they've sworn to kill Fletcher Hill, only no one knows where he is. What
became of him? Has he got away?"

"I don't know," Dot said.

She sank into the nearest chair in the ill-lighted manager's office, and
leaned her white face in her hand.

"Perhaps he has been murdered already," said Adela. "Mr. Harley is
very anxious about him. He can't hold them. And--Dot--just think of
it!--Warden--the man we saw yesterday, the sub-manager--is at their head.
I saw him myself. He had a revolver in his hand. You were with Fletcher
Hill. You must know what became of him!"

"No, I don't know," said Dot. "We--parted--a long time ago."

"How odd you are!" said Adela. "Why, what is the matter? Are you going to
faint?" She went to the girl and bent over her, frightened by her look.
"What is the matter, Dot? What has happened to you? You haven't been
hurt?"

"I am--all right," Dot said, with an effort. "Did Mr. Harley bring you
here?"

"Yes. And you? How did you get here?"

"He--brought me most of the way--Mr. Warden," Dot said. "He has gone now
to save--Fletcher Hill."

"To shoot him, more likely," said Adela. "He has posted sentinels all