the cattle out of the lower corral." He
fingered his hat, looked first at Duke, then at Gale, then at de
Spain. "Guess they'll need a little help, so I asked Sassoon to come
over--" Pardaloe jerked his head indicatively toward the front. "He's
outside with some of the boys now."

"Tell Sassoon to come in here!" thundered Gale.

De Spain's left arm shot out. "Hold on, Pardaloe; pull down that
curtain behind you!"

"Don't touch that curtain, Pardaloe!" shouted Gale Morgan.

"Pardaloe," said de Spain, his left arm pointing menacingly and
walking instantly toward him, "pull that curtain or pull your gun,
quick." At that moment Nan, in hat and coat, reappeared in the archway
behind de Spain. Pardaloe jerked down the curtain and started for the
door. De Spain had backed up again. "Stop, Pardaloe," he called. "My
men are outside that door. Stand where you are," he ordered, still
enforcing his commands with his right hand covering the holster at his
hip. "I leave this room first. Nan, are you ready?" he asked, without
looking at her.

"Yes."

Her uncle's face whitened. "Don't leave this house to-night, Nan," he
said menacingly.

"You've forced me to, Uncle Duke."

"Don't leave this house to-night."

"I can't protect myself in it."

"Don't leave this house--most of all, with that man!" He pointed at de
Spain with a frenzy of hatred. Without answering, the two were
retreating into the semidarkness of the dining-room. "Nan," came her
uncle's voice, hoarse with feeling, "you're saying good-by to me
forever."

"No, uncle," she cried. "I am only doing what I have to do."

"I tell you I don't want to drive you from this roof, girl."

A rush of wind from an opening door was the only answer from the dark
dining-room. The two Morgans started forward together. The sudden gust
sucked the flame of the living-room lamp up into the chimney and after
a brief, sharp struggle extinguished it. In the confusion it was a
moment before a match could be found. When the lamp was relighted the
Morgans ran into the dining-room. The wind and rain poured in through
the open north door. But the room was empty.

Duke turned on his nephew with a choking curse. "This," he cried,
beside himself with fury, "is your work!"

CHAPTER XXVI

FLIGHT

It was a forbidding night. Moisture-laden clouds, drifting over the
Superstition Range, emptied their fulness against the face of the
mountains in a downpour and buried the Gap in impenet