One of the robbers was captured that night, as he attempted to escape into the hills. The town and the valley had been aroused. Steve Harkness led the capturing party, and short work was made of this robber. When morning dawned a rope and a telegraph pole alone upheld him from the earth. As the body swung at the sport of the wind, the blackened face was turned now and then toward the flat-topped mountain. On the breast was displayed this scrawl: “SO’S HE CAN LOOK AT THE SCENERY.” The body was that of Clem Arkwright. CHAPTER XVII SHADOWS BEFORE Philip Davison, conveyed to his home in Paradise Valley, hovered between life and death, attended by Doctor Clayton and waited upon by Lucy and Justin. Fogg lent a hand with hearty will, and Pearl Harkness, forgetting that there had ever been any disagreement between Davison and her husband, established herself again for a time in the Davison home, that she might assist Lucy. Steve Harkness, not to be outdone by his wife, offered his services in any way they could be utilized, and found that there was enough for him to do. Davison improved somewhat, but could not leave his bed. From the strong man he had been reduced until he was as helpless as a child; and for a time his mental strength was but little better than his physical. Before going back to Denver Fogg took Justin aside. “I don’t see but I shall have to ask you to look after things here, Justin, while I am gone.” “Command me in any way,” said Justin. “It’s a lucky thing that you’re capable of taking hold now. Some one ought to visit the Purgatoire and see how the cattle are doing there, and some one must ride the ditch and look out for matters at this end of the line. Harkness can go to the Purgatoire; he will go if you ask him, though likely he wouldn’t for me; and you can have charge here.” Fogg was mentally distressed. The shock had left its traces even on his buoyant nature. Through worry he had lost girth; the ponderous stomach on which the shining chain heaved up and down as he breathed heavily and talked was not so assertively protuberant, and his fat face had lost something of its unctuous shine. Somehow, though he could hardly account for it, for nothing in the shape of material wealth had so far been lost there by him, Paradise Valley oppressed him like a bad dream, and he was anxious to get away from it for a time. “I shall be glad to do whatever I can,” Justin declared.