The lock had been forced; the hasp was hanging, suspended from a twisted staple. Carson had no pistol--it would have been useless, anyway. Carson hesitated, vacillating between two courses. Should he return for help, or should he secrete himself somewhere and watch? The utter foolhardiness of attempting the capture of the prowler single handed assailed him, and he decided on retreat. He took one step, and then stood rigid in his tracks, for a voice filtered thinly through the doorway, hoarse, vibrant: "Don't forget the fuses." Carson's lips formed the word: "Trevison!" Carson's breath came easier; his thoughts became more coherent, his recollection vivid; his sympathies leaped like living things. When his thoughts dwelt upon the scene at the butte during Trevison's visit while the mining machinery was being erected--the trap that Corrigan had prepared for the man--a grim smile wreathed his face, for he strongly suspected what was meant by Trevison's visit to the dynamite shed. He slipped cautiously around a corner of the shed, making no sound in the deep dust surrounding it, and stole back the way he had come, tingling. "Begob, I'll slape now--a little while!" As Carson vanished down the tracks a head was stuck out through the doorway of the shed and turned so that its owner could scan his surroundings. "All clear," he whispered. "Get going, then," said another voice, and two men, their faces muffled with handkerchiefs, bearing something that bulked their pockets oddly, slipped out of the door and fled noiselessly, like gliding shadows, down the track toward the cut. * * * * * Rosalind had been asleep in the rocker. A cool night breeze, laden with the strong, pungent aroma of sage, sent a shiver over her and she awoke, to see that the lights of Manti had vanished. An eerie lonesomeness had settled around her. "Why, it must be nearly midnight!" she said. She got up, yawning, and stepped toward the door, wondering why Agatha had not called her. But Agatha had retired, resenting the girl's manner. Almost to the door, Rosalind detected movement in the ghostly semi-light that flooded the plains between the porch and the picturesque spot, more than a mile away, on which Levins' cabin stood. She halted at the door and watched, and when the moving object resolved into a horse, loping swiftly, she strained her eyes toward it. At first it seemed to have no rider, but when it had approached to within a hundred yards of her, she gasped, leaped off the porch and ran toward the horse. An instant later she stood at the animal's head, voicing her astonishment. "Why, it's Chuck Levins! Why on earth are you riding around at this hour of the night?" "Sissy's sick. Maw wants you to please come an' see what you can do--if it ain't too much trouble." "Trouble?" The girl laughed. "I should say not! Wait until I saddle my horse!"