It was quite dark, though a few pale stars glimmered through rushing clouds; the rain was a mere drizzle. Head and appurtenant body--the latter slickered and bulky--paused to listen. They heard plainly the plup of Bennett’s feet before them, and sat resolutely down on the sloppy stone walk. There was a swift unlacing of shoes, a knotting of laces. Slinging the shoes about the neck between them, they took up the pursuit, swift and noiseless, slinking in the deeper shadows, darting across the open spaces, and ever creeping closer and closer--a blacker darkness against the dark. * * * * * When Bennett had passed through Baca’s door, framed for an instant, black against a glowing square of light, Beck had been watching from far down the street. Assured that Bennett was coming, he then walked on swiftly for two or three blocks. Where a long row of cottonwoods made dark the way, he waited in the shadows. He heard the slow steps of his approaching victim, noted their feebleness, and waited impatiently until Bennett passed his tree. The gambler pounced on him; he crushed his puffy hand over Bennett’s mouth. “It’s me, Beck! If you make a sound, damn you, I’ll kill you! Feel that gun at the back of your neck?” He took his hand away. “What’s the matter with you? You old fool, can’t you stand up? I won’t hurt you--unless you try to talk. If you say just one word to me I’m going to kill you. I mean it!” His speech was low and guarded. “I’ve heard enough talk to-night to do me quite some time. That Scanlon and Baca--I’ll show them how to ride me!” He peered up and down the deserted street. “Walk on, now! Here; take my arm, you poor old fool! Let’s go down and inspect your bank!” Bennett gave a heart-rending groan; his knees sagged, and he clung limply to his captor’s arm. “If it will make you feel any better,” said Beck with a little note of comfort in his voice, “I’m going to rob my own safe next.” This assurance did not have the desired effect. With many exhortations, slowly, painfully, they negotiated the distance to the Bennett headquarters in the old Almandares Block. With a strong hand on his collar and the muzzle of a forty-four pressed between his shoulder blades, the unfortunate banker unlocked the door, threaded the long, crowded aisles in the pitch dark, and came at last to his private office. At his captor’s command he lighted a single gas jet near the safe; it made a wan and spectral light in the doleful place; in the corners of the great room the shadows crowded and trampled. With his shriveled face contorted in dumb protest, with tears on his ash-pale cheeks, the wretched man groped at the combination. Strange thoughts must have passed through his mind as he knelt there, delaying desperately, hoping for the impossible.