of a third of a mile brought him to a corner, where,
looking southward by day, one could see the flagstaff and the big white
gateway, and beyond it the main office of the quartermaster's corral.
Staff and gateway were invisible now, but beyond the latter gleamed two
lights, each in a separate window of that office. Jimmy knew they never
worked that late. Why should the curtains be up now? Why, indeed! It was
a question that interested other prowlers beside himself, for, as he
paused for breath, close at hand he heard the stamp of a horse's hoof,
followed by a muttered curse, and evident jerk of the bit and jab with
the spurs, for the tortured creature plunged and stamped in pain.

"Keep that damned broncho quiet!" growled a voice. "You'll give the
whole thing away."

"It's given away now," was the surly half whisper, in reply, "else those
fellows would never be up at this hour of the night. They've mounted
guard. Where'd the man go with the key?"

"Up to Folsom's back gate. Three of our fellows are shadowing him,
though. He can't get away with it. He said he had to see his wife or
she'd betray the whole business."

"All the same I don't like it. The old man always has a raft of fort
people there. Hello, listen!"

All on a sudden there came from afar up the broad avenue the sound of
scurrying hoofs. Down through the darkness, louder and louder, spurring
and thundering, came three horsemen whom the shadows at the corner
reined out eagerly to meet. There was no suspense. "Come on!" savagely
growled a hoarse voice. "The game's up! Newhall's wife led him square
into a trap. They've got him, key and all."

Then away they rode, athirst and blasphemous, and away sped Jimmy with
his wondrous news, and out tumbled the loungers at Peter's bar, the
judge and the sheriff last, and those who had horses mounted and
galloped up to Folsom's and those who had not trudged enviously after,
and a few minutes later there was gathered at the corral a panting and
eager band of men, for thither had Mr. Loring, with his grip on the
collar and his pistol at his captive's ear, marched an ashen-faced,
scowling, scurrilous man, a dashing-looking fellow at times, a raging
rascal now, cursing his wife for a foul traitress, cursing his captor
for an accomplice, saying filthy words about women in general, until
choked by a twist of the collar.

Into the lighted office and the presence of two armed clerks the
Engineer marched his man, the first a