promise that you will
not break loose either until Mr. Armstrong returns, or the auction is
over."

"The boys wouldn't agree to that, Mr. Stranleigh. We're bound to attend
that auction."

Stranleigh sighed.

"Very good," he conceded. "I must content myself with what you offer. I
accept your proposal, for I feel certain that Mr. Armstrong will return
before the ranch is sold. So good-bye. Give my love to the boys."

Stranleigh watched the retreating figure until it disappeared into the
bunk house. A moment later the perforated door was drawn shut, and then
he rolled up the bedclothes into a bundle, and deposited it at the
further end of the cavern. This done, he took his rifle under his arm,
crossed the barricade, and strolled down to the farm-house. Miss
Armstrong greeted him with surprise.

"I thought you had gone to New York," she said.

"I took the train east, but only to the next station from Bleachers."

"You've not been stopping at that wretched hotel in Bleachers ever
since?"

"Oh no; I received a pressing invitation from some friends of mine to be
their guest, with a prospect of a little shooting, so I've been staying
with them ever since."

"Did you have a pleasant time?"

"Oh, excellent, and I heard more entertaining stories than ever I
listened to in a similar period."

"Good shooting?"

"First rate. Limited in quantity, but of finest quality. Indeed, I may
boast of a record; I hit everything I aimed at. Camp fare, however, left
a good deal to be desired, so you may imagine how glad I am to return."

"I'm very pleased to have an opportunity of giving you something better.
How would you like some nice broiled trout, freshly caught this
morning?"

"Oh, heavenly!" cried Stranleigh, enthusiastically. "I haven't had
anything but bread and salt pork since I saw you. Who caught the trout?"

"I did. I went down the river early this morning. I must have had a
premonition that you would return, famished for trout, and I had quite
an adventure, or rather, plunged into a mystery which I have not yet
solved. I heard the sound of firing; first a single shot, then a
fusilade. I could not tell from whence the sound came. I hurried home
with my basket, but there was no one in sight. After a while Jim came
in, very much crestfallen, it seemed to me, with his ear tied up
clumsily in a handkerchief. He had been shot through the ear, and of
course I came to his aid at once. With a woman's curiosity, I asked hi