an idea, and I went into
the back room, and put up a bar across the door. When he came in he
tried the door; then he spoke through it, but I never answered; and
finally he lay down and went to sleep. I sat there in the dark so long,
and when I heard you--I--I thought it must be some of the others."

He stroked her hair, whispering words of encouragement.

"That is all done with now, Hope, and we'll have those fellows at our
mercy in another half-hour. But I must go now to the boys; lie down here
behind these saddles, and don't move until I come for you. I can trust
you to remain right here?"

"Yes." He was bending over, and her eyes were upon his face. Suddenly,
obeying an irresistible impulse, he clasped her to him, and their lips
met.

"Sweetheart," he whispered softly.

He could not hear her answer, but her arms were about his neck.

Chapter XXXV. The Cabin Taken

His heart beating with new happiness, yet conscious of the stern duty
still confronting him, Keith joined the others, giving them, in a
whisper, a hurried account of Hope's release from the cabin, and of what
she had to report.

"It's old Juan Sanchez in the front room, boys," he added soberly, "and
there is ten thousand dollars reward out for him, dead or alive."

Joe of the "Bar X" drew in his breath sharply.

"It'll sure be dead then," he muttered, "that cuss will never be got no
other way."

They went at it in the grim silent manner of the West, wasting little
time, feeling no mercy. One by one the unconscious sleepers were
aroused, each waking to find a steel barrel pressing against his
forehead, and to hear a stern voice say ominously, "Not a move, Johnny;
yes, that's a gun; now get up quietly, and step out here." Resistance
was useless, and the five, rendered weaponless, were herded back toward
the corral. They all belonged to Hawley's outfit; one, a black-whiskered
surly brute Bristoe remembered having seen in Sheridan. There was no
time to deal with them then, and a "Bar X" man was placed on guard, with
orders to shoot at the slightest suspicious movement.

The Indian, then, would be guarding the front of the house, and Sanchez
sleeping inside. Well, the former could be left alone; his chance of
escape would be small enough with Fairbain and Neb on the opposite bank.
Old Sanchez was the villain they wanted--dead or alive. With this in
view, and anxious to make a quick job of it, the three entered the back
room, and, revolve