ight find a pile of bones in an arroyo.

"Have you ever seen this Bannister?"

"You MUST speak lower when you talk of him, Miss Messiter," the woman
insisted. "Yes, I saw him once; at least I think I did. Mighty few folks
know for sure that they have seen him. He is a mystery, and he travels
under many names and disguises."

"When was it you think you saw him?"

"Two years ago at Ayr. The bank was looted that night and robbed of
thirty thousand dollars. They roused the cashier from his bed and made
him give the combination. He didn't want to, and Ned Bannister"--her
voice sank to a tremulous whisper--"put red-hot running-irons between
his fingers till he weakened. It was a moonlight night--much such a
night as this--and after it was done I peeped through the blind of my
room and saw them ride away. He rode in front of them and sang like an
angel--did it out of daredeviltry to mock the people of the town that
hadn't nerve enough to shoot him. You see, he knew that nobody would
dare hurt him 'count of the revenge of his men."

"What was he like?" the mistress of the Lazy D asked, strangely awed at
this recital of transcendent villainy.

"'Course he was masked, and I didn't see his face. But I'd know him
anywhere. He's a long, slim fellow, built like a mountain lion. You
couldn't look at him and ever forget him. He's one of these graceful,
easy men that go so fur with fool women; one of the kind that half shuts
his dark, devil eyes and masters them without seeming to try."

"So he's a woman killer, too, is he? Any more outstanding
inconsistencies in this versatile Jesse James?"

"He's plumb crazy about music, they say. Has a piano and plays Grigg and
Chopping, and all that classical kind of music. He went clear down to
Denver last year to hear Mrs. Shoeman sing."

Helen smiled, guessing at Schumann-Heink as the singer in question, and
Grieg and Chopin as the composers named. Her interest was incredibly
aroused. She had expected the West and its products to exhilarate her,
but she had not looked to find so finished a Mephisto among its vaunted
"bad men." He was probably overrated; considered a wonder because his
accomplishments outstepped those of the range. But Helen Messiter had
quite determined on one thing. She was going to meet this redoubtable
villain and make up her mind for herself. Already, before she had been
in Wyoming six hours, this emancipated young woman had decided on that.

CHAPTER 3. AN INVI