A reward of ten thousand dollars was already offered for the detection
and punishment of the outlaws.

"Poor Arnold!" murmured Dyke Darrel, as he gazed at the bruised and
battered corpse. "I will not rest until the wicked demons who
compassed this foul work meet with punishment!"

There were still several shreds of hair between the fingers of the
dead, when Dyke Darrel made his examination, since the body had just
arrived from the scene of the murder.

The detective secured several of the hairs, believing they might help
him in his future movements. Darrel made one discovery that he did not
care to communicate to others; it was a secret that he hoped might
lead to results in the future. What the discovery was, will be
disclosed in the progress of our story.

Soon after the body of the murdered a messenger was removed to his
home, from which the funeral was to take place.

As Dyke Darrel was passing from the rooms of the undertaker, a hand
fell on his shoulder.

"You are a detective?"

Dyke Darrel looked into a smooth, boyish face, from which a pair of
brown eyes glowed.

"What is it you wish?" Darrel demanded, bluntly.