Westcott drove, with Miss Donovan perched beside him on the spring-seat, and Cavendish lying on a pile of blankets beneath the shadow of the canvas top.  It became exceedingly hot as the sun mounted into the sky, and once they encountered a sand storm, which so blinded horses and driver, they were compelled to halt and turn aside from its fury for nearly an hour.  The wounded man must have suffered, yet made no complaint.  Indeed he seemed almost cheerful, and so deeply interested in the strange story in which he had unconsciously borne part, as to constantly question those riding in front for details.

Westcott and Stella, in spite of the drear, dread monotony of those miles of sand, the desolate barrenness of which extended about in every direction, and, at last, weighed heavily upon their spirits, found the ride anything but tedious.  They had so much to be thankful for, hopeful over:  so much to say to each other.  She described all that had occurred during her imprisonment, and he, in turn, told the story of what himself and Brennan had passed through in the search for her captors.  Cavendish listened eagerly to each recital, lifting his head to interject a question of interest, and then dropping wearily back again upon his blankets.

They stopped to lunch at Baxter Springs, and to water the team; and it was considerably after dark when they finally drove creaking up the main street of Haskell and stopped in front of the Timmons House to unload.  The street was devoid of excitement, although the Red Dog was wide open for business, and Westcott caught a glimpse of Mike busily engaged behind the bar.  A man or two passing glanced at them curiously, but, possibly because of failure to recognise him in the darkness, no alarm was raised, or any effort made to block their progress.  Without Lacy to urge them on, the disciples of Judge Lynch had likely enough forgotten the whole affair.  Timmons, hearing the creak of approaching wheels, and surmising the arrival of guests, came lumbering out through the open door, his face beaming welcome.  Behind him the vacant office stood fully revealed in the light of bracket-lamps.

As Westcott clambered over the wheel, and then assisted the lady to alight, the face of the landlord was sufficiently expressive of surprise.

“You!” he exclaimed, staring into their faces doubtfully.  “What the Sam Hill does this mean?”

“Only that we’ve got back, Timmons.  Why this frigid reception?”

“Well, this yere is a respectable hotel, an’ I ain’t goin’ ter have it all mussed up by no lynchin’ party,” the landlord’s voice full of regret.  “Then this yere gal; she wrote me she’d gone back East.”

Westcott laughed.

“Stow your grouch, old man, and give us a hand.  There will be no lynching, because Lacy is in the hands of the marshal.  As to this lady, she never sent you that note.  She was abducted by force, and has just escaped.  Don’t stand there like a fool.”