The aim of the would-be assassin was not good. His bullet flew wide of the mark.

Why?

The deep growl of a dog was the disturbing cause.

As Hank Jones pulled the trigger, a shaggy object bounded through the bushes full at the throat of the villainous murderer.

August recognized the peddler's dog. Man and dog rolled down the bank to the water's edge. In the struggle the disguised outlaw's beard was torn off, and Andrew Barkswell stood revealed.

"Curse you, I'll knife you for this!" grated the baffled villain.

The next instant a keen blade gleamed in the air, just as a voice called:

"Tige, come off."

The dog was used to obeying his master's voice, and so he released his hold just in time to avoid the knife of the maddened Barkswell.

"Here, Tige."

The dog came bounding up the bank.

The single eye of the peddler glanced down at the man who struggled to his feet at the water's edge, and sprang into a canoe.

"So, you, Tige. Why was you going for our friend in that way?"

The peddler patted his dog and talked scoldingly until the escaping villain was well out in the stream, paddling away.

Quickly Hiram Shanks strode down to the water.

"Hey, you, man—August, what you leaving for? You'll surely get caught."

It will thus be seen that the peddler, who was hidden from the fisherman's shanty by a line of bushes, had mistaken the fleeing man for his patient.

The man in the boat made no response to the call of Shanks, and soon was lost to view behind an abrupt bend.

"Well, that beats me," muttered the one-eyed man, as he gazed over the water at the point where the canoe and its occupant had just disappeared.

Then, as he turned to ascend the bank, he noticed that Tige held something in his teeth—a heavy black beard!

Seizing it, the peddler examined it closely, then exclaimed:

"A disguise! Well, I'm puzzled now more than ever. I thought August Bordine a much abused man, and now it turns out that he's a villain after all, and able to pull the wool even over my eyes."

Slowly Hiram Shanks ascended the bank. His dog uttered a joyful bark, and dashed through the bushes toward the little shanty.

"Here you, Tige," called the peddler.

"Bow-wow-wow!" was the answer from the faithful dog.

Hiram Shanks moved through the bushes, and then uttered a surprised exclamation. Reclining on the old blanket where he had left him was August Bordine, the young engineer.

"Bless my heart! young man, I thought I saw you just now riding away in a canoe."

"You see your mistake now, I suppose," returned August, trying repeatedly to smile.

"And it wasn't you, after all?"

"Certainly not."

Then August explained the situation in a few words. When he had finished the peddler tapped him gently on the shoulder and said:

"I am greatly relieved. I know that man now. He has caused all the mischief. You and he look as near alike as two peas. The clouds are rolling by and I see my way clear. It won't be long before the authorities as well as the people will be astounded with the arrest of Victoria Vane's murderer. It will astound them because they will find in the real murderer not the man they expect."

The peddler spoke so enthusiastically as to attract the notice of his listener.

"Are you on the track of the assassin?" questioned Bordine.

"I am."

"Then you are a detective?"

"If I succeed, yes. You see, I am but an amateur now. Whisky and an unfaithful woman poisoned me almost to the death. I saw that offer of five thousand dollars reward, and it stimulated me to new life. That is a good deal of money, my boy, especially to one in my circumstances; and so I thought to myself, if I could only win that reward, I could tog up in good shape and enter the business world once more. I've been aiming for that, and I mean to gather it in."

"I sincerely hope you may Mr. Shanks."

* * * * *

The days passed; a fortnight was gone, and yet no news of the young engineer who had so mysteriously disappeared from his home on the night before the arrest of Mrs. Bordine.

That lady was well treated by the sheriff's family, but was not permitted to have communication with the outside world, so that she realized that she was a close prisoner all this time. The reader can easily imagine how the old lady suffered, with a dark cloud hanging over the name of her son. She, of course, firmly believed in his innocence, and would not credit the story that he had fled to escape arrest. There was a mystery about his continued absence for which she could not account, and which gave the good woman no end of trouble.

"I would trust August with my life," she more than once asserted. "He does not come because he fears arrest, but some accident has befallen him, and it may be that we shall none of us see him again, for I fear he is dead."

It was thus the old mother talked to the officers, and to Miss Alstine, who, in the kindness of her heart, visited her lover's mother.

Of course that lover was as nought to the young heiress now. She believed him to be a villain of the deepest dye, yet she could not tell her thoughts to that trusting old mother who seemed so wrapped up in her son.

"The idea that he could harm anybody," declared Mrs. Bordine to Rose, with both plump hands on the girl's shoulders. "Why, he never even so much as killed a chicken without shuddering."

"We will hope that a mistake has been made, dear Mrs. Bordine."

"And you are so kind," returned the old woman with tears in her eyes. "Do you know, Miss Alstine, I want to ask your forgiveness."

"For what, dear?"

"For unkind judgment of you."

"I am sure you never have misjudged me, dear."

"Oh, yes I have."

"How?"

"It was one day when August had been up to your house. He was dreadfully down in the mouth when he came back from that visit. He'd been jilted he said, by you, and I told him right for ever trying to win the heart of a rich girl. I said some very harsh things of you, Miss, things that I know now weren't true. Of course I can see now that you had some good reason for not wishing to marry a poor engineer, a reason that was above regarding his poverty. I won't ask you what it was, for if the poor boy is dead it won't make any difference, and—and—"

Poor mother.

She broke down then completely, and fell to sobbing on the breast of the sympathetic Rose.

Ah, yes, she knew why she had refused to see the widow's son that eventful day, and it was not poverty that drove him out of her life. Rose, however, would not explain now, nor ever to Mrs. Bordine. She realized that the kindly soul had never realized the truth regarding the dual character of August.

If he never returned it was well that she should think of him always, as now, true and dutiful, a model man and son in every respect.

Officers were now more than ever on the alert. Everybody was anxious to win the magnificent reward, and it now seemed very easy of attainment, since the real murderer was known.

Would he fall finally into the hands of the law?

This was the question that Rose asked many times of herself. It would be justice, and yet it would grind her heart to know of his dying on the scaffold.

Was he guilty?

Another question.

Could she doubt it, remembering the scene in the garden at the house of her lover?

One evening while Rose, unattended, was hastening along the street toward the city prison, she suddenly became aware that a man was following her. There was something in his walk and general appearance that seemed familiar, but she could not see his face, since his hat was down low, shading it completely.

She had reached the entrance to the sheriff's office, and placed her hand on the knob, when the man sprang quickly to her side and seized her arm. She uttered a startled cry and pushed open the door.

"One moment, Rose!" cried the man, hoarsely. He snatched the hat from his head and bent his face close hers.

The girl uttered a great cry.

"Great Heaven, you here, August Bordine!"

And then Rose closed the door and leaned heavily against the wall.

[Illustration: HE SNATCHED THE HAT FROM HIS HEAD, AND BENT HIS FACE CLOSE
TO HERS.]