Only for an instant did Jed Hopkins and Jack Welsh stand motionless there on the edge of the pit, staring down at the gruesome sight the burning cotton disclosed to them. Then Jed sprang erect, his lips compressed, caught up the rope, and rapidly made a noose in one end of it.

“I’ll go down,” he said. “I’m th’ lightest, an’ I guess you kin handle me all right. Stand well back from th’ edge an’ git a good hold. Let it play over th’ rock here where it’s smooth. Ready?”

“All right,” Jack answered, taking a turn of the rope around his arm and bracing himself for the weight.

Jed sat down at the edge of the pit, placed one foot in the noose he had made, tested it, and then swung himself off. Jack paid out the line slowly and carefully, so that it might not get beyond his control. At the end of a moment, the line slackened, and Jack, looking down into the pit, saw his ? 314 ? companion bending over the ghastly figure crushed against the floor.

“He’s dead,” Jed announced, after a short examination. “He’s mashed right in. That box must o’ caught him square on th’ breast. He never knowed what hit him.”

“Who is he?” asked Jack, in an awed whisper, and then he started violently back, as something dark and uncanny whirred past his face,—for Jack was not without his superstitions, and the surroundings were certainly ghostly enough to impress the strongest heart. As he looked up, he fancied he saw two eyes gleaming at him out of the darkness; again there was a whir of wings past the lantern, and then he laughed aloud, for he saw his spectral visitor was only a bat.

“What’s th’ matter?” queried Jed, looking up in surprise. “I don’t see nothin’ t’ laugh at.”

“There’s a lot o’ bats up here,” explained Jack, a little sheepishly. “I was jest gittin’ ready t’ run—I thought they was banshees. Do you know who th’ pore feller is?”

Jed struck a match and examined the dead man’s face.

“No, I don’t know him,” he said at last. "An’ yet his face seems sort o’ familiar, too. Why, yes; it’s a feller who’s been workin’ around our stables. By gum! It’s th’ one thet druv th’ wagon! We’ve been lookin’ fer his corpse everywhere; an’ when we didn’t find it, we thought he was in ? 315 ? cahoots with th’ robbers an’ had skipped out with ’em! Now how do you suppose he got here?"

Jack, of course, could find no answer to the question, but stood staring stupidly down until Jed, by a mighty effort, rolled the box to one side, and passed the noose beneath the dead man’s arms.

“All right,” Jed called. “I think you kin lift him—he ain’t very heavy.”

And Jack slowly pulled the body up, hand over hand, the muscles he had acquired by long years of work on section standing him in good stead.

Then, as the ghastly face, hanging limply back, came within the circle of light cast by his lantern, he saw it clearly, and in the shock it gave him almost let the body fall.

“Good God!” he muttered. “Good God!” and stared down, fascinated, into the half-closed, lustreless eyes.

For the dead man was Dan Nolan.

Just how he had met death there at the bottom of that pit was never certainly known. Perhaps he had been sent down ahead to steady the chest in its descent and cast loose the ropes, and the chest had slipped or got beyond control of the men who were lowering it and crashed down upon him. Or perhaps he himself, helping to lower it, had lost his balance and fallen, only to be crushed by it as it, too, fell. His companions, terrified, no doubt, by the tragedy, had waited only to assure ? 316 ? themselves that he was dead, and had then drawn up the ropes and fled.

Some of those who knew the story of Nolan’s treachery to the robbers, believed that it was not an accident at all, but that his companions had deliberately used this method of avenging themselves and getting rid of him, now that his usefulness to them was past. Whether by accident or design, certain it was that Nolan had met his end miserably at the very place where his captors had intended him to die.

As soon as Jed was got out of the pit, help was summoned, for the box was far too heavy for two men to raise. The news that it had been found spread like wildfire, and a regular procession started for the mouth of the old mine to see it recovered. Among them was the paymaster, and, as soon as the box was hauled up, he produced a key from his pocket, turned it in the lock, and threw back the lid.

“Good!” he said. “They didn’t stop to open it. Knew they ran the risk of being held up and searched, and didn’t want any of the stuff to be found on them. They certainly had every reason to believe that it was safely planted here.”

“They didn’t have time t’ open it,” said Jed. "That lock was specially made—see how it throws three bolts instead o’ one. Nobody could ’a’ picked it. Th’ only way they could ’a’ got that chest open was t’ blow it, like a safe, an’ I don’t ? 317 ? suppose they was fixed fer that kind o’ work, comin’, as they did, straight from th’ pen."

“Or perhaps they was scared away by Nolan’s death,” added Jack. “I certainly wouldn’t ’a’ cared t’ stay here arter that!”

“Well, whatever the cause, the money’s here,” said the paymaster, and closed the lid again and locked it.

The evening shadows were lengthening along the path as Jack climbed up to the little house back of the railroad yards, and softly opened the door and entered. Mary was in the kitchen, and, at the sound of his step, turned toward him, her face very pale, her eyes asking the question her lips did not dare to utter. Jack saw the question and understood.

“He’s dead,” he said, briefly.

“Oh, Jack, not that!” cried Mary, her face gray with horror. “Not that! I didn’t mean it! God knows I didn’t mean it!”

“Don’t worry. ’Twasn’t me killed him. T knowed I couldn’t do it. But I’d ’a’ took him back to th’ pen, myself, an’ waited t’ see him locked up.”

Mary drew a deep breath of relief, and the colour returned to her face again.

“Thank God!” she said. “I was prayin’ all night, Jack, that you wouldn’t find him; I was so worrited t’ think that I’d let you go like that! And yet he wasn’t no better than a snake!”

? 318 ?

“Well, he’s gittin’ his deserts now,” and Jack told her the story of the finding of the body.

Mary listened to the end without offering to interrupt.

“’Twas God’s judgment, Jack,” she said, solemnly, when he had finished. “But,” she added, with a quick return of housewifely instinct, “you must be half-starved.”

“I am purty hungry, an’ that’s a fact,” he admitted. “What’s that you’ve got on th’ stove? It smells mighty good,” and he sniffed appreciatively.

“It’s some chicken broth fer Allan. Would y’ like some?”

“A good thick beefsteak ’d be more in my line. How is th’ boy?”

“Comin’ on nicely,” answered Mary, as she hurried to the pantry. She reappeared in a moment, bringing back with her just the sort of steak Jack was thinking of.

He stared at it in astonishment.

“What are you,” he demanded, “a witch? Do you jest wave your wand an’ make things happen?”

“Oh, no,” laughed Mary. “I bought it this mornin’,” and the steak was soon sizzling temptingly in a skillet.

“And you’re sure th’ boy’s comin’ along all right?” he asked.

“Th’ docther says he kin set up day arter t’-morrer. ? 319 ? He’s got his side in a plaster cast, an’ says he’ll keep it there till th’ ribs knit. He says that won’t take long.”

The doctor, as will be seen, counted on Allan’s perfect health and vigorous constitution; nor did he count in vain, for two days later he permitted the patient to rise from the bed, helped him carefully to descend the stairs, and saw him comfortably installed in a great padded chair by the front window, whence he could look down over the bus............