"For Heaven's sake!" exclaimed Tommy, "get away somehow. It may be the detective. Can you not get out at the roof?" "I know not." The noise increased. The next moment the door was pushed open, and a tall, thick-set man appeared on the threshold. "You're my prisoner!" he shouted. "I know you from a photograph. Up with your arms, or I'll give you some lead." Smithers failed to comply with his request, and hastily drew a pistol, which he fired at the detective. His hand trembled so that the bullet went wide of its mark, and Berghausen, seeing that he meant fight, and that his life was in danger if he did not adopt violent means, returned the fire. He was cool and collected, and did not miss his mark. Smithers uttered a cry, and pressing his hand to his heart, staggered against the wall, and fell on the carpet, mortally wounded. "I'm sorry," remarked Berghausen, coolly; "but I had to do it." Tommy had flown to Smithers' side. "Are you much hurt?" he asked. "Done for, my lad," exclaimed Smithers, speaking with difficulty. "My race is run. It will soon be all over, and I can't say I regret it." "Shall I fetch a doctor?" "No use. Pray God have mercy on my sinful soul!" These were the last words he uttered, for though his lips continued to move at intervals for some minutes, no coherent sound came from them. The sheriff, who was a man named Dunbarton, happened to be passing at the time, and, hearing the shots, thought it his business to enter the house. He saw the blood-stained corpse of Smithers. "What's this?" he exclaimed. "I am a detective, with a warrant for this man's arrest for robbing his employers in New York," replied Berghausen, "and I killed him in self-defense." "Well," said the sheriff, "if you'll take my advice, you'll leave town and get back mighty quick." "What for?" "The boys liked Smithers, and knew his pard well; they might take it into their heads to lay you out." "That's so," answered the detective. Accordingly he got out of the house, and made his way out of the town, for he felt somewhat the hint given him was equivalent to an order. Tommy had not been noticed by anyone. Seeing that he could be of no further use to the sheriff or to Smithers, who was now beyond mortal aid, he too left the house. At the extremity of the town he overtook a wagon. It was guarded by two men heavily armed, and he saw Berghausen talking to them. "You can go along with us," said one of the men, "if you can fight, for we've got silver in the wagon, and are told to look out for Capt. Jordan." "Good enough," replied the detective. "May I go with you also?" asked Tommy. "No; we don't want any boys hanging onto us," was the answer. Tommy shrank behind at this ungracious reply, and the wagon moved on. Soon the shades of night began to fall, and, feeling very tired, Tommy threw himself down on the sage brush, and fell fast asleep. When he awoke the sun was riding high in the heavens.