At that time not a soul of that band dreamed that not twenty rods ahead a fair young girl, suddenly roused from sleep, was listening white-faced and with throbless heart to the noise of their coming. “In the name of mercy what wolves have tracked us down?” fell from her lips. “It is merciless fate that sent Harry off and left me to face them alone. But, ah! he is safe. Heaven, I thank thee for that. Ay, I am glad that I am alone.” Myra, the waif, shrunk instinctively to the northern wall where the marks of the boy lyncher’s vengeance were. As the girl stood there, and listened to the sounds made by the new arrivals, she did not allow her hands to tremble at the weapon which they encircled. “Ar’n’t we thar yet? This bullet in my trunk hes got to movin’ about.” Myra, the waif, started. That voice had a familiar sound. Six hours had not passed since she heard it behind the stock of a leveled carbine. But what had happened? A bullet in Tom Terror’s body? Then the Tiger had enemies besides the young judge. “We must be in the cave,” said another voice that seemed to come from a white man’s lips. “But there are too many shadows here.” “A light, boys. Make a fire, an’ while ye’re at work put me down.” The kindling of the fire was not long delayed, the dry splinters of wood scraped together by the Thugs soon blazed up, and for the first time Myra saw her visitors. She saw, too, the strong man on the floor, and in all her life the girl had never seen such a pair of wolfish eyes. “Why, this place is inhabited!” suddenly cried Deadly Dan. “There’s a cot, a stool, and clothes hanging on the wall. By my life, Tom, I believe we’ve invaded the boy’s den.” “Ah! there’s a bed, too.” “Whar?--thet’s what I want just now. Whar’s a nest?” “In yon corner.” Tom Terror uttered a cry of joy, and essayed to crawl forward. But at that moment a voice rung through the cavern and startled every one. “Stay where you are, or I’ll let firelight into your skulls. The limbs of a murderer shall never pollute the cot where I sleep.” In an instant of time, as it were, the fair occupant of the cavern had become known to the Thugs of Cut-throat. The fire leaping ceilingward revealed her graceful figure, her determined white face, and the deadly weapon in her hands. Deadly Dan Darrell, with a cry of amazement on his lips, started from the sight, while Tom Terror, having suddenly relinquished his attempted crawl to the bed, gazed at her in silence. She showed no signs of life, save in the sparkling of her beautiful eyes which drew much of Rosebud Dan’s attention. “By Jove, she’s a beauty,” he ejaculated. “What a queen she’d make for me when I get my fingers on the pile. The boy and she are carrying on business together; but I’m going to break up that partnership.” “I’ll make tarms, pard,” said Tom, flashing the glare of his wolfish eyes upon the speaker. “You speak of terms,” she said. “These are mine. Stand aside and let me pass.”