r to a lie. Not knowing where I hides,
your consciences are as free as mine that hasn't never been bridled."

Wilfred asked, "But when Lahoma writes, how will you get her letter?"

"You or Bill will go for the mail. If a letter comes, you'll take it
to that crevice into which Miss Sellimer was drug by that big Injun,
and you'll wait in there till I comes, not opening that letter till I
am with you. We'll read it together, down in the hollow where poor
Miss Sellimer's life was saved by Lahoma; then you two will go back to
the cove, and leave me to sneak away to my hiding-place which may be
near and may be far. When you get a letter, bring your ladder and the
lantern, and be sure nobody is watching you--because if you let Red
Kimball or any of his gang follow you to that hiding-place, you'd have
to see a man killed--and such as that ain't no sight for eyes as
civilized as Wilfred's, or as old as Bill's."

CHAPTER XVI

THE ONYX PIN

When the next letter came from Lahoma, Wilfred Compton and Bill Atkins
hurried to the crevice in the mountain-top according to agreement. It
was a cloudless afternoon, but at the farther end of the retreat the
light of the lantern was necessary for its perusal. Brick Willock, who
was there before them, read the letter in silence before handing it to
the young man to read aloud.

"It's just addressed to me, this time," he remarked grimly, in
explanation of his proprietary act; "they ain't no foolishness of 'Dear
Brick and Bill.' But I treats you as friends should be treated, and
lays before you everything Lahoma has found out. For Brick Willock, he
says 'Friends is better friends when they don't know all about each
other,' says he; and I tells you only what Lahoma has been told,
according."

Wilfred took the letter, tingling with excitement. The strained
watching and waiting for the sudden appearance of an unknown Red
Kimball had made his bed in the cabin as sleepless as had been Bill's
pallet in the dugout. They squatted about the lantern that rested on
the stone floor, Willock always with eyes directed toward the narrow
slit in the ceiling that they might not be taken by surprise.

The long natural corridor was bare, except for the old Spanish sword
hanging upon the wall. A stout cedar post, firmly fixed in the
extremity of the walls, formed a rude barricade against the abyss of
unknown depth that yawned a few yards away from where they sat. This
railing and the sword w