“Oh, oh, don’t burn me!” Curly shrieked, as Weston turned and spoke to Sconda.

“Burn you?  No!” was the contemptuous reply.  “I wouldn’t foul this place by burning a thing like you; it wouldn’t be fair to others who have been brought here.  They all were men with some sparks of manliness and spirit left in their bodies.  But you, bah!”

He motioned to Sconda, who at once cut the bonds, and Curly fell forward at Weston’s feet.

“Get up,” the latter ordered, “and never let me catch you again on this side of the Golden Crest.  The Indians will deal with you now.  After that, they will dump you beyond the pass, and the sooner you hit the trail for Big Draw the better it will be for you.  Thank your stars, Curly Inkles, that you have escaped this time.”

There was much suppressed excitement in Glen West that night, for many had heard the shrieks of terror from the Valley of the Ordeal.  But no one dared to question the four and twenty men who later that evening crowded into the store where they received a liberal supply of tobacco ordered by their Big White Chief.  They were men who could be trusted, and they well knew how to keep a secret.

CHAPTER XVII

MAN TO MAN

Reynolds learned from Klota of Weston’s return home, and he was anxious to meet the man who ruled Glen West, and was so greatly feared by the miners throughout the country.  He could not believe that the father of such a girl as Glen could be the monster he had been depicted.  He wished to see and learn for himself what the man was really like, and he hoped that he would be sent for at once to give an account of himself.  Nothing, however, happened that evening, and he saw no more of Glen.

He was seated near the house when Curly was dragged by on his way to the Valley of the Ordeal.  Although the shadows of evening were heavy, Reynolds realised who the victim was, and that he was being taken away for punishment, of what nature he could not tell.  Going into the house, he questioned Klota, but received no satisfaction.  The woman merely shook her head, and refused to give any information.  This both puzzled and worried him.  There was some mystery connected with this affair, and he made up his mind to find out what it was.

Hurrying down the street and past the store, he was almost to the edge of the thicket, when several natives barred his way, and sternly ordered him to go back.  There was nothing he could do, so he was reluctantly obliged to obey.  He returned to the store, and standing outside listened intently in an effort to learn whatever he could.  Neither did he have long to wait, for presently up from the gloomy thicket rose the blood-curdling yells of someone in distress, and he knew that it must be Curly undergoing the Ordeal, whatever that might be.  A cold chill swept over him, accompanied by a fierce anger.  Was this village the abode of murderers, with Jim Weston as their leader? he asked himself.  Were they murdering Curly down there, and had other men been treated in a similar manner?  And would he himself be the next victim?