nce, for it required him to
retrace his steps, and go back over ground which he had already
traveled. However, if the information was reliable, no time was to be
lost, and he started from the saloon to commence his preparations at
once.

While at the bar, he had noticed a sturdy, honest-looking miner, who was
taking a drink, and who had stopped and looked intently at him while the
proprietor had given him the information above mentioned. As Manning
left the saloon, the man followed him a short distance, and when out of
sight of the saloon called after him; Manning stopped and the man came
toward him.

"Mister," said he, as he approached the detective, "ef ye go to the
park, you won't find the man yer arter, that's a dead sure thing."

"What do you mean?" asked Manning with some surprise.

"I means as how the boss of the saloon yonder has lied to ye, that's
all."

"What makes you think so?"

"Bekase I passed the man ye wor askin' about three days ago, on the road
to Helena."

"Are you sure about this?"

"Well, I reckon I am. I couldn't make much of a mistake about that
white-faced pony he wor a-ridin'."

Requesting the miner to accompany him to the hotel, Manning interrogated
him closely about the appearance of the man, and found that he was
giving him the correct information, as his description of Duncan tallied
precisely with what he himself had already learned. After carefully
weighing the matter, Manning decided to act upon this latter
information, and to start for Helena that evening. The saloon-keeper
evidently mistrusted some danger to Duncan, from the detective's
inquiries, and Manning was inclined to believe that the fugitive had
stopped there during his stay in Bozeman, and that the proprietor of the
saloon had attempted to deceive him and turn him off from the tracks of
the unfortunate burglar.

Thus far, from all that could be learned of Duncan's movements, the
young man was traveling entirely alone. From point to point across the
western continent Manning had traced him, and no tidings of a companion
had been as yet received. Alone and friendless, cut off from all the old
associations of his past life, this unfortunate man was flying from a
fate which he felt must be impending. Through the long summer days and
under the starry skies during the weary nights, this fleeing outcast was
working his way to fancied freedom and security. I wonder if, during the
long watches of the night, when he sought