Phil was sound asleep in bed when a noise of some kind brought him partly back to sensibility. He turned uneasily. The noise came again. Someone was throwing gravel up at his window. He jumped out of bed, pulled out the sliding screen-window and looked over.

A man on horseback was below.

“That you, Phil?”

“Yes!”

The horseman was Howden, the recently promoted Police Chief.

“Big things doing! If you’re game for a night ride, wake Jim and both of you come down quick. We’re shy of men and you two have a pair of good horses.”

“What is it?”

“Tell you when you come. Bring a gun, and hurry, for every minute counts.”

Phil went to Jim’s room across the passage. Jim, ever ready for an adventure, was on the floor in a second; and both were dressed and downstairs in five minutes.

“Won’t a car take us quicker?”

“No!” replied Howden. “It is likely to be a chase over the ranges.”

They saddled their horses and lined up on each side of the Police Chief, who immediately started off.

“Cattle thieves?” asked Jim.

“Worse’n that! The Commercial Bank’s been broken into, the safe blowed up and every blamed bill in the institootion pinched.”

“Well, I’ll be-darned!”

“Just our blasted luck, too!” said Howden quickly and in excitement as they trotted on, “Jamieson, my deputy, is in Vancouver, sick; Hardie went to Kamloops yesterday with a couple of prisoners. There is hardly a real policeman in town,––only me, Downie and McConnachie.

“The Mayor left on the train two days ago for the Coast.

“Downie, who for once wasn’t boozed, noticed someone slip over the back window at the Bank. There were half a dozen of them in the lane, he says. He couldn’t do a thing but watch. Three of them took off by the B.X. way on horseback; two of them made for the Coldcreek Road, and the other two made for the Okanagan Landing. Downie thinks there is another, but he isn’t sure.”

“Where are they all now?” asked Jim.

“Tell you later.

“We’ve to go up along the Kelowna Road, case any of them double back and try that way. They’ve got a hell of a haul among them. We’ll be coverin’ nearly every road, for Downie has scared up a bunch and is off up the B.X. route. McConnachie got three with him on to the Landing. Thompson, the Government Agent, is away hell-for-leather with Morrison on the Coldcreek Road.

“Gee!––but it’ll be great dope if I land them.”

“It will be further promotion and highly commended,” remarked Phil.

Howden grinned, but the grin could only be surmised by the others, for it was dark just preceding the dawn. They cantered quickly up the hill and on to the level winding road cut along the side of the hills, with the endless 374 ranges on the right and a sheer drop into the Kalamalka Lake on the immediate left.

“But how did they pull it off, Howden? Didn’t the bank have a watchman on the premises?”

“Sure they had!––that greasy Chink, Ah Sing, and half a dozen black cats.”

Jim laughed.

“We found Sing gagged and tied up to one of the big desks.”

Jim whistled.

“Where is Sing now?”

“Where we can get him when we want him,” answered Howden. “I put him under lock and key right away.”

“The best place for him,” remarked Jim.

“He’s whimpering like a baby-monkey, too. We’ll get all we want out of him before he’s long there.”

“Did you find out how they got into the bank?”

“That’s the fishy bit! Sing says he opened the door and looked out for a breath of air, when someone hit him over the nut. The next he says he remembers was being tied up. His head is cut open all right, but all the same, I wouldn’t wonder if the Chink’s a liar.”

“They say they have a reputation for that kind of thing,” put in Phil.

Jim’s brain was busy, but he remained silent.

They galloped hard along that part of the road which diverged from the Lake, keeping their eyes to the right in the direction of the old trail between the hills to the Landing, and straight ahead also where the road ran parallel again three hundred feet above the water.

There was no moon. The night was dark, but away over Blue Nose Mountain the grey of dawn was slowly creeping.

Like a writhing snake, the Kelowna Road turned and 375 twisted round the hills which almost precipitated into the dark waters below.

The riders were now going Indian file owing to the darkness and the narrowness of the path. Phil, who was ahead––for he had a horse that refused to stay in the rear of any other horse––turned the first bend. He reined back suddenly, causing the others to do the same. He held up a warning hand.

Cautiously they looked ahead round the crumbling rock.

Half-way between where they were and the next turn, a lone horseman was standing, intent on the adjusting of the girths and heavy saddlebags on his steaming horse. He looked over his shoulder every second or so in the direction of the Landing, as if he feared he might be suddenly surprised.

“By God!” whispered Howden, atremble with excitement, “one of them!”

“Sssh!” cautioned Phil.

Gathering for a dash, they sprang round the turn with a yell, Phil’s horse fairly leaping ahead of the others.

