as Frederic Cullen who had
climbed on the car I hadn't the slightest doubt, the resemblance
between the two brothers being quite strong enough to deceive any
one who had never seen them together. I smiled a little, and
remarked to myself, "I think I can make good my boast that I
would catch the robbers; but whether the Cullens will like my
doing it, I question. What is more, Lord Ralles will owe me a
bottle." Then I thought of Madge, and didn't feel as pleased over
my success as I had felt a moment before.

By nine o'clock the posse and I were in the saddle and skirting
the San Francisco peaks. There was no use of pressing the ponies,
for our game wasn't trying to escape, and, for that matter,
couldn't, as the Colorado River wasn't passable within fifty
miles. It was a lovely moonlight night, and the ride through the
pines was as pretty a one as I remember ever to have made. It set
me thinking of Madge and of our talk the evening before, and of
what a change twenty-four hours had brought. It was lucky I was
riding an Indian pony, or I should probably have landed in a
heap. I don't know that I should have cared particularly if a
prairie-dog burrow had made me dash my brains out, for I wasn't
happy over the job that lay before me.

We watered at Silver Spring at quarter-past twelve. From that
point we were clear of the pines and out on the plain, so we
could go a better pace. This brought us to the half-way ranch by
two, where we gave the ponies a feed and an hour's rest. We
reached the last relay station just as the moon set, about
three-forty; and, as all the rest of the ride was through
Coconino forest, we held up there for daylight, getting a little
sleep meanwhile.

We rode into the camp at the Grand Canyon a little after eight,
and the deserted look of the tents gave me a moment's fright, for
I feared that the party had gone. Tolfree explained, however,
that some had ridden out to Moran Point, and the rest had gone
down Hance's trail. So I breakfasted and then took a look at
Albert Cullen's Winchester. That it had been recently fired was
as plain as the Grand Canyon itself; throwing back the bar, I
found an empty cartridge shell, still oily from the discharge.
That completed the tale of seven shots. I didn't feel absolutely
safe till I had asked Tolfree if there had been any shooting of
echoes by the party, but his denial rounded out my chain of
evidence.

Telling the sheriff to guard the bags of the party c