?"

"They're called fer by another feller, sir."

"Oh, they are! Who?"

"Red Slavin wus the name he give me of thet other buck."

When the two had disappeared, Brant sat back thinking rapidly. There
was a mystery here, and such actions must have a cause. Something
either in or about Glencaid was compelling Murphy to keep out of
sight--but what? Who? Brant was unable to get it out of his head that
all this secrecy centred around Naida. With those incautiously spoken
words as a clew, he suspected that Murphy knew something about her, and
that knowledge was the cause for his present erratic actions. Perhaps
Hampton knew; at least he might possess some additional scrap of
information which would help to solve the problem. He looked at his
watch, and ordered his horse to be saddled.

It did not seem quite so simple now, this projected interview with
Hampton, as it had appeared the night before. In the clear light of
day, he began to realize the weakness of his position, the fact that he
possessed not the smallest right to speak on behalf of Naida Gillis.
He held no relationship whatsoever to her, and should he venture to
assume any, it was highly probable the older man would laugh
contemptuously in his face. Brant knew better than to believe Hampton
would ever let go unless he was obliged to do so; he comprehended the
impotence of threats on such a character, as well as his probable
indifference to moral obligations. Nevertheless, the die was cast, and
perhaps, provided an open quarrel could be avoided, the meeting might
result in good to all concerned.

Hampton welcomed him with distant but marked courtesy, having evidently
thought out his own immediate plan of action, and schooled himself
accordingly. Standing there, the bright light streaming over them from
the open windows, they presented two widely contrasting personalities,
yet each exhibiting in figure and face the evidences of hard training
and iron discipline. Hampton was clothed in black, standing straight
as an arrow, his shoulders squared, his head held proudly erect, while
his cool gray eyes studied the face of the other as he had been
accustomed to survey his opponents at the card-table. Brant looked the
picture of a soldier on duty, trim, well built, erect, his resolute
blue eyes never flinching from the steady gaze bent upon ham, his
bronzed young face grave from the seriousness of his mission. Neither
was a man to temporize, to mince wo