"I don't know. I guess. Blackwell is in it. He knows every nook of the hills. The party left here not two hours since, looks like." Curly put the newspaper in his pocket and led the Way back to the store. "The birds have flown, Dick, Made their getaway through the alley late this afternoon, probably just after it got dark." He turned to the woman. "Mrs. Wylie, murder is going to be done, I shouldn't wonder. And you're liable to be held guilty of it unless you tell us all you know." She began to weep, helplessly, but with a sort of stubbornness too. Frightened she certainly was, but some greater fear held her silent as to the secret. "I don't know anything about it," she repeated over and over. "Won't do. You've got to speak. A man's life hangs on it." But his resolution could not break hers, incomparably stronger than she though he was. Her conscience had driven her to send veiled warnings to the sheriff. But for very fear of her life she dared not commit herself openly. Maloney had an inspiration. He spoke in a low voice to Curly. "Let's take her to the hotel. Miss Kate will know how to get it out of her better than we can." Mrs. Wylie went with them quietly enough. She was shaken with fears but still resolute not to speak. They might send her to prison. She would tell them nothing--nothing at all. For someone who had made terror the habit of her life had put the fear of death into her soul. CHAPTER VIII A MESSAGE IN CIPHER While Kate listened to what Curly had to tell her the dark eyes of the girl were fastened upon the trembling little woman standing near the door. "Do you mean that she is going to let my father be killed rather than tell what she knows?" Her voice was sharply incredulous, touched with a horror scarcely realized. "So she says." Mrs. Wylie wrung her hands in agitation. Her lined face was a mirror of distress. "But that's impossible. She must tell. What has Father ever done to hurt her?" "I--I don't know anything about it," the harassed woman iterated. "What's the use of saying that when we know you do? And you'll not get out of it by sobbing. You've _got_ to talk." Kate had not moved. None the less her force, the upblaze of feminine energy in her, crowded the little storekeeper to the wall. "You've got to tell--you've just got to," she insisted. The little woman shrank before the energy of a passion so vital. No strength was in her to fight. But she could and did offer the passive resistance of obstinate silence. Curly had drawn from his pocket the newspaper found in the cellar. His eyes had searched for the date line to use as cumulative evidence, but they had remained fastened to one story. Now he spoke imperatively. "Come here, Miss Kate." She was beside him in an instant. "What is it?" "I'm not sure yet, but---- Look here. I believe this is a message to us." "A message?" "From your father perhaps." "How could it be?"