any traces they have left. It is no use to
frighten the women. There's no fear of their returning."

"And if they get away?"

"We can follow in their tracks."

"If Manuel gives the alarm?"

"With his burglarious boots left behind in the house? Not much!
Good-night, Ned. Go to bed."

With these words Lee turned on his side and quietly resumed his
interrupted slumber. Falkner did not, however, follow this sensible
advice. When he was satisfied that his friend was sleeping he opened the
door softly and looked out. He did not appear to be listening, for
his eyes were fixed upon a small pencil of light that stole across the
passage from the foot of Kate's door. He watched it until it suddenly
disappeared, when, leaving the door partly open, he threw himself on
his couch without removing his clothes. The slight movement awakened
the sleeper, who was beginning to feel the accession of fever. He moved
restlessly.

"George," said Falkner, softly.

"Yes."

"Where was it we passed that old Mission Church on the road one dark
night, and saw the light burning before the figure of the Virgin through
the window?"

There was a moment of crushing silence. "Does that mean you're wanting
to light the candle again?"

"No."

"Then don't lie there inventing sacrilegious conundrums, but go to
sleep."

Nevertheless, in the morning his fever was slightly worse. Mrs. Hale,
offering her condolence, said, "I know that you have not been resting
well, for even after your friend met with that mishap in the hall, I
heard your voices, and Kate says your door was open all night. You have
a little fever too, Mr. Falkner."

George looked curiously at Falkner's pale face--it was burning.

CHAPTER V

The speed and fury with which Clinch's cavalcade swept on in the
direction of the mysterious shot left Hale no chance for reflection. He
was conscious of shouting incoherently with the others, of urging his
horse irresistibly forward, of momentarily expecting to meet or overtake
something, but without any further thought. The figures of Clinch and
Rawlins immediately before him shut out the prospect of the narrowing
trail. Once only, taking advantage of a sudden halt that threw them
confusedly together, he managed to ask a question.

"Lost their track--found it again!" shouted the ostler, as Clinch, with
a cry like the baying of a hound, again darted forward. Their horses
were panting and trembling under them, the ascent seemed t