give names in this part of the
world, but the name he's goin' by is Jim Hockson."

The young lady screamed and fell.

IV.

"Whether to do it or not, is what bothers me," soliloquized Mr. Weasel,
pacing meditatively in front of the saloon. "The old man offers me two
thousand to get Tarpaulin away from them fellers, and let him know where
to meet him an' his daughter. Two thousand's a pretty penny, an' the
bein' picked out by so smart a lookin' man is an honor big enough to set
off agin' a few hundred dollars more. But, on t'other hand, if they
catch him, they'll come back here, an' who knows but what they'll want
the old man an' girl as bad as they wanted Tarpaulin? A bird in the
hand's worth two in the bush--better keep near the ones I got, I reckon.
Here they come now!"

As Mr. Weasel concluded his dialogue with himself, Mr. Botayne and
Millicent approached, in company with the colonel.

The colonel stopped just beyond the saloon, and said:

"Now, here's your best p'int--you can see the hill-trail fur better'n
five miles, an' the crick fur a mile an' a half. I'll jest hev a shed
knocked together to keep the lady from the sun. An' keep a stiff upper
lip, both of yer--trust Jim Hockson; nobody in the mines ever knowed him
to fail."

Millicent shivered at the mention of Jim's name, and the colonel,
unhappily ignorant of the cause of her agitation, tried to divert her
mind from the chances of harm to Tarpaulin by growing eloquent in praise
of Jim Hockson.

Suddenly the colonel himself started and grew pale. He quickly recovered
himself, however, and, with the delicacy of a gentleman, walked rapidly
away, as Millicent and her father looked in the direction from which the
colonel's surprise came.

There, handcuffed, with beard and hair singed close, clothes torn and
face bleeding, walked Ethelbert Brown between the two detectives, while
Jim Hockson, with head bowed and hands behind his back, followed a few
yards behind.

Some one gave the word at the saloon, and the boys hurried out, but the
colonel pointed significantly toward the sorrowful couple, while with
the other hand he pointed an ugly pistol, cocked, toward the saloon.

Millicent hurried from her father's side, and flung her arms about the
sorry figure of her lover; and Jim Hockson, finding his pathway impeded,
raised his eyes, and then blushed violently.

"Sorry for you, sir," said one of the detectives, touching his hat to
Mr. Botayne, "but can't