Poor Charley’s face was as white as a sheet; he was slowly sinking down. Clara sprang to help him, but she was too late; he fell all in a heap, and at the same moment Mudd closed on Dick again. He got his arm about the boy’s neck, the revolver fell to the ground, but Mudd never stopped to pick it up. He dragged Dick out of the cave--dragged him toward the edge of the precipice on the opposite side of the trail. “Burn you, Dick Darrell!” he hissed. “You have gone a step too far this time. I did kill your father, and I’ll kill you!” Bang! Bang! Two shots suddenly rang out along the trail. It was Doctor Dan. He was bare-headed and his long hair was flying in the wind. Two shots from his rifle went whizzing past Dick and Mudd. They were not aimed to hit, as Doctor Dan explained afterward. He did not dare to, for fear of hitting Dick. But Martin Mudd, coward that he was, had no notion of facing the Indian. He struggled to free himself, and Dick let him go. “Hold him!” cried Doctor Dan. “Don’t let him escape, Dick, or our troubles will never end!” It was too late. Mudd was on the run already. In his half dazed condition from the whisky he had aboard his steps were somewhat uncertain as he went dashing along the trail. Suddenly he staggered perilously near the edge of the precipice; the disintegrated rock was not able to bear his weight, and it gave way beneath him. Throwing up his hands with a frightful yell, Martin Mudd went rolling down into the valley. With bated breath Dick and Doctor Dan watched him. The end came when with a splash which they could just hear the wretched man dropped into the lake. Doubtless he was dead before he struck the water, for he never rose again. “Oh, Doctor! You have saved my life! But poor Charley is a goner!” gasped Dick. “Come--come!” A horse was pounding furiously down the trail. “Let’s hope for the best,” replied Doctor Dan. “You thought I was gone, but I was only winded from the terrible pressure of that brute. I knew when you bent over me, Dick, but I couldn’t speak, and--hello! Here’s another one of them. Hold on there! Hold on!” It was Tony. Down the trail he came dashing furiously. “Hold up!” he cried. “Don’t shoot. I saw Mudd go down from the heights above here. I’m out of it. There’s a big force coming from the Gold Queen!” * * * * * Two weeks later Dick Darrell stepped off of a Pullman car at the B. & O. depot in the city of Washington. Leaning upon his shoulder was a young man looking pale and interesting, who had evidently been very sick--our old friend Charley, of course. Behind him came a tall, handsome Indian dressed in ordinary clothes. Here was our party home again from the Bad Lands, and as their adventures were now all over, we must bring our story to a speedy conclusion.