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“Open window.” He went out. May Nell stared after him, dazed and trembling. When the key turned in the lock she looked around wildly; ran to the window and tried it. It was nailed down. For a second she stood quite still, gazing straight before her. Then the horror of her plight swept over her; she threw herself on the bed, a crumpled little heap, buried her face in the pillow, and sobbed piteously. “She’s been stolen, mother! But I’ll find her—I know where to look. Don’t be afraid, mother, I will find her!” he repeated with grave emphasis, as he whipped out his knife and cut the dog loose..

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“Me neither,” George endorsed. May Nell looked at him with wide eyes. She saw that he was not a vineyard workman, his clothes were too fine. She did not see them in detail, the large checked trousers, the shiny gloves, and the big diamond, but she felt instinctively that one who could dress so was different from the men she knew. And the look in his face made her cold. One corner of the garden was devoted to flowers, and in this spot the soul of Betty delighted. True, there had been many insidious foes to conquer before a satisfactory result had been obtained. The seedlings which had first appeared in the spring had been destroyed by a cruel frost. Other seeds were sown with many hopes. These grew feebly and were carefully tended by the child. Then the heavy rains came, lasting several weeks, and it seemed as though the tender plants would be bodily washed away. Betty, clad in Moses’ slicker, visited them one stormy day, and as she realized their danger, her tears mingled with the rain-drops on her cheeks. But the Storm-King was only acting his worst, because his reign was nearly over. Next morning, when Betty rose, the clouds had rolled away and the golden sun himself was peering at her through the curtains. Since that time of anxiety the plants had grown and thrived and excepting for an occasional day of strong winds and the nibblings of a few gophers, had had no setbacks. It took a very short time to gather the posse, instruct it, and set out for the mountain. The Sheriff gave Billy an old hat and bade him to a seat behind the swift horses; and Billy obeyed, feeling a strange elation as they set out. It was just like a story. Could it be he, plain Billy Bennett, that was assisting the State to find long-sought-for criminals? The horses flew, yet Billy thought they would never arrive at the turn in the road where they would leave them. He felt as if in some unknown way the man at the hut would surely know of their coming, would hide, destroy, perhaps carry off all that would convict him, and the other, the big man,— Oh, would they never be there?.