At the same moment the two horses started forward; their speed soon appeared to rival the flight of an arrow. Tom did not follow. Bewildered and amazed, he sat still and looked down the canyon. He was surrounded by the Indians who had urged their horses from the shadows. They were congratulating him on his return; but he did not seem to hear. “Thar’s grit an’ death in thet boy,” he muttered. “He’s the one I’m after. I can’t be mistaken, but I didn’t expect to find ’im sech a match for me. His card? Ah, yes, let me see. What does the little gopher cull himself, anyhow?-- “JUDGE LYNCH, JR. “Court always in Session! Villains executed with neatness and dispatch! “Hanging cheerfully attended to at all hours!” Tom looked up at the expectant Indians, and gave a long whistle of wonderment. “Well, this beats my time all holler!” he said. “Judge Lynch, Jr., eh? Wal, thar’s one feller what he will never hang!” Not many hours after the events related, the Custer City stage entered the canyon. Already the long shadows of approaching night were falling, and Cut-throat Canyon was fast becoming the prince of places for road-agents. The man who held the lines was eager to reach his journey’s end. Apparently empty was the stage. If it contained a passenger he could not be seen; but there were gloomy corners in the old vehicle, large and dark enough to conceal a man. “One mile move, an’ then--thunder an’ guns! just as I expected!” cried old Jack Drivewell. Instinctively old Jack drew rein. Before him, in the middle of the narrow road, stood what seemed to be an equestrian statue. To the driver, horse and rider wore gigantic proportions, which were rendered more than half ghostly by the prevailing shadows. “He looks like Tom Terror himself; but--” Quickly upward shot the right arm of the spectre. Old Jack saw the deadly revolver clutched in the giant’s hand. He had moved nearer--he might have touched the lead horse with the muzzle of his revolver. “Hello, Jack!” “Ar’ thet you, Tom?” “Yes; didn’t I say I’d come back?” “Wal, I don’t know,” drawled Jack. “Fellars what ain’t wanted ginerally come home.” Old Jack thought he saw a smile at the corners of the Gulch Tiger’s mouth. “So I’m not wanted here?” “Of course not.” A moment’s silence followed. Jack saw the horseman’s eyes wander to the stage. “Empty, Jack?” “Yes; thunderin’ poor trip; this road’s got unpopular o’ late. Do THEY know you’re back?” “Guess not.” “May I tell ’em?” “If I let you go--yes.” Jack, startled by these ominous words, felt a cold thrill shoot through his veins. “Jack--old Jack it used to be, while we sifted an’ panned on Feather River--why ar’ you drivin’ stage when thar’s a gold-mine at yer feet?” “A gold-mine!” echoed the driver, dazedly. “Sartainly, an’ one that beats the Emma King all holler.” “Ye’re tryin’ me, lad. I--”