Glenister’s plan was to go straight to the Northern and from there to track down its owner relentlessly, but in order to reach the place his course led him past the office of Dunham & Struve.  This brought back to his mind the man dying out there ten miles at his back.  The scantiest humanity demanded that assistance be sent at once.  Yet he dared not give word openly, thus betraying his presence, for it was necessary that he maintain his liberty during the next hour at all hazards.  He suddenly thought of an expedient and reined in his horse, which stopped with wide-spread legs and dejected head while he dismounted and climbed the stairs to leave a note upon the door.  Some one would see the message shortly and recognize its urgency.

In dressing for the battle at the Midas on the previous night he had replaced his leather boots with “mukluks,” which are waterproof, light, and pliable footgear made from the skin of seal and walrus.  He was thus able to move as noiselessly as though in moccasins.  Finding neither pencil nor paper in his pocket, he tried the outer door of the office, to find it unlocked.  He stepped inside and listened, then moved towards a table on which were writing materials, but in doing so heard a rustle in Struve’s private office.  Evidently his soft soles had not disturbed the man inside.  Roy was about to tiptoe out as he had come when the hidden man cleared his throat.  It is in these involuntary sounds that the voice retains its natural quality more distinctly even than in speaking, A strange eagerness grew in Glenister’s face and he approached the partition stealthily.  It was of wood and glass, the panes clouded and opaque to a height of some six feet; but stepping upon a chair he peered into the room beyond.  A man knelt in a litter of papers before the open safe, its drawers and compartments removed and their contents scattered.  The watcher lowered himself, drew his gun, and laid soft hand upon the door-knob, turning the latch with firm fingers.  His vengeance had come to meet him.

After lying in wait during the long night, certain that the Vigilantes would spring his trap, McNamara was astounded at news of the battle at the Midas and of Glenister’s success.  He stormed and cursed his men as cowards.  The Judge became greatly exercised over this new development, which, coupled with his night of long anxiety, reduced him to a pitiful hysteria.

“They’ll blow us up next.  Great Heavens!  Dynamite!  Oh, that is barbarous.  For Heaven’s sake, get the soldiers out, Alec.”

“Ay, we can use them now.”  Thereupon McNamara roused the commanding officer at the post and requested him to accoutre a troop and have them ready to march at daylight, then bestirred the Judge to start the wheels of his court and invoke this military aid in regular fashion.

“Make it all a matter of record,” he said.  “We want to keep our skirts clear from now on.”

“But the towns-people are against us,” quavered Stillman.  “They’ll tear us to pieces.”