est by this man hunt. For the story of how Andrew Lanning had written the message on the bar and drunk with the man who suspected him had gone the rounds. It had received an embroidery of delightful conversation, over which Andrew chuckled many a time behind the door. Besides, a dozen well-to-do citizens of Tomo, feeling that the outlaw had insulted the town by so boldly venturing into it, had raised a considerable contribution toward the reward. Other prominent miners and cattlemen of the district had come forward with similar offers. It was determined to crush this career of crime before it was well started, and every day the price on the head of Andrew mounted to a higher and more tempting figure.
It was a careless time for Andrew. After that escape from Tomo he was not apt to be perturbed by his present situation, but the suspense seemed to weigh more and more heavily upon the trapper. Hank Rainer was so troubled, indeed, that Andrew sometimes surprised a half-guilty, half-sly expression in the eyes of his host. He decided that Hank was anxious for the day to come when Andrew would ride off and take his perilous company elsewhere. He even broached the subject to Hank, but the mountaineer flushed and discarded the suggestion with a wave of his hand.
"But if a gang of 'em should ever hunt me down, even in your cabin, Hank," said Andrew one day—it was the third day of his stay—"I'll never forget what you've done for me, and one of these days I'll see that Uncle Jasper finds out about it."
The little, pale-blue eyes of the trapper went swiftly to and fro, as if he sought escape from this embarrassing gratitude.
"Well," said he, "I've been thinkin' that the man that
