sent me along to represent. Let's get this pack off and get out
of here. Do we have to go down the same trail again?"

"Oh, no," said Jeff. "There's a wood-trail leads round the mountain to
the east. Who're you? I don't know you."

"Charley Gibson. Pappy knows me. He sent the little stone horse to vouch
for me. I'm O. K. Time enough to explain when we've made a clean
getaway."

"You're damn right there," Jeff said. "That boy down yonder is nobody's
fool. I'll light a candle in the tent and he'll think I'm reading the
newspapers. That'll hold him a while."

"I'll be going on down the trail," said Gibson. "This way, isn't it?"

"Yes, that's the one. All right. Go slow and don't make any more noise
than you can help."

Jeff would have liked his own proper clothing and effects, but there was
no time for resuscitation. Lighting the candle, he acquired "Alice in
Wonderland" and thrust it into the bosom of his shirt. It had been years
since last he read that admirable work; his way now led either to hiding
or to jail--and, with Alice to share his fate, he felt equal to either
fortune. He left the candle burning: the tent shone with a mellow glow.

"If he didn't hear our horses coming down we're a little bit of all
right," said Jeff, as he rejoined his rescuer on the level. "Even if he
does, he may think we've gone to hobble 'em--only he'd think we ought to
water 'em first. Now for the way of the transgressor, to Old Mexico.
This little desert'll be one busy place to-morrow!"

They circled Double Mountain, making a wide detour to avoid rough going,
and riding at a hard gallop until, behind and to their right, a red
spark of fire came into view from behind a hitherto intervening
shoulder, marking where Stone and Harlow held the southward pass.

Jeff drew rein and bore off obliquely toward the road at an easy trot.

"They're there yet. So that's all right!" he said. "They've just put on
fresh wood. I saw it flame up just then." He was in high feather. He
began to laugh, or, more accurately, he resumed his laughter, for he
had been too mirthful for much speech. "That poor devil Griffith will
wait and fidget and stew! He'll think I'm in the tent, reading the
newspapers--reading about the Arcadian bank robbery, likely. He'll wait
a while, then he'll yell at me. Then he'll think we've gone to hobble
the horses. He won't want to leave the gap unguarded. He won't know what
to think. Finally he'll go up to the mine and see tha