Here he paused for a moment listening. All was still within, and he cautiously opened the door. The lamp was lit, and, standing beside the table, upon which the breakfast things were already set, he discovered the figure of the daughter of Mallinsbee with her back turned towards him. There was another figure present, too, and, to his intense chagrin, the millionaire beheld the yellow features of Hip-Lee near the curtained window.

However, he passed into the room, and Hazel turned confronting him. He gazed intently into her face, so serious and apparently troubled. The yellow lamplight imparted a curious hue, and the man fancied she looked seriously frightened.

"What's happening?" he demanded, and an unusual brusqueness was in his tone.

The girl's eyes surveyed his expression swiftly. She looked for something she feared to discover there, and the faintest sigh of relief escaped her as she realized that her fears were unfounded.

"That's what we--are trying to find out," she replied, her words accompanied by a glance of simple, half-fearful helplessness.

The man checked the reply which promptly rose to his lips. He remembered in time that this girl was the daughter of Mallinsbee and that she was exceedingly pretty. To the former he had no desire to give anything away, while to the latter he desired to display every courtesy.

"Our guards seem to be on the alert, and--somebody is approaching,"

said the millionaire, with a baffling smile. "If it weren't such a peaceful spot I'd say there was an atmosphere of--trouble."

"I--I sort of feel that way, too," said Hazel in a scared manner. She had gathered all her histrionic abilities together, and intended to use them. "I wonder what trouble it is?"

"Seems as if it was for the men who--took us," observed Carbhoy, with a dryness he could not quite disguise.

"You--mean our folks have located our whereabouts and--are going to rescue us?"

The millionaire smiled into the innocent, questioning eyes, which, he knew, concealed a humorous guile.

"I didn't just mean that," he said. "Maybe the trouble won't come yet." He glanced at the Chinaman standing sphinx-like at the curtains.

"Must he remain?" he said, appealing directly to the girl.

Hazel felt the necessity for a bold move.

"Don't let him worry you. We can't help ourselves. I dare not risk offending him." She conjured a well-feigned shudder.

The millionaire laughed, and his laugh left the girl troubled and disconcerted. She would have liked to know what lay behind it.

However, she kept to her attitude of fear. She must play her part to the end.

"Hark!" Carbhoy turned his head, listening intently. The girl followed his example. "Say----" The millionaire broke off, and his smile was replaced by a look of puzzled incredulity.

A shot had been fired. It was answered by a shot from somewhere close to the house. A look of doubt sprang into his gray eyes, and he darted to the window and unceremoniously brushed the hated Chinaman aside. He drew the curtain cautiously aside and peered out into the bight. Hazel beheld the change of expression and his quick, alert movements with satisfaction. She knew that the sounds of the shots had disconcerted him. He was more than impressed. He was convinced.

Then followed a portentous few moments. The two single shots were converted into something like a rattle of musketry. And intermingled with it came the hoarse, blasphemous cries of men, and the pounding of horses' hoofs racing hither and thither. The man at the window remained silent, his eyes glued to the crack of the divided curtains.

He saw flashes of gunfire and the dim outline of moving figures. But the details of the scene were hidden from him by the darkness. Hazel, standing close behind him, rose to a great effort. One hand was laid abruptly upon his arm, and her nervous fingers clutched at his coat-sleeve as though she were seeking support. She caught a sharp breath.

"My God!" she cried in a tense whisper, while somehow her whole body shook.

Carbhoy gave one glance in her direction. His eyes and features had become tense with excitement. With his disengaged hand he patted the girl's with a reassuring gentleness, and finally it remained resting upon her clutching fingers.

"It's a scrap up all right," he said, with conviction that had no fear in it. "But it's their game, not----"

But his words were cut short by the great shouting that went up outside the house. Then came more firing, and the sharp plonk of bullets as they struck the building were plainly heard by the watchers. Hazel urged the man at the curtains--

"Come away. For goodness' sake come away. A stray shot! That window!

You----"

She strove to drag the man away in a wild assumption of panic. But the millionaire intended to miss nothing of what was going on. The danger of his position did not occur to him. He firmly released himself from her clutch.

"You sit right down, my dear," he said kindly. "Just get right out of line with this window. I want to see this out. Say, hark! They're hitting it up good, eh?"

His eyes were alight with the excitement of battle, and Hazel, watching him, with fear carefully expressed in her eyes, could not help but admire the spirit of her lover's father, and more than ever regret the part she was forced to play.

She withdrew obediently as the sounds of battle waxed and the cries of the combatants made the still night hideous. The firing had become almost incessant, and the bullets seemed to hail upon the building from every direction. Then, too, the galloping horses added to the tumult, and it was pretty obvious the defenders were charging their opponents.

"There seems to be about two to one attacking," said the millionaire over his shoulder presently.

As he turned he surveyed with pity the strong look of terror the girl had contrived. He never once looked in the detested Chinaman's direction. In his heart he would not have regretted a chance shot disturbing those yellow, immobile features.

Then, turning back again quickly--

"I wonder!"

Now that the battle seemed to be at its height, and whilst awaiting its issue, he had time for conjecture. What was the meaning of it? And who were the attacking party? Was Slosson at its head? Had Harker sent up and was this a sheriff's posse? Both seemed possible. Yet neither, somehow, convinced him. Whoever were attacking, it was pretty certain in his mind that his release was the object.

But the moment passed, and he became absorbed once more in the battle itself. It seemed miraculous to his twentieth-century ideas that such a condition of things could prevail. Why, it was like the old romantic days of the hard drinking, hard swearing "bad men," and a sort of boyish delight in the excitement of it all swept through his veins. He had no time or thought for the part the now terror-stricken girl had played in his captivity. All he felt was a large-hearted, chivalrous regret for her present condition, of which no doubt remained in his mind.

A rush of horsemen charged up to the building. The watching man saw their outline distinctly. There seemed to him at least eight or ten.

He saw another crowd, smaller numerically, charge at them, and then the revolvers spat out their vicious flashes of ruddy fire. The crowd dispersed and gathered again. Another fusillade. Then something seemed to happen. The whole crowd swept away in the darkness, and the sounds of shooting and the cries of men died away into the distance.

He waited awhile to assure himself that, so far as their position was concerned, the battle was at an end. Then he turned away from the window.

"They've cleaned 'em out," he said sharply. "I can't tell whose outed.

They've ridden off at the gallop, firing and cursing as they went.

Maybe our captors have driven the others off. Maybe it's the other way. We'll--hark!"

He was back at the window again in a second.

"They're coming back," he cried. "Say----"

Hazel was at his side in a moment.

"Are they the----?"

"Can't say who," cried Carbhoy, peering intently. "A big bunch of 'em."

"Our men were only four," said Hazel quickly.

The millionaire was too intent to look round, and so he missed the girl's smile over at Hip-Lee. But the tone of her voice was unmistakable in its anxiety.

"There's eight or more here," he cried. "Say, they're dismounting!

They're----"

"They're coming into the house!" cried Hazel in an extravagant panic.

"They----"