tened
intently. Yes; that was the whine of a wolf, but such a whine as he
had heard Jimmie give in showing the call of the Wolf Patrol.

His friends--the loyal Boy Scouts--were not far away! He wondered for
a moment why the call of the Wolf Patrol had been given instead of the
call of the Black Bears, and then remembered that there were really
wolves in the mountains, while there were no black bears.

The guard at the corner growled something under his breath as the
second signal came, and finally called out sharply:

"In the hut there!"

There was a short silence, silence except for the falling rain and the
lashing wind, and then the voice of the renegade was heard.

"What do you want?" was asked.

"How much longer am I to remain here?" demanded the guard.

"Until there is no longer need of guarding the window," was the reply.
"You are the only man here I can trust. You must remain on guard."

"He has as yet made no move to escape," the guard said, in fair English.

"I know that very well," came in Big Bob's voice, "for I have heard no
shooting."

So that was why he had been left alone there so long! He was to be
permitted to leave the hut by way of the window, and was to be murdered
as soon as he touched the ground. The renegade figured that there
could be no penalty for shooting at an escaping man who was charged
with a serious crime.

"Perhaps it is just as well," Big Bob said, directly, "for I have not
talked with him yet."

"Then you'd better do so at once," grunted the guard. "This is no
picnic out here in the rain!"

"Have patience!" replied the renegade, and the voices ceased.

In a few moments Fremont heard the renegade at his door, speaking in a
whisper to the guard there. Then the door was opened and the big
fellow came bulkily into the room.

Fremont glanced up at the brutal face, only half revealed by the
flaring candle he carried on a level with his enormous ears, but did
not speak. From the outer room came a clatter of Spanish words.

"I have been wondering," the fellow said, in a voice which showed a
degree of education and culture not proclaimed by the coarse face, "why
you attacked Cameron?"

"I didn't!" replied Fremont, hotly.

"The proof is against you!"

Fremont did not answer. He was listening for the call of a wolf on the
mountain.

"The proof is against you, boy," repeated the renegade.

After hearing the brief talk at the angle of the hut, Fremont had
little