It was Mabel Denison who spoke, and in the darkness that reigned throughout Tom Kyle’s lodge, the fearful girl crept nearer her parent, and threw her arms about his neck. “I have not thought once of myself, Mabel,” he answered, searching for the pale cheeks, which his lips found, as he spoke her name. “I have been thinking about you and Lina, there. He has saved you for a purpose--he and his red ally.” “But he shall not carry out his purpose!” returned Mabel, fiercely. “I am not to be this Ogre’s wife; sooner than bear such relation to him I would fly, if I could, to the brazen doors of perdition and knock for admission there!” “My fair lady will need wings ere long, then.” The trio turned at the sound of the voice, and saw a dark form between them and the stars. Though the face of their visitor could not be seen, the great feather that fell gracefully over his head, and the glitter of silver ornaments on the shoulders of his serape, told them who he was. He had parted the skins without noise, and no doubt had listened to much of the conversation which had lately passed between his prisoners. Mabel Denison uttered a light cry as she beheld the renegade; but her father gritted his teeth in silence. “I say you’ll need wings ere long, Miss Denison, if you intend carrying out your resolve,” continued Tom Kyle, and a light chuckle followed his last word. “Your father spoke truly when he said that I spared you girls for a purpose. And I will inform him just now that he, too, has been spared for a purpose, differing widely from the one for which his child has been spared.” He paused as if expecting Mr. Denison to speak; but, as no word fell from the agent’s lips, he continued: “Ladies, I must separate you.” “No! no!” and Mabel threw herself upon her golden-haired cousin. “If we are to remain your captives, let us, at least, enjoy, if we can, our captivity together. Do not tear us apart; if you still retain a spark of respect for womanly affection, you will change your resolution.” “I am not the sole arbiter of your fates,” the renegade replied. “I have been compelled to divide the spoils of our last excursion. Mabel Denison, you are mine; your cousin belongs to Red Eagle.” A trembling cry parted Lina Aiken’s lips, and she sunk senseless into Mabel’s lap. “Sir, you are blighting the purest, the sweetest of lives!” cried the agent’s daughter, forgetting the passions of the man who confronted her. “Sir renegade, let me tell you, now, that I am not yours. I loathe you, as I loathe the scaly folds of the serpent, and--” “Girl,” and the word sounded like ice-drops falling on red-hot iron, “I beg of you to desist. I am passionate--a word makes me a devil!” “No, no! you have ever been such.” The Spanish sword leaped from the gilded scabbard, and Tom Kyle sprung forward with an oath. “Girl, curse you! I can find a wife in the next train, or the Gold Girl--”