job?"

"No!" answered Cavanagh, bluntly. "It's no use, I can't join you in
this--at least, not now."

"But you'll give me the names which Dunn gave you?"

"No, I can't do that. I shall tell the Supervisor, and he can act as he
sees fit--for the present I'm locked up here."

The other man looked the disappointment he felt. "I'm sorry you don't feel
like opening up. You know perfectly well that nothing will ever be done
about this thing unless the press insists upon it. It's up to you and me
(me representing 'the conscience of the East'"--here he winked an
eye--"and you Federal authority) to do what we can to bring these men to
their punishment. Better reconsider. I'm speaking now as a citizen as well
as a reporter."

There was much truth in what he said, but Cavanagh refused to go further
in the matter until he had consulted with Redfield.

"Very well," replied Hartley, "that's settled. By-the-way, who is your
patient?"

Eloquently, concisely, Ross told the story. "Just a poor old mounted hobo,
a survival of the cowboy West," he said; "but he had the heart of a hero
in him, and I'm doing my best to save him."

"Keep him in the dark, that's the latest theory--or under a red light.
White light brings out the ulcers."

"He hates darkness; that's one reason why I've opened the doors and
windows."

"All wrong! According to Finsen, he wouldn't pit in the dark. However, it
doesn't matter on a cowboy. You've a great story yourself. There's a fine
situation here which I'll play up if you don't object."

Cavanagh smiled. "Would my objection have any weight?"

The reporter laughed. "Not much; I've got to carry back some sort of game.
Well, so long! I must hit the trail over the hill."

Cavanagh made civil answer, and returned to his patient more than half
convinced that Hartley was right. The "power of the press" might prove to
be a very real force in this pursuit.

As the journalist was about to mount his horse he discovered Lee Virginia
on the other side of the creek. "Hello!" said he, "I wonder what this
pretty maiden means?" And, dropping his bridle-rein again, he walked down
to the bridge.

Swenson interposed his tall figure. "What do you want?" he asked, bluntly.
"You don't want to get too close. You've been talking to the ranger."

Hartley studied him coolly. "Are you a ranger, too?"

"No, only a guard."

"Why are you leaving Cavanagh to play it alone in there?"

Lee explained. "He won't let any of us