"A dastardly piece of work!" exclaimed Mr. Britton. "The death of that

young express clerk was in some ways even sadder than that of Harry

Whitcomb. I knew him well; the only child of a widowed mother; a poor

boy who, by indomitable energy and unswerving integrity, had just

succeeded in securing the position which cost him his life. Two such

brutal, cowardly murders ought to arouse the people to such systematic,

concerted action as would result in the final arrest and conviction of

the murderer."

"It is the general opinion that both were committed by one and the same

party," Darrell remarked, as his friend paused.

"Undoubtedly both were the work of the same hand, in all probability

that of the leader himself. He is a man capable of any crime, probably

guilty of nearly every crime that could be mentioned, and his men are

mere tools in his hands. He exerts a strange power over them and they

obey him, knowing that their lives would pay the forfeit for

disobedience. Human life is nothing to him, and any one who stood in the

way of the accomplishment of his purposes would simply go the way those

two poor fellows have gone."

"Why, do you know anything regarding this man?" Darrell asked in

surprise.

"Only so far as I have made a study of him and his methods, aided by

whatever information I could gather from time to time concerning him."

"Surely, you are not a detective!" Darrell exclaimed; "you spoke like

one just now."

"Not professionally," his friend answered, with a smile; "though I have

often assisted in running down criminals. I have enough of the hound

nature about me, however, that when a scent is given me I delight in

following the trail till I run my game to cover, as I hope some day to

run this man to cover," he added, with peculiar earnestness.

"But how did you ever gain so much knowledge of him? To every one else

he seems an utter mystery."

"Partly, as I said, through a study of him and his methods, and partly

from facts which I learned from one of the band who was fatally shot a

few years ago in a skirmish between the brigands and a posse of

officials. The man was deserted by his associates and was brought to

town and placed in a hospital. I did what I could to make the poor

fellow comfortable, with the result that he became quite communicative

with me, and, while in no way betraying his confederates, he gave me

much interesting information regarding the band and its leader. It is a

thoroughly organized body of men, bound together by the most fearful

oaths, possessing a perfect system of signals and passwords, and with a

retreat in the mountains, known as the 'Pocket,' so inaccessible to any

but themselves that no one as yet has been able even to definitely

locate it--a sort of basin walled about by perpendicular rocks. The

leader is a man of mixed blood, who has travelled in all countries and

knows many dark secrets, and whose power lies mainly in the mystery with

which he surrounds himself. No one knows who he is, but many of his men

believe him to be the very devil personified."




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