.
Dyke saw that he was not recognized, however, and the madness was not
gone from the poor girl's brain.

It was a very sad case, indeed.

Several stools were in the room, and some blankets hung against the
further wall, proving that some one had lately occupied the cabin.
Undoubtedly it had been used as a hiding-place for outlaws, and it was
a question in the mind of the detective as to how soon the cabin would
be revisited. The presence of the insane girl necessarily altered his
plans somewhat. He could not leave her to perish in the woods.

Removing the blankets from the wall, Dyke Darrel improvised a bed for
the poor girl, and induced her to lie thereon. He then replenished the
fire with some dry sticks that lay beside the stove, since the night
air was chill, and sat himself upon the floor, with his head reclining
against the logs. Before doing this, however, he had taken the
precaution to secure the only door with a wooden latch that had been
made for the purpose.

The window, of course, he was unable to secure.

It did not seem hardly safe to sleep under the circumstances, but Dyke
Darrel was very tired, having been without much rest for several
nights, and he was on the present occasion extremely drowsy.

Resolving not to fall into a deep slumber, the detective sat with his
revolver at his side, and went off into the land of dreams before he
was aware of it.

Dyke Darrel slept heavily.

A crackling sound outside did not reach his ear with sufficient force
to waken him. A face peered in at the window, dark and sinister, but
the sleeping detective heeded it not.

Another face, girded about with bristling red hair, appeared for a
moment, and then receded. Dark forms moved about the cabin without,
and engaged in a whispered conversation.

Presently the trees and bushes became visible, and there was a smell
of burning wood in the air.

"It is well," uttered a voice. "They will both perish like rats in a
trap. Dyke Darrel, the famous detective, will never be heard of more,
and that girl--well, she will be better dead than living. Come, Nick,
let us go!"

"You're sure the door's tightly fastened?" "I fixed it so Satan
himself could not open it."

"Good."

"Let us go!"

"Wait. I'd like to see the curse roast."

"No, no; that won't do. We'll come in the day time and look at the
bones. This old log hut has had its day, and we could not put it to a
better use than to make a mausoleum for the man-trac