The one fact remained that Reddy was himself again, and freed for ever from the influence of Dan Nolan. And, indeed, Nolan himself was destined to pay the penalty for his iniquities. For the detectives soon found the trail of him and his companions; the help of the Wadsworth police force was secured, a bloodhound was brought to the scene, and all that night the pursuit was kept up among the hills. When morning dawned, the quarry was run to cover in an old log hut near the top of Mount Logan, and the detectives and police surrounded it. The robbers put up a short fight, but they saw they had no chance to escape, and the bullets from the Winchesters were whistling through the cabin in a most unnerving way, so they waved a white rag out of one of the windows and surrendered. There were four in the party, Nolan and three tramps whom nobody knew. They were taken back to Wadsworth and lodged safely in jail there, leaving it only to go to the State penitentiary at Columbus to serve a term of years. Nolan broke down at the last, like the great coward he really was, confessed, plead guilty, and turned State’s evidence against his comrades in order to save himself a year or two of imprisonment. So that was the end of Nolan for a time; but his power for mischief was not yet at an end, and he later involved some of his old associates in new disasters—but that story cannot be told here. CHAPTER XX. THE ROAD’S GRATITUDE It was only a memory now, that gray, wet Christmas morning when Allan had been brought home pale and limp, on a stretcher. They had started from bed at the first tap on the door, for his prolonged absence had begun to worry them, and Jack, unheeding his sprained ankle, had hobbled to it and flung it open. He stood silent as they brought the boy in and set the stretcher on the floor. He watched the doctor strip back his clothing, remove the rude bandage that had been hastily placed over the wound, wipe away the blood, and begin to probe for the bullet. Mary, too, had thrown on her gown and stood watching the operation with white face. “Doctor,” burst out Jack, at last, almost fiercely, “don’t tell me he’s dead! Don’t tell me he’s goin’ t’ die! He saved my little girl. Don’t tell me I let him go t’ his death!” “He’ll not die,” said the doctor, reassuringly. “The bullet seems to have been deflected from its course and to have made only a bad flesh wound.” But it turned the watchers sick to see the probe sink in deeper and deeper. Suddenly the surgeon gave a little exclamation and ran his hand under the boy’s shoulder. “Here,” he said to his assistant, “turn him over.” He made a quick cut with a knife under the shoulder-blade, and a little flattened piece of lead fell into his hand. “There’s the bullet,” and he handed it to Welsh. “Maybe he’ll want it for a keepsake.” And he proceeded skilfully to bandage up the wound.