to know whose money I was
takin'."

Bill Mosely was disappointed. In that lonely neighborhood it was hardly
likely there would be any other opportunity of obtaining horses, and
there was nothing for it but to walk.

"You haven't got any other business, have you, Mosely?" asked Bradley.

"No.--Tom, come on."

"Good-bye, then. Our acquaintance has been brief, Mosely, but I know
you as well as if we'd lived in the same town for years. You're a fine
man, you are, and an ornament to your native State; but if you ain't a
little more careful you'll be likely to die young, and the world will
lose a man who in his line can't be beat."

Bill Mosely did not attempt any reply to this farewell, but strode down
the sloping path, closely followed by Tom Hadley.

When he had got out of hearing of his late captors he turned to Hadley
and said, "I hate that man! He has put a stain on my honor; he has
insulted and outraged me."

"I should say so," observed Tom Hadley.

"He has treated you just as badly, Hadley; that stain must be washed out
in blood."

"When?" inquired his companion, in a matter-of-fact manner.

"I don't know. Some time. He has had the advantage over us this time,
but we shall meet again. Do you hear that, Tom Hadley?" continued
Mosely, in a theatrical tone, raising his voice at the same time--"we
shall meet again."

"I don't want to meet him again," said Hadley.

"You don't comprehend me. When we meet it will be our turn to deal with
him."

"Just as you say," returned Tom Hadley, varying his usual formula.

"It's very unlucky we went up to that cabin," said Bill, after a pause.

"I should say so," chimed in Tom, very emphatically.

"It was cursed ill-luck, but how could we know that that dare-devil was
a friend of Dewey's? If we'd let well enough alone, we shouldn't have
lost our horses and been compelled to tramp on foot over these
mountains."

"Where are we going?" asked Tom Hadley.

"Down hill," answered Mosely briefly.

This answer did not appear to Tom Hadley to contain much information,
but his mind was not active enough to frame another question, and the
two plodded along in silence.

CHAPTER XI.

PLANS FOR DEPARTURE.

The recovery of the horses was in one respect especially fortunate.
Richard Dewey was anxious to leave the mountain-cabin as soon as
possible and make his way to San Francisco, where, as we know, his
promised wife was anxiously awaiting him. But there was consi