Since that fearful episode, now a long time ago, he had not appeared at Helena or the settlements around--at least not to the eyes of those who would care to betray him. Gone to Texas was the general belief--Texas or some other lawless land, where such crimes are easily condoned. So spoke the "Puritans" of Arkansas, blind to their own especial blemish. Even Jerry Rook knew not the whereabouts of his old acquaintance, until some six years before, when he had come to his cabin under the shadows of the night, bringing with him a boy whom he hinted at as being his son, the youth who had that day afforded such fatal sport for his atrocious tormentors. The link between the two men could not have been strong, for the hunter, in taking charge of the boy had stipulated for his "keep," and once or twice, during the long absence of his father, had shown a disposition to turn him out of doors. Still more so of late; and doubly more when Lena showed signs of interference in his favour. Ever, while regarding his daughter, he seemed to dread the presence of Pierre Robideau, as if the youth stood between him and some favourite scheme he had formed for her future. There need be nothing to fear now--surely not; if Dick Tarleton would but discharge the debt. Ah! to suppose this would be to make the grandest of mistakes. The brain of Jerry Rook was at that moment busy revolving more schemes than one. But there was one, grand as it was, dire and deadly. Let our next chapter reveal it. STORY ONE, CHAPTER TWELVE. A TRAITOR'S EPISTLE. As already chronicled, Dick Tarleton has started along the forest path, leaving Jerry Rook under the cottonwood tree. For some time he remains there, motionless as the trunk beside him. The exclamation of chagrin that escaped him, as the other passed beyond earshot, is followed by words of a more definite shape and meaning. It was Dick Tarleton who drew from him the former. It is to him the latter are addressed, though without the intention of their being heard. "Ye durned fool! ye'd speil my plan, wud ye? An' I 'spose all the same if I war to tell ye o't? But I ain't gwine to do that, nor to hev it speiled neyther by sich a obs'nate eedyut as you. Six hundred dollars pre annul air too much o' a good pull to be let go agin slack as that. An' doggoned if I do let it go, cost what it may to keep holt o't. Yes, _cost what it may_!" The phrase repeated with increased emphasis, along with a sudden change in the attitude of the speaker, shows some sinister determination.