Glen was nerved now to the highest pitch of excitement, for she felt that the critical moment, whatever it might be, was not far off.  Anxiously and eagerly she peered forward, and just as they had almost reached the foot of the trail, a bright light suddenly pierced the darkness.  Instantly every rider drew rein, and the horses stopped almost as one.  All eyes were fixed, upon a blazing fire ahead, around which they could see a number of men moving.  Then Glen gave a slight cry of dismay, touched Midnight sharply with her whip, and bounded forward, straight for that burning pile.

CHAPTER XXVII

IN THE TOILS

Curly reached Big Draw only a couple of hours ahead of Reynolds and Sconda.  He had travelled fast, impelled by a burning rage, eager to impart to others as vile as himself the story he had concocted in his venomous mind.  He was seated in the roadhouse, surrounded by his favorite gang, as Reynolds and his guide rode into camp.  He reminded his hearers how the former had gone with Frontier Samson in quest of gold, and that the old prospector had mysteriously disappeared.  He informed them that he had met Reynolds at Glen West with Jim Weston’s daughter, and that they had both sneered at him.

“I was walking along the street,” the liar continued, “when I saw the two standing together, an’ very chummy.  When Reynolds saw me he tried to hurry away into an Indian’s shack.  But I stopped him, an’ asked him what he had done with Frontier Samson.  This made him mad, an’ he told me it was none of my business, an’ if I didn’t leave Glen West at once he’d set the Indians upon me.”

“What did you do?” one of the listeners eagerly asked, as Curly paused and lighted a cigarette.

“Oh, I just laughed an’ told him that I didn’t care a rip for him or the Indians, an’ that I would leave when I got ready.  Then he an’ the girl made fun of me, told me I was a queer looking guy, an’ if I was anxious about the old prospector I had better go an’ hunt for him myself.  I left them at that, an’ strolled about the place for a while.  But that night didn’t the Indians come upon me.  They took me down into the woods, tied me to a tree, an’ were all ready to burn me alive.  Say, it was hell fer a while, an’ I thought sure I was a goner.  But just as a big devil stooped to light the dry wood at my feet, Jim Weston arrived, beat them off, an’ set me free.  An’ all the time I was tied to that tree, didn’t Reynolds stand by an’ make fun of me.  He said he would shut my mouth once an’ for all about Frontier Samson.  When I told him I was certain he had killed the old man, he flew into a rage an’ cursed like a pirate.  That’s what he did, the cuss.  Hand me over a drink, Tom; I’m thirsty.”

While Curly and his gang were talking and drinking, across the street Reynolds was recording three double claims, for Jim Weston, Glen Weston, and himself, as discoverers.  He produced a specimen of the gold which he carried in his pocket, and explained the exact position where the claims were situated.  This work completed, he went at once to the roadhouse, and asked for his mail.  He saw Curly and his companions, but paid no heed to them.  He was more interested in the letters awaiting him, for there were two, and from his friend the editor, at that.