The journey back to the cave was not a long one, and they entered it as the first rays of the sun, flashing over the cliffs of Cut-throat, chased the shadows of night away. A few moments later the strange pair seated themselves before the meal, which the fair waif spread on the cavern floor, and after it had been discussed the boy took Myra’s hands, and, looking into her eyes, said: “You will not turn vengeance-hunter during my absence. This little retreat is the place for you. I want you to hear the solution of this mystery.” “And I am burning to hear it, Hal,” was the quick reply. “Whither are you going now?” “To find Red Crest. I want the Indian near me henceforward.” There was a long look of something more than friendship in the couple’s eyes before they separated, and Myra’s followed the figure that went away. As the boy judge emerged from the well-chosen cave home he looked up at the heavens. Overhead the limitless skies wore their garments of blue, but there were shadows in the narrow ravine. Even at noon they lingered there, and as the orb of day declined they grew longer, until once more the little chasm became cold and dark. An ominous silence reigned over the roughness of nature that surrounded the boy lyncher, and when he stepped entirely from the mouth of the cave, it was to glide down the ravine toward the large canyon. Noiselessly he went on until, with his lithe body half-hidden by a rock, he leaned forward and beheld the floor of Cut-throat two hundred feet below. All at once the well-known tread of horses fell upon the boy lyncher’s ears. “Maybe they’ll entertain me with a drama,” murmured Hal, with a smile, as, stretching his neck forward, he evinced great eagerness to catch sight of the cavaliers. They did not keep the boy waiting, for hard upon his words two horsemen came in sight--two men whose figures made the little lyncher draw back and hold his breath for a minute. “They were certain to get together,” he said as he returned to his lookout. “They are magnets which attract each other; evil gravitates to evil, and it is but natural that Deadly Dan and Tom Terror should come together.” Wholly unaware of the keen eyes that regarded them from the mouth of the ravine, the border worthies came on and to the boy’s surprise drew rein almost directly beneath him. At the same time the rapid gallop of steeds came from the west. “The scarlet Thugs! They are going to give me the drama!” said Hal, as he waited. Sure enough, he soon counted six horses that came toward Tom Terror and his friend, and the scarlet Thugs of Cut-throat, well made but ferocious-looking Indians, sat before him like statues carved from blocks of granite. “These are the boys with the strings,” said Tom, waving his dark hand at his band as he turned to Deadly Dan. “I never saw ’em miss a throw in all my life. They call ’em Thugs down at Deadwood and Custer, and it’s the handle that suits ’em.”