, revolver in hand, crept toward the house as quietly as a
Sioux.

Except for the light, there was no sign of life about the place, and
Wade craftily advanced into the deeper shadows close to the wall of the
house. Taking off his hat, so that the crown might not betray him, he
peeped through a window. What he saw made him clinch his fingers and
grit his teeth in rage.

Inside were half a dozen men, besides three of his own ranch hands who
lay trussed up like turkeys in one corner of the room; doubtless they
had been surprised by the posse before they had opportunity to run or
put up a fight. Moran was there, stretched comfortably on Wade's own
cot, smoking a cigar. Once, he looked directly toward the window at
which the watcher had placed himself, but the latter did not move.
Instead, he fingered his gun and waited; he was not sure that he really
wanted to avoid detection; if it came, Moran would pay, and the rest, at
the moment, did not seem to matter. He had forgotten Dorothy entirely.

But Santry was not there and this fact puzzled Wade. The Sheriff was not
there either, and presently it occurred to the cattleman that a part of
the posse, with Santry, might have returned to Crawling Water over the
main trail. Probably Moran, with the rest, was waiting for him. The
mere thought of Santry already on his way to jail filled Wade with a
baffling sense of rage, and creeping from the house, he examined the
surrounding turf by the faint rays of the moon. It was badly cut up by
the feet of many horses, and several minutes passed before Wade was
really sure that a number of mounted men had taken the trail back to
town. Satisfied of this at length, he untied his horse and swung into
the saddle.

Before riding away he considered the advisability of driving off the
horses belonging to Moran's party, but there would still be others in
the corral, and besides their absence, when discovered, would give
warning of the impending attack. On second thought, however, he quietly
made his way to the corral and caught a fresh horse of his own. When he
had saddled it he set out over the old trail for the big pine.

When he reached the rendezvous his men were not there; but knowing that
he must meet them if he followed the road from there on he did not stop.
He came upon them in a few minutes, riding toward him at full speed,
with Tim Sullivan in the van, too drunk to stand erect, but able to
balance himself on a horse's back, drunk or s