The tall figure of the naturalist could be seen coming across the clearing. He seldom rode, and this habit alone would have condemned him as mildly insane, in a country where men were known to mount their horses rather than walk across a road. But there was not any part of the high hills that the naturalist had not covered in his daily prospecting for whatever treasures the forest might yield. In his later years he cared nothing about killing wild animals. He had secured a mounted specimen of every species of game, even to the final survivors of the wild bison, and now all that interested him was to observe the wild creatures in their haunts. “Mr. Bertram says he is going to leave us, now that he considers that you have cured him, Uncle Billy,” was the girl’s greeting. Uncle Billy paused, his face showing keen disappointment. Although his rough clothes hung loosely on his gaunt frame, there was a certain dignity in his movements that never failed to impress. His gray eyes, under their shaggy brows, were kindly, as they turned to the Texan. “I’m sorry,” said the naturalist. “I had hopes that you could finish writing out those notes for me.” He alluded to some secretarial work, which Bertram had started during his illness, the transcription and arrangement of valuable, but scattered, notes which the naturalist had made. “I’ll come back and finish that some day, when all this range trouble is over,” said the Texan. “I think it’s better for me to go before any one finds where I’ve been hidden. It’ll save trouble for those who have befriended me.” Before the naturalist or the girl could answer, the faint sound of hoofbeats came to the ears of the little group. The sound was irregular and rapid. “Somebody’s coming fast,” said the Texan. “It’s more than one in the saddle, from the sound. I reckon I’m not going to make my get-away without being seen, after all.” “Let us hide you,” said the girl. “It wouldn’t be any use. There’s too much of my truck scattered around, and there is my horse in the corral.” “You have no weapons with you.” “No use anyway,” was the mild answer. “I wouldn’t desecrate Uncle Billy’s peaceful abode by doing any shooting here, and I don’t believe any one else will.” The hoofbeats grew louder, and Alma and the Texan exclaimed in unison, as two horsemen dashed into the clearing: “Swingley and Tom Hoog!” The leader of the invaders and his lieutenant came at breakneck speed, reining their horses up with a sharp jerk beside the waiting group. Swingley grinned in triumph, as he gazed at the Texan. Hoog, with perpetual malice written on his long, saturnine features, looked on impassively from the saddle.