The man by the horse looked up in astonishment. Evidently he had not been anticipating pursuit from that quarter. With an astounding agility for a man of his apparent bulk, he sprang clear from the ground into the saddle of his tall horse, and he was off like a whirlwind.

The three followed after at breakneck speed, but neither Jim’s horse nor Howden’s was a match for the great striding beast in front of them. Phil’s speedy little mare was the only one that could in any way hold its own.

They covered a mile in a heart-breaking pace, and by that time Phil was three hundred yards in front of 376 Jim and Howden, with the hunted man two hundred yards further ahead still.

At every bend and turn, Phil’s heart stood still in the fear of an ambush, but he could do nothing but take that chance, if he ever wished to keep his quarry in sight. The lone rider, however, had evidently only one thought and that was to shake his pursuers.

The light was creeping up every minute. Phil looked away behind him and fancied he saw other riders tailing in behind Jim and Howden,––which was true, for the two had been joined by McConnachie and one other who had pursued the horseman but had been outridden by him over the old road from Okanagan Landing.

Phil began to realise that he was slowly gaining. The man ahead also became anxiously aware of the fact, for he cast a critical glance over his shoulder every now and again as if measuring the space between.

Through the part gloom, Phil noticed that he was masked and heavily bearded. He was unable to identify the figure with any he had seen in the Valley, and it flashed through his mind in a sub-conscious way that possibly a gang from the other side of the Line had engineered the bank robbery. Yet there was something in the gait of the great, striding, shadowy horse that was strangely familiar to him, even in the darkness that still held almost undisputed sway.

Twice that great brute ahead stumbled as if almost spent. Foot by foot Phil gained, until a bare fifty yards divided them.

The horseman rounded another bend in the road. Phil dashed along in hot chase.

He slowed up a bit, for the turning was treacherous. From the shadow of one of the great, shelving, cut-away rocks, the horseman in waiting jumped out on him. Phil’s mare plunged its fore feet into the soft earth, then 377 reared in terror. The robber pulled a gun and fired. The shot nicked a tiny piece from Phil’s ear as it sang past. The man shot again, this time without any apparent effect. He wheeled round, spurred his horse and dashed off once more along the narrow path, making for the last turn in the precipitous highway ere it ran from the side of the Lake across a cut in the hills and into the thickly wooded country.

Phil shook his reins. His mare sprang forward eagerly and held her own for a little. But suddenly she began to swing in her stride, then she stumbled, almost throwing her rider. Phil pulled her in and jumped to the ground, just in time, for she collapsed in a quivering heap, with blood oozing from a tiny hole in her chest and from her foaming mouth and distended nostrils.

Something rose in Phil’s throat, almost choking him. In his chagrin, he raised his fist and shook it at the retreating horseman, who, as if sensing his opponent’s impotence at the same time as he became exultant over his triumph and escape, stood up in his stirrups, turned completely in his saddle, pulled off his hat and waved it defiantly.

It was thus that he mirrored himself on Phil’s mind as he disappeared momentarily round that dangerous bend.

But it was only for the flash of a second that the picture was shut out. There was a shout and the sound of a crash. The great horse reappeared at the sharp angle of the path, rearing high on its hind legs, with its rider clinging precariously to its perpendicular body as he struggled frantically with the stirrups as if trying to kick free. The animal backed wildly against the frail wooden rail on the left––erected there simply for the safety of pedestrians in the dark. The fence gave way like matchwood, the rearing figure of the horse with its rider balanced 378 on the edge for a moment, then slowly toppled backward amid a rush of loose, falling debris, sheer two hundred feet to the rocky bed of the shallow water of the Lake below.

Phil was petrified at the sight, but he quickly regained his composure, left his dying horse and ran forward to the scene of the accident.

Jim Langford, Howden, McConnachie and the ever-ready Morrison of The O.K. Company came racing along behind, reaching the place simultaneously with him.

Immediately on the other side of the cut-away, an old Chinaman was lying nursing a damaged and bloody head, and about him was littered the wreckage of his broken wagon and scattered vegetables; while his ramshackle horse was grazing unconcernedly a few yards farther along.

“By God!––we got him,” again exclaimed Howden, mopping his face as he got off his horse.

They peered over the edge of the precipice.

“Dead, I guess, from the looks of that tangle down there!” said Jim.

“Have you any idea who he is?”

“No!” answered Phil. “An old, hard-nut, evidently. He is masked and wears a beard. I am positive, though, that the horse is Brenchfield’s. They must have known its matchless speed and stolen it. He sure was some rider to take a chance with that brute.”

