“There is a woman in the case,” said Brant calmly. “Otherwise I shouldn’t be here. But she must not be mentioned.” “Of course not. Langford is your cousin, and you are his natural guardian--that’s the line. Light a fresh cigar and we’ll be about it.” They made the round of the newspaper offices together, and when it was completed Brant thanked Forsyth at the foot of the Plainsman stairway. “I owe you one, Forsyth, and I’ll pay it when I can,” he said. “Let me know when the time comes--say some dark night when you need a bodyguard, for instance.” Forsyth laughed. “I believe you would fill the bill about as well as the Silverette man. By the way, is he a relative of yours?” “No; but I know something of him. Good night.” And at the word Brant turned away to begin the search for the lost sheep of the house of Langford. CHAPTER VII AND A MOUNTAIN UPREARED ON the night after the raid Draco’s gambling house was running in full panoply as usual; and thither Brant directed his steps upon leaving the Plainsman building. Arguing from experience, he made sure that young Langford would be found in the kennel of the dog that had bitten him; and carrying the deduction a step farther, he was prepared to find the lad playing the part of led captain to some older villain. It was not likely that the boy had developed a passion for play of his own motion. Brant knew that trade well. It had its master workmen, its slipshod journeymen, its tramps, and its apprentices. He doubted not that young Langford was still of the undergraduate guild; in which case a heroic remedy might yet effect a cure. This train of reasoning led to certain conclusions. If he should find the boy serving as a stool pigeon for some older man, his task would be comparatively easy. The professional gambler is sufficiently wise in his own generation; and a word to the wise--such a word as Brant knew how to speak--would quickly release the apprentice. So much for the boy and the first step in his rescue. After that it would be the father’s part to keep him from forming a new alliance--if he could. For himself, however, Brant foresaw price payings of the dearest. The lower world was thickly peopled in the Denver of that day, and he could scarcely hope to win in and out unrecognised. As a citizen of that world his light had not been hidden under a bushel. He was known to the men of his tribe, and the tribe is nomadic, albeit it keeps well within its own marches. What then? Merely this: It would be passed from lip to ear that Plucky George of the mining camps was in town; that, for reasons best known to himself, he was living for the time in retirement. And thereafter he would better cut off his right hand than be seen in public with any woman whose reputation he valued.