d
together with Kenset, Tharon, Billy, and all the Vigilantes, they held
a long and earnest colloquy.

At its end Kenset's eyes were deep and troubled, but Tharon's were
beginning to glow with the old fire that all the Holding knew, the
leaping flame that rose and died and rose again, exciting to the
beholder, promising, threatening, unfathomable.

"Why, it's a cinch!" said O'Hallan, "a dead moral cinch! Don't see how
it's held on like it has. Couldn't have in any other place in the good
old U. S. A. but this God forsaken hole! Well named, Lost Valley!
Why, we've found enough evidence already to convict a dozen men! Your
Courtrey's the man that planned a dozen murders, I can see that, and
he's pulled off a lot of them himself. The people are talking now,
rumbling from one end of the Valley to the other. We've had to hold up
our hands to ward them off lately. Your Vigilantes here have opened up
since we got them together and showed some of them your letter. You
were wise to tell us to go ahead if you were not here--what did you
look for?"

"Just about what I got," said Kenset smiling, "and I wanted things to
be pushed through anyway."

"Well,--they're pushing," said Burn-Harris. "Your little old sheriff
has had the fear-of-the-Lord put into him somewhat. He's shaking in
his boots about the snow-packer. There's only one thing lacking to
make our grip close down on Courtrey, and that's vital--the gun with
the untrue firing pin you speak about in your instructions."

"Not lackin'," said Tharon grimly, "we've got it, Mister."

The Secret Service man whirled to her.

"You have?" he cried, "then show me your man!"

But Tharon stood for a long moment looking off across the rolling
green stretches, toward the north where a moving dot was drawing
down--the riders from the Stronghold.

"This," she said at last, tapping the gun which Billy handed over,
"this, then, is proof--is proof in law?"

"If it's the true gun that fits the shell which Mr. Kenset left for us
here at Baston's--yes."

"Then," said Burn-Harris, "a little time and your man's ours as sure's
the sun shines. Why, this is a hot-bed of crime--there's enough work
here to keep a whole force busy for months."

But Tharon Last did not heed his words. Her mind had leaped away from
the present back to that day in spring when Jim Last came home to die.
She heard again his last command, "Th' best gun woman in Lost Valley,"
heard her own voice promising to his d