d cry for justice--this man above all others!--it was
a complication quite unlocked for--a hideous mockery. He must gain time
for thought. One false step might ruin all. He could not face this on
the spur of the moment, so, shrugging his shoulders with an air of
polite scepticism, he assumed a tone of good-natured raillery.

"Fifteen years? Murder? John Gale a murderer? Why, that's
almost--pardon me if I smile--I'm getting sleepy. What proof have you?"

"Proof!" blazed the gambler. "Proof! Ask Gaylord! Proof! Why, the woman
he murdered was my wife!"

It was Burrell's turn now to fall incoherent, and not only did his
speech forsake him, but his thoughts went madly veering off into a
wilderness where there was no trail, no light, no hope. What kind of a
coil was this? What frightful bones were these he bared? This man was
Bennett! This was Necia's father! This man he hated, this man who was
bad, whose name was a curse throughout the length and breadth of the
West, was the father of the girl he loved! His head began to whirl,
then the story of the trader came back to him, and he remembered who
and what the bearer of these later tidings was. He raised a pair of
eyes that had become furious and bloodshot, and suddenly realized that
the man before him, who persisted in saddling upon Gale this heinous
crime, was the slayer of Necia's mother; for he did not doubt Gale's
story for an instant. He found his fingers writhing to feel the
creature's throat.

"Proof!" Stark was growling. "How much proof do you need? I've followed
him for fifteen years. I've tracked him with men and dogs through woods
and deserts and mining-camps. I've slept on his trail for five thousand
miles, and now do you think I'm mistaken? He killed my wife, I say, and
robbed me of my little girl! That's her in his house. That's her he
calls Necia. She's my girl--MY GIRL, do you understand?--and I'll have
his life."

It was hate that animated him, and nothing more. He had no joy in the
finding of his offspring, no uplifted thought of justice. The thirst
for revenge, personal, violent, utter, was all that prompted this man;
but Burrell had no inkling yet of the father's well-shaped plans, nor
how far-reaching they were, and could barely stammer:

"So! You--you know?"

"Yes! She wears the evidence around her neck, and if that isn't enough
I can furnish more--evidence enough to smother you. My name isn't Stark
at all; I changed it years ago for certain reas