captives. For his face is toward the west, where
the sky is still night-shadowed, and he can but indistinctly trace the
outlines of horses and men. As their number corresponds to that of his
missing comrades, he has no thought of its being other than they. How
could he, as none other are likely to be encountered there?

Congratulating himself on his suspicions of the lieutenant's defection
proving unfounded, and that he will now clutch the prize long coveted,
he gives his horse the spur, and rides gaily out of the gorge.

Not till then does he perceive that the men before him are in civilised
costume, and that but one is on horseback, the other bestriding a mule.
And they have no captives, the only other thing seen beside them being a
dog!

They are not Quantrell and Bosley!

"Who can they be?" he asks of Chisholm, who has closed up behind him.

"Hanged if I know, cap. Judgin' by their toggery, they must be whites;
though 'gainst that dark sky one can't make sure about the colour of
their hides. A big dog with them. A couple of trappers I take it; or,
more likely, Mexican mustangers."

"Not at all likely, Luke. There's none o' them 'bout here--at least
I've not heard of any since we came this side the Colorado. Cannot be
that. I wonder who--"

"No use wonderin', cap. We can soon settle the point by questioning
them. As there's but the two, they'll have to tell who they are, or
take the consequences."

By this, the other robbers have come up out of the ravine. Halted in a
row, abreast, they also scan the two figures in front, interrogating one
another as to who and what they are. All are alike surprised at men
there, mounted or afoot; more especially white men, as by their garb
they must be. But they have no apprehension at the encounter, seeing
there are so few.

The chief, acting on Chisholm's suggestion, moves confidently forward,
the others, in like confidence, following.

In less than sixty seconds they are up to the spot occupied by Clancy
and Jupiter.

Borlasse can scarce believe his eyes; and rubs them to make sure they
are not deceiving him. If not they, something else has been--a
newspaper report, and a tale told by one confessing himself a murderer,
boastfully proclaiming it. And now, before him is the murdered man, on
horseback, firmly seated in the saddle, apparently in perfect health!

The desperado is speechless with astonishment--only muttering to
himself:--"What the devil's