't heard."

"Well, then, I will tell you about it;" and Mr. Wilks gave a brief
account of the terrible tragedy that had shocked the land. "It's a
regular Jesse James affair, and there's a big reward offered for the
outlaws."

The woman seemed interested then, and looked hard at her nephew.

"Watson, I hope you know nothing of this work?"

"Of course I know something of it," he answered quickly. "I returned
in charge of the dead body of the messenger. I was in the next car
when he was killed, and one of the robbers put his pistol to my head
and threatened to blow my brains out if I said or did anything. You
can just bet I kept mighty still."

"I should think so. This'll make a tremendous stir," returned the
woman. "The country'll be full of man-trackers and it'll go hard with
the outlaws if they're captured."

"You bet; but they won't be captured." "You are confident?"

"I've a right to be. I---"

Then the young man ceased to speak suddenly, and his face became
deeply suffused.

The woman sprang up then and went to the young man's side, laying her
hand on his shoulder.

"Watson, tell me truly that you don't know who committed this crime."

"Bother!" and he flung her hand from his shoulder with an impatient
movement. "I hope you ain't going to turn good all to once, Madge
Scarlet. I tell you, thirty thousand dollars ain't to be sneezed at,
and I do need money--but of course _I_ don't know a thing about who
did it, of course not; but I can tell you one thing, old lady, Dyke
Barrel is on the trail, and he is even now in Chicago."

"Dyke Darrel!"

"That's who, Madam."

For some moments a silence fell over the two that was absolutely
painful. At length the woman found her voice.

"Dyke Barrel! Ah! fiend of Missouri, I have good cause to remember you
and your work. Do you know, Watson, the fate of your poor uncle?"

"Well, I should smile if I didn't," answered the young man. "He died
in a Missouri dungeon, sent there by this same Dyke Darrel, the
railroad man-tracker. Hate him? Of course you do, but not as I do. I
have sworn to have revenge for the five years I laid in a dungeon for
shoving the queer."

"And Dyke Darrel is now in Chicago?"

"Yes. I parted from him not an hour since."

"What is he here for?"

"The crime on the midnight express brings him here."

"And you saw and talked with him?"

"I did."

"He recognized you of course?"

"No, he did not; that is the best of it. I am to meet him