They slipped from the cabin toward the road. A gust of wind swept the gulch, bringing with it a menacing jangle of horrible laughter. The fugitives threw away the remnant of their pride and stumbled through the sagebrush at a run. Their hearts were in their throats. When they looked back it was with the expectation of seeing hobgoblins burst from the chaparral in pursuit.
Presently Hugh McClintock stole up to the cabin and removed a tick-tack from each of the shattered windows. He cut down from the scrub pine at the mouth of the gorge a kind of æolian harp he had made out of violin strings and a soap box. The wind, whistling through this, had given out the weird wail which had shaken the nerves of Dutch. The falsetto laughter had been an histrionic effort of Hugh’s own vocal cords. It happened that just now his voice was changing.
The youngster went home to bed and to sleep. Meanwhile Dutch, to restore his weakened self-esteem and courage, drank heavily through the night.
In the morning Hugh made his few preparations. He wrote a letter to his father and another to Scot. He ate a good breakfast. He examined carefully his revolver and a sawed-off shotgun loaded with slugs.
By way of back alleys he reached the Glory Hole and slipped through the back entrance to a small table in the darkest corner of the saloon. Except for the bartender Hugh was almost alone in the place. Two men, their feet on the rail, were discussing the bonanza in Last Chance Hill. They were comparing the merits of the Real Del Monte and the Wide West, both of which mines were producing very rich ore. Occasionally somebody else drifted in and out again.
The bartender looked curiously at the young fellow with the sawed-off shotgun on the table in front of him. He was a little puzzled to know what to do. He did not want to intrude in anybody’s private affairs, but he did not want any trouble in the Glory Hole. Perhaps this youngster was going hunting and had agreed to meet someone here.
The attendant drifted that way on pretense of wiping a table with a towel.
“Serve you anything?” he asked casually.
“No, thanks.”
“Waitin’ for someone?”