All through the day which came after the night that witnessed the surprise of Myra, the waif, by Tom Terror and his Thugs, six Wolves watched with the fatal cord in their hands for the return of the boy lyncher.

But he did not come. Back in the cavern proper, with that ghastly colouring which comes to the faces of the dying, the white Thug reclined on the rude cot. His wound had been roughly but well dressed, and the gentle hands of the girl of mystery had moistened his lips with water.

All at once the fair girl started, for an Indian had leaped to the cot, and was talking in low tones to the wounded Thug.

Her heart seemed to stand still. She felt that Harry was coming, that he was about to walk in the death-trap which cunning had prepared for him.

How she strained her ears to catch a sentence, a word of the Indian’s communication. As well she might have listened for the sound of a zephyr! But she saw the giant’s eyes flash while his hireling talked; she caught the quick nod of approval that he gave, and saw the Thug bound toward the entrance again.

“Why don’t Dan come back?” murmured the cut-throat. “I recollect how he left shortly after he saw the mole on the gal’s face. The time has come!” she heard him say as if the words gave him a sort of wolfish pleasure. “Thar’s to be a good deal of dyin’ with boots on in the old Cut-throat. Whar’s the gal?”

“Here, Captain Tom,” answered Myra, and the next moment she stood before the robber of the gulch, from whom a few hours since she would have fled with a shriek.

“So hyar ye ar’!” he said. “I’m goin’, never to come back. I’ll never pull my boots off ag’in. Stay hyar till somebody comes; it won’t be me; it won’t be Deadly Dan. But, somebody will come an’ take you away. You’re the biggest bonanza in Colorado, ef you ar’ but a mite. One o’ these days you’ll be a gold queen. Dan got on the wrong trail, an’ now he’s run away from the right one. Run off an’ left the work for my boys with the cords. I told ’im to give you the strings last night, but I’m kinder glad thet Rosebud interfered an’ saved yer life.”

The old fellow dropped Myra’s hand, and started toward the mouth of the cave where two bronzed faces waited for him; but the girl bounded forward.

“You haven’t disclosed anything!” she cried. “What you have said makes me curious. Whose child am I? Captain Tom, will you not lift the veil of mystery that has hung before me so long? Who is the boy?”

“The boy?” and Tom Terror grated his teeth. “Oh, the young ’un what has carried on court in Cut-throat for six mouths?”

“Yes, yes!”

“He’s nobody in partic’lar. You’re the mystery, gal. Thar!”

The thought of the terrible scenes that might soon populate the chasm rushed upon the girl’s mind faster than she could speak. They came like the pictures of some mighty panorama, and when in one she saw Harry, the avenger, struck down by the man he had sworn to hang, she reeled away with a cry of horror.

When she recovered, the cavern was still. The fire burning brightly on the stone floor told her that she was the only tenant of the cave. The silence was oppressive.

“Can I not see something from the rock?” she exclaimed. “It would kill me to remain here while the last dread encounter was taking place in Cut-throat. I will go!”

The waif of the gap hurried from the cave, and a few moments later she was gliding through the shadows of the ravine with which she was thoroughly acquainted.

The girl sprung back with a startling cry; the thunderous report of firearms had broken the silence and the flash almost blinded her.

Again and again the shots sent her warm blood like lava through her heart; she heard oaths, cries, the wild struggling of enemies in deadly combat.

They had met!

But who were the white men whose voices assailed her ears?

Ah! Tom Terror and his Thugs had encountered Maverick Joe and his Vigilantes; not the boy lyncher.

The Vigilantes had conquered; their voices told her this, and she wanted to send down to them her approval of their success.

But something checked her. Those men hated the boy lyncher. They had even hunted him, and she—she could not admire such men.

Myra turned from the rock, but the next instant she found herself face to face with a figure that brought a cry to her lips.

“Here you are, my beauty! By Jove! they’ve been settling matters down in the gulch. I thought you were gone when I found the cave empty; but here you are, the girl to make the gold queen of the Eastern coast.”

The waif saw the glitter of the man’s eyes.

“Are you certain about your own neck, Deadly Dan?”

The villain stopped and dropped the hand that he held; then his revolver leaped upward, but the report which followed quickly upon the question, caused it to fall as suddenly.

“Draw again and I’ll spoil your face!” said the deadly marksman. “I have just closed one session of court, and now I will open the last one I shall ever hold in Cut-throat. Stand where you are! This time Red Crest and I will see that the noose is properly adjusted. Jennie—Myra—go on into the cave; there’s somebody there who wants to see you.”

The girl sprung forward with a parting look at Deadly Dan.

That villain bit his lips; the prize for which he had trailed and shot for ten years was gliding from his grasp.

He was doomed to the rope once more.

“Why did I come back to Cut-throat? War thet what ye asked me, Maverick?” asked Tom Terror, as he looked down into the Vigilante’s face from the saddle to which several of the red survivors of the gulch battle had helped him, bleeding from a fresh wound. “I see no harm in tellin’ the why an’ wherefore now. A big bonanza brought me back. Deadly Dan knows more about it than I do; but I know that a million or more is tremblin’ in the balances on the Atlantic Coast. He sent me back to find an’ to kill; but he thought he’d better come, too. Ha! ha! I’m afeared he’ll never tech the rocks, for it turned out to be a gal.”

Captain Harry started at the man’s words.

“A girl!” he ejaculated.

“Yes; your sweetheart. Did you think it war you?” and the wounded man smiled grimly. “Last night Rosebud found an’ recognized her.”

“And did his work?”

“No; he ran off. But, mebbe he’s back by this time. He’d rather see her the gold queen of the cities than use his knife, for she’s purtier’n all creation.”

The Vigilantes looked at the boy.

“We can’t talk here,” Harry said. “Are you ready, Tom?”

“My boots ar’ on. Therefore, Tom Terror ar’ ready.”

Red Crest leaped forward at a sign from the boy, and the strong noose fell over the Tiger’s drooping head.

But vain, almost, was that long-delayed vengeance, for when the death noose tightened around Tom’s short stretch of throat, the soul of the ruffian had gone to be judged.

“Now for Myra!” cried the boy.

A scene totally unexpected greeted the eyes of the girl waif when she re-entered the cavern.

Stretched on the cot drawn close to the fire lay the body of a man whose face was haggard in the extreme. His eyes beaming with expectation, glittered intensely as the fair one appeared.

“I know it!” he exclaimed. “Ef I hev lost one big bonanza, I’ve found another; an’ one, too, all in one share. Jennie! Jennie! come an’ tell me thet the long-lost claim hes come back to Old Jack!”

The girl did not hesitate, and the next moment her gentle face was pressed to the rough cheek of the old driver.

“I know it would come,” said Maverick Joe, feelingly. “Old Jack has found the big bonanza. Captain Tom would have hired him to hunt down his own child, ef Rosebud hadn’t interfered.”

It was a scene from which the rough Vigilantes withdrew, and when the last one had departed, they left the twain there with lip glued to lip.

When the party returned to the cavern they found Jennie—Myra no longer, that being the name by which Captain Harry knew her—seated beside the cot holding the dead hand of Bonanza Jack, her father.

His tale had been told; she knew all, and she told Harry that with his last breath he had thanked fortune for preserving his life until he had found his child.

Here we must put aside the pen; but not until we have informed the reader that Maverick Joe, now a veritable gold-bug, has just arrived from the West to witness a wedding ceremony, and to give the blushing bride away.

And if somewhere in the fashionable assembly the interesting face of a young Indian is seen, we may be sure that he is the gallant Red Crest of our canyon romance.

THE END.

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PUBLISHED BY
JAMES JACKSON.