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time to brand his face. The Almighty gives us all a fair run before He sets the mark on us, but He never forgets to do it when we've taken the plunge properly. I wonder if you've ever noticed that, Riley?"

The younger man moved uneasily, but gave no other intimation that he heard.

"Perhaps the father was to blame to a large extent for not warning the girl what skunks there are crawling about the face of the earth," Steel said. "At any rate the man dazzled her, a good deal more than any one suspected. You see, he had cultivated the art. I don't know what devilish wiles he employed, but he caught that girl up in his evil net, and before the others knew what was happening he had persuaded her to bolt with him."

There was grim silence in the little boat for a few moments. The sun, now burning with its most fiery heat, seemed to be intent in shriveling its victims up. Steel's eyes were fixed on nothingness. Only the tight grip of his hand, which left the knuckles white in spite of their tan, indicated the nature of his thoughts.

"I reckon it must have been a promise of marriage that he offered as a bait, don't you, Riley?" he asked, with suppressed fierceness. "At any rate, she went, and what she suffered even in going is more than I like to think about. The thing that saved the man from being killed by her father very soon was that he had plenty of money to move quickly. Nothing would have saved him if the old man had caught up to them, and, if you follow me, Riley, he was looking for them powerful hard. The very fact that the girl never wrote showed that there was something mighty wrong, and it didn't take very much guessing what was wrong.

"A girl of that sort would never have kept her father in mental anguish waiting for a letter if she'd been properly married. You'll agree with me on that point, won't you, Riley?"

There was mute agony in Riley's

face, but Steel hardly seemed to notice it.

"Now I come to the worst part," the eider man went on, "and I only know a portion of it. There are some things the Almighty mercifully hides from us. And perhaps that is why the father never learnt too much. All he had to go on was a photograph of the man and one of the girl. Not much help when you consider he had the wide world to search in, was it? But the old man never thought of giving up. He often got on the wrong track, and there was always murder in his soul. He had scoured America all over in the hope of picking up some sort of a trail. At last he found a clue all right. It was in one of the poorest quarters in Chicago. Ever been in Dean street, Chicago, Riley?"

Another dig from Steel's boot and a movement of pain on the part of the prone man.

"I won't harrow your feelings by describing it, but it is just off the Chinese quarter. And there, in the middle of squalor and vice the father found a Samaritan. What her past had been doesn't matter. Perhaps she'd had a daughter of her own. Anyway, she'd sheltered the girl I'm telling the tale about when shelter was needed pretty badly. I won't go into details, but you will quite understand that when a poor storm-driven mortal gets to being wrecked in Dean street, Chicago, she is in need of a helping hand. And while the girl was there she saw the man's photograph in one of the illustrated papers. She had a curious streak of loyalty in her that was likely to over-ride every other consideration, and she was as trusting as a babe in arms. I expect she still thought that inhuman brute would marry her. She sent a letter to him. What she said in it I don't know, but he made an appointment to see her. How she got the money to go I don't know, either, but the poor kid went. She'd told nearly everything to nearly everything to the Samaritan woman, and promised to let her know if things got put straight.

"But she never wrote, Riley, see?"

Riley was feebly trying to shrink away from the cold, remorseless eyes of Steel.

"She never wrote," Steel repeated in a vibrating voice. "Why did she not write, Riley?"

With only the blue vault above as a witness the two men looked at one another, death tapping at the door the while. A shudder went through the younger man's frame, but he did not speak. A film was coming over his eyes, yet he held them on Steel, fascinated.

"I'm waiting for your answer, Riley. Remember, you can't go to the other place with a lie on your lips, and such a lie, too, Why did that girl not write?"

"I could not get there to meet her," the man replied thickly.

For a full minute Steel looked down at him without speaking.

"So you left her in the lurch even at the finish, you dirty hound," he said at last, a burning desire urging him to crush Riley under his heel as he would a reptile. "Man, I've prayed to live to the end without staining my hands with murder. I don't reckon it would be real murder to choke the life out of you as you lay there, but I'm not going to do it. I'm going to let Hell claim its own instead. I have seen men die of thirst before, and I don't give you many hours. But before you lose conscious

ness, I will tell you something. There has not been a breath of wind since the motor in this boat stopped. The current of the sea here goes round and round. Unless I am very much mistaken, we are within a mile or two of the place where we were when you struggled to get that engine started again four days since. You didn't know much about engines, but I did. See, I had taken this away from it. Of course it wouldn't go, but it will when I put this back. All the time you have been starving we have been within three or four hours of your peaceful bungalow. And, see, there isn't a drop of gasoline in this spare tin. It is water. I've cheated you, Riley, to that extent. Didn't you wonder why I kept going? So you left her in the lurch even at the finish, eh? Well, you're going to your God now, and there will be several matters for you to explain there."

