Order had come out of the chaos of plot and counterplot; Trevison's course
was to be as direct as his hatred. He would go to the pueblo, take Judge
Lindman and the record to Santa Fe, and then return to Manti for a last
meeting with Corrigan.

A late moon, rising from a cleft in some distant mountains, bathed the
plains with a silvery flood when horse and rider reached a point within a
mile of the pueblo, and Nigger covered the remainder of the distance at a
pace that made the night air drum in Trevison's ears. The big black slowed
as he came to a section of broken country surrounding the ancient city,
but he got through it quickly and skirted the sand slopes, taking the
steep acclivity leading to the ledge of the pueblo in a dozen catlike
leaps and coming to a halt in the shadow of an adobe house, heaving
deeply, his rider flung himself out of the saddle and ran along the ledge
to the door of the chamber where he had imprisoned Judge Lindman.

Trevison could see no sign of the Judge or Levins. The ledge was bare,
aglow, the openings of the communal houses facing it loomed dark, like the
doors of tombs. A ghastly, unearthly silence greeted Trevison's call after
the echoes died away; the upper tier of adobe boxes seemed to nod in
ghostly derision as his gaze swept them. There was no sound, no movement,
except the regular cough of his own laboring lungs, and the rustle of his
clothing as his chest swelled and deflated with the effort. He exclaimed
impatiently and retraced his steps, peering into recesses between the
communal houses, certain that the Judge and Levins had fallen asleep in
his absence. He turned at a corner and in a dark angle almost stumbled
over Levins. He was lying on his stomach, his right arm under his head,
his face turned sideways. Trevison thought at first that he was asleep and
prodded him gently with the toe of his boot. A groan smote his ears and he
kneeled quickly, turning Levins over. Something damp and warm met his
fingers as he seized the man by the shoulder, and he drew the hand away
quickly, exclaiming sharply as he noted the stain on it.

His exclamation brought Levins' eyes open, and he stared upward, stupidly
at first, then with a bright gaze of comprehension. He struggled and sat
up, swaying from side to side.

"They got the Judge, 'Brand'--they run him off, with my cayuse!"

"Who got him?"

"I ain't reckonin' to know. Some of Corrigan's scum, most likely--I didn't
see 'em close.