at hand, shone redly through the upper corridor windows, enabling her
to go directly to the open door of the superintendent's office. But when
she reached the door and looked within, the trembling terror returned
and held her spell-bound, speechless, unable to move or even to cry out.

What she saw fitted itself to nothing real; it was more like a scene
clipped from a play. Two masked men were covering with revolvers a
third, who was tied helpless in a chair. The captive's face was ghastly
and blood-stained, and at first she thought he was dead. Then she saw
his lips move in curious twitchings that showed his teeth. He seemed to
be trying to speak, but the ruffian at his right would not give him
leave.

"This is where you pass out, Mr. Lidgerwood," the man was saying
threateningly. "You give us your word that you will resign and leave the
Red Butte Western for keeps, or you'll sit in that chair till somebody
comes to take you out and bury you."

The twitching lips were controlled with what appeared to be an almost
superhuman effort, but the words came jerkily.

"What would my word, extorted--under such conditions--be worth to you?"

Eleanor could hear, in spite of the terror that would not let her cry
out or run for help. He was yielding to them, bargaining for his life!

"We'll take it," said the spokesman coolly. "If you break faith with us
there are more than two of us who will see to it that you don't live
long enough to brag about it. You've had your day, and you've got to
go."

"And if I refuse?" Eleanor made sure that the voice was steadier now.

"It's this, here and now," grated the taller man who had hitherto kept
silence, and he cocked his revolver and jammed the muzzle of it against
the bleeding temple of the man in the chair.

The captive straightened himself as well as his bonds would let him.

"You--you've let the psychological moment go by, gentlemen: I--I've got
my second wind. You may burn and destroy and shoot as you please, but
while I'm alive I'll stay with you. Blaze away, if that's what you want
to do."

The horror-stricken watcher at the door covered her face with her hands
to shut out the sight of the murder. It was not until Lidgerwood's
voice, calm and even-toned and taunting, broke the silence that she
ventured to look again.

[Illustration: "Well, gentlemen, I'm waiting. Why don't you shoot?"]

"Well, gentlemen, I'm waiting. Why don't you shoot? You are greater
cowards than I