The deputy asserted that Mr. Wagg was wrong to the extent of a damsite, or something of the sort, and reported some recent happenings at the state prison, Mr. Wagg listening with appropriate, shocked, official concern. He opined that it was a long shot, figuring that the convicts had fled back to the region of Levant. The warden agreed. “But the Old Man is bound to have us tip over every flat rock, Bart. He got a call-down for that accident--and this matter on top of it has made him sore. I'm up here this far because I got a line on you at Levant.” “You did, hey?” Mr. Wagg gazed off across the landscape, as if wondering how much of a trail he had left. “You dropped 'recuperates' like a molting rooster drops feathers, Bart,” averred the warden, jocosely. “That was my trail. Reckoned I'd come and tip you off so that you can do a little scouting for the good cause.” Mr. Wagg threw out his chest. “You can leave this hill section to me. Always on the job! That's my motto.” The deputy said he knew that, stated that he would probably spend a week along the highways and in the villages of the section, got a drink of water from a spring near at hand, and departed with his aide. And after the two were far down the slope, Mr. Wagg called in his campmates with the caution of a hen partridge assembling the brood after the hunter has passed. “It means that we've got to stick close by this camp and mind our business for a week, at any rate,” he said, after he had reported the conversation. Vaniman could not keep the complacency out of his countenance. He caught the short man squinting at him with a peculiar expression. “It would be mighty dangerous for any one of us to go far from this camp,” said the young man. “It sure would!” agreed the convict, sententiously. Vaniman was promptly conscious that his innocent air had not been convincing. He became more fully aware of that fact when the tall man and the short man resumed guard duty that night, turn about. It was plain that they proposed to hang grimly to the token in their possession until the token could be cashed in for the coin. The confinement behind prison bars had tested Vaniman's powers of endurance; this everlasting espionage by the men who had set themselves over him tried him still more bitterly. They lacked the sanction of the law which even an innocent man respects while he chafes. While that situation continued he was prevented from taking any step toward clearing up his tangled affairs. He could look down on the roofs of the village of Egypt and meditate savagely--and that was all. Vona had apprised him of Britt's plans regarding a mansion. He could see that structure was taking shape rapidly. Men swarmed over it like bees over a hive. He did not doubt the loyalty of the girl. But he was left to wonder how long her loyalty to the memory of a dead man would endure.