The voice of Scip was heard saying in loud tones: 

“Heah’s de trail, gemmen, ovah dis yah way.”

The scurry of hoofs as the horses clambered up the steep banks, the low-spoken words of encouragement which were given their steeds by the robbers, and suddenly the shrill whistle giving the long-looked-for signal rang out on the still air.

As Scip gave the whistle he passed his arm around Moriarity, saying: 

“Dan Moriarity, you are my prisoner.”

His words were instantly followed by the rush of the detectives who had been lying in ambush, and Moriarity, taken completely by surprise, threw his hands above his head in token of surrender, and then passively submitted to having the darbies snapped on his wrists.

Cummings, at the first note of the vibrating signal, had his eyes opened.  His hand flew to his holster, and the mocking laugh of the detective followed the discovery that his revolver was gone.

Sam laid his hand on the outlaw’s shoulder, and pressing his revolver against his head, called on him to surrender.

Throwing his hands over his head as Moriarity had done, he suddenly brought his clinched fists full against Sam’s temple, putting into the blow the strength of three men.  Without a groan the detective’s head sank forward, his revolver dropped from his nerveless grasp, and he lay unconscious on his horse’s back.

A yell of exultation, and Cummings, turning his horse, dashed down the bank, through the stream, and disappeared in the darkness on the other side.

Instantly the detectives followed, leaving two men to guard Moriarity, for in the darkness Sam’s condition was not noticed, but seeing the folly of attempting a pursuit in so dark a night, Chip’s whistle recalled them, and the chagrined and disappointed operatives gathered around the cottonwood trees.

Sam, who had merely been stunned, soon recovered, and with the aid of some brandy Richard was himself once more.

The notorious Jim Cummings had escaped, but two of his accomplices, Cook and Moriarity, were in the clutches of the law.

Dan maintained a dogged silence as the cavalcade cantered toward Kansas City, nor did he speak a word until he was safe behind the bars in that city.

“You have caught me by a dirty, shabby trick, but you will never lay your hands on Jim Cummings,” he boasted.

To this Chip replied with a smile, “We’ll see, Daniel, we’ll see.  Make yourself comfortable, for you will stay here a good long time, my cock robin.”

A growl and a curse was all that Dan deigned to answer, and turning on his heel Chip left the prison.

Mr. Pinkerton, who had received almost daily reports of what had occurred, which reports Chip had contrived to mail through some one of the detectives disguised as cowboys, now telegraphed that he would be in Kansas City the following night.  Chip and Sam met him at the railway station and he accompanied them to Chip’s room.