The board was turned back into place and the rug spread out again.

“Safe as in the Strongburg Bank,” said Kit.  “Well, me for the feathers.  We’re going to be kept humping to-morrow. Buenas noches.”

In a few minutes the big ranch house was dark and quiet; every person in it was sound asleep.

Ted Strong had sunk into a deep and untroubled sleep, for his day had been very active, and he was tired when he lay down.

But he had not been sleeping more than a half hour when he found himself sitting straight up in bed, very wide-awake, and wondering why.

“Something wrong in the house,” he muttered to himself.

He sniffed the air to discover the smell of smoke.  But it was not that.

Had he locked up?  He went over his actions just before retiring, and was sure that he had attended faithfully to everything.

The money!  The thought came to him like a blow.

Something had happened to the money.

He was out of bed in a jiffy and slipped into his trousers, and, grabbing his revolver from beneath his pillow, he opened the door and walked softly along the hall in his bare feet.

The hall opened into the living room through an arch in which a portiere, made of small pieces of bamboo strung together, was hung.

As he looked cautiously into the living room his elbow struck this, and it rattled sharply in the stillness.

He had heard a faint creak, and, as he peeped around the corner of the arch, he saw dimly the figure of a man near the door, evidently just in the act of opening it.

With a succession of noiseless leaps Ted was across the room, and arrived at the door just as it swung open and the man was about to depart.

But Ted was upon his back with the swiftness of a bobcat, and they came together to the floor with? a crash.

The burglar was beneath, but this did not prevent him from fighting with a desperation that lent strength to his already strong and lithe body.

He was slenderer and younger than Ted, who could feel it in the fellow’s build as they struggled.

“Let me out, or I’ll kill you,” said the burglar, and Ted saw the flash of a knife.

At the same moment something rushed past them in the dark, and out of the door.

As Ted saw it dimly it was small, and its motions were awkward and lumbering.  He thought it was a dog, and was about to raise his revolver to fire at it when he thought better of it, as he did not want to arouse the household if he could conquer his man without making a noise.

“Don’t shoot,” said the man, who had observed Ted’s motion with the gun.

At this extraordinary request Ted paused.

He had twisted the man’s wrist until he dropped the knife, and then shoved it beyond reach with the muzzle of his revolver.

His strong left hand was in the nape of the fellow’s neck, and Ted had his nose ground into the rug.  He had found a gun in the fellow’s hip pocket, and relieved him of it.