When Allan opened his eyes, it was to find the kindly face of Mary Welsh looking down at him.

“Is it time to get up?” he asked, and tried to rise, but Mary pressed him gently back against the pillow.

“There, there, lay still,” she said.

“But what,” he began—and then a sudden twinge in the side brought back in a flash all that had occurred. “Am I hurt?” he asked.

“Not bad, th’ doctor says; but you’ll have t’ kape quiet fer awhile. They’s two ribs broke.”

“Two ribs!” repeated Allan.

“Right there in yer side,” said Mary, indicating the place.

“Oh, yes; that’s where Dan Nolan kicked me.”

“Where what?” cried Mary, her eyes flashing.

And Allan related in detail the story of his encounter with Nolan.

Before he had finished, Mary was pacing up and down the chamber like a caged tigress, her hands clasping and unclasping, her features working convulsively. ? 304 ? Allan, in the carefully darkened room, did not notice her agitation, and continued on to the end.

“You lay still,” she said, hoarsely, when he had ended; “I’ll be back in a minute,” and she hurried down the stair.

Once out of his sight, her self-control gave way completely; a dry sobbing shook her, a sobbing not of grief but of sheer fury. Jack was sitting listlessly by the window when she burst into the room.

“Why, what is it, Mary?” he cried, starting to his feet. “Is he worse? He can’t be! Th’ doctor said—”

“Jack,” said Mary, planting herself before her husband, “I want you t’ promise me one thing. If you iver git yer hands on Dan Nolan, kill him as you would a snake!”

“What’s Nolan been doin’ now?” he asked, staring in astonishment at her working features.

“It was him hurt our boy,” she said; “kicked him in th’ side as he laid tied there on th’ floor. Stood over him an’ kicked him in th’ side!”

Jack’s face was livid, and his eyes suffused.

“Are you sure o’ that?” he asked thickly.

“Allan told me.”

“Th’ fiend!” cried Jack. “Th’ divil!” and shook his fists in the air. Then he sat heavily down in his chair, shivering convulsively.

“An’ more’n that,” Mary went on, "he shut th’ ? 305 ? boy in th’ station an’ left him there t’ burn," and she repeated the story Allan had just told her.

When she had done, Jack rose unsteadily.

“You say th’ boy’s all right?” he asked.

“Yes—he ain’t got a bit o’ fever.”

“Then I’m goin’ t’ Coalville,” he said. “I couldn’t sleep with th’ thought of that varmint runnin’ loose. I’m goin’ t’ git him.”

Mary’s eyes were blazing.

“Good boy!” she cried. “When’ll you go?”

“Now,” he answered. “I kin jest ketch Number Four. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye, Jack,” she answered, and caught him suddenly in her arms and kissed him.

She watched him as he went down the path, then turned, and composing her face as well as she was able, mounted the stair and took up again her station by Allan’s bed.

Half an hour after Jack had got off the train at Coalville, he entered the office of the Coalville Coal Company.

“I want a gun,” were his first words.

“What for?” inquired the man at the desk.

“T’ look fer th’ robbers.”

The man gazed at him thoughtfully. There was something in Jack’s appearance, a certain wildness, which alarmed him a little.

“I don’t believe we care to employ any more deputies,” he said at last.

? 306 ?

“I don’t want t’ be employed—I don’t want no wages—I’m a volunteer.”

At that moment, the door opened and a man came in,—a tall, thin man, whose head was bandaged and the skin of whose face was peeling off.

“Here, Jed,” said the man at the desk, glad to turn the task of dealing with a probable madman into more competent hands, “is a recruit. And, strangely enough, he doesn’t ask for pay.”

“It ain’t a bit strange,” protested Jack, and he explained briefly who he was.

When he had finished, Jed held out his hand.

“Shake,” he said. “That kid o’ your’n is all right—grit clear through. Will he git well?”

“Oh, he’ll git well, all right.”

“Good!” cried Jed, his face brightening. “I’ve been worryin’ about him considerable. How’d he git his ribs broke?”

“One o’ them fellers kicked him in th’ side,” explained Jack, and repeated the story he had heard from Mary.

“Th’ skunk!” said Jed, when he had finished, his face very dark. “Th’ low-down skunk! I only wish I could git my hands on him fer about two minutes.”

“So do I,” agreed Jack, his lips quivering. “That’s why I came.”

Jed held out his hand again.

“I’m with you!” he said. "We’ll go on a little ? 307 ? still-hunt of our own. I’d intended t’ go by myself, but I’ll be glad to hev you along."

So Jack, provided with rifle and revolver, presently sallied forth beside his new friend.

“No trace o’ them yet?” he asked.

“Not a trace,” Jed answered. “It beats me. But one thing I’m sure of—it’s possible that they managed t’ slip through my lines, but they didn’t take th’ chest with ’em.”

“Then what did they do with it?”

“That’s what I’m a-goin’ t’ find out,” said Jed, grimly. “It’s somewhere here in these hills, an’ I’m goin’ t’ find it if it takes ten years.”

And, indeed, after the first day’s search, it seemed to Jack that it might easily take much longer than that.

“There’s one thing they might ’a’ done with it,” Jed remarked, as they turned homeward in the twilight. “They might ’a’ shoved it up in some of th’ old workin’s around here. They’re full o’ fire-damp, o’ course, an’ no man could venture in them an&r............