The Haunt of the Outlaws.  
After riding through the Blue Fork Charlie and Buck Tom came to a stretch of open ground of considerable extent, where they could ride abreast, and here the latter gave the former some account of the condition of Shank Leather.
 
“Tell me, Ritson,” said Charlie, “what you mean by Shank ‘nearly’ and ‘not quite’ belonging to your band.”
 
The outlaw was silent for some time. Then he seemed to make up his mind to speak out.
 
“Brooke,” he said, “it did, till this night, seem to me that all the better feelings of my nature—whatever they were—had been blotted out of existence, for since I came to this part of the world the cruelty and injustice that I have witnessed and suffered have driven me to desperation, and I candidly confess to you that I have come to hate pretty nigh the whole human race. The grip of your hand and tone of your voice, however, have told me that I have not yet sunk to the lowest possible depths. But that is not what I mean to enlarge on. What I wish you to understand is, that after Shank and I had gone to the dogs, and were reduced to beggary, I made up my mind to join a band of men who lived chiefly by their wits, and sometimes by their personal courage. Of course I won’t say who they are, because we still hang together, and there is no need to say what we are. The profession is variously named, and not highly respected.
 
“Shank refused to join me, so we parted. He remained for some time in New York doing odd jobs for a living. Then he joined a small party of emigrants, and journeyed west. Strange to say, although the country is wide, he and I again met accidentally. My fellows wanted to overhaul the goods of the emigrants with whom he travelled. They objected. A fight followed in which there was no bloodshed, for the emigrants fled at the first war-whoop. A shot from one of them, however, wounded one of our men, and one of theirs was so drunk at the time of the flight that he fell off his horse and was captured. That man was Shank. I recognised him when I rode up to see what some of my boys were quarrelling over, and found that it was the wounded man wanting to shove his knife into Shank.
 
“The moment I saw his face I claimed him as an old chum, and had him carried up to our headquarters in Traitor’s Trap. There he has remained ever since, in a very shaky condition, for the fall seems to have injured him internally, besides almost breaking his neck. Indeed I think his spine is damaged,—he recovers so slowly. We have tried to persuade him to say that he will become one of us when he gets well, but up to this time he has steadily refused. I am not sorry; for, to say truth, I don’t want to force any one into such a line of life—and he does not look as if he’d be fit for it, or anything else, for many a day to come.”
 
“But how does it happen that you are in such straits just now?” asked Charlie, seeing that Buck paused, and seemed unwilling to make further explanations.
 
“Well, the fact is, we have not been successful of late; no chances have come in our way, and two of our best men have taken their departure—one to gold-digging in California, the other to the happy hunting grounds of the Redskin, or elsewhere. Luck, in short, seems to have forsaken us. Pious folk,” he added, with something of a sneer, “would say, no doubt, that God had forsaken us.”
 
“I think pious people would not say so, and they would be wrong if they did,” returned Charlie. “In my opinion God never forsakes any one; but when His creatures forsake him He thwarts them. It cannot be otherwise if His laws are to be vindicated.”
 
“It may be so. But what have I done,” said Buck Tom fiercely, “to merit the bad treatment and insufferable injustice which I have received since I came to this accursed land? I cannot stand injustice. It makes my blood boil, and so, since it is rampant here, and everybody has been unjust to me, I have made up my mind to pay them back in their own coin. There seems to me even a spice of justice in that.”
 
“I wonder that you cannot see the fallacy of your reasoning, Ritson,” replied Charlie. “You ask, ‘What have I done?’ The more appropriate question would be, ‘What have I not done?’ Have you not, according to your own confession, rebelled against your Maker and cast Him off; yet you expect Him to continue His supplies of food to you; to keep up your physical strength and powers of enjoying life, and, under the name of Luck, to furnish you with the opportunity of breaking His own commands by throwing people in your way to be robbed! Besides which, have you not yourself been guilty of gross injustice in leading poor weak Shank Leather into vicious courses—to his great, if not irreparable, damage? I don’t profess to teach theology, Ralph Ritson, my old friend, but I do think that even an average cow-boy could understand that a rebel has no claim to forgiveness—much less to favour—until he lays down his arms and gives in.”
 
“Had any other man but you, Charlie Brooke, said half as much as you have just said to me, I would have blown his brains out,” returned the outlaw sternly.
 
“I’m very glad no other man did say it, then,” returned Charlie, “for your hands must be sufficiently stained already. But don’t let anger blind you to the fact, Ralph, that you and I were once old friends; that I am your friend still, and that, what is of far greater importance, the Almighty is still your friend, and is proving His friendship by thwarting you.”
 
“You preach a strange doctrine,” said Buck Tom, laughing softly, “but you must end your sermon here in the meantime, for we have reached the entrance to Traitor’s Trap, and have not room to ride further abreast. I will lead, and do you follow with care, for the path is none o’ the safest. My asking you to follow me is a stronger proof than you may think that I believe in your friendship. Most strangers whom I escort up this gorge are usually requested to lead the way, and I keep my revolver handy lest they should stray from the track!”
 
The defile or gorge which they had reached was not inappropriately named, for, although the origin of the name was unknown, the appearance of the place was eminently suggestive of blackness and treachery. Two spurs of the mountain range formed a precipitous and rugged valley which, even in daylight, wore a forbidding aspect, and at night seemed the very portal to Erebus.
 
“Keep close to my horse’s tail,” said Buck Tom, as they commenced the ascent. “If you stray here, ever so little, your horse will break his neck or legs.”
 
Thus admonished, our hero kept a firm hand on the bridle, and closed up as much as possible on his guide. The moon was by this time clouded over, so that, with the precipitous cliffs on either side, and the great mass of the mountains further up, there was only that faint sombre appearance of things which is sometimes described as darkness visible. The travellers proceeded slowly, for, besides the danger of straying off the path, the steepness of the ascent rendered rapid motion impossible. After riding for about three miles thus in absolute silence, they came to a spot where the track became somewhat serpentine, and Charlie could perceive dimly that they were winding amongst great fragments of rock which were here and there over-canopied by foliage, but whether of trees or bushes he could not distinguish. At last they came to a halt in front of what appeared to be a cliff.
 
“Dismount here,” said Buck in a low voice, setting the example.
 
“Is this the end of our ride?”
 
“It is. Give me the bridle. I will put up your horse. Stand where you are till I return.”
 
The outlaw led the horses away, leaving his former friend and schoolfellow in a curious position, and a not very comfortable frame of mind. When a man is engaged in ac............