t every man of you
covered."

Key was no coward; the men, though flustered, were not cravens: but
they obeyed. "Trot out your leader! Let him stand out there, clear,
beside that torch!"

One of the gleaming pine knots disengaged itself from the dark circle
and moved to the centre, as Preble Key, cool and confident, stepped
beside it.

"That will do," said the immutable voice. "Now, we want Jack Riggs,
Sydney Jack, French Pete, and One-eyed Charley."

A vivid reminiscence of the former night scene in the hollow--of his
own and his companions voices raised in the darkness--flashed across
Key. With an instinctive premonition that this invasion had something
to do with the former tenant, he said calmly:--

"Who wants them?"

"The State of California," said the voice.

"The State of California must look further," returned Key in his old
pleasant voice; "there are no such names among my party."

"Who are you?"

"The manager of the 'Sylvan Silver Hollow Company,' and these are my
workmen."

There was a hurried movement, and the sound of whispering in the
hitherto dark and silent circle, and then the voice rose again:

"You have the papers to prove that?"

"Yes, in the cabin. And you?"

"I've a warrant to the sheriff of Sierra."

There was a pause, and the voice went on less confidently:--

"How long have you been here?"

"Three weeks. I came here the day of the fire and took up this claim."

"There was no other house here?"

"There were ruins,--you can see them still. It may have been a
burnt-up cabin."

The voice disengaged itself from the vague background and came slowly
forwards:--

"It was a den of thieves. It was the hiding-place of Jack Riggs and
his gang of road agents. I've been hunting this spot for three weeks.
And now the whole thing's up!"

There was a laugh from Key's men, but it was checked as the owner of
the voice slowly ranged up beside the burning torch and they saw his
face. It was dark and set with the defeat of a brave man.

"Won't you come in and take something?" said Key kindly.

"No. It's enough fool work for me to have routed ye out already. But I
suppose it's all in my d--d day's work! Good-night! Forward there!
Get!"

The two torches danced forwards, with the trailing off of vague shadows
in dim procession; there was a clatter over the rocks and they were
gone. Then, as Preble Key gazed after them, he felt that with them had
passed the only shadow that