“Silence, sir! He invested funds in his keeping in speculations and lost thereby. It was, perhaps, a criminal act, but he is more than sorry for it. He has just refused a fortune rather than do wrong again, and I refuse it with him; go, sir, or I will call Daniel to put you out.” Mary pointed toward the door. “Girl, you and this old fool, your father, shall rue this act. I go, but I warn you that you will yet beg mercy of me.” Mary laughed scornfully. The villain moved toward the door, and a moment after was riding away at a speed that Goliath of Gath had not been forced to for many a long day. CHAPTER XIX. MERCILESS. “Mendez, I have service for you to perform.” The speaker was Kent King, the Gambler Guide, and he stood upon a rock that commanded the entrance to a cañon in his front, and from which he had a view of the prairie a mile beyond. It was a wild, picturesque spot, the mountain retreat of the bandits, and a formidable position to attack. The night before, with twoscore of followers, he had gone to his retreat, after committing deeds of deviltry a savage would have revolted at. Well he knew that the vigilantes would pursue him, and that once aroused they would hunt him and his band to the death. His men had urged that they keep the open trail and seek other scenes; but Kent King had an object in remaining, and was determined not to be driven from the neighborhood where dwelt Mary Hale. Now, as he gazed far across the prairie, he saw a large body of horsemen approaching, and, with emotions of dread, he recognized in advance Captain Dash, the Texan, and his terrible Revolver Riders. “We could hold out a week here, perhaps, but not longer, so I must act at once,” he said; and then, having made up his mind, apparently, he called to a villainous-looking Mexican standing near. “Yes, señor chief, what would you have me do?” asked Mendez. “Serve me well, and you shall have a golden reward; you have a fleet horse?” “Yes, señor.” “Go and get him ready for a hard ride, and prepare your traps, for I do not care to have you return here.” The Mexican obeyed, not sorry to avoid the fight he knew was coming. Soon he returned to where his chief stood. “I have written a letter here. Take it to Parson Miller; you know where he lives, and he will tell you what to do. Go by the secret outlet to this retreat, and ride like the wind.” “Yes, señor chief.” The Mexican sprang on his horse and rode away, while Kent King turned to his men, who were rapidly gathering around him. “We are going to have a brush with the enemy, boys, but we can stand them off for a few days, and then secretly retreat at night. Are you all ready for the fight?” He ran his eyes over the villainous-looking band, which certainly was a hard crowd, for there were German, Spanish, Mexican, American, negro, and even Chinese bravadoes in the lot, and all of them men who were legal candidates for the gallows.