he sudden opening of a door. A gleam of
light shot out, revealing the figures of men. With one spring he was
across the shapeless form on the ground, and had vanished into the
darkness beyond.

Lacy was first to reach the unconscious body, stumbling over it in the
black shadow, as he rushed forward, revolver in hand. He cursed,
rising to his knees, and staring about in the silent darkness.

"There's a man lying here--dead likely. Bring a light. No, the fellow
is alive. Dammit, it's Moore, and completely knocked out. Here
you--what happened?"

The fellow groaned, opened his eyes, and looked about dazedly.

"Speak up, man!" and Lacy dragged him to a sitting position in no
gentle fashion. "Who hit you?"

"There--there was a fellow at that window there. I--I saw him from
below, and crept up behind but he turned around just as I struck."

"Who was he?"

"I never saw his face. He hit me first."

"He was at that window, you say?"

"Yes; kneelin' down like he was lookin' into the room. Oh, Lord!"

Lacy crunched over to the side of the shack, and bent down to get a
better view. His fingers came in contact with the knife which upheld
the sash, and he plucked it out, holding it up into the beam of light
passing through the rent in the torn curtain. He stared at the
curiously carved handle intently.

"This is certainly hell," he said soberly. "That's Jim Westcott's
jack-knife. He's been listening to all we said. Now we are up against
it."

"What's that?" The question came from Enright, still at the corner of
the house, unable to tell what had happened.

"Westcott has been here listening to our talk. He pried up the window
with this knife, so he could hear. Moore caught him, and got knocked
out."

"He--he heard our talk in--in there," repeated the dazed lawyer, his
lips trembling. "And--has got away? Good God! man, where has he gone?
After the sheriff?"

Lacy stared at him through the darkness, and burst into a roar of
unrestrained laughter.

"Who? Jim Westcott? The sheriff? Well, hardly at this stage of the
game. That's your way down East, no doubt, but out in this country the
style is different. No, sir; Westcott isn't after any sheriff. In the
first place he hasn't any evidence. He knows a thing or two, but he
can't prove it; and if we move faster than he does we'll block his
game--see?"

"What do you mean?"

Lacy leaned forward, and hissed his answer into Enright's ear.

"Pu