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Updated: June 10, 2025
Up to this time Vic had not spoken. "I killed the other snakes. I'll kill you now," he growled, as he held the outlaw at length in a conquering grip, his knees on Gresh's breast, his right hand on Gresh's throat. In that weird light the conqueror's face was only a degree less brutal than the outlaw's face. And Burleigh meant every word, for murder was in his heart and in his clutching fingers.
Let me strongly urge you to take out a policy at once," came the prompt retort. "You think it necessary?" "Quite. When you and York Neil and Hardman made an end of Scott you threw ropes round your own necks. Any locoed tenderfoot would know that." The sheriff's unflinching look met the outlaw's black frown serene and clear-eyed.
Convinced finally that there was no longer cause for alarm, Barber Sam strode boldly up to the body, bent over it, tore off the hat and pulled aside the muslin half-mask. One swift glance at the outlaw's face, and Barber Sam recoiled. "Great God!" he cried, "Miss Woppit!" It was, indeed, Miss Woppit the fair-haired, shy-eyed boy who for months had masqueraded in the camp as a woman.
An' so I found him an' tuck him in my arms an' carried him to my own cabin up yonder on the mountain carried him an' " "An' whut?" asked the old man, grasping the outlaw's shoulder "Didn't he die? We've never been able to hear from him." Jack shook his head. "It 'ud been better for him if he had" and he touched his forehead significantly.
It was of the last consequence to prove that this was no invention of the outlaw's, for the purpose of passing an impostor as the child and heiress of Ardenvohr.
With an exclamation of surprise Duane leaped off and ran to the outlaw's side. Stevens was pale, and his face bore beads of sweat. The whole front of his shirt was soaked with blood. "You're shot!" cried Duane. "Wal, who 'n hell said I wasn't? Would you mind givin' me a lift on this here pack?" Duane lifted the heavy pack down and then helped Stevens to dismount.
Brown an' his friends will foller us across the river a ways. You've got to think of number one in this game." "What would you do in my case?" asked Duane, curiously. "Wal, I reckon I'd clear out an' save my hide," replied Stevens. Duane felt inclined to doubt the outlaw's assertion. For his own part he decided his conduct without further speech.
On the ranch-house veranda sat Walter Stone conversing with his host, where several girls, bright-faced and gowned in cool white, were talking and laughing. The pony headed straight for the veranda. The laughing group jumped to their feet. Collie, using both hands, swung the hackamore across the outlaw's neck and tugged. She stopped with a jolt that all but unseated him. Walter Stone rose.
He gathered the bolder men about him, saw that they were supplied with proper arms and mounts, and with encouraging words to those who were left behind, he rode away on the outlaw's trail.
Within are two niches, which served, it is said, as stalls for the bold outlaw's horses. To this retreat he retired when hotly pursued by the law, for the place was a secret even from his band. The cave is overshadowed by an oak and alder, and is hardly discoverable even at the present day; but when the country was overrun with forest it must have been completely concealed.
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