“That's all right. If you do want to keep it quiet I'm with you. But there's something more. Your brother escaped from Yuma with this fellow Struve. Word came over the wire an hour or two ago that Struve had been captured and that it was certain he had killed his pal, your brother. That's why I mean to see him hanged before mo'ning.” “He did kill my brother. He told me so himself.” Her voice carried a sob for an instant, but she went on resolutely. “What has that to do with it? Isn't there any law in Texas? Hasn't he been captured? And isn't he being taken back to his punishment?” “He told you so himself!” the man echoed. “When did he tell you? When did you see him?” “I was alone with him for twelve hours in the desert.” “Alone with you?” His puzzled face showed how he was trying to take this in, “I don't understand. How could he be alone with you?” “I thought he was my brother and I was helping him to escape from Fort Lincoln.” “Helping him to escape! Helping Wolf Struve to escape! Well, I'm darned if that don't beat my time. How come you to think him your brother?” the man asked suspiciously. “It doesn't matter how or why. I thought so. That's enough.” “And you were alone with him--why, you must have been alone with him all night,” cried Dunke, coming to a fresh discovery. “I was,” she admitted very quietly. A new suspicion edged itself into his mind. “What did you talk about? Did he say anything about--Did he--He always was a terrible liar. Nobody ever believed Wolf Struve.” Without understanding the reason for it, she could see that he was uneasy, that he was trying to discount the value of anything the convict might have told her. Yet what could Struve the convict, No. 9,432, have to do with the millionaire mine-owner, Thomas J. Dunke? What could there be in common between them? Why should the latter fear what the other had to tell? The thing was preposterous on the face of it, but the girl knew by some woman's instinct that she was on the edge of a secret Dunke held hidden deep in his heart from all the world. Only this much she guessed; that Struve was a sharer of his secret, and therefore he was set on lynching the man before he had time to tell it. “They got away, didn't they?” she asked. “They got away--for the present,” he answered grimly. “But we're still hunting them.” “Can't you let the law take its course, Mr. Danke? Is it necessary to do this terrible thing?” “Don't you worry any about it, Miss Kinney. This ain't a woman's job. I'll attend to it.” “But my friends,” she reminded him. “We ain't intending to hurt them any. Come, I'll see you home. You staying at the hotel?” “I don't know. I haven't made any arrangements yet.” “Well, we'll go make them now.” But she did not move. “I'm not going in till I know how this comes out.” He was a man used to having his own brutal way, one strong by nature, with strength increased by the money upon which he rode rough-shod to success.