“Read aloud what the paper says,” Dillon ordered.

His sister handed the Avalanche to her niece.  Arlie found the article and began to read: 

“A dastardly outrage occurred three miles from Gimlet Butte last night.  While on their way home from the trial of the well-known Three Pines sheep raid case, a small party of citizens were attacked by miscreants presumed to be from the Cedar Mountain country.  How many of these there were we have no means of knowing, as the culprits disappeared in the mountains after murdering William Faulkner, a well-known sheep man, and wounding Tom Long.”

There followed a lurid account of the battle, written from the point of view of the other side.  After which the editor paid his respects to Fraser, though not by name.

“One of the ruffians, for some unknown reason—­ perhaps in the hope of getting a chance to slay another victim—­ remained too long near the scene of the atrocity and was apprehended early this morning by that fearless deputy, James Schilling.  He refused to give his name or any other information about himself.  While the man is a stranger to Gimlet Butte, there can be no doubt that he is one of the Lost Valley desperadoes implicated in the Squaw Creek raid some months ago.  Since the bullet that killed Faulkner was probably fired from the rifle carried by this man, it is safe to assume that the actual murderer was apprehended.  The man is above medium height, well built and muscular, and carries all the earmarks of a desperate character.”

Arlie glanced up from her reading to smile at Fraser.  “Dad and I are miscreants, and you are a ruffian and a desperate character,” she told him gayly.

“Go on, honey,” her father urged.

The account told how the prisoner had been confined in the jail, and how the citizens, wrought up by the continued lawlessness of the Lost Valley district, had quietly gathered to make an example of the captured man.  While condemning lynching in general, the Avalanche wanted to go on record as saying that if ever it was justifiable this was the occasion.  Unfortunately, the prisoner, giving thus further evidence of his desperate nature, had cut his way out of prison with a pocketknife and escaped from town by means of a horse he found saddled and did not hesitate to steal.  At the time of going to press he had not yet been recaptured, though Sheriff Brandt had several posses on his trail.  The outlaw had cut the telephone wires, but it was confidently believed he would be captured before he reached his friends in the mountains.

Arlie’s eyes were shining.  She looked at Briscoe and handed him the paper triumphantly.  This was her vindication for bringing the hunted man to Lost Valley.  He had been fighting their battles and had almost lost his life in doing it.  Jed might say what he liked while she had this to refute him.

“I guess that editor doesn’t believe so confidently as he pretends,” she said.  “Anyhow, he has guessed wrong.  Mr. Fraser has reached his friends, and they’ll look out for him.”