“Ah! Tom, you did come!” he exclaimed, for the Gulch Tiger sat before him as natural as life. “I didn’t think you would come back,” was the answer. “Not for a share in your bonanza?” “Mebbe I war fooling you, Jack.” The old driver’s countenance fell. “Foolin’ me--Old Jack, yer pard?” the old fellow said dazedly. “I’ve left the route, desarted my hosses, turned my back on Custer--for a share in the big bonanza that beats the Emma King--” Tom Terror laughed. Jack gritted his teeth; that cruel cachinnation sent the last bird of hope screaming from his avaricious heart. It dissipated his dream of gold. “Tom, you don’t mean all thet thet laugh said,” Jack cried. “Is thar really no bonanza--” “Thar’s one for every man, but he must get it for himself,” was the interruption as heartless as the laugh. The rough hand of Jack Drivewell had glided to the revolver that rested at his right thigh, but his eye was fixed on the figure before him. “Hold on, Jack! Draw that weapon and you’ll hunt for bonanza in a kentry where they don’t hev any,” said the Canyon Thug, sternly, as the driver’s hand touched the butt of his pistol. “Go back to the road and you’ll strike one some day.” “I can’t do thet, Tom. I’ve left the road. From this night I’m Old Jack, the Bonanza Hunter.” The reply of the Gulch Tiger was the lifting of his right hand. “Thet’s the signal!” went through Jack’s brain. Ay, signal it was. Suddenly, through the air came the whirr of that deadly missile whose work we have already seen. Jack instinctively threw up his hand, but too late. The fatal coil struck his meager length of throat, and the leaden ball revolving with great rapidity drew it tighter and tighter at each revolution. Old Jack saw the Canyon Tiger fade into indistinctness; darkness came down the sides of the gulch like a descending pall; he reeled and tried to shriek. Rising in his heavy stirrups, he clutched the deadly cord, and attempted to tear it from his throat. Tom turned away, and several Indian-like figures leaped from the shadows. “Finish ’im!” the Tiger said. The three Canyon Wolves darted toward the writhing man, and the foremost fired point-blank at him with a revolver. Old Jack’s hand dropped from the cord, and his horse sprung forward. Then bang! bang went two more pistols, as the pebbles were loosened by the iron-shod feet, and the victim of the Thugs disappeared from view. “But if Old Jack Drivewell gets over it, there’ll be a general settlement one of these days in Cut-throat Canyon. Now listen to me: we encountered a boy an’ a gal last night. You gave the beauty the string, but the boy got away. He is the chap I am looking for. Mind you, _I_ am to settle with him. If you catch him--and catch him you must--you shall bring him to me. Do you understand?” “We hear our chief,” said Lodgepole. “He shall give the boy the cord.” “That is it,” cried Tom, delightedly. “We understand each other now.” “And I understand you all, monsters!”