ossom's safety and Dad's good name."

Lennon glowed back at her, proud that he had won the love of such a
woman, yet humble over the consciousness of how he had misjudged her.

"You had no thought for yourself," he said. "You would have given your
life--and more. You failed to save your father's life, but we shall save
his name. Did Slade's Navahos share in the stock stealing?"

"Only Pete. Of the others, Slade's four bodyguards alone knew about the
Hole. But, once in, any of the punchers can trail us."

"No," declared Lennon. "To be sure, there is one of the four left. But
what if he does bring the punchers? All I need do is catch a pony, ride
down the valley, and haul up the lift in the lower canon."

"Of course!" agreed Carmena. "What a loon I've been not to think of it
myself! Of course, Cochise would have done it if we hadn't got the bunch
up the cliff when we did. It will take the Navahos till noon to-morrow
to ride all the way back and round to the head of Hell Canon."

"Good enough," said Lennon. "That solves all our difficulties. We can go
out the canon to-night and have a long start for the railway. There we
will report how Slade and your father have been killed in a fight with a
band of Apache stock thieves."

"Oh, Jack! And Slade's Navahos will scatter when they hear he is dead,
and they'll never talk. They're Indians. But the stock here in the Hole,
what if the sheriff wants to investigate?"

Lennon pointed upward.

"If he should manage to get into the cliff house, there's nothing
incriminating left. The dynamite obliterated the still. As for the
stock, we will drive it out with us and deliver it up as part of the
loot retaken by us from the thieves."

Carmena put Elsie aside and rose to lay her hands on Lennon's shoulders.

"Now I know for sure you love me," she said. "You love me enough to
forget Dad as you knew him and to remember only that he was my father.
You would shield his good name as you would shield your own. Yet I am
the daughter of a rustler, of a moonshiner, of a drunken criminal."

"No," denied Lennon. "You are the daughter of an unfortunate gentleman,
who paid bitterly for his mistakes--who gave his life in an attempt to
save you and the child whom he had taken in and sheltered. Let God judge
whether he was not far more victim than wrongdoer."

"But the daughter of a weak man----"

Lennon smiled into her troubled eyes.

"You glory of the desert--you cactus blossom! It was yo