“Oh, come on. I must figure it out some way. No one must see us here. Our very lives depend upon it. I have it. We can get out the same way _we_ did--out the back window, upstairs and on to the rocks. It is our only chance. Let us get safely away from here, and out on the range, then let him follow. Or, rather, we will follow, to ‘Cactus Bill’s’ claim. I knew he had one, but, drunk or sober, he never gave his secret away.” “We’re in a hole, cull,” said Dopey gloomily, while John said grimly: “You are right. So long as Dora and that boy, Loney, live. Once out of this, and their lives shall never stand to threaten me with the electric chair. Come on; we must not be seen.” They dodged back again behind the rocks and crept along up the run, out of sight. Shoshone left the boy for a few moments while he came into the bar-room, intending to head off any possible trouble for Bennie, in case any threatened, and he said: “Hello, Snakesy! you trying to play the millionaire. Where’s the rest of the boys?” “Gone down to the spring-house to lift a spring-rafter. Have something?” “Not now. Where’s Wild Bill, the Bull-man?” “Setting on a rock out there, pouring water over his head with a tin-cup and taking powders, I think. There’s a young chap with him, a stranger----” “Yes, and he is to be let alone. You hear me! let alone, that young chap. Say, I’m going to tell you something, and that is----” And here Shoshone told Snakes all he had learned about Morris Goldberg, his quest, and the fact that he was caring for this homeless, orphaned boy, and how he had buried “Cactus Bill,” whom they had all known well. They all knew that Bill had a claim somewhere in the mountains, but no one knew where, and, in spite of Bill’s reputation for a quick and sure shot, he was generally liked. It was much to these men to know that the poor, inoffensive man outside had given him a decent burial, and, with quick remorse for their unfeeling joke of the previous day, they planned to wipe out the memory of it by kindness. So Bennie was to be spared, and the “house” was to supply Goldberg, Loney and the horse with all they needed until they moved on. They never do anything by halves out West. CHAPTER IX. There was the sound of a familiar “whoo-hoo” outside, and Helen Pierson, whom the dwellers in this part of the country knew as the Angel, came bounding into the room. “Hello, boys! Whoo-hoo!” “It’s the Angel!” said Shoshone, springing forward to meet her. “Good-morning, Shoshone,” said she, cordially. “Morning, Angel. What you doin’ down so early?” “On my way to Silver Bill’s. I told them I’d come back to-day. He’s out of tobacco, too, and I want some to take him.” “Won’t it--won’t it be bad for the kids?” asked Shoshone, with an anxious look. “Oh, no; he can smoke out-of-doors. As for the boy, he’ll smoke some day himself, and as to the girl, she’ll have to get used to it some day, anyhow.”