The storm died out over Hurley's Gulch, and except for the high current in the creek there was nothing to indicate that the land had been recently deluged.

The bluest of cloudless skies bent over the landscape; the verdureless rocks glistened in the light of the sun, as if they had recently been subjected to a furnace heat instead of being drenched by a flood.

The lines of the Sierra Madre Mountains, to the east, were so clear and sharply defined that they seemed to be but a short walk away instead of being seventy miles.

Only the ragged tents and dilapidated cabins showed the effects of the storm; perhaps we should include the crowd of red-eyed miners, who, with the evidences of unbridled dissipation on their faces, crowded about the principal saloon.

Frank Shirley and Badger were disappointed in the work they had planned for the night before.

They had spent much money and time in working the mob up to a pitch of unreasoning and brutal frenzy, and yet nothing had been done.

"'Tain't the boys' fault," said Badger, as on the following morning he and Frank Shirley walked along the banks of the creek.

"Whose fault is it, then?" asked Shirley, sulkily.

"Why, it's the fault of them other two fellers—Collins and Brill—that was sot to guard the prizners; they ain't no good; they've gone clar back on us," said Badger, with an angry light in his single eye.

"Well, I left the management to you, and I don't understand why you failed," said Shirley, who evidently felt that the man he had employed to do his vile work was not keeping his part of the contract.

"If a man don't win first time is he agoin' to give up and never try again?" and Badger answered his own question by adding: "Not if he's got the right kind of stuff in him."

"But what are we to do next? You see, I must have this man out of the way. If he lives then I have no show to get the fortune."

"I thought it all depended on the boy's livin'."

"So it does, but you know our plan."

"I do that, and I'm goin' to stick to it. Don't lose patience; this yar world wasn't made in a day. Time is allers well-spent on a big job."

By this time they had come in their walk to the tent in which the prisoners were confined the night before.

The tent, as has been said, lay torn on the ground, but the knives of the mob and not the storm had made the rents.

Collins and Brill, both seemingly very angry, were talking to a lot of the miners when Badger pushed through the crowd and said:

"You two is purty guards."

"We didn't ask your opinion," said Brill, hotly.

"Still I feel like givin' it. Whar's the prizners?"

"They are safe," said Collins.

"Safe whar?"

"In my charge."

"But whar have you hid 'em?"

"Where a lot of drunken ruffians can do them no harm till they have had a fair trial," said Brill.

"Drunken ruffians!" retorted Badger, with a cool effrontery that won the admiration of his employer, "we ain't murderers at any rate. And if we did want to do for them two, that you've hid away in yer dugout, as I believe, it was to prevent others from doin' like 'em. When you are a savin' of them, you'd orter think of poor Tom Edwards, as is dead and buried."

"I started out to see that them two men had a fair trial," said Collins, stoutly, "and I'm goin' to do it. We've sent other messengers for that boy with the paper, and if he don't show up with it, why then, I'll be in for trial. But let me warn you fellers that there's men in this camp that means to see fair play, and if you don't like our way of doin' business, Badger, just step to one side and say so to me, and I'll give you all the chance you want to larn who's best man."

As Collins spoke he laid his hand on the stock of his pistol and there was a set to his firm lips and a light in his keen gray eyes that there was no mistaking.

Like all of his class, Badger was at heart a very great coward, and he proved it now.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, in a voice that trembled perceptibly, "I don't want to quar'l with you. I'm in for doin' what's right. But I tell you this, Collins, and you mark my words, that boy of Willett's ain't agoin' to show up in this camp with no paper."

"We'll see about that," said Collins.

"I'm willin' to bet on it," said Badger.

"Have you got money to bet?"

"Yes, I have."

"Then my advise to you, Badger, is to start off and pay your debts instead of gambling with other people's money," and with this caustic shot, Collins turned on his heel and walked away with his partner, Brill.

They had gone about fifty yards when Badger shouted after them:

"See har, Collins!"

"What is it?" asked Collins looking over his shoulder.

"How long are we to wait for the trial?"

"I told you till Mr. Willett's son comes."

"A day?"

"On account of the floods it may take three days."

"Say three days then."

"Wa'al, if it will make you fellers easier, I'll say three days!"

"And then the trial?"

"Yes."

"Boy or no boy?"

"Boy or no boy," replied Collins.

"And if they're found guilty?"

"Then me an' Brill will be in for punishin them as much as any man in your gang. Meantime it might be better if you fellers shut down on drinkin'."

With this very sensible opinion Collins and Brill, each active and tall and with a rifle at his back, started off in the direction of their dugout.

They told Mr. Willett and Hank Tims what had happened, and Brill added:

"You're purty safe for three days, Mr. Willett, yet if I was you I don't think I'd leave this place or run the risk of meeting any of the gang drunk."

These miners, like all brave fellows, were gentle and generous to the two men whom they took pains to treat as guests, so that they might forget that they were prisoners.

The day following the events just narrated the man who had been sent by the vigilantes to Gold Cave Camp to hurry up Sam Willett with the all-important paper, came back on a weary horse, bringing with him a very startling report.

The instant he dismounted before the canvas hotel he was greeted from all sides by queries like these:

"Got back, Ned?"

"Wot's the news?"

"Whar's the boy?"

"Wouldn't he come?"

"You found thar wasn't any paper to fetch?"

When the messenger had recovered his breath and the silence abated, he replied to all these questions in one sentence:

"Thar wasn't no one at the caves!"

"No one!" shouted a number.

"Not a livin' soul."

"Whar had they gone?" asked Badger.

"The flood must have drowned 'em all out," said the messenger.

"Did it rise as high as the caves?" asked one.

"Yes; clear up to the top."

"But they mout have got off afore the flood riz?" said Badger.

"Wa'al," was the reply, "if they did git off, they must have gone inter hidin', for I sarched and sarched, and didn't see hair nor hide, nor sign nor trace of 'em."

This news startled every one, but it brought intense pleasure to two.

As soon as Frank Shirley and Badger could go off without attracting attention, they withdrew from the crowd, and the former asked:

"What do you think of the news, Badger?"

"Couldn't be better," said Badger.

"Think the boy's drowned?"

"He must be."

"But might he not have escaped?"

"How?"

"In a boat or on a raft."

"Wa'al," laughed Badger, "they didn't have no boat, and if they tried a raft, why that'd be the same as committin' suicide."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I've knowed of men as got into the great caÑon of the Colorado, but no one knows of any that came out on a raft. The boy's dead as a door nail by this time, and you're a rich man," said Badger, reaching out his hand.