"_I_ know her? You forget that I am a stranger in this part of the West, d.y.k.e."

"She, too, was a stranger here, Elliston. Her home was in Burlington, and she has been brought to this by a villain who ought to pa.s.s the remainder of his days behind prison bars, if not conclude them at a rope's end. Do you know Hubert Vander?"

There was a stern ring in the detective's voice, and a look of deep, indignant feeling pervading his face. All the time he kept his gaze riveted on Elliston.

That gentleman stood the ordeal without flinching, however.

"Hubert Vander? The name is a new one to me, d.y.k.e."

"Indeed!"

A sneer curled the lip of the detective.

"What do you mean by that?" questioned Mr. Elliston. "Am I to understand that you connect ME in any way with this girl's death, or that I am a friend to this Hubert Vander of whom you speak?"

"Your pretended indignation will not deceive, Harper Elliston. Look at THIS, and tell me what you think of it," said d.y.k.e Darrel, with the sternness of steel.

The detective laid the photograph he had obtained in the Black Hollow cabin in the hand of Mr. Elliston.

The New Yorker did start then.

He gazed long and constantly at the pictured face.

"What have you to say now, Harper Elliston?" demanded d.y.k.e Darrel, in an awful voice.

"It is a mighty close resemblance," returned the gentleman. "Where did you obtain this, d.y.k.e?"

"From Sibyl Osborne."

"Sibyl Osborne?"

"She who lies before you. If that is not YOUR portrait, and if you are not the man who murdered Captain Osborne and ruined his daughter, then I am out of my senses."

With the words d.y.k.e Darrel presented a c.o.c.ked revolver at the heart of the cool, smiling villain before him.

The smile left the New Yorker's face, and a serious expression followed it.

"What? You draw a pistol on me, d.y.k.e Darrel? I am surprised," cried Mr. Elliston in an injured tone. "I did not imagine that you could lose confidence in me, let what would happen. Can it be that our friendship was but a brittle cord, after all?"

"I cannot remain friendly when my confidence has been betrayed."

"And you deem me a most hardened scoundrel? Of course you will give me a hearing. You are an upholder of law, and do not approve of lynching.

Here, put on the handcuffs, d.y.k.e, and take me to prison. You will be sorry for this some time, but now that circ.u.mstances are against me your friendship falls to the ground. I did not expect such treatment.

However, I can live through it; but I shall never feel toward you as I have in times past. Put on the irons, d.y.k.e. Why do you hesitate?"

"There is a chance for a mistake, of course," said the detective,

"I am glad you admit that much."

"Is that your photograph?"

"You said it belonged to a young lady!"

"But is it a photograph of your face?"

"It is not."

"You swear it?"

"I do."

"And you were not in Black Hollow, last night?"

"I was not."

"Swear it?

"I swear it."

"You did not know this dead girl?"

d.y.k.e Darrel pointed toward the face in the coffin.

"I did not."

"Will you swear to this also?"

"With my hand on my heart I swear."

The white hand of Mr. Elliston was laid impressively against his bosom.

There was such a look of honest earnestness on the man's face it was impossible to doubt, and d.y.k.e Darrel was forced to forego arresting the New Yorker then and there.

If he was not fully satisfied, he did not permit Elliston to note the fact.

"I did but try you, Harper," d.y.k.e Darrel said with a smile, extending his hand. "You are true as steel and I am glad to find it so. I have endured misery since last night, because I feared, and came to believe otherwise."

"You will trust me as of old?"

"Yes."

"Thanks. Now tell me all about the facts regarding this poor girl."

d.y.k.e Darrel did as requested, although he kept back some things that he did not deem it necessary for Mr. Elliston to know.

"And you saw this Hubert Vander peering into the cabin window--the man who looks like me!"

"I did."