The boy judge relapsed into moody silence, and walked, without a word, at Myra’s side.

The journey back to the cave was not a long one, and they entered it as the first rays of the sun, flashing over the cliffs of Cut-throat, chased the shadows of night away.

A few moments later the strange pair seated themselves before the meal, which the fair waif spread on the cavern floor, and after it had been discussed the boy took Myra’s hands, and, looking into her eyes, said:

“You will not turn vengeance-hunter during my absence. This little retreat is the place for you. I want you to hear the solution of this mystery.”

“And I am burning to hear it, Hal,” was the quick reply. “Whither are you going now?”

“To find Red Crest. I want the Indian near me henceforward.”

There was a long look of something more than friendship in the couple’s eyes before they separated, and Myra’s followed the figure that went away.

As the boy judge emerged from the well-chosen cave home he looked up at the heavens.

Overhead the limitless skies wore their garments of blue, but there were shadows in the narrow ravine.

Even at noon they lingered there, and as the orb of day declined they grew longer, until once more the little chasm became cold and dark.

An ominous silence reigned over the roughness of nature that surrounded the boy lyncher, and when he stepped entirely from the mouth of the cave, it was to glide down the ravine toward the large canyon.

Noiselessly he went on until, with his lithe body half-hidden by a rock, he leaned forward and beheld the floor of Cut-throat two hundred feet below.

All at once the well-known tread of horses fell upon the boy lyncher’s ears.

“Maybe they’ll entertain me with a drama,” murmured Hal, with a smile, as, stretching his neck forward, he evinced great eagerness to catch sight of the cavaliers.

They did not keep the boy waiting, for hard upon his words two horsemen came in sight—two men whose figures made the little lyncher draw back and hold his breath for a minute.

“They were certain to get together,” he said as he returned to his lookout. “They are magnets which attract each other; evil gravitates to evil, and it is but natural that Deadly Dan and Tom Terror should come together.”

Wholly unaware of the keen eyes that regarded them from the mouth of the ravine, the border worthies came on and to the boy’s surprise drew rein almost directly beneath him.

At the same time the rapid gallop of steeds came from the west.

“The scarlet Thugs! They are going to give me the drama!” said Hal, as he waited.

Sure enough, he soon counted six horses that came toward Tom Terror and his friend, and the scarlet Thugs of Cut-throat, well made but ferocious-looking Indians, sat before him like statues carved from blocks of granite.

“These are the boys with the strings,” said Tom, waving his dark hand at his band as he turned to Deadly Dan. “I never saw ’em miss a throw in all my life. They call ’em Thugs down at Deadwood and Custer, and it’s the handle that suits ’em.”

The next moment Deadly Dan put out his hand which Tom Terror took, and the boy looked down and saw the lightning flash of revenge that passed between his foes.

But before that grasp was broken there came a stunning report which drove the boy back from his rock, and he heard a wild cry as Tom Terror, springing erect in his stirrups, pitched forward and completely over his horse’s head.

Then, quick as a flash of powder, he turned toward the spot from whence the startling shot had come.

It was directly across the canyon, for the white smoke curling upward marked the precise spot.

“Ah! you have cheated me out of a neck,” flashed Judge Lynch, Jr., catching sight of the figure on the bank. “By Jove! you shall not boast of that in Custer. Hold! my hearty; one moment and I’ll pay you back.”

The carbine was at the boy lyncher’s shoulder, and his finger at the trigger when he saw the marksman leap to the edge of the precipice, and halt in full view of the thunderstruck band below.

“Hurrah! for the big bonanza!” he yelled, as he swung his shabby hat defiantly at the Thugs. “What ar’ ye looking at? I’m no comet—I’m only Bonanza Jack, soon to be the gold bug of the coast.”

Then, with a wild half-maniacal laugh of triumph, the man turned away, and, as he did so, the repeating rifle dropped from the young lyncher’s shoulder.

