"Of course I do. I am prepared for anything out here. I have been making inquiries since I got the information, and they tell me around here that Captain Lawrence was at the head of the Vigilantes out here four years ago, and used to hang up gamblers in rows, at the rate of about half-a-dozen a night," asserts Mr. Ferdie confidently. "What do you say to that?"
"What do I say to it?" cries Miss Travenion with indignant eyes. "I say that I will never believe such a thing until I have proof of it."
"And have not I proved it?" says Ferdie. "How can you prove it any better?"
"By asking Captain Lawrence," cries Erma. Then, not heeding Mr. Chauncey's expostulations that he does not think any less of the captain, and that every one around says the Vigilantes were a necessity, Miss Travenion goes hurriedly into her car and shuts herself in her stateroom, for she is very much shocked at this revelation, as any girl, brought up far away from the scenes of blood and combat and swift justice of the frontier, would be.
A few moments after this, the train, drawn by two giant locomotives, gets under way, and leaving Cheyenne, begins to ascend the Black Hills towards Sherman.
As it does so, Miss Erma's privacy is invaded by Mrs. Livingston and Ollie.
"You have heard Ferdie's awful tale?" gasps the widow.
"About the murderer you picked up on the train," interjects Mr. Livingston, waving his white cuffs, as if throwing off all responsibility in the matter.
"Picked up on the train?" cries Erma, very sternly, rising from her seat, her figure growing more erect, and her eyes becoming burnished steel. "What do you mean to insinuate?"
"Oh, nothing, of course, as regards you," replies Ollie, who is somewhat quick of speech and also hasty of retraction. "Of course you did not know who he was any more than I did when that duffer, Southmead, brought him into our supper party at Delmonico's."