dow.

"It's all right; the men are all in the courtyard, or in the front of
the house. The boudoir door is strong, and we can bolt them out."

"It won't be necessary," said Clarence quietly; "you will not be
disturbed."

"But are you not coming in?" she asked timidly, holding the window open.

Clarence looked at her with his first faint smile since Peyton's death.

"Of course I am, but not in THAT way. I am going in by THE FRONT GATE."

She would have detained him, but, with a quick wave of his hand, he left
her, and ran swiftly around the wall of the casa toward the front. The
gate was half open; a dozen excited men were gathered before it and in
the archway, and among them, whitened with dust, blackened with powder,
and apparently glutted with rapine, and still holding a revolver in his
hand, was Jim Hooker! As Clarence approached, the men quickly retreated
inside the gate and closed it, but not before he had exchanged a meaning
glance with Jim. When he reached the gate, a man from within roughly
demanded his business.

"I wish to see the leader of this party," said Clarence quietly.

"I reckon you do," returned the man, with a short laugh. "But I
kalkilate HE don't return the compliment."

"He probably will when he reads this note to his employer," continued
Clarence still coolly, selecting a paper from his pocketbook. It was
addressed to Francisco Robles, Superintendent of the Sisters' Title, and
directed him to give Mr. Clarence Brant free access to the property and
the fullest information concerning it. The man took it, glanced at it,
looked again at Clarence, and then passed the paper to a third man among
the group in the courtyard. The latter read it, and approached the gate
carelessly.

"Well, what do you want?"

"I am afraid you have the advantage of me in being able to transact
business through bars," said Clarence, with slow but malevolent
distinctness, "and as mine is important, I think you had better open the
gate to me."

The slight laugh that his speech had evoked from the bystanders was
checked as the leader retorted angrily:--

"That's all very well; but how do I know that you're the man represented
in that letter? Pancho Robles may know you, but I don't."

"That you can find out very easily," said Clarence. "There is a man
among your party who knows me,--Mr. Hooker. Ask him."

The man turned, with a quick mingling of surprise and suspicion, to the
gloomy, imperturbable Hooker. Claren