a man at the big pine.

  She tied her pony at the hitching-rack in front of the hotel and enteredthe office. Like most of the men in the town, the proprietor was herardent admirer, but he had never seen her before in such radiant mood.He took his cigar from between his lips, and doffed his Stetson hat,which he wore indoors and out, with elaborate grace.

  "Yes, Miss, Miss Rexhill's in, up in the parlor, I think. Would you likeme to step up and let her know you're here?"

  "No, thank you, I'll go right up myself," said Dorothy; her smile doublycharming because of its suggestion of triumph.

  Miss Rexhill, entirely unaware of what was brewing for her, wasembroidering by the flickering light of one of the big oil lamps, withher back to the doorway, and so did not immediately note Dorothy'spresence in the room. Her face flushed with annoyance and she arose,when she recognized her visitor.

  "You will please pardon me, but I do not care to receive you," she saidprimly.

  This beginning, natural enough from Helen's standpoint, after what herfather had told her in Moran's office, convinced Dorothy that she hadread the writing on the blotter correctly. She held her ground,aggressively, between Miss Rexhill and the door.

  "You must hear what I have to say to you," she declared quietly. "I havenot come here to make a social call."

  "Isn't it enough for me to tell you that I do not wish to talk to you?"Helen lifted her brows and shrugged her shoulders. "Surely, it should beenough. Will you please stand aside so that I may go to my room?"

  "No, I won't! You can't go until you've heard what I've got to say."Stung by the other woman's contemptuous tone, and realizing that thesituation put her at a social disadvantage, Dorothy forced an aggressivetone into her voice, ugly to the ear.

  "Very well!" Miss Rexhill shrugged her shoulders disdainfully, andresumed her seat. "We must not engage in a vulgar row. Since I mustlisten to you, I must, but at least I need not talk to you, and Iwon't."

  "You know that Gordon Wade has disappeared?" Helen made no response tothis, and Dorothy bit her lip in anger. "I know that you know it," shecontinued. "I know that you know where he is. Perhaps, however, youdon't know that his life is in danger. If you will tell me where he is,I can save him. Will you tell me?" The low throaty note of suffering inher voice brought a stiletto-like flash into the eyes of the otherwoman, but no response.

  "Miss Rexhill," Dorothy went on, after a short pause. "You and Mr. Wadewere friends once, if you are not now. Perhaps you don't realize justhow serious the situation is here in this town, where nearly everybodylikes him, and what would happen to you and your father, if I told whatI know about you. I don't believe he would want it to happen, even afterthe way you've treated him. If you will only tell me...."

  Helen turned abruptly in her chair, her face white with anger.

  "I said that I would not talk to you," she burst out, "but yourimpertinence is so--so insufferable--so absolutely insufferable, that Imust speak. You say you will tell people what you know about me. What _do_you know about me?" She arose to face Dorothy, with blazing eyes.

  "I am sure that you know where Gordon is."

  "You are sure of nothing of the kind. I do not know where Mr. Wade is,and why should I tell you if I did? Suppose I were to tell what I knowabout you? I don't believe the whole of it is known in Crawling Wateryet. You--you must be insane."

  "About me?" Dorothy's surprise was genuine. "There is nothing you couldtell any one about me."

  Miss Rexhill laughed scornfully, a low, withering laugh that brought aflush to the girl's cheeks, even though her conscience told her that shehad nothing to be ashamed of. Dorothy stared at the other woman withwide-open, puzzled eyes, diverted for the moment from her own purpose.

  "At least, you need not expect me to help you," Helen said acidulously."I have my own feelings. I respected Mr. Wade at one time and valued hisfriendship. You have taken from me my respect for him, and you havetaken from him his self-respect. Quite likely you had no respect foryourself, and so you had nothing to lose. But if you'll stop toconsider, you may see how impertinent you are to appeal to me sobrazenly."

  "What are you talking about?" Dorothy's eyes, too, were blazing now, butmore in championship of Wade than of herself. She still did not fullyunderstand the drift of what Miss Rexhill had said.

  "Really, you are almost amusing." Helen looked at her throughhalf-closed lids. "You are quite freakish. I suppose you must be a moraldegenerate, or something of the sort." She waited for the insult to sinkin, but Dorothy was fairly dazed and bewildered. "Do you want me to callthings by their true names?"

  "Yes," answered Dorothy, "I do. Tell me what you are talking about."