With steady hands Steel adjusted the engine, and taking out a pocket compass, grasped the tiller. Not a sound broke the stillness for some hours, save the puffing of the motor, until Steel steered into a little lagoon. Shutting off the engine he ran the craft onto a silvery beach, and turned to the prone form in the bottom of the boat. He put his hand on Riley's heart and then stalked with a set face in the direction of the bungalow. The native servants would do the rest.

THE TORCH

Because my torch is, for some face, A light that leads to God's own place, I must not let its leaping die.

-Torch, flame high!

Because my torch men follow, true
Must be the path I take to you,
God. If I stumbled, they

Might lose the way.

MARY CAROLYN DAVIES.

S

The Land of the

Lawless

By Cardinal Goodwin

(Continued from last month)

CHAPTER V.

OME TIME had passed since Sylvester heard the conversation between Ned Foster and Miss Maddin, and circumstances were bringing his stay in Braggs to a close. Many disappointments had come to him during his short stay there, but these had been spiced with a few triumphs. Not the least among the latter was the esteem, if not friendship, of Schute Star. Schute had attended nearly every meeting, and although the missionary was unable to induce the outlaw to accept his ideas regarding the matter of religion, it seemed that he had succeeded in convincing him of his own sincerity. So fully did Schute. believe in the missionary that he and Mose had quarreled when the latter wished to drive the minister out of town. The result was that the Star Gang had divided into two hostile

camps.

Sylvester heard of the split soon after it occurred, but it was not until long afterwards that he learned the cause. Often he would try to talk with Schute about it, but the latter, in his rough, kindly way, always gave him to understand that he must ask no questions concerning that quarrel.

"Well, Schute," Sylvester said finally, "I shall not ask you again to tell me the cause of your dispute, but be careful, Mose, is not the fellow to be trifled with. You know that as well as I do. I'm afraid there'll be trouble between you yet."

"Course there'll be trouble," he replied. "I knows Mose, and he knows me. He's too much of a snake to face me in the open. He knows that even

he kin take a few lessons from me in handlin' a gun, an' what's more, we both knows this section o' country hain't big enough for us both. I ain't goin' to leave, an' I don't believe Mose is making any plans to. But I'm willing to help things on by taking chances -he ain't. I tries to keep myself where I kin be found anytime, but you don't see him nowhere. When we does meet things'll be settled atween us, just as quick as powder'll burn."

The day following this conversation with Schute was Sunday, the last Sunday Sylvester was to be in Braggs. It was extremely hot, and the grass, which had looked so fresh and green a few weeks earlier had become parched and brown. There had been no rain for several weeks, and even the leaves on the trees were beginning to wither and fall. The dust made travel extremely disagreeable.

It was a deserted, dismal scene upon which the young missionary gazed from Mrs. Maddin's veranda that morning, but no matter how barren and desolate a place may appear, circumstances may endear it to a man.

His experience taught him that summer that the best way in the world to learn to love a thing is to work for it. Ever since his arrival in Braggs he had contemplated the joy he would feel when his work there should end; but as he looked over the little village that morning, somehow he could not help feeling pangs of regret. He had made some friends whom he hated to leave, and there was a strong fascination in the adventurous life of Schute. He could not help admiring this bold, daring desperado of the mountains. He envied him more than he would have

been willing to confess.

There was still another reason why Sylvester hated to leave Braggs. His work there, so far as all outward appearances were concerned, was a complete failure. The conditions which he had striven to alter were still present, and seemingly with. a greater power for evil than they had had at the beginning of the summer. So far as he could see, his preaching had done no good. People were glad to have the meetings, would attend every service, and give good attention, would even come to him and say that they would like to accept this religion which he told them of, but they made no effort to possess it.

He was thinking of these things as he went to the little chuch that morning. Arriving a few minutes late, he found a large number of people already assembled under the trees.

He went immediately into the house and was followed by the congregation. The songs were sung, the prayers repeated, and the service was about over when a number of shots fired in rapid succession just in front of the church, followed by the hoof beats of a horse, brought the congregation to their feet, and caused a wild rush for the door. Some even leaped out through the open windows. Seeing that it was useless to try to stop the stampede, Sylvester resigned himself to the inevitable and let them go. Walking over to a window he looked out. A large black horse was running at full speed across the prairie with a man hanging limply over his neck. He could see that the man had been wounded and was maintaining his position with some difficulty. The two soon disappeared behind a clump of bushes, however, and the crowd in front of the church dispersed some going to their homes, others to investigate the shooting. On his way to his room, Sylvester was overtaken by one of Shute's men on horseback, who told him that the outlaw had been shot and wished to see him.

