They waited now for Zmai, whom they had sent to the Springs with a message and to get Chauvenet's mail.

Armitage, they had learned, used the Lamar telegraph office and they had decided to carry their business elsewhere.
While they waited in the bare upper room of the inn for Zmai, the big Servian tramped up the mountain side with an aching head and a heart heavy with dread.

The horse he had left tied in a thicket when he plunged down through the Claiborne place had broken free and run away; so that he must now trudge back afoot to report to his masters.

He had made a mess of his errands and nearly lost his life besides.

The bullet from Oscar's revolver had cut a neat furrow in his scalp, which was growing sore and stiff as it ceased bleeding.