“No excuse needed, my friend. You were better engaged”—this with a humorous side-glance at the young ladies. “But I am glad to see you looking so well.” “Where have you been, Mr. Willoughby?” asked Grace. “That I cannot tell you,” replied Dick gravely. “I have pledged my solemn word. I must leave you at eleven o’clock, returning whence I came. And meanwhile nobody must ask me a single question about my place of hiding. There now—that’s all. What shall it be first, Miss Merle, a piano solo or a duet with the violin?” “Supper, I should say,” exclaimed Mrs. Darlington, as she left the room. CHAPTER XXIV—In a Tight Corner DICK’S after-dark visit to La Siesta was only the first of several that followed at intervals of a few days. He came and departed mysteriously, and during his brief stay every precaution was taken that no one except his few trusted friends should know of his presence. But by some means or other a whisper had reached the ear of the sleuth, Leach Sharkey, that the fugitive had been seen at the home of Mrs. Darlington. When the news was imparted to Ben Thurston, the old man quivered from excitement. “At La Siesta, do you tell me? Let us ride over there at once, and search the place from basement to attic.” “No, no,” replied Sharkey. “I’ve got my scouts out. Don’t you worry. We must wait till the night bird comes back. Then we’ll trap him like a fat quail.” “All right. Have my automobile ready, and a bunch of well-armed fellows right here, so that we can make a rush over at a moment’s notice. By God, I’ve been disappointed in everything else—lost my son, lost my ranch, lost my home. But I’m not going to lose that man. I’m going to get him, even if we shoot him down on sight as an outlawed fugitive from justice with a price on his head.” “We’ll get him,” answered Sharkey, with a grim smile. “You may count him a dead bird. I guessed he wouldn’t keep away from his girl very long.” “His girl! Curse her—it was she who lured my son to his death. But I’ll be avenged. If she has been harboring an outlaw, she, too, has broken the law and shall go to jail.” “Well, she no doubt thinks him innocent,” suggested the sleuth. “Innocent! All women are alike—treacherous devils at heart. I would give them the vote—yes, but the rope at the same time,” he went on, growling in savage incoherence. And Sharkey, knowing that discussion or contradiction only added fresh fuel to his vile temper, left him alone. At last, a few nights later, a rider dashed up to Ben Thurston’s house with the news that Dick Willoughby had been seen entering La Siesta, and that, following Sharkey’s instructions, every avenue of escape was now guarded. “Hurry, hurry! I’ve got to be in at the death,” fairly screamed the old man. Five minutes later the big seven-passenger automobile, carrying three or four armed men besides its owner and his personal guard, Leach Sharkey, was devouring the twenty miles of road that lay between the two ranch homes.