instructions for reaching the
ranch."

"Is it so difficult of access as all that?"

"You might find it so. When you reach the nearest railway station, which
is a couple of days' journey from the ranch, you can acquire a horse for
yourself, and two or three men with pack mules for your belongings.
They'll guide you to Armstrong's place."

Stranleigh found no difficulty in getting a cavalcade together at
Bleachers' station, an amazingly long distance west of New York. A man
finds little trouble in obtaining what he wants, if he never cavils at
the price asked, and is willing to pay in advance. The party passed
through a wild country, though for a time the road was reasonably good.
It degenerated presently into a cart-track, however, and finally became
a mere trail through the wilderness. As night fell, the tent was put up
by the side of a brawling stream, through which they had forded.

Next morning the procession started early, but it was noon before it
came to the clearing which Stranleigh rightly surmised was the outskirts
of the ranch. The guide, who had been riding in front, reined in, and
allowed Stranleigh to come alongside.

"That," he said, pointing down the valley, "is Armstrong's ranch."

Before Stranleigh could reply, if he had intended doing so, a shot rang
out from the forest, and he felt the sharp sting of a bullet in his left
shoulder. The guide flung himself from the saddle with the speed of
lightning, and stood with both hands upraised, his horse between himself
and the unseen assailant.

"Throw up your hands!" he shouted to Stranleigh.

"Impossible!" was the quiet answer, "my left is helpless."

"Then hold up your right."

Stranleigh did so.

"Slide off them packs," roared the guide to his followers, whereupon
ropes were untied on the instant, and the packs slid to the ground,
while the mules shook themselves, overjoyed at this sudden freedom.

"Turn back!" cried the guide. "Keep your hand up, and they won't shoot.
They want the goods."

"Then you mean to desert me?" asked Stranleigh.

"Desert nothing!" rejoined the guide, gruffly.

"We can't stand up against these fellows, whoever they are. We're no
posse. To fight them is the sheriff's business. I engaged to bring you
and your dunnage to Armstrong's ranch. I've delivered the goods, and now
it's me for the railroad."

"I'm going to that house," said Stranleigh.

"The more fool you," replied the guide, "but I guess you'll get there