omed at his side. "I got mine!" it said, triumphantly; "we'd better
slope."

"Another five minutes and I'd have cracked it," breathed Levins as they
ran. "What's Corrigan havin' the place watched for?"

"You've got me. Afraid of the Judge, maybe. The Judge hasn't his whole
soul in this deal; it looks to me as though Corrigan is forcing him. But
the Judge has the original record, all right; and it's in that safe, too!
God! If they'd only given us a minute or two longer!"

They fled down the track, running heavily, for the work had been fast and
the tension great, and when they reached the horses and threw themselves
into the saddles, Manti was ablaze with light. As they raced away in the
darkness a grim smile wreathed Trevison's face. For though he had not
succeeded in this enterprise, he had at least struck a blow--and he had
corroborated his previous opinion concerning Judge Lindman's knowledge of
the whereabouts of the original record.

It was three o'clock and the dawn was just breaking when Trevison rode
into the Diamond K corral and pulled the saddle from Nigger. Levins had
gone home.

Trevison was disappointed. It had been a bold scheme, and well planned,
and it would have succeeded had it not been for the presence of the
sentries. He had not anticipated that. He laughed grimly, remembering
Judge Lindman's fright. Would the Judge reveal the identity of his
early-morning visitor? Trevison thought not, for if the original record
were in the safe, and if for any reason the Judge wished to conceal its
existence from Corrigan, a hint of the identity of the early-morning
visitors--especially of one--might arouse Corrigan's suspicions.

But what if Corrigan knew of the existence of the original record? There
was the presence of the guards to indicate that he did. But there was
Judge Lindman's half-heartedness to disprove that line of reasoning. Also,
Trevison was convinced that if Corrigan knew of the existence of the
record he would destroy it; it would be dangerous, in the hands of an
enemy. But it would be an admirable weapon of self-protection in the hands
of a man who had been forced into wrong-doing--in the hands of Judge
Lindman, for instance. Trevison opened the door that led to his office,
thrilling with a new hope. He lit a match, stepped across the floor and
touched the flame to the wick of the kerosene lamp--for it was not yet
light enough for him to see plainly in the office--and stood for an
instant b