  "I don't mind, I'm sure. Plain speaking has never bothered me. It's thedeed that's horrible, not the name. You were found in Mr. Moran's officewith Mr. Wade, late at night, misbehaving yourself. Do you dare to comenow to me and...."

  "That is not true!" The denial came from Dorothy with an intensity thatwould have carried conviction to any person less infuriated than thewoman who faced her. "Oh!" Dorothy raised her hands to her throat asthough struggling for breath. "I never dreamed you meant that. It's adeliberate lie!"

  In the grip of their emotions, neither of the girls had noticed theentrance of Senator Rexhill. Helen saw him first and dramaticallypointed to him.

  "There is my father. Ask him!"

  "I do not need to ask him what I've done." Dorothy felt as though shewould suffocate. "No one would believe that story of Gordon, whateverthey might think of me."

  "Ask me? Ask me what?" the Senator nervously demanded. He had in hispocket a telegram just received from Washington, stating that thecavalry would be sent from Fort Mackenzie only at the request of theGovernor of Wyoming. The Governor was not at all likely to make such arequest, and Rexhill was more worried than he had been before, in years.He could only hope that Tug Bailey would escape capture. "Who is this?"He put on his glasses, and deliberately looked Dorothy over. "Oh, it'sthe young woman whom Race found in his office."

  "She has come here to plead for Gordon Wade--to demand that I tell herwhere he is now. I don't know, of course; none of us know; but Iwouldn't tell her if I did." Helen spoke triumphantly.

  "You had better leave us," Rexhill said brusquely to Dorothy. "You arenot wanted here. Go home!"

  While they were talking, Dorothy had looked from one to the other withthe contempt which a good woman naturally feels when she is impugned.Now she crossed the roo
m and confronted the Senator.

  "Did you tell your daughter that I was caught in your office with GordonWade?" she demanded; and before her steady gaze Rexhill winced.

  "You don't deny it, do you?" he blustered.

  "I don't deny being there with him, and I won't deny anything else tosuch a man as you. I'm too proud to. For your own sake, however, youwould have done better not to have tried to blacken me." She turnedswiftly to his daughter. "Perhaps you don't know all that I supposed youdid. We were in Moran's office--Mr. Wade and myself--because we feltsure that your father had some criminal purpose here in Crawling Water.We were right. We found papers showing the location of gold on Mr.Wade's ranch, which showed your father's reasons for trying to seize theland."

  Helen laughed scornfully.

  "Do you expect me to believe that?"

  "No, of course not," her father growled. "Come on up to our rooms. Lether preach here until she is put out." He was on his way to the doorwhen the vibrant command in Dorothy's voice halted him.

  "Wait. You'd better listen to me, for it's the last chance you'll have.I have you absolutely at my mercy. I've caught you! You are trapped!"There was no doubting that the girl believed what she said, and theSenator's affairs were in a sufficiently precarious state to bid himpause.

  "Nonsense!" He made his own tone as unconcerned as he could, but therewas a look of haunting dread in his eyes.

  "Senator Rexhill,"--Dorothy's voice was low, but there was a quality init which thrilled her hearers,--"when my mother and I visited yourdaughter a few days ago, she gave my mother a blotter. There was apicture on it that reminded my mother of me as a child; that was why shewanted it. It has been on my mother's bureau ever since. I never noticedanything curious about it until this evening." She looked, with a quietsmile at Helen. "Probably you forgot that you had just blotted a letterwith it."

  Helen started and went pale, but not so pale as her father, who went sochalk-white that the wrinkles in his skin looked like make-up, againstits pallor.

  "I was holding that blotter before the looking-glass this evening,"Dorothy continued, in the same low tone, "and I saw that the ink hadtransferred to the blotter a part of what you had written. I read it. Itwas this: 'Father knew Santry had not killed Jensen....'"

  The Senator moistened his lips with his tongue and strove to chuckle,but the effort was a failure. Helen, however, appeared much relieved.

  "I remember now," she said, "and I am well repaid for my moment ofsentiment. I was writing to my mother and was telling her of a scenethat had just taken place between Mr. Wade and my father. I did notwrite what you read; rather, it was not all that I wrote. Isaid--'Gordon thought that father knew Santry had not killed Jensen.'"

  "Have you posted that letter?" her father asked, repressing as well ashe could his show of eagerness.

