stened to the
furious onslaught of the wind upon the sycamores beside their cabin, and
thought she heard it there; she listened to the sharp fusillade of rain
upon roof and pane, and the turbulent roar and rush of leaping mountain
torrents at their very feet, and fancied it was there. She suddenly
sprang to the window, and, pressing her eyes to the pane, saw
through the misty turmoil of tossing boughs and swaying branches the
scintillating intermittent flames of torches moving on the trail above,
and KNEW it was there!

In an instant she was collected and calm. "Dad," she said, in her
ordinary indifferent tone, "there's torches movin' up toward the diamond
pit. Likely it's tramps. I'll take the squaw and see." And before the
old man could stagger to his feet she had dragged Lance with her into
the road.

CHAPTER VI.

The wind charged down upon them, slamming the door at their backs,
extinguishing the broad shaft of light that had momentarily shot out
into the darkness, and swept them a dozen yards away. Gaining the lee of
a madrono tree, Lance opened his blanketed arms, enfolded the girl, and
felt her for one brief moment tremble and nestle in his bosom like some
frightened animal. "Well," he said, gayly, "what next?" Flip recovered
herself. "You're safe now anywhere outside the house. But did you expect
them tonight?" Lance shrugged his shoulders. "Why not?" "Hush!" returned
the girl; "they're coming this way."

The four flickering, scattered lights presently dropped into line. The
trail had been found; they were coming nearer. Flip breathed quickly;
the spiced aroma of her presence filled the blanket as he drew her
tightly beside him. He had forgotten the storm that raged around them,
the mysterious foe that was approaching, until Flip caught his sleeve
with a slight laugh. "Why, it's Kennedy and Bijah?"

"Who's Kennedy and Bijah?" asked Lance, curtly.

"Kennedy's the Postmaster and Bijah's the Butcher."

"What do they want?" continued Lance.

"Me," said Flip, coyly.

"You?"

"Yes; let's run away."

Half leading, half dragging her friend, Flip made her way with unerring
woodcraft down the ravine. The sound of voices and even the tumult of
the storm became fainter, an acrid smell of burning green wood smarted
Lance's lips and eyes; in the midst of the darkness beneath him
gradually a faint, gigantic nimbus like a lurid eye glowed and sank,
quivered and faded with the spent breath of the gale as i