At the instigation of Collins and his partner, Si Brill, a number of men started off from Hurley's Gulch to see if they could find Sam Willett and his companions, or learn anything of their fate.

Neither the searchers nor those who sent them had any great faith in their mission, but the very fact that they tried shows that they were moved by a feeling of commendable humanity.

Three days passed and the men came back saying they could not find Sam Willett, nor the others, and giving it as their opinion, that they had all been drowned.

In the meantime Frank Shirley, who had much of that cunning and ingenuity for which men of his character are so often noted, sought to create the impression that Sam was alive, but that he had run away, in order not to be forced to appear against his father.

The night the searchers came back there was a great crowd in the bar of the principal saloon, and as Shirley was treating, as usual, he was the center of attraction and virtually the chairman of the gathering.

A few of the men had just expressed sorrow for Sam's death, when Shirley said:

"I'd be sorrier than any one if I knew the young fellow was dead, but I'm happy to say I don't believe he is."

"Of course, you've got reasons for your belief," said one.

"Yes; I always have good reasons for everything I do and say," said Shirley, feeling the authority his free use of money had given him.

"Mebbe you'd tell us why you think so," said the man.

"I'll explain by asking you some questions," said Shirley, licking his lips, as he always did while speaking.

"Fire ahead," said the man.

"You remember that Indian boy—what's his name?"

"Ulna," suggested the man.

"Yes, Ulna. Well, the day of the arrest of these two men, Willett and Tims, for the cruel murder of poor Tom Edwards, this Indian boy was sent to Gold Cave Camp to bring back the son of one of the prisoners and a certain paper. Isn't that so?" and Shirley looked around for the approval of the assembly.

"Yes, that's so!" shouted a number.

"Now," continued Frank Shirley, with the deliberation of a man who had carefully weighed what he was about to say, "I ask you gentlemen if this Ulna returned to Hurley's Gulch?"

"No!" exclaimed half the men in the place.

"Of course he didn't. Now, what should we, as sensible men, infer from this fact?"

Again Shirley looked about the room, and as no one attempted to say what should be inferred from the fact as stated, he proceeded to enlighten them.

"As Ulna did not come back and cannot be found, it is safe to infer that he succeeded in delivering his message to Mr. Willett's son."

"Yes," said the man who had drawn Shirley out, "I must say it looks very much that way."

"Very well; Mr. Willett's son, who is a wonderfully brave, bright young fellow, got that message, and from this fact I make another inference."

Shirley licked his lips and remained silent so long that it was becoming painful, and Badger voiced the feeling of the crowd by calling out:

"Go ahead and give us yer p'ints!"

"If Ulna could get to Gold Cave Camp in the night with that message, don't you think that young Sam Willett could get away?"

Nearly every one said this looked reasonable.

"Now, my belief," Shirley went on, "is that he and all hands did get away. The searchers, who have just come from the camp, say the place was cleaned out, rifles and all that being gone, which wouldn't be the case if the folks were drowned."

"But," said the man who had started this discussion, "if the young feller got away, why didn't he come right straight to Hurley's Gulch?"

"Ah, that's the vital question," said Shirley, with a more vigorous lick at his lips. "Now, you'd like to know why I think he didn't come here?"

"I certainly should," said the man.

"It was because he had no paper to bring. Oh, he's a bright fellow; he's a second cousin of mine, and I can put myself in his place and just see how he reasoned about this matter."

"Don't wait, but go right in and tell us all about it," said the impatient Badger, whose admiration for his employer was rising every moment.

"Why, he reasoned that if he came here without Tom Edwards' receipt—which he knew had no existence—that the gentlemen of the vigilance committee would make short work of his father——"

"And he was as right as right can be in that guess," interrupted Badger.

"But," continued Shirley, "being a keen young fellow, he made up his mind that nothing would be done to his father if he stayed away. He believed the vigilantes would wait for several days, as they've already done, and that by the end of that time their anger would go down; they would look more lightly on the murder of poor Tom Edwards—and that would be the last of it. But talking is mighty dry work; step up to the bar, boys, and have a drink with me."

Like other invitations of the same kind, from the same source, this one was promptly accepted, the effect being to convince nearly every man that there was no getting away from Frank Shirley's reasoning.

Before the meeting broke up that night, which it did not do till a late hour, it was firmly decided that the trial of Mr. Willett and Hank Tims should take place the next day, which being Sunday would enable every one at Hurley's Gulch to be present.

In addition to its effect on the unfortunate men, the foregoing conversation serves admirably to show how a cunning and malicious man can pervert facts to suit himself, and while making them seem most like truth to the reason, have them exactly opposite to it in fact.

Unobserved by the crowd in the bar, Collins had overheard this conversation, and the conclusion to which a majority of the vigilantes had come.

Being simple-hearted, Collins was imposed on for the time being by Shirley's argument, and while he was listening to it he really believed that it might be true; but as he slowly returned to the dugout, his good sense asserted itself and he saw the utter falsity of the fellow's reasoning.

Knowing how deeply troubled Mr. Willett was by the uncertain fate of his beloved son, Collins said nothing to him about the decision of the vigilantes till the following morning.

After breakfast Collins repeated the talk at the saloon the night before, and added:

"I hope the feller's right 'bout the boy's safety."

"Ah, I wish he were," sighed Mr. Willett. "But if my dear boy were living, and he could get to me, sleep would not touch his eyes till he was again at my side."

"Thar's one thing in partiklar I'd like to git out of this scrape for," said Hank, and on being asked by Brill what that thing was, he continued:

"I'd like to lick that lyin' slanderin' cowardly Shirley. Only to think of a critter like him accusin' young Sam Willett of doin' a low, mean trick. Ah, he's a dirty dog, if one ever came west of the Sierra Madres."

Up to this time Mr. Willett had not explained to Collins and Si Brill, Shirley's reasons for desiring to see his son dead and himself out of the way. He did so now.

"Wa'al!" exclaimed Brill, "that thar explanation shows the culled pusson in the wood-pile, as clar as daylight. Ah, I only wish Bob Sturgis—he was a lawyer—didn't leave camp when he did; but I'll see that you have a show to defend yourself, if we've got to fight for it?"

While the sturdy miner was speaking, two rough looking men—they were the worst element in the vigilance committee—appeared in the doorway and one of them called out:

"We've come from the kimitty, and we'er agoin' to fotch up the prizners; so trot 'em out."

"We'll trot 'em out," replied Collins, as he took down his rifle from a peg, "and we'll trot along with 'em, for neither Si Brill nor me has give up our office as guards yet, an' what's more, we ain't agoin' to do it till this case is ended, one way or the other."

"We ain't got no objection," growled one of the men, "only don't keep us waitin' har all day."

"If yer in a great hurry," retorted Brill, as he also reached for his rifle, "go back as you come, for we've got charge of the prizners, and you can't take 'em from us without a fight."

The two men stepped back to consult, and Collins whispered, as he handed Mr. Willett and Hank two revolvers each:

"Hide those about your clothes, you may find them handy before we get through with this scrape."

Mr. Willett and Hank Tims quickly secreted the revolvers in their inside breast pockets and then followed the guards out of the dugout.

They clambered up the bank, ignoring the two men who constituted the "kimitty" and went on to the hotel, the dining-room of which—it was also the kitchen—was set apart by the proprietor for the trial.

The place was already crowded to suffocation, and a curious feature of the gathering was the fact that the burly, bearded man, who was to act as judge, and every other man in the room, was armed to the teeth and looked as if eager for a fight.