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The town's excitement concerning the rush had subsided with greater alacrity as reports came back, in rapid procession no gold on the reservation. The normal excitements of the mining field resumed where the men had left them off. News that Matt Barger was not only still at large, but preying on wayside travelers, aroused new demands for the sheriff's demonstrations of his fitness to survive.
Rewards aggregating ten thousand dollars were offered for Barger, dead or alive, with smaller sums for each of his companions. Their latest depredations had occurred alarmingly close to the mining camp, from which travel was becoming hazardous. The gold theft was particularly disquieting to the Goldite mining contingent. Dangers beset their enterprises in many directions at the very best.
"Who's there?" demanded Van. "Is that you, Gett?" He caught up his gun, but it and the hand that held it were invisible. "It's me," said a voice a croaking voice. "Matt Barger." He fell on the floor, breathing in some sort of anguish, and Van struck a match, to light the candle. The flame flared blindingly inside the canvas whiteness.
Matt Barger, riding in the night, intent upon nothing save the chance to deal out his vengeance to Van Buren, had camped beside the river, at the turn where Van and Beth had skirted the bank to the regular fording below. The convict's horse, which Beth had lost, was tethered where the water-way had encouraged a meager growth of grass.
By a bold and daring coup, it said, the entire herd of criminals, all half starved and weakened by privations, had been rounded up and transported back to prison. Unfortunately, the report was slightly inaccurate. Matt Barger, the leader in the prison delivery, and the most desperate man in the lot, had escaped the posse's vigilance.
"Too late fer me to take anything easy," replied the outlaw, speaking with a stronger voice than heretofore. "Gimme a drink of whisky." Van gave him the drink and he tossed it off at a draught. "I said to myself I'd be hanged if I'd tell you, that day you cheated the quicksand," Barger imparted jerkily, "but you've got a right to know.
Barger was steadied in his tracks for better marksmanship. He had heard that succession of metallic snaps; he knew he had Van Buren at his mercy. Three of his shots remained unfired, and a second, unused pistol in his belt, with more ammunition. The fellow even smiled as he was aiming. There was one thing to do and Van did it.
Van was instantly alert. "Hello." Barger partially raised his hand. "So long," and the hand dropped downward. "Matt!" answered Van, quickly kneeling on the earth. He caught up the fingers, felt their faint attempt to close upon his own and the man on the ground was dead. Beth Kent, as the sun was going from the sky, fell down three times in utter exhaustion.
A man on foot could beat him there, and beat him across to the farther side, from which to attack with surer aim from the cover of the willows by the ford. The flood had subsided. This Barger knew. The water was hardly knee high on a man, and better than all, Van Buren would scarcely dream of such a plan as within the range of possibilities.
If she had not planned with the others to warn the convict, Barger, of his trip, she had certainly loaned her money to Bostwick for his needs and her letter contained the threat, "I will repay!" At the end of three days of dulling disgust and helplessness, Van and his "family" were camping in a tent above the town of Goldite, on a hill. They were all but penniless: they had no occupation, no hope.
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