unfrequented paths as soon as possible in order that they might
pass unnoticed. Before quitting the valley they halted their
heaving horses, and, selecting a stagnant pool, scoured the grease
paint from their features as best they could. Their ears were
strained for sounds of pursuit, but, as the moments passed and
none came, the tension eased somewhat and they conversed
guardedly. As the morning light spread they crossed the moss-
capped summit of the range, but paused again, and, removing two
saddles, hid them among the rocks. Slapjack left the others here
and rode southward down the Dry Creek Trail towards town, while
the partners shifted part of the weight from the overloaded pack-
mules to the remaining saddle-animals and continued eastward along
the barren comb of hills on foot, leading the five horses.

"It don't seem like we'll get away this easy," said Dextry,
scanning the back trail. "If we do, I'll be tempted to foller the
business reg'lar. This grease paint on my face makes me smell like
a minstrel man. I bet we'll get some bully press notices to-
morrow."

"I wonder what Helen was doing there," Glenister answered,
irrelevantly, for he had been more shaken by his encounter with
her than at his part in the rest or the enterprise, and his mind,
which should have been busied with the flight, held nothing but
pictures of her as she stood in the half darkness under the fear
of his Winchester. "What if she ever learned who that black
ruffian was!" He quailed at the thought.

"Say, Dex, I am going to marry that girl."