“I was called from the train at a little station, not far from the end of the line. The station agent said he had a telegram for me. Then he said he could not find it--that he must have been mistaken. Meantime the train would have gone on without me, if I had not been watching for such a move. I frightened the conductor by telling him that I knew there was a plot to get me off the train. He did not dare try any more such tricks, and I reached the terminus. The telegraph agent there did not know about any of my telegrams. The place was full of strange men, and I saw the wagons there, ready for the use of the invaders. I tried to get a horse, but the town was practically under martial law, with one of Swingley’s lieutenants in command. “I could get nothing in the way of a conveyance. I went to the hotel, where I had put my hand baggage, and I changed to my riding dress, thinking that I would be ready when the opportunity came. I heard the invaders’ train, as it came in, and then the horse train. I saw the preparations for the start. I knew they were setting out to kill relatives and friends of mine. I thought I would go out to plead with Swingley to give up the expedition, but I was stopped at the foot of the stairs and given to understand that I was a prisoner in the hotel. Nobody offered to molest me. I saw the men start out--you with them. When they had gone some time the hotel proprietor brought in Jimmy, my cousin, who had been concealed in the barn. He found horses for us, and we followed the trail of the invaders. Evidently Swingley did not care to detain me further, after he and his men were on their way.” “He didn’t think he would be held up here at this cabin so long,” observed Bertram. “My stepfather made a great fight,” said the girl, her eyes glowing with pride. “There was not a better shot in the State than Nick Caldwell.” “He was a brave man, too,” said Bertram, “brave and cool. In fact, he was the gamest man I ever heard of. Did you find the diary that was in his belt? I glanced through it, just before you came. Any man who could write that under fire has my admiration.” “Yes,” responded the girl, “and it shows that they would never have beaten him if they had not used unfair means. Whoever made that go-devil was the means of killing my stepfather. I’ll find out who it was, and that man shall pay and pay!” The girl’s eyes flashed, and her hands clenched. Bertram did not tell her that he had been called upon to fashion the go-devil in the first place, and that he had destroyed it, only to have it refashioned by some one else. Nor did he say anything about the letters which he had found on Caldwell’s body, which indicated that the “king of the rustlers” was identified with both sides in the range war. Those letters, the Texan made sure, were still in his pocket, undisturbed. He did not want to destroy the girl’s faith in her stepfather, after her heroic efforts to save him.