“I can’t kill you,” he said, gazing after Old Jack. “Myra says you are mysteriously linked to her. Go and enjoy your big bonanza. But I hate you because you cheated me out of a neck.”

The ex-stage driver soon disappeared, and Hal when he looked down into the canyon once more, saw the Thugs and Deadly Dan staring at the wound ghastly and terrible in the Tiger’s breast.

“Men don’t often recover from such a wound,” murmured the boy. “But he’s got the constitution of an ox, and that’s in his favor.”

“The man what says that Tom Terror ar’ goin’ to pass in his checks lies like sin. His time will not come till he’s paid the rascal Jack fur this gapin’ hole in his life chest. Don’t look long-faced an’ down-hearted, pard. I’m goin’ to help you to the big bonanza. Did you ever see such an ugly hole? Why, it’s big enough fur death to drive a four-in-hand into a chap’s heart. They’ll hunt for me,” he said. “Ah! I know the place fur me to rest in. I found it last summer. Lodgepole, you have not forgotten—the cave in the old ravine. Take me thar.”

A few moments later the band moved slowly from the spot where the Tiger received his wound. The progress made was painfully slow, for the fact that Tom Terror lay heavily upon the scarlet arms that supported him on either side, with his dark eyes hid and teeth glued together, told that he was suffering the agonies of twenty deaths.

But guided by the young Thug, the speechless cavalcade finally left the bed of Cut-throat, and ascended to the ground above.

At that time not a soul of that band dreamed that not twenty rods ahead a fair young girl, suddenly roused from sleep, was listening white-faced and with throbless heart to the noise of their coming.

“In the name of mercy what wolves have tracked us down?” fell from her lips. “It is merciless fate that sent Harry off and left me to face them alone. But, ah! he is safe. Heaven, I thank thee for that. Ay, I am glad that I am alone.”

Myra, the waif, shrunk instinctively to the northern wall where the marks of the boy lyncher’s vengeance were.

As the girl stood there, and listened to the sounds made by the new arrivals, she did not allow her hands to tremble at the weapon which they encircled.

“Ar’n’t we thar yet? This bullet in my trunk hes got to movin’ about.”

Myra, the waif, started.

That voice had a familiar sound. Six hours had not passed since she heard it behind the stock of a leveled carbine.

But what had happened? A bullet in Tom Terror’s body? Then the Tiger had enemies besides the young judge.

“We must be in the cave,” said another voice that seemed to come from a white man’s lips. “But there are too many shadows here.”

“A light, boys. Make a fire, an’ while ye’re at work put me down.”

The kindling of the fire was not long delayed, the dry splinters of wood scraped together by the Thugs soon blazed up, and for the first time Myra saw her visitors.

She saw, too, the strong man on the floor, and in all her life the girl had never seen such a pair of wolfish eyes.

“Why, this place is inhabited!” suddenly cried Deadly Dan. “There’s a cot, a stool, and clothes hanging on the wall. By my life, Tom, I believe we’ve invaded the boy’s den.”

“Ah! there’s a bed, too.”

“Whar?—thet’s what I want just now. Whar’s a nest?”

“In yon corner.”

Tom Terror uttered a cry of joy, and essayed to crawl forward.

But at that moment a voice rung through the cavern and startled every one.

“Stay where you are, or I’ll let firelight into your skulls. The limbs of a murderer shall never pollute the cot where I sleep.”

In an instant of time, as it were, the fair occupant of the cavern had become known to the Thugs of Cut-throat.

The fire leaping ceilingward revealed her graceful figure, her determined white face, and the deadly weapon in her hands.

Deadly Dan Darrell, with a cry of amazement on his lips, started from the sight, while Tom Terror, having suddenly relinquished his attempted crawl to the bed, gazed at her in silence.

She showed no signs of life, save in the sparkling of her beautiful eyes which drew much of Rosebud Dan’s attention.

