“Good. I go back on mine. Plenty grub, plenty water there. You take him money. Mebbe you go Reservation; buy two horse. No tell Thunder Bird you buy him for me. You do that, Charlie Paul?” “I go,” said the Indian. “Mebbe so tomorrow night I be back.” Sundown the following day found Charlie back at the mine. Johnny had slept for hours, and soon after the Indian’s arrival he determined to ride to the Diamond-Bar and let Molly know that he was not dead. He could depend on her to keep his secret. To withhold the truth from her was needless cruelty. Johnny circled the house before he approached it. A dim light burned in Molly’s room. Crawling to the side window he lay upon the ground listening for some sound which would tell him she was awake. Once or twice he fancied he heard a low sob or moan. Getting to his feet he fastened his hands on the sill above him and began drawing up his body so that he could see into the room. His head and shoulders were even with the bottom of the window when a nail tore into his forearm. The pain of it forced a moan from his lips. It had a startling effect on the occupants of the room. Molly was in bed; but not asleep. Old Kent sat beside her. Neither had been aware of the boy’s nearness until that mournful cry escaped his lips. They turned, mouths open, eyes wide. The old man screamed as he saw Johnny. Pain and the dead weight of his body upon his arms had put a hideous expression on the boy’s face. His clothes were ragged, his face white, his hair uncombed. The dim light threw shadows which only magnified his weirdness. “Take him away! Take him away!” Kent screeched. “Don’t you see him?” he wailed. “He’s there—in the window. Aw-w-w!” And he covered his face with his hands to shut out the gruesome sight. Without knowing that he did it, Johnny flung a beseeching hand toward Molly. A shriek answered him and he saw her topple over upon her bed. The men were running from the bunk-house. There was nothing left for the boy to do but go. From the cover of the willows by the creek he could see men moving about with lanterns. Cries came to him, and above others, the sound of Kent yelling: “A ghost, I tell yuh! He’s come back to haunt me! Don’t laugh at me! Don’t laugh!” And Kent’s cry rose until it broke in a fit of choking. “Take him inside,” came an order in Hobe’s voice. “He’s babblin’ like a child.” The old man fought them off as they tried to lift him. “He’s here!” he cried. “I heard him! Don’t let him git me. Molly, Molly, I didn’t do it. Gallup paid Madeiras to kill him. I swear I didn’t do it. I swear——” The old man’s cries died away in a moan of anguish. The door banged and Johnny knew that they had taken him to his room. A cold sweat broke out on Johnny. It had never occurred to him that this construction would be put on his appearance. Was it possible that this was the very thing Tony had had in mind when he shot him? The sight of him had frightened Kent out of his wits.