"A prisoner! What do you mean?" she faltered.
"A captive, rather; held by a gang of desperados for ransom."
"God in heaven!" Evelyn went white. "My daddy!"
"You are faint!" Raish went to her side, supporting her.
"No, no! Thanks, I am all right." Evelyn drew away. "But your pledge of secrecy—why, it is preposterous! Every one should be told. The alarm given—rewards offered—the country roused!" She moved forward as she spoke.
"No, no! Not as you value his life!" Raish held her back. "Listen. One incautious word, and your father is a dead man. There are spies about us—everywhere. That is why I got you to meet me here—Miss Durant, believe me, by raising the hue and cry you will sound your father's death-knell."
Evelyn shuddered. "I can't believe——" she began, however, incredulously.
"I will explain. Miss Durant, you have been in the district over two weeks—the district in which you know your father's interests to lie. Yet have you been able to locate him, to obtain one satisfactory answer as to his goings and comings, his present whereabouts? Have you not invariably been put off with specious generalities—sugar-plums to soothe a wayward child? Admit that no man has said to you in definite terms, 'Yonder, on such and such a hill, is the camp of Matthew Durant. By such and such a trail can you reach him.'"
"Yes, that is true," admitted Evelyn. "Every one puts me off. Still——"
"The reason is," Raish interrupted her, "that no one knows where, among those mountains, his prison lies. But that he is a prisoner is public property, though not a soul has had the heart to break it to you."