d at his self-poise.

"They have started for Sacramento and are now well advanced over the
trail," he remarked without any evidence of excitement.

"When do you imagine they set out?" asked Brush.

"Probably about the middle of the afternoon; possibly earlier."

"Then," said Ruggles, "they have a good six hours' start. They haven't
lost any time and must be fifteen or twenty miles away."

"The trail is easy traveling for twice that distance, as I recollect
it," observed the captain; "after that it grows rougher and they will
not be able to go so fast."

"This must have been arranged several days ago, though it is only
guesswork on our part. Of course she has taken considerable clothing
with her."

"I did not look into her room," said the captain; "there's no use; it
is enough to know they made their preparations and started,
accompanied by that dog Timon."

No time was wasted. They knew they would encounter cold weather, for
the autumn had fairly set in, and some portions of the trail carried
them to an elevation where it was chilly in midsummer. Each took a
thick blanket. The captain donned his military coat, with the empty
sleeve pinned to the breast, caught up his saddle and trappings, his
Winchester and revolver, and buckled the cartridge belt around his
waist. Then he was ready. Neither of the others took coat or vest. The
blanket flung around the shoulders was all that was likely to be
needed, in addition to the heavy flannel shirt worn summer and
winter.

Thus equipped, the three stood outside the cabin, with the moon high
in the sky, a gentle wind sweeping up the canyon and loose masses of
clouds drifting in front of the orb of night. Here and there a light
twinkled from a shanty and the hum of voices sounded faintly in their
ears. Further off, at the extreme end of the settlement, stood the
Heavenly Bower, with the yellow rays streaming from its two windows.
They could picture the group gathered there, as it had gathered night
after night during the past years, full of jest and story, and with
never a thought of the tragedy that had already begun.

"Shall we tell them?" asked Ruggles.

"No," answered Brush; "some of them might wish to go with us."

"And it might be well to take them," suggested Captain Dawson.

"We are enough," was the grim response of the parson.

Like so many phantoms, the men moved toward the further end of the
settlement. Opposite the last shanty a man assumed form in the g