Than Lilly, Antenat and Moravy, the three Vigilantes detailed by Maverick Joe to remain in Cut-throat for certain purposes, a trio of braver men never crossed the rushing river of the Great West.

In many places great indentations, and even caves existed, and it was into one of the latter that the three Vigilantes went after hearing their leader’s command.

This cave has been visited before, especially by Antenat, the half-Creole, for on springing from his horse, he ran to a niche in the wall, and took therefrom a little package which, in the light of the fire kindled by his companions, he unwrapped with a curious smile on his dark face.

“Parbleu! it is here yet,” he exclaimed, as the contents of the packet were exposed to view. “See, messieurs, what a pretty ring; where is the petite mademoiselle on whose finger it used to shine?”

Lilly and Moravy looked at the bauble, beyond all doubt a child’s ring, and then turned their questioning eyes upon the exhibitor.

“Where did you get it, Antenat?” they both asked, in one breath.

“One day I was sitting on my horse, under the ‘Devil’s Wing,’ when all at once something came down, from the sky, mebbe, and hit me plump on the hand. Sacre bleu! how I started and looked up. I put my hand on my pistol but there was nothing over me but the sharp, black rock and the sky, blue as my mistress’s eyes. Then I looked at the ground, and there lay something that glittered. Down from the saddle went Louis Antenat, and he held in his hand this, ma chere comrades,” and the old fellow held the little ring between thumb and forefinger, before his companion’s eyes.

“A curious find,” said Moravy. “And you hid it here?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s a pretty thing. Look here, Lilly; there’s a little diamond set on it, and here are letters on the inner surface.”

“Letters?” echoed Antenat, starting.

But Moravy bent forward into the stronger firelight, and tried to make out the word engraved on the tiny ring.

“As near as I can make out,” he said, as he looked, “the word, ‘Jennie.’ But this is the queerest place for a baby ring with a child’s name on it. Just think of angels in Cut-throat, boys.”

Lilly burst into a loud guffaw at his comrade’s attempt at wit; but the lines of thought deepened on Antenat’s face, and taking the ring, he looked at it steadily a long time.

“Parbleu! it shall not hide here any more,” he said, suddenly. “When I found it I said I would put it away where nobody would find it, for there are fellows who would sell it for a drink of whisky. Antenat will carry it with him, hereafter. Ah! ma petite Jennie, some day old Louis may have the pleasure of restoring your ring.”

The two men did not hear the last sentence, for Lilly had leaped up, and darted toward the mouth of the cave.

His figure was unseen for a moment, and then it sprung back into the firelight, and beckoned the others to his side.

“There! a ghost with a rope around his neck!” said Lilly. “If we had finished Tom Terror that day I could call the speerit by name, but Tom got off alive, and report says that he’s hyar now, and in the flesh. When I got hyar a minute ago I heerd something come staggering down the canyon, and all at once that thing came in sight, and stopped whar it’s been standing ever since.”

The canyon at that point was not very wide; a gentle toss would have taken a pebble easily across, and the moonlight fell uninterrupted upon the uncanny object upon which the starting eyes of the Vigilantes were fixed.

“That’s no ghost,” retorted Moravy. “Speerits ar’ some kind o’ air thet kin git over ground without noise, but that fellow rattles the pebbles; he staggers, falls ag’in’ the wall, an’ then—bless my heart! his hands ar’ tied! that’s why he can’t pick up the rope. Whar in the name of death! ar’ Louis?”

The next instant the Creole answered the excited Moravy, for something long, dark and serpent-like shot through the moonshine, and fell over the head of the object staggering along the wall.

The two men at the month of the cave darted into the canyon with exclamations of astonishment, as the Creole jerked the “ghost” from his feet, and brought him heavily to the ground.

The little old Creole would not let his companions assist his endeavours; therefore, they could do nothing but sit by and watch.

Meanwhile the Creole worked on until at last he looked at his companions in triumph.

Wild and excited, the revenger had sprung erect, and he stood before the three Vigilantes.

“Who do you call yourself?”

“My name is Darrell.”

“The same as Rosebud Dan?”

“The same.”

Did Antenat’s little eyes flash as he glanced over his shoulder at his companions?

“I’m sorry, monsieur, but you’re the pard they want in these parts,” he said, coolly, to Dan. “It arn’t often thet a fellow gits hanged twice in one night. Comrades, the lasso at Napoleon’s saddle—quick!”

Antenat’s hand moved to his revolver as he uttered the command, but the next moment with a startling cry that resembled the hoarse intonation of the tiger, the hanged Sport darted forward.

“Another rope for me to-night? Never, by the fires of Tophet! So you, too, would hang the Wolf of the Rosebud? There, Louis Antenat, take that with my compliments.”

The pistol touched the Creole’s forehead as the last word fell madly from Darrell’s lips, and the next moment a dull but horrible report filled the cavern.

Lilly and Moravy started back with cries of horror, and the lifeless body of poor Antenat, released by the Sport’s left hand, fell quivering to the ground.

“Now lift a finger, my friends, and I’ll repeat the compliment,” thundered Deadly Dan, as turning quickly but coolly upon the Vigilantes, he covered them with the weapon sprinkled with the Creole’s blood. “One hanging is my share. I’ve had that, but it was not enjoyed. I do not intend to furnish any more necks for such entertainments. Keep clear of me. Stand back! I’m still the Wolf of the Rosebud, and there’s death in my right hand!”

He moved slowly back as he spoke, until, reaching the shadow of a rock at the mouth of the cave, he sprung away with a victorious cry and was gone.