ew settlement in the
North; and beside it was a tent whose owner was absent in Askatoon.

Orlando dug heels into his horse and rode for the point from which the
cry for help had come. Something was undoubtedly wrong. The voice was
that of one in real trouble--a hoarse, strangled sort of voice.

As he galloped through the light of the camp-fire, a pistol-shot rang
out, and he felt a sharp, stinging pain in his side. Still urging his
horse, he cleared the little circle of light and presently saw a man
rapidly mounting a horse, while two others struggled on the ground.

He dashed forward. As he did so, one of the men on the ground freed
himself, sprang to his feet, mounted his horse, and was away into the
night with his companion. Orlando slid to the ground beside the figure
which was slowly raising itself from the ground.

"What's the matter? Are you all right? Have they hurt you?" he asked,
as he stooped over and caught the shoulders of the victim of the two
fleeing figures.

At that instant there were two more pistol-shots, and a bullet hit the
ground beside Orlando. Then he saw dimly the face of the man whom he was
helping to his feet.

"Mazarine! Good Lord-Mazarine!" he said in an anxious voice. "What have
they done to you?"

"Nothing--I'm all right. The dogs, the rogues, the thieves--but they
didn't get it! It was in the pockets of my shirt." The old man was
almost hysterical. "You just come in time, Mr. Guise. You frightened 'em
off. They'd have found it, if it hadn't been for you."

"Found what?" asked Orlando, as he helped the old man towards the
camp-fire, himself in pain, and a dizziness coming over him.

"Found your six thousand dollars that Burlingame paid me to-day," gasped
the old man, spasmodically; "but it's here-it's here!" He caught at his
breast with devouring greed.

Somehow the agitated joy of the old man revolted Orlando. He had a
sudden rush of repulsion; but he fought it down.

"Are you all right?" he asked. "Are you all right?" Somehow the sound of
his own voice was very weak. "Yes, I'm all right," Mazarine said, and he
called to his horse near by.

The horse did not stir, and the old man, whose breath came almost
normally now, moved over and caught its bridle.

In a dazed kind of way, and with growing unsteadiness, Orlando walked
towards the camp-fire. He was leaning against his horse, and opening his
coat and waistcoat to find the wound in his side and staunch it with the
kerchie