  "No. I thought better about sending it. I have it upstairs."

  "If you hadn't it, of course you could write it again, in any shape youchose," Dorothy observed crisply, though she recognized, plainly enough,that the explanation was at least plausible.

  "There is nothing in that," Rexhill declared, when he had taken a deepbreath of relief. "Your championship of Wade is running away with you.What other--er!--grave charges have you to bring against me?"

  "I have one that is much more grave," she retorted, so promptly that hecould not conceal a fresh start of uneasiness. "This morning, Mr.Trowbridge and I were out for a ride. We rode over to the place whereJensen was shot, and Mr. Trowbridge found there a cartridge shell whichfits only one gun in Crawling Water. That gun belongs to a man named TugBailey."

  By now Rexhill was thoroughly aroused, for although he was too good ajurist not to see the flaws in so incomplete a fabric of evidenceagainst him, he was impressed with the influence such a story wouldexert on public opinion. If possible, this girl's tongue must bestopped.

  "Pooh!" He made a fine show of indifference. "Why bring such tales tome? You'd make a very poor lawyer, young woman, if you think that suchrumors will serve to impeach a man of my standing."

  "There is a warrant out for Bailey," Dorothy went on quietly. "If he iscaught, and I choose to make public what I know and can guess, I amsure that you will never reach a court. You underestimate the peoplehere. I would not have to prove what I have told you. I need only toproclaim it, and--I don't know what they'd do to you. It makes me a bitsick to think about it."

  The thought made the Senator sick, too, for of late he had seen thatthings were going very badly for him. He was prepared to temporize, butthere was no need for him to contemplate surrender, or flight, so longas Bailey remained at large. If the man were captured, and there waslikelihood of a confession being wrung from him, then most decidedlydiscretion would be the better part of valor.

  "Oh, of course," he confessed, "I am willing to admit that in such acommunity as this you might make trouble, unjustly, for me and mydaughter. I am anxious to avoid that, because my interests are valuablehere and I have my daughter's safety to consider."

  "Don't think of me," Helen interposed quickly. Above all fear forherself would be the shame of being beaten by Dorothy and of having hertriumph go to the making of Wade's happiness. The thought of thatappeared far worse to her mind than any physical suffering. "Do what youthink is right. We are not cowards."

  "But I must think of you, my dear. I am responsible to your mother." Heturned to Dorothy again. "How much do you want?"

  "How much? Oh!" She flushed hotly beneath the insult, but she chose toignore it. "There is only one price that will purchase my silence. Tellme where Mr. Wade is?"

  "Bless my soul, I don't know." The Senator affected a display of injuredinnocence, which sat oddly upon his harried countenance. "I am willingto do what I can to save trouble, but I can't do the impossible."

  For a moment, in a wretched slough of helplessness, Dorothy found herconviction wavering. Could it really be possible that he was speakingthe truth; that he did not know? But with the dreadful thought came alsothe realization that she must not let him fathom her mind. She toldherself that she must keep her countenance, and she did so.

  "There is not a man in Crawling Water who does not believe that RaceMoran is responsible for Mr. Wade's disappearance," she declared. "Thatis another thing that you should consider, for it is one more link inthe chain of evidence--impressions, you may call them, but they will beaccepted as evidence by Wade's friends."

  Rexhill was considering it, and swiftly, in the light of the visit hehad had from Trowbridge. The cattleman had left him with a distinctfeeling that every word spoken had been meant. "If we can prove itagainst you, we'll ride you to hell on a rail." The language wasmelodramatic, but it seemed very suggestive as the Senator called it tomind. He regretted that he had supported Moran in his lust for revenge.The lawless spirit of the West seemed to have poisoned his own blood,but somehow the feeling of indifference as to suffering personalviolence had been left out, and he realized that the West was no placefor him.

  "Even so," he said pompously, "even if what you say of Moran shouldprove true, it does not follow that I know it, or am a party to it. RaceMoran is his own master."

  "He is your employee--your agent--and you are responsible for what hedoes in your behalf," Dorothy retorted desperately. "Why do you bandywords with me like this? You may be able to do it with me, but don'tthink that you can do it with Mr. Trowbridge, and the others, if I tellthem what I know. I tell you, you can't. You feel safe before me alone,but you are in much greater danger than you think. You don't seem torealize that I am holding your lives in my hand."

