fright disappeared entirely, giving place to intense excitement.  “No, no—­it can’t be—­and yet I wonder if it is!” she cried.  “Oh, I wonder if it could be!” She opened her lips to cry aloud, then hesitated.  She started towards the tents, then paused, and for many moments after the hoof-beats had died out she stayed undecided.  Surely she wished to give the signal, to force the fierce pursuit.  What meant this robbery, this defiance of the law, of her uncle’s edicts and of McNamara?  They were common thieves, criminals, outlaws, these men, deserving punishment, and yet she recalled a darker night, when she herself had sobbed and quivered with the terrors of pursuit and two men had shielded her with their bodies.

She turned and sped towards the tents, bursting in through the canvas door; instantly every man rose to his feet at sight of her pallid face, her flashing eyes, and rumpled hair.

“Sluice robbers!” she cried, breathlessly.  “Quick!  A hold-up!  The watchman is hurt!”

A roar shook the night air, and the men poured out past her, while the day shift came tumbling forth from every quarter in various stages of undress.

“Where?  Who did it?  Where did they go?”

McNamara appeared among them, fierce and commanding, seeming to grasp the situation intuitively, without explanation from her.

“Come on, men.  We’ll run ’em down.  Get out the horses.  Quick!”

He was mounted even as he spoke, and others joined him.  Then turning, he waved his long arm up the valley towards the mountains.  “Divide into squads of five and cover the hills!  Run down to Discovery, one of you, and telephone to town for Voorhees and a posse.”

As they made ready to ride away, the girl cried: 

“Stop!  Not that way.  They went down the gulch—­three negroes.”

She pointed out of the valley, towards the dim glow on the southern horizon, and the cavalcade rode away into the gloom.

CHAPTER X

THE WIT OF AN ADVENTURESS

Up creek the three negroes fled, past other camps, to where the stream branched.  Here they took to the right and urged their horses along a forsaken trail to the head-waters of the little tributary and over the low saddle.  They had endeavored to reach unfrequented paths as soon as possible in order that they might pass unnoticed.  Before quitting the valley they halted their heaving horses, and, selecting a stagnant pool, scoured the grease paint from their features as best they could.  Their ears were strained for sounds of pursuit, but, as the moments passed and none came, the tension eased somewhat and they conversed guardedly.  As the morning light spread they crossed the moss-capped summit of the range, but paused again, and, removing two saddles, hid them among the rocks.  Slapjack left the others here and rode southward down the Dry Creek Trail towards town, while the partners shifted part of the weight from the overloaded pack-mules to the remaining saddle-animals and continued eastward along the barren comb of hills on foot, leading the five horses.