The cheering light of hope began to break upon the crouching figure on the ragged edge of rock above the quarry, as she watched the men disappear, one by one, into the darkness on their way to their horses.

It suddenly dawned upon her that the hapless prisoner was to be left, bound and gagged, in this lonely spot until the return of that member of the band who had drawn the red bean. Some subtle intuition warned the alert onlooker that this one was either the Captain or Steve. Possibly both might return on the murderous mission, and, but for her, only the few faint pitying stars of heaven would be witnesses of a dastardly crime, darker than the night itself.

Supremely glad the girl felt at this moment that she had not been unduly hasty in her actions, for, by waiting, she would now have but one, or two at furthest, to overcome in order that Milt Derr might go free.

Swift upon the thought came another—that by acting quickly she might be able to liberate the hapless prisoner before even these two should return.

If she were but swift enough in her movements to reach the quarry and give her sweetheart the pistol she carried, then would it bode evil to the one who should come to wreak the oath of vengeance against the victim.

She waited impatiently yet a little longer until the spot should be utterly deserted, and when her ears at last caught the sound of retreating hoofs descending the rocky hill, she tightly grasped one of the cedar bushes and leaning over the edge of the jutting rocks called softly:

"Milt! Milt! I'm here. I'll soon set you free. Don't lose heart!"

She understood that he could make no response, that the cruel gag prevented it, but as she listened intently, after her low-uttered words of encouragement, she heard him raise his fettered feet and strike them on the rock floor, one—twice—as if in response to her words of cheer.

The light from the smouldering fire had grown too dim for her to see the movement, or note the look of bewilderment and incredulous surprise that swept over the prisoner's face, as he turned his body slightly, and looked up in the direction from which the voice had seemed to come.

"I'm on the ledge of rock above the quarry," Sally continued, hurriedly. "It's too steep to climb down, but I'll go around, and come to you."

Quick upon her words, she sprang to her feet, eager to skirt the edge of the quarry, the light of love, which is stronger than sun or moon, guiding her steps through the night's labyrinth. Had not her thoughts been entirely absorbed by the great eagerness in her heart to reach her lover and set him free before the return of his enemies, she would have marveled at the ease and speed with which she moved in making her way down the rugged hill toward its entrance.

And still it seemed an interminable journey, each step haunted by the fear that the one on whom the fatal choice of executioner had fallen might return and wreak his vengeful mission before she could reach the spot by the circuitous route she had to take.

This fear, while it startled her, also urged her footsteps to greater haste, and at times she almost ran. Suddenly her feet became entangled in one of the many creeping wild vines that spread a tangled network in her path, and unable to recover her poise, she fell headlong to the ground, striking heavily.

In a wilted heap she lay there for some minutes, stunned by the fall, seemingly not caring to move; then, on slowly regaining her scattered wits, and recalling the haste and importance of her mission, she made an effort to regain her feet.

Along with the effort a sharp pain darted through her ankle—so sharp and severe that she came near crying out, and after making a step or two forward, she sank, with a little moan, down on the ground again, clasping her spent ankle with both hands.

A swarm of terrifying thoughts came crowding swiftly upon her. Had she broken it? If so, what should she do in her utter helplessness? A most unenviable situation it was—alone and crippled, far from human aid, a solitary object for pity, lying helpless amid those silent, gloomy hills, while the only person on whom she might have called in her dire extremity, was even more helpless than she, and urgently needed her assistance even now to avert the terrible fate that was drawing very near to him.

As she sat thus in her abject misery, aloof from succor or sympathy, rubbing her sprained ankle aimlessly the while, and bemoaning by turns her misfortune and suffering, and the cruel situation of the bound and helpless prisoner within the stone quarry, she finally attempted to move her foot gently to and fro, and found to her surprise that the accident was only a sudden wrench, painful but not lasting. Hope once more buoyed her up, yet all this delay was a waste of precious time she could ill afford to lose.

After a little prudent waiting she once more gained her feet and carefully took a step or two forward, and though the effort cost her some agony, it was not so intense as before, and seemed gradually wearing away, so with renewed determination she struggled bravely on, at times compelled to sit down on the ground and tightly clasp her ankle with both hands to deaden the pain.

As she sat thus, rocking to and fro in her suffering, her ear caught the sound of a horse coming up the hill in the direction of the quarry. Up she again started, in a fresh frenzy of terror, her physical pain giving way to the greater mental agony that beset her. Forgetful of her recent accident, only remembering that the thing she had most dreaded might speedily come to pass, despite her efforts to prevent it, she struggled on.

The pain seemed suddenly to go as quickly as it had come, and she pushed resolutely onward, unmindful of her weak ankle or of the darkness, praying fervently the while that strength might remain to her, and enable her to reach the quarry before the horseman did.

The sound of the hoofbeats ceased. It was probable the rider had dismounted and was making his way on foot to where his victim lay. She was tempted to scream out—to rend the very silence with frantic cries for help, yet to what purpose? It might only serve to hasten the dastardly work. Oh, that she had waited at the edge of the quarry, and sought to defend her loved from that secure vantage ground!

She gasped a prayer for aid, for strength, and redoubled her speed. At last the quarry's entrance was reached, and she had to pause a brief moment to catch her spent breath. Then, in an agony of suspense, she peered anxiously forward into the darkness and silence of the place.

From out the gloom she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Her heart stood still. Was she, indeed, too late? Had the cruel messenger already accomplished his bloody mission, and was he now returning from the scene of his dark crime?

As these questions flew to her troubled brain, there came the perplexing knowledge that the sounds she heard were those of two men coming toward her, not one, and she felt, rather than saw, the presence of two dark forms rapidly approaching. Had Jade Beddow come back with Steve? They must both have ridden one horse.

She would soon be discovered. Her life would surely pay the penalty of her presence there. But at least Milt's death should be avenged. She cared for naught else that might happen. She drew the pistol from its holder and leveled it at the two shadowy forms looming up before her.

Suddenly from out the darkness and gloom there came the sound of a voice, low and guarded, yet the voice she most cared to hear in all the world—the voice of Milton Derr. It seemed as if the very dead had spoken.

"Did you come back alone?" the voice asked of the companion shadow.

"Yes, but the Captain may also soon return. Why do you ask?"

"As I lay in yonder place, another voice than yours spoke to me out of the gloom, and bade me have courage."

"You must have dreamed it," insisted Steve, for it was he. "We two must be the only livin' bein's on this hill, unless some other member of the band came back to set you free, as I have done. Whose voice was it?"

"A woman's."

"Then I know you dreamed it. What woman would be in this lonely spot at such an hour of the night? But let's not waste time in idle talk. You must get away from here, an' that quickly. Put as many miles as you can between this place an' daybreak. They turned your horse loose, but perhaps it would be better for you to make your way on foot. You must not be seen in this part of the country again, for if the Captain finds out I have not kept my oath, I will have to suffer in your place."

"How can I get away, where can I go?" Milt anxiously asked.

"Go up into the mountains—out West, anywhere except near this spot," urged his companion. "Here's a little money to take along with you."

The two men were now close upon Sally, as she crouched in a dark angle of the rocky wall, and, although they spoke in low tones, she heard each word. So near were they, in fact, she could have touched them by stretching forth her hand.

"You have done me a good turn, Steve. I shall never forget it!" cried Milton Derr, gratefully.

"You don't owe me any favors," answered Steve, hastily, almost roughly. "The Captain had me in a tight fix, an' I had to say what I did, an' do what he told me to do, but I never meant to harm you. I haven't forgot the other night. Good-by, Milt, take good care of yourself!"