He could barely see the form of a man walking rapidly down the street to the horse-car track.

As he passed the window of the saloon the light fell on him, and Sam saw it was one of the two men who had just left the cooper-shop.

Following closely, using all his skill as a successful shadow, he trailed the man to the car, and boarding the front platform rode into town.

Passing a livery stable the man left the car, still followed by Sam.

When Moriarity, for it was he whom Sam was trailing, rode back to the river, Sam was perched on behind the hack.

He saw the wounded Chip placed inside, thanks to the darkness, and still hanging on the back of the carriage was carried back to town.

When the two train robbers turned into the alley Sam was right behind them, so close that he could hear their labored breathing.  Suddenly, as if they had been swallowed by the earth, he was left alone in the dark, nonplussed and outwitted.

Not a point of light was visible, and settling himself against the wall of a building, Sam started in for an all-night watch.

He understood the case at once.  Chip had been knocked down by the renegades, and, probably still insensible, had been carried to their haunt.  Knocked down, either because they had discovered his disguise, or had suspected him.

He was now firmly convinced that if Cook was not an accomplice in the train robbery, he was involved in something criminal, and Sam regretted that he had not been more thorough in his investigations.  Now that Chip was in the hands of his enemies, all others sank into insignificance; so with keen eyes and sharp ears, Sam kept his solitary vigil.

The gray dawn of the morning had taken the place of the night, and Sam, under the shadow of a convenient shed door had heard or seen nothing pass his post.  The day grew stronger, and, chilled to the bone, the disappointed detective left the alley and wended his way to his boarding-house.

The cause of the sudden disappearance of the two robbers the reader is acquainted with, and the reason Sam failed to see them again was because they had left the house by another exit.

The widow, acting as a go-between and a fence for the light-fingered gentry who patronized her establishment, hid her real calling with the guise of a fortune-teller, and her house, poorly furnished, damp and moldy when entered from the alley, was well furnished in the upper stories.

The room in which Chip was confined was the sybil’s chief pride.  Every article of furniture, every bit of painting, the carpets, and even the base-burning stove, were the trophies of successful robberies.

The very sheets and towels had been deftly purloined by the widow herself.

It was this stronghold of the “gang,” to which Chip, battered and insensible, had been brought by his captors.

Cummings, who from his actions was no stranger to the house, in brief authoritative tones, bade the witch to take charge of this prisoner until further disposition could be made of him.