"That's all right, ma'am. You've helped a lot and I only hope I can get this crowd." He started for the door, but remembered one thing more. "That war bag of mine—I suppose Bart took it to the hotel when he moved. I'll be needing that other uniform when this mystery is cleared."
"The bag is still upstairs," she said quickly. "Bart only took some documents and papers besides what he wore. He didn't know but what his identity would be questioned when he suddenly changed from a mining expert to a policeman."
"And the room—is it rented?"
She shook her head.
"Then, if you'll accept me as a tenant until further notice we'll let the bag stay where it is. The rent?"
"I couldn't think of taking rent from you when you're working out my revenge," she said.
Seymour frowned. "I'm seeing that justice is done, madam," he said, referring to her use of the word revenge. "I am teaching Gold the value of human life. And I'll pay for the room—the usual rate."
To escape further discussion he hurried into the fallen night. Pondering the marvelous complexities of the women met in a day on the "Last Frontier," he nearly plumped into a mud hole which lay out front. Close to the shack lay a beaten path; this he followed. At the corner he was edging into the vacant lot which adjoined, when, without a swish of warning, something blacker than night fell over him.
Instinctively he struck out at this blackness, his knuckles denting a yielding substance that had a fibrous touch. Before he could throw off its enveloping folds, he felt a pair of strong arms go around his waist. They closed in as with a gathering string. The covering evidently was a horse blanket judging by the smell.
As a sudden surge of fury against such artful man-handling lent him strength to thrash about, a heavy blow fell upon the back of his head. He felt his knees weaken under the shock of it, but clawed and strained to break the hold about his waist. A second hammering blow descended. His ability to struggle failed him. His knees gave way. He was sinking into vast depths. The Gold garroters, whoever they were and whatever their object, had got him. "Scarlet" Seymour was out!