It was not until half an hour later that the older folks retired.  Anderson Rover was the last to leave the sitting room, where he had been busy writing some letters at the desk that stood there.

As he was about to retire he fancied he heard a noise outside of one of the windows.  He drew up the curtain and looked through the glass, but could see nothing.

“It must have been the wind,” he murmured.  “But, somehow, it didn’t sound like it.”

As he stepped into the dark hallway an uneasy feeling took possession of him—­a feeling hard to define, and one for which he could not account.

“I think I had better go around and see that all the doors and windows are properly locked,” he told himself.  “Brother Randolph may have overlooked one of them.”

He walked the length of the hallway, and stepped into the kitchen and over to a side window.

As he had his hand on the window-latch he heard a quick step directly behind him.

He started to turn, but before he could do so he received a blow on the head from a club that staggered him.  Then he was jerked backward to the floor.

“Silence!” muttered a voice close to his ear.  “Don’t you dare to make a sound!”

“What does this mean—­” he managed to gasp.

“Silence, I tell you!” was the short answer.  “If you say another word, I will hit you again!”

Having no desire to receive a blow that might render him totally unconscious, or, perhaps, take his life, Anderson Rover said no more.  He heard a match struck, and then a bit of a tallow candle was lit and placed on the edge of the kitchen table.

By this dim light the father of the Rover boys saw standing over him a tall man, beardless, and with his head closely cropped.  One glance into that hardened face sufficed to tell him who the unwelcome visitor was.

“Arnold Baxter!”

“I see you recognize me,” was the harsh reply.  “Not so loud, please, unless you want that crack I promised you.”

“What brings you here, and at such an hour as this?”

“I find it more convenient to travel during the night than in the daytime.”

“The police are on your track.”

“I know that as well you, Rover.”

“What do you want here?”

“What does any man want when he has been stripped of all his belongings?  I want money.”

“I have none for you.”

“Bosh!  Do you think I have forgotten how you and your boys swindled me out of my rights to that mine in the far West?”

“We did not swindle you, Baxter.  The claim was lawfully mine.”

“I can’t stop to argue the question, and I don’t want you to talk so loud, remember that.  No, don’t try to get up,” went on the midnight visitor, as Anderson Rover attempted to rise.  “Stay just where you are.”

He was feeling in his pocket, and now he brought forth a strip of cloth, with a knot tied in the middle.