The child did not appear. Hollister clambered up and looked back of the big rock. She was not there. They searched the hillside, shouting as they did so. Ruth was not to be found. The echo of their alarmed voices was the only answer. CHAPTER XX A CLASH From behind the cover of a huge boulder on the steep hillside a man watched a car labor up the grade and give up. He trained field-glasses on the occupants. From his throat there came a sound like the snarl of a wild animal. He had recognized the driver and the girl in the tonneau. Out of a hip pocket he drew an automatic revolver. His teeth bared like the fangs of a wolf. Not once did his eyes lift from the driver and the young woman with him until they disappeared round a bend in the road above. He rose and stretched his cramped limbs, then moved cautiously down the hill slope to the car. A child was in the back seat playing with a puppy. “Mamma’s gotta go to town an’ buy Baby Fifi some shoes wif silver buckles ’n’ a new blue dress ’n’ free pair of stockings. ’N’ while she’s gone, you better bee-have or Mamma’ll have to spank you good when she gets back,” the little girl advised. At the sound of footsteps she looked up. The gay make-believe fled her face. Surrounded by love though she had always been, some instinct told her that this man represented for her the opposite of it. She felt a sudden imperative desire to call to her father. “Wot’s yer name?” the man asked. “Ruth Reed.” “That Clint Reed yer dad?” She told him he was. The man’s teeth showed like fangs. “Wot luck! We’re pals, him an’ me. I’ll take yer along with old Cig.” “I don’ wantta go. I want my daddy,” Ruth announced promptly. His grin widened. It was an evil thing to see. “He’ll want you, too, a while before he gets yer,” he jeered. He opened the door of the tonneau and stood on the running-board. “Come here, kid,” he ordered. Ruth shrank back to the farther side of the car. “You go ’way. I’ll call my daddy.” He caught her by the frock and dragged her forward. “Cut out that stuff, missie. When Cig says to step lively, why, you get a hop on yer. See?” She began to scream. He clapped a dirty hand over the child’s mouth and turned to climb the mountainside with her in his arms. Ruth kicked fiercely, impelled by terror. His right arm tightened on the struggling legs. The tramp climbed fast. He had to get over the summit before Reed came back or he would be in trouble. At an altitude of a mile and a half the breath comes short when a strain is put on the lungs and heart. Cig panted as he struggled up the rock-strewn slope. The weight in his arms dragged him down. More than once he slipped on the dry grass and just recovered himself without stumbling. Before he reached the divide, he was hot and exhausted. But he dared not stop to rest. Once, near the crest, he turned for an instant to make sure he had not been seen. His eyes swept the road anxiously. Nobody was in sight.