f: 'The trail drops
down from Thunder Mountain--somewhere--into the Black Lake country,
and then--over the Sangre de Cristo is the San Luis. _But how does he
know that?_'

"'He knows a lot, he does!' said 'Red.'

"Then Haig was off, flinging back 'Thank you!' at the boy. But he took
the precaution to confirm 'Red's' story at the post-office. Thompson
himself had seen Sunnysides, still going like the wind. Tom Banks came
in a little later with news of the outlaw well up the road toward
Norton's, and Haig after him. So there's no doubt the way they've
gone. But it's a losing game if Sunnysides can keep up the speed he
was hitting when he was last seen."

"A losing game!" She, better than anybody else in the Park, knew what
that meant. She rose slowly, and looked across the Park at Thunder
Mountain, now lost among the clouds. No, not quite; for through a rift
she was just able to make out the timber line on the mountain's
jutting shoulder. Above that she knew the bleak rocks rose sheer to
the bald head that was battered by tempests, seared by lightning,
swept smooth by the winds that never ceased.

So this was the message! This was what Thunder Mountain had said to
her! This was the answer to her questions! Day after day she had
studied it, when storms gathered on that frowning head, when vapors
made a smudge there in the midst of the glittering assemblage of the
peaks, and when, for a meager hour, once in a while, the summit stood
clear in the sunshine, as if the tortured mountain, condemned to
everlasting punishment, had been given a brief reprieve.

Now, at last, she understood. Somewhere on that evil trail was Philip.
He could never cross Thunder Mountain! Sunnysides might, perhaps; but
he--he had tried, and failed. Others had tried, and--died for it. But
he would try again; she knew how desperately he would throw himself
upon that fatal head. And then? It was the end!

But she must know. She could not stay there.

She started down the hill, running; and Smythe followed her in
amazement and alarm. He did not like that last look on her face.

"Wait!" he called, in a voice that for once rang with authority.

She stopped, and let him overtake her.

"What are you doing?" he demanded.

"I'm going to Murray's--for news," she answered.

"No!" he cried. "That's madness."

"It's necessary," she rejoined. "And there's no danger."

"How do you know?"

"I met Mrs. Murray once at the post-office. She talked to me