“You, Hal? Why, I always thought I was the best subject for a secret--or some such mystery like they have in novels. What do you think the dead man’s secret was?” The boy shook his head; he was troubled. “If there’s a mystery concerning you, Hal, time will clear it up,” she said. “But the man--was he a Thug?” “No. His name was Dan Darrell. Deadly Dan he was called. I have told you about how he acted on the Rosebud?” “Oh, yes. And so you met at last? Fate brought you together!” “Yes, it must have been fate; but I did not think so when I hanged him. He said that his secret concerned me; he said it with his last breath, Myra. I believe him. Men like Dan Darrell don’t die with lies on their lips.” For several minutes the pair stood face to face, speechless but thoughtful. “I would give my right arm if Rosebud Dan was alive,” cried the boy judge, starting forward. “His stubbornness hung him, more than my hatred or my revenge. Look at the legacy he left behind--a tortured, doubting mind. Girl--girl, you cannot know how I have suffered since I left that wretch and his secret hanging together.” “Maybe, Hal--” Myra, the waif, hesitated. “Go on.” “Once you hung a foe, but the neck was not broken, and he escaped. Are you certain that Deadly Dan is dead?” The boy avenger almost shrieked as he bounded forward. “Ah, why did I not think of it before? No, I am not certain that he is dead. Come, girl, it is not far away; there is a certain place from whence we can look down upon the gallows. The voice. Ah! I recall it now. It frightened Red Crest; it even paled my cheek, for on the spur of the moment, Myra. I thought it came from the dead man.” The hand of the young Vigilante encircled the girl’s wrist, and a moment later the two were going up the waterless ravine. They seemed to hold their breath us they went on, the boy slightly in the advance, and not a syllable escaped their lips until more than a mile of woodland along the top of the canyon had been traversed. “Here at last!” exclaimed the young Vigilante, halting, and then approaching the edge of the precipice. “We are directly over the beam to which I hung Rosebud Dan.” With eyes full of eagerness and suspense, the boy dropped his companion’s hand, and crept forward. He was almost afraid to look over the cliff. Deadly Dan might be hanging there with the secret locked in a heart as dead and cold as a stone. Earnestly trusting otherwise, the boy lyncher shut his lips, and was about to solve all mental questions when a stern voice rung in his ears. “Hello thar! youngster. Do you want to go over the edge o’ Cut-throat, or die whar ye ar’?” A piercing cry fell from the girl’s lips as the boy started back, sprung erect, and wheeled quickly. “I’ve got ye whar I’ve long wanted to see ye--at the end of my rifle. Look at the stars, look at the gal, an’ say yer pray’rs, for my finger’s on the trigger, an’ I’m goin’ to send the bullet home.”