crisis, was it possible the fates
were to be so unkind as to put him in the way of another, from which there
might be no extrication? Curse the luck, anyhow. Gol darn it!

The hoof beats came nearer and nearer. There were more shots. A man
dismounted near the door. Then a man on horseback galloped up to the very
entrance of the adobe. There was a general movement without, but no one
ventured to go out and see what had happened. They could hear voices,
sharp commands, and far off one more shot. Someone cried, "Keep on after
him, boys!"

A ranger came in. He was an angular fellow, with a bushy mustache, and eyes
like a ferret. His gun was on his hip, and one hand never left it. His name
was Bradley. Gilbert knew him well. Often had he met him in the hills. He
was known as one of the best shots of all that company of men who pursued
criminals and bandits through the State, and drove them over the border.
Few escaped him; and he had a train of lieutenants who adored him. A born
fighter, a born pursuer of men, who loved his desperate life, and gloried
in his conquests. Some called him Bradley the Inexorable. He seldom missed
a shot; and God help those who came into his power.

"We're after Lopez," he said breathlessly. "Been here?" He never wasted
words.

"Yes," Hardy answered. He looked toward Pell's body.

Bradley's quick eyes followed his. "Hello! what's that? Wounded?" he asked.

"Worse--he's dead," Hardy replied.

Bradley stepped close to the still form. "Who did this? Lopez?"

"Yes," from Hardy.

"Got it in the head, eh?" the ranger went on, looking down at Pell, but
with no pity in his face. He was too accustomed to death. A man who had
been killed was just another "case" to him--one of an endless row of
corpses.

Angela came up to the table. "He's really dead?" she breathed, and clung to
"Red's" big arm.

"Who was he?" Bradley inquired.

Hardy motioned to the mute Lucia, sitting so quietly in the chair. "Her
husband. Name's Pell."

"Sorry for you, lady," said Bradley, perfunctorily, as he might have said
"Good-morning." He turned now to go. "Don't touch him till the coroner
comes," he commanded. "Mind what I say."

"But officer--" began Hardy.

"Can't stop," Bradley waved him aside. "Now we _gotter_ get him." He went
out as swiftly as he had come in. Every instant was precious. There was not
a second to be lost.

And still Lucia did not stir a muscle. It was as if she had been turned to
stone. A