h the crack, saw the eight occupants of the room
by the faint light from the window, and because the man who did the
talking, and who showed himself so evidently the leader, had red hair,
he knew him instinctively. It was Red Perkins and the remnant of his
gang, not scattered to the winds of the West, as Jim and everybody else
thought, but here in Montana, in their old haunts. And Harley, listening
to their talk, measured the extent of their knowledge, which was far too
much; they knew who Jimmy Grayson was, they had known of his departure
from Blue Earth, and they had followed him here; presently they would
take him away, and the whole world would be thrilled. No such prize had
ever fallen into the hands of robbers in America, and it would be worth
a million to them.

Harley was in a chill as he listened, because he heard them speak next
of Sylvia, and one of them laughed in a way that made the correspondent
want to spring at his throat. Sylvia and the candidate must be saved.

But Harley, thinking his hardest, could not think how. There were eight
men well armed in the room before him; the guide and Mr. Plummer,
probably, had pistols, but he had none, and he was sure that Jimmy
Grayson and Mr. Heathcote were without them. He paused there a long
time, undecided, and at last he crept down the hall again and towards
the great parlor. Then he put on his boots, re-entered the room, and
spoke in a low voice to his comrades.

The guide's fighting blood was on fire at once. "I've a revolver," he
said; "we kin barricade the room and hold 'em off. There are two windows
here, opening out on the snow, but they are so high they can hardly
reach 'em with their hands. We kin make a good fight of it."

"I've a pistol, too," said Mr. Plummer, "and we must make it a fight to
the death."

He spoke quietly, but with determination and a full knowledge of all the
danger that threatened. He glanced at Sylvia, who, coming back from her
half-dream, had risen to her feet. Then he walked to the door, because
the "King" was ever alert in the face of danger.

"What is it?" Sylvia asked of Harley. She knew by their manner that
something strange and terrifying had happened, and in such a situation
it was now an involuntary act with her to turn to Harley.

"Sylvia," he said--the others had followed "King" Plummer to the door
"you ought to know."

He noticed that, though pale, she was quiet and firm.

"If it is danger, I have faced it befor