fter day over range and
through thicket with a great train of pack horses--and from which the
egress, except by the same perilous water route, would be almost
impossible. But the thought passed as he discerned the white paper that
had been fastened in the paddle blade.

He bent for it with eager hand. He knew instinctively that it contained
an all-important and sinister message for him. His eyes leaped over the
bold writing on the exterior.

"To Ezra Melville's murderers," Ben had written. And with that reading
Jeffery Neilson knew a terror beyond any experienced in the darkest
nightmare of his iniquitous life.

It did not occur to him to bring the note, unopened, to Ray Brent. As
yet he did not fully understand; yet he knew that the issue was one of
seconds. _Seconds_ must decide everything; his whole world hung in the
balance. His hand ripped apart the sealed fold, and he held the sheet
before his eyes.

Possessing only an elementary education Jeffery Neilson was not,
ordinarily, a fast reader. Usually he sounded out his words only with
the greatest difficulty. But to-day, one glance at the page conveyed to
him the truth: from half a dozen words he got a general idea of the
letter's full, dread meaning. Ben had written:

TO NEILSON AND HIS GANG:--

When you get this, Beatrice will be on her way to Back There--either
there or on her way to hell.

Ezra Melville was my pard. A letter leaving his claim to me is in my
pocket, and I alone know where Hiram's will is, leaving it to Ezram.
Your title will never stand as long as those papers aren't
destroyed. If you don't care enough about saving your daughter from
me, at least you'll want those letters. Come and get them. I'll be
waiting for you.

BEN DARBY.

As the truth flashed home, Neilson's first thought was of his rifle. He
was a wilderness man, trained to put his trust in the weapon of steel;
and if it were only in his hands, there might yet be time to prevent the
abduction. One well-aimed bullet over the water, shooting with all his
old-time skill, might yet hurl the avenger to his death in the moment of
his triumph. Just one keen, long gaze over the sights,--heaven or earth
could not yield him a vision half so glorious as this! For all his
terror he knew that he could shoot as he had never shot before, true as
a light-ray. His remorseless eyes for once could see clear and sure. One
shot--and then Beatrice could seize