This the "Major" demanded in a manner that showed how bitterly he felt over the event, and his openly announced purpose to have his prize yet, gave little promise of peace or safety to the now distressed and heart-broken captive, whose hours passed in weeping over the awful tragedy which her eyes had witnessed, and whose fears for her own future were even more harrowing than her grief. For a time Lottie Mitchell was treated more as a guest than a prisoner by Yellow Jack and his household. Even Mabel, though herself scarcely so beautiful, strove to cheer up the sorrowing girl, even while a dull pain knocked at her own heart as she recognized the gradually changing expression with which the outlaw chief began to regard the fair captive. None knew better than she that Yellow Jack was even more to be dreaded than Charles Guilford--that Lottie, in fleeing from the hawk, had sought protection of the eagle. With heart crushed and bowed down, Lottie would sit through the long hours in mute despair. She knew now that she was alone upon earth--that not one drop of blood akin to her flowed in human veins. Her loving father had been the last, and now he was no more. He was dead--murdered! And she--oh! why had she been spared? To live on and suffer--to endure worse than death--a shameful captivity in the hands of demons who had love for naught other than sin and crime. And yet, though knowing all this, Lottie believed that she was safe from harm while Yellow Jack extended his protection. She knew that Mabel was his wife--that a fierce, passionate love seemed to exist between them. Then--what had she to fear from him? Thus she reasoned, but the mask was soon to fall from his face--the scales from her eyes. The trial, though slow in coming, would lose none of its force on that account. A brief "scene" had followed the unceremonious despoiling of Guilford. His fiery, untamed nature was not one to submit without a word; besides, he was backed up by the laws of the league, that distinctly said a man possessed the sole power of life or death over any captive he might chance to take unaided. Guilford waited until the entire band had returned. Then he called them around him in the little square of unoccupied ground near the center of the village. His undaunted bravery and boldness had made him very popular among the outlaws. In hot, angry words he told them how he had been treated and how the laws of the league had been trampled upon without cause or provocation. He demanded their vote--whether the captive rightly belonged to him, or to Yellow Jack. The outlaws seemed about to reply--to give the words utterance that would please the orator--when a clear, metallic voice silenced them. The outlaws, bold and desperate men though they were, seemed awed and shrunk silently back, parting before the approach of that one slender, frail-looking man, who so negligently puffed at a tiny cigarette.