  Helen's cheeks blanched at this.

  "I do realize it." There was a slight quaver in the Senator's voice,although he tried to speak with easy grace. "I assure you, I do and Ishall be very grateful to you"--his anxiety was crowding out hisdiscretion--"if you will help me to save my daughter...."

  "I say just what I said before," Helen interposed, courageous to thelast. There is, many times, in the woman a finer fiber of courage th
anruns in the man.

  Dorothy regarded the Senator scornfully, her feminine intuition assuringher that he was weakening. She no longer doubted that he knew; she wascertain of it and happy to feel that she had only to press him harder towring the truth from him.

  "Grateful? For helping you? I am not trying to help you. You deserve anypunishment that could be inflicted upon you, I would say that, even ifyou had not insulted me and lied about me. You are an evil man. I amoffering you your safety, so far as I can grant, only for the sake ofMr. Wade. If it were not for him, I should not have come here at all."

  Her sense of approaching triumph had carried her a little too far. Itaroused Helen to bitter resentment, and when she began to speak Dorothywas sorry that she had not kept silent.

  "Father, don't do it!" Miss Rexhill burst out. "It is insufferable thatthis woman should threaten us so. I would rather run any risk, I don'tcare what, than give in to her. I won't tolerate such a thing."

  "You may be urging him to his death," Dorothy warned her. "I will notstop at anything now. If I tell the cattlemen what I know they will gowild. I mean what I say, believe me!"

  "I know you will not stop at anything. I have seen that," Helenadmitted. "A woman who can do what you've already done...."

  "Helen!" The Senator was carrying with him a sense of gratitude towardDorothy, and in the light of her spirit he was a little ashamed of thepart he had played against her. "Let's try to forget what has past. Atleast, this young woman is offering us a chance."

  "Listen!" Dorothy cried out suddenly.

  Outside, in the street, a galloping horseman was shouting to some one ashe rode. The girl ran to the window and raised the shade to look out.The lusty voice of the horseman bore well into the room. "They've caughtBailey at Sheridan. He'll be here to-morrow."

  "Senator Rexhill," said Dorothy, turning away from the window, "you'dbetter take the chance I've offered you, while you can. Do it for thesake of the old friendship between you and Gordon Wade, if for no otherreason. No matter how bitter he may feel toward you, he would not wantyou in Crawling Water when Tug Bailey confesses. It would be too awful."She shuddered at the thought. "Tell me where he is and get out of townat once."

  "Bailey hasn't confessed yet," Helen cut in gamely.

  "No; but he will," Dorothy declared positively. "They'll put a ropearound his neck, and he'll confess. Such men always do. Try to rememberthe position you are in. You'd be sorry if your father were lynched. Gowith him, while you can. I know these people better than you do."

  The Senator swallowed hard and mopped his damp forehead with hishandkerchief. There was nothing to do but follow the girl's advice, andthat quickly, he knew. After all, in the face of death, financial ruinseemed a mere bagatelle.

  "So far as I have been informed, Wade is confined at Coyote Springs,somewhere in the mountains," he said bluntly. "That's all I know of thematter. I hope you will find him all right there. He ought to be veryproud of you."

  Dorothy caught her hands to her breast in a little gesture ofexultation, and the expression on her face was a wonderful thing to see.

  "You'll go?"

  "In the morning," Senator Rexhill answered.

  Eager as Dorothy was to reach the big pine with her message, she couldnot leave without giving Helen such a glance of triumph as made herwince.

  Then, hurrying to her pony, she rode rapidly out of town into the blacknight which cloaked the trail leading to the pine. She knew that hermother would miss her and be anxious, but the minutes were too preciousnow to be wasted even on her mother. She did not know what peril Gordonmight be in, and her first duty was to him. She was almost wild withanxiety lest the courier should not be at his post, but he was therewhen she dashed up to the pine.

  "Take me to Mr. Trowbridge. Quick!" she panted.

  "He's somewhere between Bald Knob and Hatchet Hill," the man explained,knocking the ashes from his pipe. "It's some dark, too, miss, for ridin'in this country. Can't you wait until morning?"

  "I can't wait one second. I have found out where Mr. Wade is, and Imean to be with you all when you find him."

  "You have, eh?" The man, who was one of Trowbridge's punchers, swunginto his saddle. "That bein' so, we'd get there if this here night wasliquid coal."