THE ROBBERY--CUMMINGS' NARROW ESCAPE--THE CAPTURE OF MORIARITY--JIM
CUMMINGS SLIPS FROM THE TOILS--MR. PINKERTON TAKES A HAND.


The ranche was asleep. Heavy breathing and deep snores from the
sleeping-rooms indicated that slumber had fallen on all the inmates.
Swanson, who had been repeatedly urged to drink by Cummings and
Moriarity and had accepted every invitation, was stretched on his back a
drunken mass of stupidity.

The stamping of the horses and distant movements of the thousands of
head of cattle alone broke the silence of the night and the darkness had
cast its pall over the entire place.

In the large room Scip and the Doctor coolly and calmly awaited the hour
of their triumph. Fear was a stranger to both, and as they quietly
conversed in whispered accents it would be difficult to believe that
they were about to engage in a most desperate enterprise. In another
room lay Cummings and Moriarity, completely dressed. The former, with
his habitual sang froid, was whispering to Moriarity, who, somewhat
excited, was calmed by his companion's nonchalance, and as the hour for
the work drew near became like him. A stealthy step, noiseless as an
Indian's, interrupted the conversation, and the faint rap on the door
gave them the long-looked-for signal.

Creeping on their hands and knees down the hall past Swanson's door,
through which his hoarse breathing could be heard, the two men entered
the room in which the treasure was stored. The dying embers in the fire-
place created a dull glow, showing the Doctor and Scip, booted and