The

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      "I am to take you to him as soon as you 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 of the talking. Both men were working for the same end--to get the ransom paid as soon as possible--and the multimillionaire released; and the outlaw realized that Melissy would coperate the more heartily if she felt she were working for West and not for himself.

      "This is Tuesday, Miss Lee. You will reach Mesa some time to-night. My friends ought to be on the ground already. I want you and your father to get in touch with them right away, and arrange the details along the line laid down by Mr. MacQueen. In case they agree to everything and understand fully, have the Stars and Stripes flying from your house all day to-morrow as a signal. Don't on any account omit this--because, if you do, my captors will have to hold me longer, pending further negotiations. I have written a letter to Mr. Lucas, exonerating you completely, Miss Lee; and I have ordered him to comply with all these demands without parley."

      "Our proposition seems to Mr. West very reasonable and fair," grinned MacQueen impishly, paring his finger nails.

      "At any rate, I think that my life is worth to this country a good deal more than three hundred thousand dollars," West corrected.

      "Besides being worth something to Simon West," the outlaw added carelessly.

      West plunged into the details of delivering the money. Once or twice the other man corrected him or amplified some statement. In order that there could be no mistake, a map of Sweetwater Caon was handed to Melissy to be used by the man who would bring the money to the rendezvous at the Devil's Causeway.

      When it came to saying good-bye, the old man could scarce make up his mind to release the girl's hand. It seemed to him that she was the visible sign of his safety, and that with her departure went a safeguard from these desperate men. He could not forget that she had saved the life of the sheriff, even though he did not know what sacrifice she had made so to do.

      "I know you'll do your best for me," he said, with tears in his eyes. "Make Lucas see this thing right. Don't let any fool detectives bunco him into refusing to pay the ransom. Put it to him as strongly as you can, that it will be either my life or the money. I have ordered him to pay it, and I want it paid."

      Melissy nodded. "I'll tell him how it is, Mr. West. I know it will be all right. By Thursday afternoon we shall have you with us to dinner again. Trust us."

      "I do." He lowered his voice and glanced at MacQueen, who had been called aside to speak to one of his men. "And I'm glad you're going away from here. This is no place for you."

      "It isn't quite the place for you, either," she answered, with a faint, joyless smile.

      They started an hour before midday. Rosario had packed a lunch for both of them in MacQueen's saddlebags, for it was the intention of the latter to avoid ranches and traveled trails on the way down. He believed that the girl would go through with what she had pledged herself to do, but he did not mean to take chances of a rescue.

      In the middle of the afternoon they stopped for lunch at Round-up Spring--a water hole which had not dried up in a dozen years. It was a somber meal. Melissy's spirits had been sinking lower and lower with every mile that brought her nearer the destiny into which this man was forcing her. Food choked her, and she ate but little. Occasionally, with staring eyes, she would fall into a reverie, from which his least word would startle her to a shiver of apprehension. This she always controlled after the first instinctive shudder.

      "What's the matter with you, girl? I'm not going to hurt you any. I never hit a woman in my life," the man said once roughly.

      "Perhaps you may, after you're married. It's usually one's wife one beats. Don't be discouraged. You'll have the experience yet," she retorted, but without much spirit.

      "To hear you tell it, I'm a devil through and through! It's that kind of talk that drives a man to drink," he flung out angrily.

      "And to wife beating. Of course, I'm not your chattel yet, because the ceremony hasn't been read; but if you would like to anticipate a few hours and beat me, I don't suppose there is any reason you shouldn't."

      "Gad! How you hate me!"

      Her inveteracy discouraged him. His good looks, his debonair manner, the magnetic charm he knew how to exert--these, which had availed him with other women, did not seem to reach her at all. She really gave him no chance to prove himself. He was ready to be grave or gay--to be a light-hearted boy or a blas man of the world--to adopt any rle that would suit her. But how could one play up effectively to a chill silence which took no note of him, to a depression of the soul which would not let itself be lifted? He felt that she was living up to the barest letter of the law in fulfilling their contract, and because of it he steeled himself against her sufferings.

      There was one moment of their ride when she stood on the tiptoe of expectation and showed again the sparkle of eager life. MacQueen had resaddled after their luncheon, and they were climbing a long sidehill that looked over a dry valley. With a gesture, the outlaw checked her horse.

      "Look!"

      Some quarter of a mile from them two men were riding up a wash that ran through the valley. The mesquite and the cactus were thick, and it was for only an occasional moment that they could be seen. Black and the girl were screened from view by a live oak in front

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