departed for
my brother's place. Miss Scovill was greatly alarmed, and sent me a
telegram. As soon as I received word, I started for my brother's ranch.
I happened to have started on an automobile tour at the time, and
figured that I could reach here as quickly by machine as by making
frequent changes from rail to stage.

"When Helen arrived at the ranch, it can be imagined how the success of
his scheme delighted Willis Morgan, as my brother was known here. He
threatened her with the direst of evils, and declared he would drag her
beneath the level of the poorest squaw on the Indian reservation.
Fortunately she is a girl of spirit and determination. The Chinese
servant was willing to help her to escape. She would have fled at the
first opportunity, in spite of my brother's declaration that escape
would be impossible, but it happened that, during the course of his
boasting, her captor overstepped himself. He told her of my existence,
and that I had really been the one who had kept her in school. He had
managed to keep a thorough system of espionage in effect, so far as Miss
Scovill and myself were concerned. He had known when she left San
Francisco, and he also knew that I was coming, by automobile, to take
Helen from the ranch. He laughed as he told her of my coming. All the
ferocity of his nature blazed forth, and he told Helen that he intended
to kill me at sight, and would also kill her.

"Desirous of warning me, even at risk of her own life, Helen mailed a
letter to me at Quaking-Asp Grove, hoping to catch me before I reached
that place. In this letter she warned me not to come to the ranch, as
she felt that tragedy impended. Talpers held up the letter and read it,
and thought to hold it as a club over Helen's head, showing that she
knew something of the murder.

"I rode through Quaking-Asp Grove and White Lodge and the Indian agency
at night. I had a breakdown after going past Talpers's store--a tire to
replace. By the time I climbed the hill on the Dollar Sign road it was
well along in the morning. I saw a man coming toward me on a white
horse. It was my brother, Willard Sargent, or Willis Morgan. He looked
much like me. The years seemed to have dealt with us about alike. I
knew, as soon as I saw him, that he had come out to kill me. We talked a
few minutes. I had stopped the car at his demand, and he sat in the
saddle, close beside me. There is no need of going into the details of
our conversation. He was ful