ied Wilson.

"Boss, there wasn't nothin'," declared Moze.

"I ain't so sartin," said Shady Jones, with doubtful, staring eyes. "I
believe I heerd a rustlin'."

"She wasn't there!" ejaculated Anson, in wondering awe. "She's gone!...
My torch went out. I couldn't see. An' jest then I felt somethin' was
passin'. Fast! I jerked 'round. All was black, an' yet if I didn't see
a big gray streak I'm crazier 'n thet gurl. But I couldn't swear to
anythin' but a rushin' of wind. I felt thet."

"Gone!" exclaimed Wilson, in great alarm. "Fellars, if thet's so, then
mebbe she wasn't daid an' she wandered off. ... But she was daid! Her
heart hed quit beatin'. I'll swear to thet."

"I move to break camp," said Shady Jones, gruffly, and he stood up. Moze
seconded that move by an expressive flash of his black visage.

"Jim, if she's dead--an' gone--what 'n hell's come off?" huskily asked
Anson. "It, only seems thet way. We're all worked up.... Let's talk
sense."

"Anson, shore there's a heap you an' me don't know," replied Wilson.
"The world come to an end once. Wal, it can come to another end.... I
tell you I ain't surprised--"

"THAR!" cried Anson, whirling, with his gun leaping out.

Something huge, shadowy, gray against the black rushed behind the men
and trees; and following it came a perceptible acceleration of the air.

"Shore, Snake, there wasn't nothin'," said Wilson, "presently."

"I heerd," whispered Shady Jones.

"It was only a breeze blowin' thet smoke," rejoined Moze.

"I'd bet my soul somethin' went back of me," declared Anson, glaring
into the void.

"Listen an' let's make shore," suggested Wilson.

The guilty, agitated faces of the outlaws showed plain enough in the
flickering light for each to see a convicting dread in his fellow. Like
statues they stood, watching and listening.

Few sounds stirred in the strange silence. Now and then the horses
heaved heavily, but stood still; a dismal, dreary note of the wind in
the pines vied with a hollow laugh of the brook. And these low sounds
only fastened attention upon the quality of the silence. A breathing,
lonely spirit of solitude permeated the black dell. Like a pit of
unplumbed depths the dark night yawned. An evil conscience, listening
there, could have heard the most peaceful, beautiful, and mournful
sounds of nature only as strains of a calling hell.

Suddenly the silent, oppressive, surcharged air split to a short,
piercing scream.

Anson's big