This apartment was lofty, commodious, and not illy furnished. A fire, evidently kindled some time prior to the girl’s present visit, burned in the middle of the floor and illuminated the place. The walls gave evidence of encompassing a boy’s home. There were several rude and ghastly pictures of hanging scenes, and over each hung a dark cord to which a small leaden ball was attached. Beside such pictures as these, six long white marks were visible on the northern wall of the apartment. At the right hand was a long vacant place which seemed to have been left by the artist on purpose to fill up with marks at some future time. “Hal has not been here,” said the girl, withdrawing her hand letterless from beneath the pillow of a cot that lay in the mellow firelight. “He went down to Custer to meet his Indian friend, Red Crest, but he said he would not be absent long. He cannot remain away a great while. I am eager to relate my adventure, and yet I am almost afraid to tell him that I disobeyed him by leaving the cave.” A few minutes later the beautiful young girl lay on the cot with her eyes fixed dreamily on the fire. She formed a sterling picture for an artist, but only a magic brush could have laid in the wonderful colours of the scene. An hour must have passed away before the girl moved. Then all at once, as if roused by a sound, she left the cot and leaped to a repeating rifle which her delicate fingers cocked as she lifted it from the ground. But a figure came in sight as she sent a glance toward the mouth of the cave, and, with a cry of pleasure, the girl sprung forward. “You did not think the Wolf had found the cave, Myra?” fell from the new-comer’s lips as he came forward, and revealed himself as the boy judge. “I did not know who had come,” smiled the girl, glancing half confused at the rifle. “I have been waiting for you, for I have--” He had dropped the hand which he had taken, and Myra, the girl, saw him go forward and halt before the six marks on the wall. For several moments he stood there with an uneasy expression of countenance, then, as if directed by some impulse of passion, he drew a piece of chalk from his pocket, and added another stroke to the singular collection. Myra noticed that the last mark was longer than the others. “A special enemy!” she said to herself. “I wonder if he met the Canyon Monster? No, no! he was surrounded by his Thugs.” Almost abruptly the boy Vigilante turned upon the girl; the piece of chalk still in his hand. “One more, Myra!” he exclaimed. “Do you not see that the last mark is the longest one on the wall? Ah! girl, I met an old foe to-night; but--if he had divulged a secret which I believe he held, there would be no mark there, although I hated him with all my heart.” “A secret! a secret!” cried the girl. “Whom did it concern?” “Me!”