“If I can only strike it I don’t want anything better,” he thought; “then all I’ve got to do is to follow the shore around till I come to the camp.” He had not far to go before he knew that he was right, for suddenly he passed out of the canyon and came upon the shore of the lake. Within a few rods of the end of the canyon stood an old, ruinous log hut, in the window of which a light burned. There were four horses hobbled near-by cropping the grass which grew over a level stretch that extended back toward the rocks, being the only trace of any green thing which Dick had seen since he entered the Bad Lands. “That’s where they are,” he muttered. “I’ve run them down at last.” He hesitated a moment and then started to walk over to the hut. “I’m bound to help that girl if I can,” thought Dick. “Those fellows are such a lot of cowards that----” Suddenly two hands were clapped upon his shoulders from behind and Dick found himself whirled violently around to face Martin Mudd. “That’s the talk. Glad you came around,” chuckled the man. “It’s dollars in my pocket to do you up, Dick Darrell, and don’t you forget it you are going to be done.” CHAPTER VIII. A NEW ARRIVAL FROM THE LAKE. If Dick had been fool enough to show fight then there is no doubt that he would have been killed outright, for the man Mudd got him by the throat with his left hand and at the same time tried his old game of whipping out a knife and holding it over Dick’s heart. “Hold on!” cried Dick. “Hold on, there, Mr. Mudd. Aren’t you making a mistake?” Dick spoke with amazing calmness considering the circumstances. No one to have heard him would have dreamed of the excitement he was laboring under just then. “No mistake at all,” laughed Mudd. “Mebbe you think I am mad?” “You act that way. I don’t know you and you can’t possibly know me. I’m only a poor assistant in the National Museum. If you are working for money I don’t see where you expect to gain anything by sticking that knife into me.” This remark and the coolness with which it was uttered undoubtedly saved Dick’s life. Martin Mudd immediately changed his tune. “Say,” he exclaimed, “you give me an idea, young feller. I am working for money every time and the man who bids the highest for my services is the man who gets them--mebbe you’d like to bid.” “I’ll make a bid for my life, you bet,” said Dick. “Suppose you explain the situation. I’ll be blest if I understand it at all.” “That’s business,” replied Mr. Mudd, looking over at the hut; “just drop that gun of yours while I hold you as you are. Don’t try to use it on me now, boy, for if you do by the piper who played before Moses I’ll bury this knife in your heart.” Dick threw the revolver down on the ground. There was no chance to use it with that terrible grip on his throat. “That’s right,” said Mudd, kicking the revolver off to some distance. “Now we can talk. Promise me that you won’t make a move and I’ll let go your throat.”