Receipt by Quintell of Lennox’s telegram telling of his failure to turn the deal, along with Rankin’s report charging Lennox with betraying the gang to win favor with Dot, infuriated the boss of Geerusalem and his associates, made the mining engineer a marked man, whose arrival in camp was awaited by gunmen with instructions to “bump him off” as quietly as they could. But Lennox, returning unexpectedly, got word of his danger from a member of the gang, who, yielding to the other’s entreaties, hid him in a rear office room, Lennox agreeing to leave as soon as it was dark.
Terrified at the startling predicament in which he found himself and not daring to risk flight by train or automobile, Lennox in his extremity thought of Lex Sangerly, who he remembered was conducting an investigation at the Huntington ranch. If Sangerly was there, he knew he could prevail on him to drive him to Mirage; if he was not, the ranch because of its isolation would furnish him a secure hiding place until such time as he could find his way in safety out of the country.
With nightfall then, he struck out afoot for the ranch. He held to the deserted back streets and went fast, stumbling along in his feverish haste, glancing over his shoulder. When he reached the outskirts of camp, where the rough rock cabins of the squatters began to thin out and the vast emptiness of Soapweed Plains became discernible through the wide mouth of Geerusalem Gulch, he breathed easier and slackened his pace. He had eluded the assassins. He was safe!
But though he had been one of the Quintell crowd, Lennox had never realized the depth of perfidy in its ranks. The very man who had warned him and given him shelter, had done so merely to deliver him into the hands of the killers. Therefore, no sooner had he reached a lonely point beyond the camp’s confines, where the sagebrush and greasewood rose thick on each side of the road, than he heard the quick patter of running feet behind him. The moon was shining. As Lennox turned, he made out four men bearing down on him less than a hundred yards away.
“Hey, Lennox, hold on a minute! The gang’s straightened things out. The boss wants you to come back,” called out a jovial voice.
The fugitive halted undecidedly for an instant. Then, recognizing his pursuers as uncouthly dressed fellows whom he was sure he did not know, he took to his heels. Instantly a volley of shots roared out, and a hail of bullets went screaming past him. In the grip of terror, he redoubled his speed, dashing desperately onward, gazing about him for some means of escape. Presently his eyes lighted on a shack looming black against the background of hill, a few yards to one side of the road. Just as he discovered it his pursuers sent another swarm of bullets after him. This time they got him. His leg suddenly buckled under him, and he pitched headlong to the ground.
“Help! Help!” he cried frenziedly, making a futile effort to get to his feet.
An answering shout broke from the quartet. Lennox glared around and saw them coming, racing toward him. He could hear the gravel crunching nearer with every footfall. He knew that they would shoot him where he lay, without mercy, as they would shoot a dog, and his horrible thought picked him off the road and sent him crawling madly for the shack.
He reached the door and pounded on it.
“Open! They’re going to murder me. Open, in God’s name!” he panted distractedly.