sity of his suppressed excitement.

"Shure now, miss," he said insinuatingly. "Mr. Lacy must hev' sint
more insthructions 'long with ye then them. All ther word thet iver
come ter me wus ter saddle oop, ride down here an' mate this man
Enright. I don't aven know fer shure whar ol' Mendez is--likely 'nough
he be in Mexico."

"In Mexico!" indignantly. "Of course not. Lacy said you knew the
trail. It's a place they call 'Sunken Valley'--out there somewhere,"
and Brennan could barely distinguish the movement of her arm
desert-ward. "It's across that sand flat."

"Shoshone?"

"Yes; I couldn't remember the name. That's all I know about it, only
Lacy said you'd been there before."

"Shure, miss," assured the marshal softly, clearly realising that he
had already gone the limit, and that any further questioning must lead
inevitably to trouble. "If it is Sunken Valley I'm ter ride ter,
thet's aisy."

"Then it's good night."

She vanished up the side-trail, as though the wind had blown away a
shadow. Except for the slight rustling of dried leaves under her feet,
the two men, staring blindly through the darkness, could not have told
the direction in which she had gone. Then all was silence, the mystery
of night. Brennan gathered up his reins, straightening his body in the
saddle. He glanced back toward the dim shade of his companion,
chuckling.

"Some bit of luck that, Jim."

"Doesn't seem to me we know much more than we did before," Westcott
answered gloomily. "Only that this chap Mendez is at a place called
Sunken Valley. I never heard of it; did you?"

"No; I reckon it's no spot the law has ever had any use for. I've
supposed all along them Mexican cattle thieves had a hidden corral
somewhar in this country; but nobody has ever found it yet. Right now,
thanks to this Miss La Rue, I've got a hunch that we're goin' to make
the discovery, and put Bill Lacy and ol' Mendez out of business. But
there's no sense of our gassin' here. We got a right smart bit o'
ridin' to do afore daylight."

They advanced cautiously as far as the bridge, but at that point
Brennan turned his pony's head southward, and spurred the reluctant
animal up the steep bank. Without question Westcott followed, and the
two horses broke into a trot as soon as they attained the more level
land beyond. They were slightly above the town now, and could gaze
back at the glittering lights in the valley below. The sound of men's
voices