as
expeditiously as might be, and Blount saw that he had only himself to
blame for his present predicament, since he had allowed the man to
believe that he was a Government emissary. Having this clew to the
mystery, his course was a little easier to steer.

"I have no papers of the kind you think I have, as you can readily
determine by searching me," he said. "My name is Blount, and I am the
son of ex-Senator David Blount, of this State. Now what are you going to
do with me?"

"What's that you say?" grated the outlaw.

"You heard what I said. Go ahead and heave me into the canyon if you are
willing to stand for it afterward."

The hard-faced man turned without replying and went back to the other
two at the fire. Blount caught only a word now and again of the
low-toned, wrangling argument that followed. But from the overheard word
or two he gathered that there were still some leanings toward the sound
old maxim which declares that "dead men tell no tales." When the
decision was finally reached, he was left to guess its purport. Without
any explanation the thongs were taken from his wrists and ankles, and he
was helped upon his horse. After his captors were mounted, the new
status was defined by the spokesman in curt phrase.

"You go along quiet with us, and you don't make no bad breaks, see? I
more'n half believe you been lyin' to me, but I'm goin' to give you a
chance to prove up. If you don't prove up, you pass out--that's all. Now
git in line and hike out; and if you're countin' on makin' a break, jest
ricollect that a chunk o' lead out of a Winchester kin travel a heap
faster thern your cayuse."

If Blount had not already lost all sense of familiarity with his
surroundings, the devious mountain trail taken by his captors would soon
have convinced him that the boyhood memories were no longer to be
trusted. Up and down, the trail zigzagged and climbed, always
penetrating deeper and deeper into the heart of the mountains. At times
Blount lost even the sense of direction; lost it so completely that the
high-riding moon seemed to be in the wrong quarter of the heavens.

For the first few miles the trail was so difficult that speed was out of
the question; but later, in crossing a high-lying valley, the horses
were pushed. Beyond the valley there were more mountains, and half-way
through this second range the trail plunged into a deep, cleft-like
canyon with a brawling torrent for its pathfinder. Once more Blount