Vance Cornish turned the last page of the article, and there was the
reproduction of the painting. He held his breath when he saw it. The
outlaw sat on his horse with his head raised and turned, and it was the
very replica of Terence Colby as the boy had waved to them from the back
of Le Sangre. More than a family, sketchy resemblance--far more.

There was the same large, dark eye; the same smile, half proud and half
joyous; the same imperious lift of the head; the same bold carving of the
features. There were differences, to be sure. The nose of Black Jack had
been more cruelly arched, for instance, and his cheekbones were higher
and more pronounced. But in spite of the dissimilarities the resemblance
was more than striking. It might have stood for an actual portrait of
Terence Colby masquerading in long hair.

When the full meaning of this photograph had sunk into his mind, Vance
Cornish closed his eyes. "Eureka!" he whispered to himself.

There was something more to be done. But it was very simple. It merely
consisted in covertly cutting out the pages of the article in question.
Then, carefully, for fear of loss, he jotted down the name and date of
the magazine, folded his stolen pages, and fitted them snugly into his
breast pocket. That night he ate his first hearty dinner in four days.



CHAPTER 5


Vance's work was not by any means accomplished. Rather, it might be said