ing for valuables in there during the excitement,
saw her and carried her off with their other booty. It's up to us,
Billinger!"

Billinger had reached inside his shirt, and now he drew forth a small
paper parcel.

"I don't know why--but I kept the tress of hair," he said. "See--"

From between his fingers, as he turned toward Philip, there streamed out
a long silken tress that shone a marvelous gold in the sun, and in that
same instant there fell from Philip's lips a cry such as Billinger
had not heard, even from the lips of the wounded; and before he could
recover from his astonishment, he had leaned over and snatched the
golden tress from him, and sat in his saddle staring at it like a
madman.

Chapter XVII. The Girl In The Wreck

In that moment of terrible shock--in the one moment when it seemed to
him as though no other woman in the world could have worn that golden
tress of hair but Isobel, Philip had stopped his horse, and his face had
gone as white as death. With a tremendous effort he recovered himself,
and saw Billinger staring at him as though the hot sun had for an
instant blinded him of reason. But the lock of hair still rippled and
shone before his eyes. Only twice in his life could he remember having
seen hair just like this--that peculiar reddish gold that changed its
lights with every passing cloud.

He had seen it on Isobel, in the firelight of the camp, at Lac Bain--and
he had seen it crowning the beautiful head of the girl back home, the
girl of the hyacinth letter. He struggled to calm himself under the
questioning gaze of Billinger's eyes. He laughed, wound the hair
carefully about his fingers, and put it in his coat pocket.

"You--you have given me a shock," he said, straining to keep his voice
even. "I'm glad you had foresight enough to keep the lock of hair,
Billinger. At first--I jumped to a conclusion. But there's only one
chance in a hundred that I'm right. If I should be right--I know
the girl. Do you understand--why it startled me? Now for the chase,
Billinger. Lead away!"

Leaning low over their saddles they galloped into the North. For a time
the trail of the five outlaws was so distinct that they rode at a speed
which lathered their horses. Then the short prairie grass, crisp and
sun-dried, gave place to a broad sweep of wire grass above which the
yellow backs of coyotes were visible as now and then they bobbed up in
their quick, short leaps to look over the top of it. In t