ad bowed over it earnestly, his face in
the shadow. He had ever been a careful and methodical man, reflected
Poleon, and evidently would not go to sleep with his fire-arm in bad
condition.

"Nobody imagined that Gaylord would cause trouble," Stark was saying,
"for he didn't seem to be a jealous sort, just stupid and kind of
heavy-witted; but one night he took advantage of Bennett's absence and
sneaked up to the house." The story-teller paused, and Necia, who was
under the spell of his recital, urged him on:

"Yes, yes. What happened then? Go on." But Stark stared gloomily at his
hands, and held his silence for a full minute, the tale appearing to
have awakened more than a fleeting interest in him.

"It was one of the worst killings that ever happened in those parts,"
he continued. "Bennett came back to find his wife murdered and the kid
gone."

"Oh!" said the girl, in a shocked voice.

"Yes, there was the deuce of a time. The town rose up in a body, and
we--you see, I happened to be there--we followed the man for weeks. We
trailed him and the kid clear over into the Nevada desert where we lost
them."

"Poor man!"

"Poor man?" The story-teller raised his eyes and laughed sinisterly. "I
don't see where that comes in."

"And you never caught him?"

"No. Not yet."

"He died of thirst in the desert, maybe, he and the little one."

"That's what we thought at the time, but I don't believe it now."

"How so?"

"Well, I've crossed his trail since then. No. Gaylord is alive to-day,
and so is the girl. Some time we'll meet--" His voice gave out, and he
stared again at the floor.

"Couldn't the little girl be traced?" said Necia. "What was her name?"

Stark made to speak, but the word was never uttered, for there came a
deafening roar that caused Lee's candle to leap and flicker and the air
inside the cabin to strike the occupants like a blow. Instantly there
was confusion, and each man sprang to his feet crying out affrightedly,
for the noise had come with utter unexpectedness.

"My God, I've killed him!" cried Gale, and with one jump he cleared
half the room and was beside Stark, while his revolver lay on the floor
where he had been sitting.

"What is it?" exclaimed Burrell; but there was no need to ask, for
powder-smoke was beginning to fill the room and the trader's face gave
answer. It was whiter than that of his daughter, who had crouched
fearfully against the wall, and he shook like a man with ague. Bu