lings in a flood
of tears. But she knew that her father would be expecting her
downstairs, so it was necessary to make haste.

When at last she entered the dining-room, Weston was already there,
talking with Nannie. The latter noticed Glen's pale face, but made no
comment. With her naturally keen intuition, she divined the cause of
the trouble and discreetly said nothing.

During the meal Weston seemed like an altogether different man, and
talked and laughed in the most animated manner. He told a number of
his experiences in the hills, several of which were of a humorous
nature. Glen tried to be interested, although she found it difficult
to follow what her father was saying. He puzzled her more than ever.
Why was he so stern and cruel at times, and again so bright and merry?
He did not seem the least angry now at her, neither was he apparently
concerned about the two prisoners at Glen West.

When supper was ended, Weston pushed back his chair and lighted a cigar.

"My, that tastes good," he commented. "It's the first I've had in a
long time. Now for some music, Glen."

Music! Glen started and looked at her father, as if she had not heard
aright. What did he mean? Was he going to add further torture to her
racked brain by asking her to play and sing? She had hardly spoken a
word during the meal, and had barely tasted her food. This Weston
noted, and he well understood the reason. How much will she safely
stand? he asked himself. He was about to repeat his suggestion, when
Sconda arrived, and with him came Curly, guarded by two stalwart
Indians. Glen breathed a sigh of relief at this timely interruption,
and leaving the table, she fled at once to the seclusion of her own
room.

CHAPTER XVI

THE ORDEAL

"What are you doing here?"

Curly was a sorry looking specimen of humanity as he stood before his
stern questioner, the ruler of Glen West. His clothes were torn, and
his face dirty and unshaven. His eyes glowed with a sullen light of
hatred, mingled with a nameless fear as he glanced furtively around the
room.

"What are you doing here?" Weston repeated. "Why don't you answer?
Are you deaf?"

"I was prospectin'," was the surly reply.

"Where?"

"In the hills, north of Crooked Trail."

"And why did you come through the pass?"

"Me pardner an' I got lost; that's why."

"Who was your partner?"

"Slim Fales, from Big Draw."

"Where is he now?"

"Search me. He escaped, whil