nfidence to a considerable extent.

"I think you did the right thing in leaving the train to look after
this villain," said Elliston, when he had heard the detective's story;
"but you must be aware that you run a great risk in going about the
country without disguise, avowedly in search of the perpetrators of
the express robbery. Of course, this man has friends, and they will
not hesitate to shoot or stab, as they did in the case of the express
messenger."

"Certainly--"

"But, my dear Dyke, had I not happened at the station you might have
run into a trap. I have reason to believe there are many lawless
characters in this neighborhood. It strikes me that the man knew what
he was about when he assaulted you at this point on the road."

To this, however, Dyke Darrel did not agree. He believed that the
villain who attempted his murder sought the first favorable
opportunity for his fell work, regardless of time and place.

Early the next morning the detective and his friend hired a horse and
buggy of the hotel proprietor, and set off down the road to the scene
of the "accident."

Dyke Darrel was confident that he could find the spot, and, sure
enough, he was not far out in his reckoning. When in the vicinity of
where he believed the man had left the train, Darrel's quick eye
caught sight of a group of men standing under a shed, on the further
side of a distant field.

"There is some cause of excitement over yonder," remarked Dyke Darrel,
as he drew rein, and pointed with his whip.

"It seems to mean something," admitted Elliston.

"I propose to investigate."

Securing his horse, Dyke Darrel vaulted the fence, and, closely
followed by Elliston, made his way across the field.

A dozen men and boys stood about, regarding some object with
commiserating glances.

Dyke Darrel pushed his way into the crowd, and was not disappointed in
what he saw--a man lying prostrate on some blankets, with white face
and blood-stained garments.

"We found him jest off the railroad, in a fence-corner," said one of
the countrymen. "He'll never git up an' walk agin."

"Has he said anything?"

This last question was put by Harper Elliston.

"Nary word. He fell off 'n ther train last night, I reckon."

Elliston knelt and felt the man's pulse.

"He lives," said the New Yorker, "but there isn't much life; he cannot
last long."

"A little brandy might revive him," said Dyke Darrel. "I would like to
have him speak; it is of the