u are ready to ride."

"Oh, very well."

In a very few minutes the young woman was ready. Rosario led her to the
cabin in front of which she had seen the old Indian squaw. In it were
seated Simon West and Black MacQueen. Both of them rose at her entrance.

"Please take a chair, Miss Lee. We have some business to talk over," the
outlaw suggested.

Melissy looked straight at him, her lips shut tight. "What have you done
with Jack Flatray?" she presently demanded.

"Left him to find his way back to his friends."

"You didn't hurt him ... any more?"

"No."

"And you left him alone, wounded as he was."

"We fixed up his wound," lied MacQueen.

"Was it very bad?"

"A scratch. I had to do it."

"You needn't apologize to me."

"I'm not apologizing, you little wild-cat."

"What do you want with me? Why did you send for me?"

"We're going to Mesa to see a parson. But before we start there's some
business to fix up. Mr. West and I will need your help to fix up the
negotiations for his release."

"My help!" She looked at him in surprise. "How can I help?"

"I've laid my demands before his friends. They'll come through with the
money, sure. But I want them to understand the conditions right plainly,
so there won't be any mistake. What they have got to get soaked into their
heads is that, if they do make any mistakes, they will not see Simon West
again alive. You put that up to them strong."

"I'm not going to be your agent in robbing people of their money!" she
told him swiftly.

"You don't understand. Mr. West wants you to do it. He wants you to
explain the facts to his friends, so they won't act rash and get off wrong
foot first."

"Oh! If Mr. West wishes it," she conceded.

"I do wish it," the great man added.

Though his face and hands were still stained with the dye that had been
used on them, the railroad builder was now dressed in his own clothes. The
girl thought that he looked haggard and anxious, and she was sure that her
presence brought him relief. In his own way he was an indomitable fighter,
but his experience had not included anything of this nature.

Jack Flatray could look at death level-eyed, and with an even pulse,
because for him it was all in the day's work; but the prospect of it shook
West's high-strung nerves. Nevertheless, he took command of the
explanations, because it had been his custom for years to lead.

MacQueen, his sardonic smile in play, sat back and let West do most o