“Gee!––the Mayor’ll have a cat-fit when we tell him. He was bugs on that horse o’ his,” said Howden.

“Who is going down to bring him up?” asked McConnachie.

“I’ll go,” put in Howden.

“No!––better let Phil go! He is not quite so heavy as you are, Howden, and he has more spring to him.”

Ropes were taken from the saddles and joined together. 379 Phil was lowered slowly over the side and down. He reached the bottom in safety, but was unable to do anything single-handed, for the great dead horse was lying completely on top of the dead rider.

“Better come down, Jim,” he shouted up. “It is more than a one man job.”

He sent up his rope, and soon Jim was down beside him. Together they partly dragged and partly rolled the horse from off the dead man. Its neck had apparently been broken in the fall.

Every bone in the body of the bank robber was crushed and broken with the weight of the horse falling on top. But his masked and bearded face appeared to be unmarred. Life was completely gone.

Phil stooped down and removed the mask. As he did so, his face turned ashy pale and his breath began to come in gulps. Quickly and nervously he put his fingers through the man’s black beard and tugged. The hair came away in his hands, and he gazed in horror at a face he was well familiar with.

He rose from his knee, passed his hand over his eyes and his brow, then staggered against the damp bank.

“Great God, Jim! It’s––it’s Brenchfield!” he gasped.

Jim stood looking silently at the corpse on the ground, his face peculiarly unperturbed. He stepped over to Phil and put his arm comfortingly over his shoulder.

“Well, old man! his sins have found him out at last. He had to come back to it,––a thief always does. He’s got the last hair out of the dog that bit him.

“Brace up, old fellow! I hate to ask you to handle him, but––well––the hate part of it is gone now.”

Phil recovered himself and quietly assisted Jim in adjusting the rope round the great, limp body.

They did not shout their discovery to those above, but left the surprise of it to the arrival.

But they had to wait some time and had to shout several times before the rope was lowered by the half-stupefied men above.

Jim and Phil loosened the saddlebags from the dead horse. These were stuffed to overflowing with bills of all denominations; seemingly the entire theft from the Commercial Bank.

One after the other, each carrying a bag, Phil and Jim were pulled up on to the roadway.

“The dirty, two-faced son-of-a-gun!” was the only remark made, and it came from Howden. No other words were necessary, for that phrase expressed their opinions concretely.

Brenchfield’s body was hoisted and swung across Howden’s horse in front of the Chief, and the man-hunters proceeded homeward at a canter.

“How did you get over from the Landing?” asked Jim of McConnachie.

“Oh,––we got there in good time and didn’t meet a darned thing all the way. We got to Allison’s wharf. The old man’s launch was there, tied up for the night. But there was another one alongside of it. We were just comin’ back to have a look about, when him and two more came bang into us from over the hill. We jumped to our nags, and they turned and beat it back. God knows where the other two got to. They looked like breeds to me. We made after him because he had full saddlebags and looked like the head-boss man.

“But that she-devil of a horse,––it left us a mile behind. We hadn’t the ghost of an idea he was anyways near when we hit your bunch.

“But where in the name of Pete the darn-fool idiot was making for, gets my goat. Who would make for Kelowna when there’s miles of ranges to roam in?”

“Aw!––get off your foot!” exclaimed the knowing 381 Howden. “He meant to get that launch at the Landing first of all and make for his ranch at Redmans, or maybe for Penticton and down over the Line. When you guys fooled him, he came up over here, meaning to beat it back Vernock way, down Kickwillie Loop, I guess, on to the shore road at the head of the Lake and out the Coldcreek to the foot-hills, and over to the Other Side that way.

“If he had ever gotten a head start, we’d never have seen skin or hair of him.”

“But why didn’t he? Wasn’t you ginks chasin’ him to Kelowna?”

“Sure!––but weren’t we between him and the road he wanted to get onto,––simp?”

McConnachie let the sense of it sink, but it seemed to take a long time.

When the procession reached the awakening town he remarked, “I see now! You guys blocked him same as we did at the Landing.”

“Just exactly!” remarked Jim. “We all saw it two hours ago.” As for Howden, he was past remarking anything.

The news of the robbery, of the escape of all but one, and of the dead-capture––and the climax in regard to the identity of that dead robber––caused a tremendous sensation throughout the Valley. It was the talk of the entire country for very many days to follow. A number of respectable citizens, of course, were shocked beyond words; others shook their heads and said it was just what they had expected. But the great fact remained:––Graham Brenchfield, several times Mayor of Vernock, Rancher, Cattle breeder, Wholesale Produce Dealer and Political Boss had been caught red-handed in the biggest bank robbery the Province had ever known.