Then a negro's voice spoke, and the front door opened, disclosing two figures, one with sputtering candle in hand.
The two exchanged a dozen words before the lieutenant asked impatiently: "Is it all right, Tonepah ?" The taciturn Indian made no attempt at speech, but gave an expressive gesture, and the young officer turned in his saddle.
"Take the prisoner to the lower room, Peter," he ordered curtly.

"I'll decide to-morrow if he can be of any use to us." The two fellows loosened the rope about my ankles, and Peter waddling ahead, the graybeard gripping my arm, we climbed the steps, and entered the hall.

A tall, slim negro, evidently a house-servant from his sleek appearance, eying me curiously, handed the little fellow a second lighted candle, and the three of us went tramping along the wide hall, past the circling stairs, until we came to a door at the rear.

This the black flung open, without a word, and I was led down into the basement.

The flickering candle yielded but glimpses of great rooms, beautifully decorated, and, almost before I realized what was occurring, I had been thrust into a square apartment, the door behind me closed and locked.