That night in the small hours five masked men rode very quietly through the streets to the vicinity of the jail. All were heavily armed, and one of them was leading an extra saddle horse. The party dismounted under the shadow of some trees. One man held the horses, while his four companions, with drawn revolvers, advanced to the gateway. Whether it was a simple case of cowardly yielding to threats, or whether there had been preliminary financial greasing of locks and bolts, aided perhaps by sympathy for the prisoner, the fact remains that within a very few minutes Dick Willoughby had been brought from his cell. “You are a free man, Mr. Willoughby,” said the leader of the masked band in a low voice. “You will come with us.” “Who are you?” asked Dick. “We are friends—that is enough.” “I have no wish to go,” protested Dick in the hearing of the jailers. “The jury must acquit me—I am ready to remain here until they do acquit me.” “Take care. The man with the money can put the rope round your neck.” “I am not afraid.” “There is another reason. The name of a certain young lady must not be introduced into this case.” “I have begged her not to testify.” “But she will testify if this trial goes on—that you know well. Now you will come with us, for her sake if not for your own.” “Be it so then,” replied Dick. “Lead the way.” Just as quietly as they had come the little band of riders rode through the silent and deserted streets. They took the southern road, and for the first few miles kept to the thoroughfare. Then, reaching a stretch of unreclaimed land, they started across country. The night was moonless and dark, but Dick knew instinctively that they were making for the mountainous country to the north of the Tejon Pass. The leader rode a short distance ahead. Not a word was spoken. In about two hours they were among the foothills. The pace slackened, and then, as they reached a clump of oaks, a halt was called. From under the shadow of the trees a man appeared, leading two sturdy little mountain ponies. The newcomer wore no mask. “This man will be your guide from now on,” announced the leader, whose features were still concealed by the strip of black cloth tied around the lower part of his face. “I am sorry we must ask you to wear a blindfold, Mr. Willoughby. But you are among friends, and I feel sure you will help us all by your ready assent.” “I am in your hands,” replied Dick, quietly. A few minutes later he was seated on one of the ponies, his eyes securely bandaged. The saddle was a big comfortable Mexican one, and he rested his hands on the horn; for there was no bridle, only a leading rein held by the man mounted on the other pony. “Adios!” It was the leader’s voice again, and now once more Dick was on the move, the nimble little pony cantering gently over the turf. 0006