“By Jove, she’s a beauty,” he ejaculated. “What a queen she’d make for me when I get my fingers on the pile. The boy and she are carrying on business together; but I’m going to break up that partnership.”

“I’ll make tarms, pard,” said Tom, flashing the glare of his wolfish eyes upon the speaker.

“You speak of terms,” she said. “These are mine. Stand aside and let me pass.”

“They’re easy,” was the answer. “We don’t make war on women, an’ I guess you’ll never set the world afire if we do let you go.”

She could not avoid the handsome, eager eyes of Deadly Dan. She had seen him for the first time; but something proclaimed his identity.

“So you accede to my terms?” she said. “I am to pass out?”

“Yes, my beauty.”

At Tom Terror’s command, the Indians drew sullenly back, and Myra with a light cry of triumph sprung toward the opening. As she reached Deadly Dan she heard him say:

“Go straight to Custer, girl. I’ll kill the man that touches you.”

Myra started at such words in such a place, but did not pause. She was eager to get beyond the flashing eyes that regarded her, beyond the strings of the Thugs.

But alas! for such hopes and expectations.

All at once something was seen to whirl around an Indian’s head, and Deadly Dan with a mad oath sprung forward to prevent the fatal throw.

But in vain.

Caught by the swift messenger of death, Myra stopped, and reeled, at the same time dropping the rifle.

The Canyon Spider uttered a cry of delight.

“Ha! ha! strung, my beauty. Thet’s the kind o’ tarms I give the she wolves, pard.”

But Deadly Dan did not hear his comrade, for he had leaped forward, and prevented Myra from falling to the earth.

The Indians, too, had sprung toward her.

“Back! you infernal stranglers,” thundered the Wolf, as he turned upon them, a heavy revolver cocked in his right hand. “Stand where you are with your hands on your cords, but draw one if you dare. This creature doesn’t deserve your strings. From this moment she is mine. Deadly Dan is her protector, and he’s going to make her the wife of the greatest gold-bug in the States.”

The Thugs of Cut-throat, almost consumed with rage, were cowed by Deadly Dan and his revolver.

“Make ’er what you please, pard,” said Tom Terror, breaking the silence. “Thar mustn’t be any hard lines betwixt us. The big bonanza ain’t found yet, an’ she ain’t the gold-bug’s wife. I call my red wolves off. Now, bring the gal up to the fire.”

The Indians obeyed their leader, but looked daggers at the man who had cowed them.

“You will pardon me, Tom,” Dan said, coming forward. “This is a prize a fellow doesn’t draw every day. Permit me to present to you the future wife of Rosebud Dan, the future money king of the States.”

Tom Terror grinned as, despite his wound, he bent down to gaze into the finely chiseled face that Dan had lowered into the mellow firelight.

“Purty as a picter!” he ejaculated. “But what’s that on her right temple, Dan? Didn’t you say that a little mole shaped like a bean—”

A startling cry pealed from Darrell’s throat; he thrust his face between Tom and the girl’s, and the next moment, with the wildest of looks in his eyes, he sprung up as Myra fell from his arms.

“Thunder and guns!” fell from his lips, as he gazed first at Tom and then at the unconscious waif. “Is it possible that I’ve been tracking the wrong person the best years of my life? Tom, you stare but don’t speak. Can’t you say a word, and confirm—no! dispel my terrible suspicions?”

Tom Terror shook his head.

“So,” he said, looking up into Rosebud Dan’s startled countenance, “so the baby was a girl?”

Then, as if determined to have the rest and attention that his wound demanded, despite the new and exciting phase the adventure was assuming, he staggered toward the cot.

“I reckon she’ll hardly get to be the gold-bug’s wife now,” he muttered, as he fell upon the skin and fixed his eyes on the Wolf. “He’d give an arm ef that mole warn’t on her face. We used to think that it war on somebody else’s.”

The next moment he turned away, and shutting his teeth hard, tried to kill the groan of agony that came up from his shattered breast.