ck
Witherspoon's eyes. "If he proves innocent, my poor friend, I'll
make Ferris, on his knees, eat those cruel words!"

But when he left his new client, so strangely brought into his half
confidence, the Detroit lawyer hastened to Adams' Express office.

For two hours he sat alone in a private room and studied over the
contents of the mute message of the dead.

There were things in the package which astounded him; there
were written words which melted him to tears. The little hoard of
twenty-eight thousand dollars in certified cheques was there, with
an order for Randall Clayton's active stocks. A duly executed will,
in favor of my school-fellow and friend, Jack Witherspoon, lawyer,
of Detroit, was accompanied with a letter which gave the history
of the abortive attempt to decoy him to Cheyenne.

The last manly lines brought tears to Jack Witherspoon's eyes. "As
they cannot lure me to Cheyenne, they may strike at me, even here,
and so, before your return. I've left you the little I have. Should
aught befall me, you are my sole heir, and the old matter would
go to you. Punish Hugh, follow up and defeat Ferris, and win my
birthright for Francine Delacroix. Make her your happy wife. We
made a mistake, Jack. We should have gone West together at once,
and faced old Hugh."

The young lawyer's eyes were filled with tears as he read the rest
of Clayton's statement, evidently prepared to offset any attempt
on his life.

But he was ready to battle within the enemy's lines, with a calm
and unmoved face, when he met Arthur Ferris at four o'clock.

Witherspoon scarcely recognized the man whom he instinctively felt
to be Randall Clayton's murderer. There were great furrows in
Ferris' pale cheeks as he handed him a telegram. "I believe that
the whole world is going mad," desperately said the baffled Ferris.
"Just read those lines from a now helpless and orphaned girl."

The men who were to fight out a battle to the death eyed each other
in silence. Witherspoon scarcely could credit his eyes, as he read
again and again the few words of the imperative message.

"My father died this morning. Do not join me. Send no telegrams
or letters. I am coming, at once, to New York. Remain in charge
until I come with my lawyers from Detroit. I will have my father's
will and all his papers. I act under his last wishes. Find Randall
Clayton, dead or alive.

"ALICE WORTHINGTON."

"Now, tell me, Witherspoon, is not that girl mad?" ho