“There must have been twenty thousand dollars with what I gave Wheaton,” said Glenister.

At that moment, without warning, the door was flung open, and as the young man jerked the blankets into place he whirled, snatched the six-shooter that Dextry had discarded, and covered the entrance.

“Don’t shoot, boy!” cried the new-comer, breathlessly.  “My, but you’re nervous!”

Glenister dropped his gun.  It was Cherry Malotte; and, from her heaving breast and the flying colors in her cheeks, the men saw she had been running.  She did not give them time to question, but closed and locked the door while the words came tumbling from her: 

“They’re on to you, boys—­you’d better duck out quick.  They’re on their way up here now.”

“What!”

“Who?”

“Quick!  I heard McNamara and Voorhees, the marshal, talking.  Somebody has spotted you for the hold-ups.  They’re on their way now, I tell you.  I sneaked out by the back way and came here through the mud.  Say, but I’m a sight!” She stamped her trimly booted feet and flirted her skirt.

“I don’t savvy what you mean,” said Dextry, glancing at his partner warningly.  “We ain’t done nothin’.”

“Well, it’s all right then.  I took a long chance so you could make a get-away if you wanted to, because they’ve got warrants for you for that sluice robbery last night.  Here they are now.”  She darted to the window, the men peering over her shoulder.  Coming up the narrow walk they saw Voorhees, McNamara, and three others.

The house stood somewhat isolated and well back on the tundra, so that any one approaching it by the planking had an unobstructed view of the premises.  Escape was impossible, for the back door led out into the ankle-deep puddles of the open prairie; and it was now apparent that a sixth man had made a circuit and was approaching from the rear.

“My God!  They’ll search the place,” said Dextry, and the men looked grimly in each other’s faces.

Then in a flash Glenister stripped back the blankets and seized the “pokes,” leaping into the back room.  In another instant he returned with them and faced desperately the candid bareness of the little room that they lived and slept in.  Nothing could be hidden; it was folly to think of it.  There was a loft overhead, he remembered, hopefully, then realized that the pursuers would search there first of all.

“I told you he was a hard fighter,” said Dextry, as the quick footsteps grew louder.  “He ain’t no fool neither.  ’Stead of our bein’ caught in the mountains, I reckon we’ll shoot it out here.  We should have cached that gold somewhere.”

He spun the cylinder of his blackened Colt, while his face grew hard and vulture-like.

Meanwhile, Cherry Malotte watched the hunted look in Glenister’s face grow wilder and then stiffen into the stubbornness of a man at bay.  The posse was at the door now, knocking.  The three inside stood rigid and strained.  Then Glenister tossed his burden on the bed.