"You . . . you unspeakable cur!" she panted, in a flash scarlet-faced.

Garcia was edging slowly, noiselessly along the wall toward the two revolvers, his and Ygerne's. Drennen whipped about upon him with a snapping curse.

"Stand where you are, do you hear? You go free of this when I am through . . . if you are not a fool! It is this girl I want. Her and Sefton! Where is Sefton?"

Ygerne, biting her lips into silence, her eyes flashing at him, her insulted b.r.e.a.s.t.s rising and falling pa.s.sionately, answered him with her mute contempt. Garcia lifted his shoulders.

"With el senor Marco he is away for the horses. . . ."

"Liar!" said Drennen sternly. "What horses can climb these cliffs?"

"Don't answer his questions!" commanded Ygerne.

"Silence is as good as the lies I'd get," retorted Drennen.

He closed the heavy panelled door behind turn, dropping into place an iron bolt which fastened staple and hasp. There was one other door at the far end of the long room; he moved toward it, at all times watching Garcia and Ygerne. Here was a smaller room, perhaps a third the size of the first, without doors, its windows boarded up with thick ax-hewn slabs. The floor of this room had been wrenched loose and torn away; there were big chests still sunken in the soil beneath, the boxes crumbling and evidently broken in their hasty rifling.

He came back into the larger room. Sefton and Lemarc, when they came, must enter through the door at the front. And he could do nothing but wait, his heart burning with the feverish hope that they would come before Max and the others. He drew a bench close to the door and sat down, his face turned so that he could at once watch Ygerne and Garcia and not lose sight of the door. He rose again, almost immediately, picked up the two revolvers and the knife, dropped them to the floor under his bench and sat down again.

Ygerne in a little, her eyes never leaving his face, sat where she had been standing, upon the rug amidst the scattered gold. Now and then her fingers stole from her lap to the old coins about her; once or twice her fingers travelled slowly to her breast where the diamonds lay hidden.

Garcia did not move. As commanded he faced the wall. Once or twice only he turned his head a little, his eyes paying no heed to Drennen but seeking Ygerne. And his eyes were not gay now, but restless and troubled.

In a deep silence through which the faint murmur of the branches above the Chateau Bellaire spoke like a quiet sigh, they waited. To each, with his own bitter thoughts, the time writhed slowly like a wounded serpent.

Upon a little thing did many human destinies depend that summer afternoon. Though a man's destiny be always suspended by a mere silken thread, not always is it given to him to see the thread itself and know how fragile it is. Had Lieutenant Max been five minutes later in picking up Drennen's trail . . . had Sefton and Lemarc returned to the "chateau" five minutes earlier, G.o.d knows where the story would have ended.

As it was it was Max's tread which Drennen's eager ears first heard drawing near swiftly. And a moment later Max himself, with big Kootanie George at his heels and both Marshall Sothern and Ernestine hurrying after them, came running toward the strange building. Drennen at the door, his rifle laid across his arm, met them.

"Well?" snapped the officer. "What in h.e.l.l's name have you done?"

Ygerne had leaped to her feet, a little glad cry upon her lips. No doubt she had thought that this was Sefton returning, Lemarc with him.

She stood still, staring incredulously, as she saw who these others were. A strange man, with an air of command about him . . . Kootanie George, his face convulsed with rage as his eyes met her own . . .

Marshall Sothern . . . Ernestine!

"I came to find Captain Sefton," was Drennen's slow answer to the lieutenant's challenge. "He is not here. I am waiting for him."

"You have killed him!" shouted Max, pushing through the doorway.

"I have not," said Drennen quietly. "But I shall."

"The Mexican, Garcia!" snapped Max irritably. "And the girl. I have no warrant for them. h.e.l.l's bells! Where are the others?"

To answer his own question he strode toward the rear door. Half way down the long room he stopped with a muttered exclamation of surprise.

He had seen the gold upon the old bear skin.

"Have they robbed the Bank of England?" he gasped.

From without came the sharp rattle of shod hoofs against the rocky ground.

"It is Sefton and Marco who return," murmured Garcia, his hand at his mustache, a look of great thoughtfulness in his eyes. "Now there will be another kind of talk!"

And he looked regretfully toward the revolver lying under Drennen's bench.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE SPEAKING OF GUNS

Max had heard, whirled and came running back to the door.

"Stand aside!" he called to Drennen. "Those men are my prisoners."

Drennen made no answer. Mindful of the weapons on the floor he caught them up and threw them far out into the underbrush. His rifle ready in both hands, his purpose standing naked in his eyes, he stepped out after Max.

"Curse you!" shouted Max over his shoulder. "If you interfere now I'll shoot you like a dog!"

Sefton and Lemarc, riding and leading two other horses, came into view through the trees. Evidently Garcia had not lied, evidently there was some roundabout trail from the far side of the lake, evidently, the treasure found, these men wished to lose no time in carrying it away with them.

They had not heard until they had seen; by that time they were not fifty yards away and Max's rifle bore unwaveringly upon Sefton's chest.

"Up with your hands, Sefton and Lemarc!" he called loudly. "In the name of the Law!"

"Fight it out, Sefton, if you are a man!" shouted Drennen, his own rifle at his shoulder. "I am going to kill you any way!"

Ernestine was crying out inarticulately; no one listened to the thing she was trying to say. She had waited too long. Marshall Sothern, a queer smile upon his lips which Drennen was never to forget, strode to his son's side.

"Dave," he said gently. "If you are doing this for me . . . let be! I have told Max."

"What do you mean?" muttered Drennen dully. "Told him what?"

"Who I am."

He laid his hand on the barrel of Drennen's rifle, forcing it downward.

His son stared at him with wondering eyes.

"I don't understand. . . ."

Both Sefton and Lemarc, with one accord had jerked in their horses, their hands dropping the ropes of the animals they led and going the swift, certain way to the gun in the coat pocket.

"It's a hold-up, Marc!" cried Sefton, driving his heels into his horse's sides and coming on in defiance of the rifle still trained upon him.

"Garcia!"

Garcia shrugged his shoulders and watched, having nothing else to do.

"Wait!" screamed Marc after Sefton. "Can't you see the uniform? He's one of the Mounted."