"Have you secured a doctor?" Sylvester inquired. The man answered in

the affirmative, and climbing up behind him the two rode back to where Schute lay. They found him in a small log hut which was surrounded by dense undergrowth, situated several yards from the road. A doctor had already arrived, and was beginning to dress the wound. It was a mortal one, however, and dressing it only served to increase the pain. The ball had entered the back part of the shoulder and passed through the left lung near the heart. The outlaw never spoke, but seemed to recognize Sylvester when he came in. He looked at the minister for several seconds as the latter picked up one of his hands; then his eyes closed, his hand clutched Sylvester's momentarily, and he lay perfectly quiet. The doctor placed his hand over the prostrate man's heart, but it had ceased to beat.

VI.

The remainder of the day was spent in quiet. Sylvester did not attempt to hold an evening service, but retired early to bed. Sometime during the night he was wakened by the creaking of his door, and raising himself on his elbow he could see that it was being slowly pushed open, and that a dark form was protruding itself through the entrance. Hastily reaching under the pillow, he took out his pistol and cocked it, and the form disappeared. "Who are you?" Sylvester inquired.

"A friend."

"I'm not used to receiving visits from friends at this time of night, or of having them come in this manner, but if you're a friend, come in and give your name. I shan't hurt you."

The man stepped quickly inside and closed the door behind him.

"Well, Sylvester, old boy, how goes it?" It was Ned Foster's voice.

"Why, what in the world are you doing here?" the minister exclaimed. "We're going to bag Mose to-night, and we want you to help us."

"I don't understand."

And seating himself upon the edge of the bed, Ned continued:

1

"Of course you don't. You see, Maud is giving a dance to Mose and his men at her sister-in-law's in the mountains to-night. I persuaded her, somewhat against her will, to do it. I thought with plenty of 'bust-head' on the place, the men'd become so árunk they'd be easily captured. The only thing I'm afraid of now is that Mose'll be too foxy to drink much. The marshal's being here recently, and the killing of Schute may make 'im more cautious."

"And you want me to assist you. Have you any one else?"

"Yes, Joe is going with us. He's out by the gate now holding the horses. We have Trickster all ready for you."

It did not take Sylvester long to decide. Hastily donning his clothing and buckling his pistol around him, he told Ned he was ready, and they went out. Not a sound could be heard except the slow, gentle downfall of the rain and the rumbling of the distant thunder. The night was extremely dark so dark that it would have been difficult to see at all if it had not been for the almost constant flashes of lightning. They hurried out to where Joe held the horses.

"Why, ding it all to dingnation, take it down and hang it up and cock it, if the parson hain't goin' ter join us a'ter all. I jest

"Hist! no more talking; let's get away from here," Ned interrupted.

Hurriedly swinging into their saddles, they rode as fast as they could toward the mountains.

"Are all the outlaws at the dance?" Sylvester asked, riding up close to Ned.

"No; there're two missing. We don't know where they are. One of them is Henry, too."

"Is Mose there?"

"Yes, and two others."

"If Henry and the other fellow should show up the odds'll be against us."

"Yes, unless the liquor helps out. If we could just get Mose and Henry the whole band'd break us."

The rain had ceased, and a faint glow in the east indicated the approaching dawn, when the little party arrived at the foot of the mountains and tied their horses in a clump of bushes. A light twinkled through the trees a short distance ahead of them, and they knew they were not far from the house which they sought. Getting down on their hands and knees the men crept slowly forward. A lizard rattled the leaves as it scampered out of their path, and a coyote was barking out on the prairie. Here and there over their heads the faint chirp of a bird indicated that day was about to begin. As they drew nearer, Sylvester thought he saw a form dodge around a corner at the back of the house, but he continued silently toward the uncurtained window through which the light came. A little later Joe slipped away from Ned and Sylvester, but they were too excited to notice it at the time.

Reaching the window, the young men pulled themselves up, one on each side, and looked in. The sight which met their eyes was by no means calculated to allay their anxiety. Through the open door at the back of the room, Henry Miller was stepping when a knife flashed in the air and sank deep into his back. He fell prostrate upon the floor. Mose sprang forward to dash out the light, but Miss Maddin was too quick for him. Seizing it she placed the large table which stood in the center of the room between her and the outlaw. The latter then raised his pistol and fired, and the lamp was dashed to pieces in her hand. A second shot rang out through the darkness, and was followed by the screams of women and the oaths of men as the latter scrambled for the open door and windows.

Meantime, Ned and Sylvester ran in opposite directions toward the back of the house. As the latter turned a corner, suddenly an Indian jumped out of a window just in front of him, and they ran together. The shock knocked Sylvester's pistol out of his hand, and for a moment they stood staring at

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