He found the corral full of saddle-horses and the Mountaineer House
completely surrounded by Sheriff Paul's, posse.

"Come on, boys," said a voice.

"Did he get in?"

"Ye-ah - put his hand in with the bullet on a string, got his foot in
the door, gave the password and heaved the door wide open. Come on, now,
and there's orders not to take the woman, remember."

Bell stole a rawboned roan from the corral and was far from the
frightful battle at Mountaineer House before he dared burst forth into
the vituperation which he heaped upon the name of Rosa Phillips.

* * * * *

Rosa sat strumming her guitar idly, and musing upon the events of the
past few months. Jack Phillips was serving a term in prison. Driscoll
had also been sent to the penitentiary. One day a rumor reached her that
he was threatening to turn state's evidence, and to divulge the truth in
regard to Rosenthal.

Three days later an iron bar was accidentally(?) dropped on his head;
through some mysterious agent he was given poison, and died. At the
memory of it Rosa smiled her enigmatic and implacable smile. Tom Bell
was at large somewhere far to the north and she - she was rich now and
she would go back to Monterey, perhaps. She drew her guitar closer and
sang: