Hands Up!

RGL e-Book Cover
Based on an image created with Microsoft Bing software

A STORY OF THE INCAS AND HIDDEN TREASURE

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS FROM THE PEOPLE
AND A GALLERY OF FILM POSTERS AND STILLS

Serialised in The People, 27 Jul-8 Nov 1919

First ebook edition: Roy Glashan's Library, 2024
Version Date: 2024-09-25

Produced by Keith Emmett and Roy Glashan

Click here for more books by this author

ABOUT THIS BOOK

This RGL first edition is a novelisation of the lost 15-episode American silent film serial Hands Up! released by Astra Film Company and Pathé Exchange in August 1918.

It was written by the British author Francis Henry Atkins under the byline "Fenton Ash" for the English weekly newspaper The People (Odhams Press London), where it was published in 15 installments, beginning on 27 July 1919, apparently as part of a campaign to promote the cinema serial among British film-goers.

THE scenes of this thrilling story are laid in the land of the Incas, a race inhabiting Peru, who before the advent of the Spaniards had attained to a remarkable civilisation and established a vast empire. They had mastered the art of agriculture, followed skilled trades, had powerful armies, and built great towns and temples, of which many elaborate ruins still remain. Their former glory is now but a memory, for three centuries of Spanish rule have destroyed them as a nation. Many legends still cling to them, stories of hidden treasures, and so forth. One of these forms the basis of the story, the setting of which is quite modern. The heroine, Echo, finds her way among these mysterious people and it is with her many sensational adventures in their midst that the story deals.

The wonderful film showing all the episodes of this remarkable romance are being shown throughout London and the Provinces."

There follows a list of all the cinemas in the UK where the serial was to be shown.

In the course of research for this and other works, the Canadian bibliophile Keith Emmett located the following novelisations of film serials by Francis Henry Atkins, all of which were published under the pseudonym "Fenton Ash:"

* The Pearl of the Army, Evening Dispatch, 25 Aug-1 Dec 1917
* Hands Up! The People, 27 Jul-8 Nov 1919
* The Tiger's Trail, The People, 22 Feb-30 May 1920
* The Masked Rider, The People, 20 Jun-26 Sep 1920
* The Lost City, The People, 5 Aug-12 Dec 1920
* The Romance of the Hope Diamond, The People, 11 Sep-18 Dec 1921
* Miracles of the Jungle, The People, 8 Jan-16 Apr 1922

RGL editions of all of these works are planned. —Roy Glashan, 24 September 2024.

Chapter I. [Untitled].
Chapter II. The Missing Prince.
Chapter III. The Phantom And The Girl.
Chapter IV. The Phantom's Trail.
Chapter V. The Runaway Bride.
Chapter VI. Flames Of Vengeance.
Chapter VII. Tossed Into The Torrent.
Chapter VIII. The Fatal Jewels.
Chapter IX. A Leap Through Space.
Chapter X. The Sun Message.
Chapter XI. The Stranger From The Sea.
Chapter XII. The Silver Book.
Chapter XIII. The Last Warning.
Chapter XIV. The Oracle's Decree.
Chapter XV. "The Celestial Messenger."
Film Posters and Stills.

EPISODE I.
[Untitled].

Robert Rushe, the young manager of the Strange Ranch, started in surprise as he heard himself addressed, in dulcet tones, by one whom he knew must be a stranger.

Strangers were rare in the wild country in which the ranch was situated. But rarer still was the vision which met his gaze as he swung round and confronted the speaker.

A beautiful young girl, with dark, clustering curls, a sunny, smiling face and merry eyes, stood regarding him with a quizzical, roguish look, evidently amused by his astonished stare.

It was clear that this was no dweller in the wilds like himself. He could see that she was one used to the refinements only to be found in great cities.

Yet his practised eye also told him that she was no ordinary bread-and-butter miss. She was clad in a riding costume which displayed a figure resembling rather that of an athlete than a town idler. And in her eyes—behind the roguish, merry expression—he detected signs of a character alert and resolute.

On her side, the girl changed her expression a little as she obtained a better view of the one she had accosted. No rough, common, awkward cowboy stood before her. She saw a good-looking young fellow, clean-limbed, muscular, and well-built, gazing at her with a smile. The smile was as sunny as her own, and the look in his honest, fearless eyes was brimming over with good humour, and kindly, though puzzled welcome.

Puzzled Robert Rushe certainly was. He was wondering who this dainty wanderer into the wilds could possibly be. And, in particular, what she wanted a horse for.

"I'm bound for the Inca Mission," she stated, and repeated her inquiry: "Where can I get a horse? They told me at the railway station that you would lend me one, and perhaps act as my guide."

Rushe shook his head in disapproval. "I wouldn't take a white girl there for the whole Strange Ranch," he told her.

Thereupon the wilful young lady displayed openly a little of the determination he had already read beneath those dancing eyes of hers.

"In that case I'll have to go alone," she remarked, with decision. And turning she walked off.

The young ranch manager looked after her and hesitated. But she had not gone far before he had caught her up.

"Seeing you're so set on going—I suppose I'll have to take you take you there," he said.

She turned at once and looked at him with her winning smile, in which there was now just a touch of mischievous triumph.

"Thank you so much," she said. Then added demurely, "I am very pleased, for I am sure you will prove a pleasant travelling companion, Mr.—?

The girl started, looked about her keenly, then flashed her glance back to him. "What do you mean?" she exclaimed. "Hands up? What have I done? What—?"

He laughed heartily, and there was something so frankly boyish in his laugh, that she was reassured at once and joined in, though she was still in the dark.

"You asked my name," he explained, "and I told you. My name is 'Hands Up'; at least that's what they call me about here."

"Yes Robert Rushe. But I'm so seldom called by it that I've almost forgotten it myself. And now may I ask your own name?"

"I'm a journalist, Mr. 'Hands Up,'" she went on confidentially. "And I'm here to write a story about the Incas who, I believe, live in this locality. I've heard—and read strange things about them—legends of wonderful treasure belonging to the ancient Incas of Peru. Do you know anything about it?"

"Humph!" he returned, disapprovingly. "I can't say I trouble myself much about ancient treasure and that sort of thing. But I can quite understand that to those folk who write stories, these Incas and their queer ways may be very interesting."

While talking the two had been walking towards a stable enclosure, where several men belonging to the Ranch were lounging about. At an order from Rushe they quickly brought up the horse he usually rode, and another for his visitor. This she mounted and handled with a celerity and ease which acclaimed her at once a practised and skilful rider, and roused the murmuring admiration even of the cowboys and rough riders who were looking on.

"Then off we go!" And as he spoke his horse sprang forward. Echo Delane's mount followed suit, and the two clattered out of the enclosure, and swept, at a rattling gallop, along the trail beyond.

A minute or two more, and, to the interested spectators of the start, they had become but a cloud of dust in the distance.

Away they sped, their horses bounding over the springy turf in a fashion which suggested that they were thoroughly enjoying the outing. One, at least, of their riders was certainly doing so, for to the girl, coming straight from a city life, it was like being let out of a prison into the free fresh air.

On they raced. At first along a grassy trail over rolling, pampas-like, open country. Then through tracts of broken ground, with patches of wood, or stretches of dense forest.

At one time they were dashing along, helter skelter, beside the boulder-strewn beds of roaring, foaming torrents; a little later splashing through a ford across some placid stream, meandering among smiling, meadow-like grass lands.

Then down steep, zig-zag tracks into the sombre depths of some gloomy gorge, where frowning, overhanging rocks threatened to overwhelm them. Half-deafened by the mighty, thunderous roar of a great waterfall which fell, seemingly from the clouds above, into a black, cavernous pool.

Half-drenched with the swirling mist from the cataract, dazzled by thousands of sparkling, rainbow-points of light, like flashing jewels, as a shaft of sunlight shot down and played upon the showers of spray.

Then mounting again to high ground; where there burst upon the girl's view a glorious panorama of wonderful scenery.

There, spread out before her, were hill after hill, soaring heights and precipitous crags, with far-reaching vistas of woods and forests, and endless valleys and dells, rocky ravines, winding streams, or tumbling, silvery cascades; the whole fairy-like scene backed up by a distant range of towering mountains.

The clear, exhilarating air whistled past her ears, and filled her lungs with what seemed a veritable Elixir of Life.

To her, in effect, the ride, the scenery, the invigorating air, the wild, mad scamper of the horses, were all as a foretaste of paradise.

To the young ranch manager it was an intoxicating experience. Never had he known anything like it. Never had he had a ride like that with so fascinating a companion. His wondering admiration grew ever greater and greater as he watched her, with her hair flying in the breeze, the rich colour mantling her face, and her eyes, when she turned them for a moment upon him, sparkling with delighted enjoyment.

And as he noted her splendid, daring horsemanship, he asked himself, in helpless perplexity, could this really be, after all, a town-bred girl?

As they reached a sort of high-lying terrace, there came into sight an isolated hill with a curious castellated building upon its summit. On one side of the hill could be discerned a curved track which led, from an intervening valley, up to the strange building.

"There, Miss Delane, is the place you are bound for—if you are still bent on going there. But if you take my advice you will turn back."

But the spirit of adventure was in her blood, and she put his advice aside. Albeit there was a change in her manner, and she turned thoughtful. She gazed at the mysterious building, and at the landscape around her, with a half-questioning, half-dreamy look in her eyes:

"It's queer," she said, slowly, "but, do you know, Mr. 'Hands Up,' I feel as though I know this place! I seem to have seen it all before! In childish dreams, perhaps," she went on, half to herself, half to him. "How strange it makes me feel! 'Tis like some half-forgotten memory—"

"Tell you what it is, miss," Robert Rushe put in, his tone full, too, of perplexity: "Guess we're both in the same boat—for ever since I first set eyes on you, I've been wondering who it is that you put me in mind of, or where I've seen you before! Or else it is that you put me in mind of somebody I know—or knew. I dunno which it is. But I feel it in my mind, and more'n ever when you turned thoughtful like, just now. But every time I try to nail the idea down, like, it slips away."

Echo Delane gave a merry laugh. "Come," said she, "this will never do! It will never get me to my journey's end! We seem both inclined, somehow, to indulge in ideas that are probably foolish, and have no sense in them. Let us get on!"

She touched her horse lightly with her spur, and at that moment a vagrant sheet of newspaper, which had been lying near the track, was caught by a little gust and whirled in the air towards the animal. It immediately shied, and throwing up its head, caught the bit between its teeth and bolted.

Rushe spurred his horse and gave chase, but failed to overtake the runaway ere the trouble happened. The scared creature put its foot in a hole, stumbled, went nearly down, and ended by pitching its rider over its head.

"Hands Up" leaped from his saddle and threw himself on his knees beside her as she lay, half-stunned, on the grass. Then, going to a little stream near, he filled his hat with water, and bringing it to her, dashed the liquid in her face. This treatment, if somewhat crude, proved effectual. Echo sat up.

A minute or two later he had helped her to her feet; and she stood there in the sunlight, still a little dizzy.

And now Rushe did a foolish thing. He allowed the ever-growing admiration that had sprung up so strongly in his mind, to get the better of him. Perhaps it was a natural feeling of pity for her—she looked so weak and appealing just then—or perhaps that wild scamper through, the keen mountain air had imbued him with a feeling of actual intoxication.

However that may have been, it has to be recorded that he seized her in his arms and kissed her!

But he did not hold her long! With a fierce, sudden struggle, and a strength that astonished him, she freed herself, and stood at bay; regarding him with furious anger in the eyes which, erstwhile, had fascinated him with their sparkling merriment.

"How dare you?" she cried, her voice ringing with rage and scorn. "How dare you do such a thing?"

And he, blindly, foolishly persistent, essayed to embrace her again, when he was abruptly pulled up and brought to his sober senses by the fact that he found himself staring at the muzzle of a revolver, which the indignant girl was pointing at him.

"You pretended to warn me," she said, scathingly, "against those Indians yonder, with whom, you said you feared I would not be safe! But it is you, yourself, it seems, that I have to guard against! But I might have known!" she ended, in biting, scornful accents. "I might have known—!"

"No, no! No!! I forgot myself! I'm sorry! Forgive me!" he pleaded humbly. "I can't tell you what sort of a low-down skunk I think myself! I can't think how I come to do it! Won't you forgive me—and trust me again—as you did before?"

He stood before her, hanging his head, with downcast eyes that he was afraid to raise to hers. And so dejected and humble did he look that she relented.

"Really, Miss Delane?" he cried, in glad surprise. He had not dared to hope for it.

"Yes! I'll trust you! And to prove it, here is my pistol! Take it and carry it for me!"

He took it and held it awkwardly, as if not knowing exactly what to do with it. Finally, he handed it back.

"No," he said. "Keep that revolver. You may need it. They are mighty queer people up at the mission!"

Meanwhile, neither of the horses had strayed far away. They were quietly cropping the grass a little distance off. Rushe gave a peculiar whistle, and the one he had been riding raised its head, pricked up its ears, and then trotted obediently up to him, with a little whinny of pleasure.

Echo looked at the animal with an appreciative nod, and patted and stroked its glossy neck.

"What a beautiful horse you have, Mr. 'Hands Up'!" she said. "I've been admiring it all the time—but I had no idea it was so docile and obedient! It seemed so spirited and fierce. I was almost afraid of it!"

Rushe looked at her quizzically. "I don't think you were afraid of it, miss," he made answer. "I don't believe as you're afraid o' any horse living, judgin' by what I've seen of you! Howsomever, Dick here, is as good in his temper an' his ways as he is at goin'. An' as to Little tricks—you've no idea what he can do! I'll show you one day. And now, if you're ready—"

The other horse had followed its companion, and was offering itself submissively to be mounted, looking as if rather ashamed of its late escapade.

Rushe assisted the girl to mount, and, springing into his own saddle, was about to start, when an exclamation from Echo made him pause.

"Wh—what—is—that?" she asked, in a low tone, almost a whisper, pointing with her riding whip to a rocky height up against the sky line.

In her tone and her manner there was something not merely of wonder, but almost of awe. And not without reason.

For there, almost poised, as it seemed, upon a small ledge or table of rock that soared up abruptly skywards, was the silhouetted outline of a man upon a horse. The horse, a handsome black, with arched neck and long, sweeping tail, seemed to have scarce room on the ledge for all its four legs. The rider wore a wide-brimmed sombrero, and hat and clothes were all as dark as the horse.

"He's a queer being. Our boys call him the 'Phantom Rider' but we have never been able to learn his identity!"

As the rancher spoke the mysterious rider turned his steed and disappeared from view. And Echo continued her journey towards the abode of the Incas, wondering in her mind whether she would there meet with some adventure sufficiently exciting to make a story out of.

MEANWHILE strange events were happening in the place she was bound for—events that might have caused her to turn back even then, had she but had any inkling of them.

The "Castle," as it was called—the building she had seen on the top of the hill—was in reality a collection of castle-like buildings, surrounded by walls, with great iron gates for entrances.

Those buildings were connected by passages and corridors, and flights of steps and towers; the whole forming an extensive enclosure, labyrinthian in its character.

In this remote, mysterious retreat—known locally as a "Mission"—dwelt a coterie of Indians of a kind now seldom met with, and claiming to be direct descendants of the ancient Incas of Peru. They, indeed, owed allegiance to, and kept up communication with, others of their race still clinging to a portion of their heritage in Peru, where dwelt one whom they regarded as their king.

Within the enclosure, in a second inner court well hidden and guarded from the observation of the outer, world, was a secret Temple of the Worshippers of the Sun-god, administered by a band of priests.

Now, at the time that Echo Delane was journeying thitherwards, Oman, the High Priest of this temple, was presiding at a special festival, amid a crowd of worshippers assembled in its precincts.

A wonderfully gay, picturesque assembly it was, so far as appearances went. Many of the dresses were magnificent, and of the most gorgeous, costly materials. They were, for the most part white, with a representation of the sun, worked in gold upon the breast. Jewels, gold and silver, flashed and gleamed on every side. Well-trained voices chanted music, which, if barbaric, was full of rich, strange melody, that harmonised well with the surroundings.

A wide flight of white marble steps, a hundred or so in number, led up to an altar, over which was a figure of the sun, a resplendent disc of solid gold.

Here, at the top of the steps, and beneath the sacred golden emblem of their faith, their now appeared Oman, the High Priest of this secret Temple of the Sun, a man held in great awe and reverence by the worshippers.

He was, in effect, the ruler of the Mission, subject only to commands received from time to time from their King in far-away Peru.

The chief article of their faith, held with pertinacity through long years was that, one day, the ancient power of their race would be restored, and they would rule supreme once more in all their former grandeur.

But, in the meantime, they were troubled by the loss of a daughter of the Royal House, Princess Divina, who had disappeared when still quite young.

There were prophecies that she would one day be restored to them in some unexpected and miraculous manner. And this restoration was to be the forerunner of the greater restoration of the fortunes of the whole nation.

This was chiefly the subject of the High Priest's address to the assembled worshippers on the present occasion. That and something more sinister for these survivors of what had been one of the greatest, and in some respects, most wonderful off all the nations known to history, still practised in secret the horrible rites of sacrifice.

Oman was attended by two high dignitaries, a Prince of the Royal line named Pampas, and one who had come to them some time before as a Grand Envoy from their revered King.

"Brothers!" cried the High Priest, addressing the assemblage from the top of the steps, "the time for our annual sacrifice to the Sun-god has come."

To the Envoy he said, "Axmara Suyus, say to your proud warriors it is now time to bring forth the Sun Maidens."

And to the Prince: "It is your sacred duly to select by lot the happy maiden whose soul is to ascend to the Sun."

The Prince, a handsome young man of noble, though quiet mien, signed, and looked anything but pleased at the task thus assigned to him.

"Oh, High One, I pray the day will come when my people will cease to make these sacrifices."

"They must be made," was the cold answer, "until our mission is accomplished. Your delay gives displeasure to our god!"

It was while the above scenes were in progress that Echo Delane, the adventurous young journalist, and her companion, "Hands Up," arrived at the Inca Castle.

White people were rare visitors at the Temple of the Sun-worshippers, and the news of their arrival caused a sort of sensation. The proceedings were interrupted, and to Axmara was deputed the duty of interviewing the strangers and inquiring their business.

He left the temple, and passing through the courtyards, presented himself before the travellers.

Meantime, Echo Delane had been looking about her with the utmost interest and curiosity. The strange, castle-like buildings, and the still stranger members of the Mission who happened to be visible, were, she could see at once, quite different from anything appertaining to the ordinary Indian tribes.

They were altogether a distinct race, something between the Red Indian and the white man. They were undoubtedly (she decided) picturesque, and she was specially struck by a certain fierce dignity, a grim hauteur, which, as she later found, formed one of their most marked characteristics.

It was strikingly displayed in the person of the Envoy, Axmara, who, at the behest of the High Priest, had come out to interview the strangers.

Echo was greatly impressed—almost startled, as, turning from speaking with Rushe, she saw the Inca, standing a short distance away, regarding her with a sort of disdainful attention.

He was attended by half-a-dozen warriors, all fine-looking men, in a strange, but rich attire which, added to natural grace, gave them an appearance that was very noticeable, and by no means unattractive. As to the Envoy himself, he surpassed them all, as much in stately dignity as he did in the richness of his dress.

With folded arms he stood, statuesque, unbending, his dark gaze bent upon the white girl and her companion with a look that was unfathomable. In his whole attitude and bearing there was an air of suppressed energy, a fierce dignity, which yet had in it a curious fascination, even though it might mean veiled hostility.

"Hands Up" approached this emissary and a short colloquy ensued between the two; Rushe, ignoring the other's bearing, was smiling and then stern by turns. But on Axmara's face the dark look deepened and became a frown.

Then his expression cleared a little; he stepped forward in leisurely fashion towards Echo, and bowed, not ungracefully, though without relaxing his haughty mien.

"I bring a letter to your High Priest," said Echo, producing a closed envelope. "Will you kindly give it to him?"

He bowed again gravely, took the missive, and turning, disappeared through the great gates, followed by his suite. Presently he returned, as grave as ever, yet with a manner perceptibly less severe.

"I'm much obliged to you Mr. 'Hands Up,'" she said. "I hope we'll meet again soon."

Then she walked boldly through the great gates, attended by Axmara and the others.

"Hands Up," on his horse and leading the one Echo had ridden, called out a last injunction:

"I warn you," he said, "that no harm must come to that girl!" And with that parting warning he went his way.

As for Echo, the stately Inca Chief conducted her through the courtyards into a large, comfortable-looking apartment, where he placed her in charge of one of the women of the place.

"Senorita," he said, bowing again in his grave, haughty fashion, "our house is yours! You have nothing to fear!"

A FEW days went by without Rushe hearing anything further about the young lady he had escorted to the Inca Settlement.

Again and again his thoughts turned to her. He saw again, in fancy, those clustering curls hanging down her neck and shoulders. He looked again into that smiling face, and those merry, dancing, mischievous eyes, which, however, as he well knew, could, on occasion, become so earnest and fearless.

He wondered how she was faring; and he wandered about dismally, finding it difficult any longer to take interest in his work.

Just about that time an important meeting took place at the ranch. Col. Strange, the owner—from whom the estate took its name—was dead, and an appointment had been made for the late colonel's solicitor to come over and read the will.

There were present, at first, Roy Strange, the dead man's son, and Judith Strange, his niece, and, therefore, Roy's cousin. But Robert Rushe, the confidential manager of the place did not turn up.

"My duty as attorney will not permit me to read the colonel's will until Mr. Rushe arrives—for he is the administrator," the lawyer declared.

So Rushe had to be sent for, and presently came lounging in in his usual free-and-easy manner, and desiring to know what in the world they wanted him for.

The lawyer explained. He had a secret to disclose. Col. Strange had had a daughter who had been stolen or lost when five years of age. It was necessary now that she should be searched for, as, under the terms of the will, she was to inherit the ranch if she was found before her 21st birthday. If she was not discovered by that time, the ranch and the estate belonging to it were to go to the niece Judith.

As to Roy, he inherited some valuable mining property in the district, of which he had for some years been the actual manager.

"Now, Mr. Rushe," said the lawyer "you as administrator, must try to find this young lady. It seems, from the document entrusted to me, that she has been lost since she was five years of age. If still alive, therefore, she must be now nearly 21."

Rushe looked pretty blank at this; and wanted to know where the dickens he was to start looking for the young lady, and how he was to know her if he saw her.

"As to where to look, I cannot help you," returned the lawyer. "But as to how you can recognise her, you will find some precise details in an envelope which was deposited with me, and which I shall hand over to you. As to the rest—well, I should certainly start advertising for the young heiress."

The lawyer went away, Roy Strange went off to his mines—now his own property—and Rushe was left alone with Judith, who had long cherished a secret liking for the good-looking young manager. In fact, there had been a certain amount of flirtation between them. She now ventured to make some advances; but Rushe whose thoughts were filled with recollections of Echo Delane, was not in the mood to respond as she had hoped.

Suddenly something came, with a whir, through the open window. It was an arrow—and to it was fastened a note, which Rushe opened and read. It said:

That was all—but it was enough, more than enough, for Rushe! Dashing outside, he just stared round in every direction to see who had shot the arrow. But there was no one to be seen.

Then he made a dart for his horse, and a minute or two later was galloping like a madman, over the route that he and Echo had travelled together.

* * * * *

Meantime, how had it fared with Echo? That adventurous but somewhat rash young lady, had at first had no ground for complaint. She was well treated, her hosts gave her of their best in the way of hospitality, and left her free to come and go as she pleased.

She found much around her to interest and entertain her, quite sufficient to supply capital local colour for the story she started to write.

True she had no one with whom she could converse freely; and after a few days she began to feel a bit lonely, and to wish to hurry on with her task and get it finished.

She had an idea, too, an impression that gradually grew upon her, that there was something more going on around her than appeared on the surface. Some occult mystery to which she had not the clue.

She also fancied that she was not altogether trusted—that her hosts were spying upon her in secret.

"Perhaps." she said to herself, with a little laugh, "they think I am after their treasure—are afraid I shall manage, somehow or other to steal some of it!"

Certainly, she decided, they probably had a store of treasure somewhere, because there were signs of wealth on every side. Even the lowliest among them possessed ornaments of solid gold and silver, to say nothing of precious stones in settings that were probably hundreds of years old.

At first this idea, that they thought she might have come there to spy out the land, and make off with some of their hoarded wealth, amused her immensely. But later on, she had a vague uneasy feeling that there was something more serious afoot which concerned her.

She began to distrust their apparent friendliness. In fact, a suspicion arose in her mind that they were getting a little too friendly and that things were somehow working up towards some obscure climax.

And then—just as she was becoming seriously uneasy about it—it burst upon her, taking a form that she had never imagined in all her wildest suspicions about the matter.

They suddenly declared that she was their long-lost Princess—the Princess Divina! They had found a mark on her forehead which, they said proved it; and on the strength of that great discovery, they wanted to marry her to their prince—the Prince Pampas!

First—to her intense amusement—she was dressed up in royal raiment, loaded with jewels, and exhibited in the Temple to the assembled worshippers, who all prostrated themselves humbly before her.

But her amusement vanished, and consternation took its place when they proceeded to deck her out in bridal array, and to make their preparations for an immediate marriage.

Then Echo Delane broke out upon them. To consternation had succeeded anger; she lost her temper. She quickly demonstrated to them, that, whether she was one of their race or not, she certainly had real fighting blood in her veins.

Her first little effort was to fling off those who laid hands upon her, as she stood on the top of the altar steps and to send them rolling and tumbling headlong down the flight. Then taking advantage of their surprise, she dashed off the other way, and made for a staircase leading to a high tower.

Up this she mounted, going swiftly from floor to floor as they followed her, and beat in the various doors which she flung to and bolted and barred behind her.

Finally, she got out on the battlemented roof; and finding there a long rope, began to swing herself down outside, while her pursuers were making their way up inside.

Then to her joy, she perceived her faithful friend, "Hands Up," in the distance, riding frantically to her aid; and she signalled to him.

He grasped the situation, and arrived in time to carry her off before their enemies could stop him.

But alas! it was but a brief triumph. They were followed by the Incas on their horses and caught up. Echo, after another gallant resistance, was captured and carried by the Incas to their castle, leaving Rushe for dead upon the scene of the fight.

EPISODE II.
The Missing Prince.

Slowly, cautiously he raised the hand that held the
gleaming knife. Another moment and it would have
fallen, when there came a hissing, whizzing sound.

ROBERT RUSHE—or "Hands Up," as he was more familiarly called—lay upon the grass where he had been cast down and left for dead.

So far as appeared, there was no one near to see him or to trouble about him; no one to ascertain whether he was really dead, or to succour him if he were only stunned.

By degrees, something came into view, crawling stealthily out into the open; something that might have been mistaken, at first sight, for a big serpent, with a gaudily marked body; but which, a little later, revealed itself as one of the Inca warriors dressed in their picturesque costume.

A hardly perceptible sound came from the rocky cliff overhead. Something was moving there also. Beneath the dark shade of a group of pine trees upon a narrow terrace, a large form swung slowly round and receded further into the shadows.

It was a man on horseback; both horse and rider so sombre in colour that only a very sharp vision could have distinguished them in the gloom under the pines. It was, in fact, the mysterious being whom Rushe had called the Phantom Rider, when Echo had caught sight of him during their journey to the Inca settlement.

And now he had seen the crawling Inca creeping nearer and nearer to the man lying helpless, half stunned, on the grass; and had caught the flash of the sun's rays upon the long, cruel knife in the Indian's hand.

Nearer and nearer came the intending murderer. Rushe moved again, and made an effort to rise, and the other stopped at once, but came on once more as his victim fell back and remained motionless.

At last the crawling menace drew close enough for his deadly purpose. Slowly, cautiously he raised the hand that held the gleaming knife. Another moment and it would have fallen, when there came a hissing, whizzing sound.

Something whirled through the air. The man with the knife rolled over, struggling and gasping, and then glided back into the wood like a log dragged at the end of a rope.

The rope was a lasso which had found its mark, pinioned the crafty assailant, and drawn him back into the undergrowth from which he had started.

Still no one was to be seen. And Rushe, roused by the sound of the struggling Indian, and looking dazedly about him, saw nothing. He had no idea of the narrow escape he had had from a cruel death.

Thinking what the gods had provided, he philosophically appropriated the Inca's horse, mounted it, and dashed off at a headlong pace in the direction of the ranch.

* * * * *

Echo Delane, after her recapture by the Inca warriors, was taken back to their castle, and there once more led—or rather forced—to the top of temple steps, and placid before the altar.

The High Priest Oman was determined to force the ceremony of marriage with their Prince through without further delay.

Certainly he was not beautiful to look at. Thin and scraggy, with a sallow, unhealthy complexion, and large teeth prominent that they might have been almost called tusks—these were not exactly points that made for beauty. But the worst thing about him was his eyes, and the expression of his face, especially when he looked at Echo.

There was then, at times, a horrible leer, a repulsive-looking grin, which—so she declared afterwards—made her "feel cold down the back." So repellant, so offensive was this horrible old man's very look, that the girl, brave as she was, shrunk even from meeting his eyes. She tried all she could to look away from him. Yet again and again her glance returned to him, as though forced to do so by some uncanny hypnotic power.

Now towards the other Inca Chief—Axmara, the "Envoy" as he was called—her feeling was altogether different. Hostile to her she knew he was. Fierce and ruthless in everything, there was yet in him a certain honesty. Echo felt she could almost respect him as compared with the other. Indeed, she had, at the back of her mind, as it were, a sort of secret admiration for this finely built, athletic, statuesque descendant of the far-famed Incas of ancient Peru.

Afraid of him she was, as far as it was in her nature to be afraid of anybody or anything. But even in his scarcely veiled hostility towards her there was a dignity that half-fascinated her.

And he was a man of great courage, a born warrior, and a straight, if ferocious, fighter. She had seen enough already to recognise that. Moreover, she had an idea that in any matter in which he gave his word, his pledge he could be trusted. He seemed to have none of the crafty, despicable cunning of the old priest.

As to the Prince—well, Echo had no quarrel with him. She rather liked him than otherwise—apart from the idea of marrying him. And she had no reason to fear him, because she could see that he was himself averse to the marriage. She more than suspected that he was in love with one of the Sun-maidens, as they were called; but he had been too long under the tutelage of the fierce Axmara and the masterful old priest to think of exerting any will of his own.

Such was the position of the young girl towards these strange people, after a residence amongst them of sufficient length to enable her to make up her mind concerning them.

But she did not know all yet. She did not know what lay underneath the surface, for she did not understand their language, though she spoke Spanish—a language they knew better than English. They took care, however, always to use their own tongue when conversing with one another of things they did not wish her to know too much about.

When, from these people, her though turned to "Hands Up," it was with relief, and a longing to be in his company again. What had actually happened to him she did not know. She had not seen him fall: they had not brought him in a prisoner; that, at least, was certain.

She had a strong faith that he had escaped and would yet return and rescue her, if—! Ah, yes! If only this miserable, ridiculous marriage business—as it seemed to her—could be put off long enough to give him time to do so.

As she compared his honest, straightforward ways with those of the people now around her, recalled his good-humoured, smiling face, almost boyish in its simple candour, and, above all, remembered how stoutly he had fought for her, her heart was filled with gratitude and admiration.

Had he not ridden to her assistance, risking life itself, pitting himself fearlessly, alone and unaided, against the whole of the fighting men of the Inca establishment?

Is it wonderful, as she thought of this, and knew that he, if he had escaped, had not given her up yet, but would come again to rescue her—is it to be wondered at that she knew she was in love with him, and did not make any attempt to hide the fact even from herself?

What woman, with any honesty, could pretend to herself that she was indifferent to the whole-hearted devotion of a lover who had done what Robert Rushe had done and dared for her?

Still—she had to turn her thoughts from dwelling on these things, agreeable as they were, just then. There was this awful, hateful marriage business to be dealt with. Was it possible that she could think of any plan, any stratagem by which the wretched ceremony could be put off for a time?

But as it happened, none of these heroic methods was necessary. The problem was solved for her in a very complete and (to her) satisfactory manner by—as it seemed—Fate itself.

The Prince was not yet present, and when he was sent for he came not. The High Priest, becoming first vexed, then angry, and finally exasperated, sent summons after summons, and messenger after messenger; but all in vain.

The Prince made no sign, he sent no message—neither a "yea" nor a "nay," in reply, because—well, in fact, because he could not be found! First one, then another, went to try to find him; but all returned with the same report. Even Axmara condescended, at last, to go to search for him; only to return like the others—baffled. At last the unwelcome truth had to be faced and acknowledged.

Prince Pampas was missing! Whether he had run away of his own accord, or been carried off, or spirited away in some occult and unholy fashion, nobody knew.

Oman was so violent in his anger and chagrin that he nearly had a fit. Axmara, beneath his seemingly marble exterior, was really internally seething and boiling like a suppressed volcano.

Yes; as she realised that the unexpected absence of the bridegroom was not likely to be remedied, and that she had actually gained the respite which she had so longed for, and noted the astounded, woe-begone face of the priest, and the terrible scowl of the Envoy, she incontinently burst out laughing.

Axmara strode up to her and, seeming for once to lose control of himself, raised his hand as though he would strike her. But she flinched not. She merely stood and gave him back look for look, with superb scorn—and he drew back, still staring at her in sombre anger. And then Echo laughed again.

"You don't seem to see the joke, most noble Chief," she taunted. "It is I—not you—who should feel angry and hurt! See how your Prince has insulted me! He is so averse to wedding me that he prefers—exile, or—maybe death—or, maybe, to hide himself—rather than wed me! How ugly and objectionable he must think me!"

And again she laughed merrily, the while that Axmara's scowl grew blacker and more menacing, and Oman became almost black in the face with explosive fury.

How the scene might have ended it is impossible to say, it an unexpected interruption had not occurred to divert their attention.

A man came rushing in with a tale, certainly a strange one, which, however, if true, seemed to some extent, to clear up the mystery. It was nothing less than that their beloved prince had been carried off by the devil—the devil, in this case, being personated by no less a person than the one known as the "Phantom Rider!"

Incredulity was succeeded by curious speculation as to how or why such a thing should have happened. Then anger—this time directed towards the mysterious unknown—once more bubbled forth.

Such an insult to the Inca nation was not to be endured—even from a so-called phantom. He must be followed at once, his prize wrested from him, and due chastisement inflicted upon him for the outrage.

So the mounted lighting men were called out, and a little later were scampering along in the tracks of the kidnapper.

This interlude gave Echo the opportunity to make another attempt to escape, and of course she was not going to neglect it.

While everybody's attention was directed to the departing horsemen—with Axmara at their head—she stole off and locked herself up in a room in the chief tower. And here for a time she defied all the efforts of her gaolers to recapture her.

From the window of the room she had a good view of the surrounding country, and presently she saw a cloud of dust in the distance, coming towards her, which she guessed must be a troop of riders.

As they came nearer her heart gave a great bound. She knew they were friends, for they were mounted on dark horses, whereas the Inca's horses were all white. So it could not be the latter returning.

Soon all doubt as to their identity was removed. She recognised "Hands Up," riding furiously at the head of his troop of cowboys and rough riders. He was not dead, then, as the Incas had pretended! He had escaped, and was now returning to assist her!

He saw the signals she made to him, and a minute or two later drew up his band beneath her window.

As all the fighting men had gone out in chase of the "Phantom," there was no one left of sufficient strength to fight them off. But the great gates were shut against them, and they were thus prevented from getting to the prisoner inside. And at any moment the mounted Incas might possibly return.

In this dilemma the resourceful ranchmen carried out a curious and daring manoeuvre. Several horses and men were gathered together, and the men standing on the animals' back supported others and so formed a high triangle, which reached up to the window. Down this queer ladder the plucky girl climbed, and quickly landed on the ground.

Then the whole party cleared off, and made for the ranch, which they reached safely without further adventure.

* * * * *

It can be imagined with what pride and satisfaction Rushe led the girl he had rescued into the ranch where he lived, and introduced her to the inmates.

And one can easily imagine, too, the feelings of relief and comfort with which the sorely-tried girl found herself once more in safety, and in the company of human beings of her own race.

Rushe called up an elderly Indian servant, and bade her bring refreshments for their guest. And Echo, meantime, gratefully sank down upon a seat beside the table.

The hard riding had made her hot and had disarranged her hair, especially the fringe she was accustomed to wear brushed down over her forehead.

Now Starlight, as the old Indian woman was called, coming in with a tray with refreshments upon it, and glancing with mild curiosity at the new comer, suddenly reeled as though she had received a shock.

So upset was she that she almost dropped tray and glasses and all. However, she managed to set them down, with a clatter, on the table, and then staggered back gasping, and pointing to the stranger's face.

As may be supposed, this extraordinary statement produced a sensation. At first Rushe laughed at it, and asked Starlight what she was dreaming about, and whether she had been sipping at the wine before bringing it in.

"She, de-dead master's lost child," she declared. "Look at Missie's forehead! See de mark—it like a star! See!" And she put her hand on the girl's forehead, pushed the fringe well away, and there, sure enough, was a distinct mark, shaped as the old Indian nurse had said. It seemed that she had been nurse to the lost child when young, and therefore knew the mark well.

Rushe was astounded—he had a special reason for being so, because the letter which Col. Strange's lawyer had delivered to him expressly stated that the lost child had such a mark on her forehead, and could be identified by it.

"Cherokee Injuns!" he exclaimed. "What a fool I've been! Why—do you know Miss Echo, I saw that mark on your face the very first day we met! But I thought nothing particular about it—either then or since. An' hang me, but I never connected it with the mark the Col's letter told of as the way the missing child could he recognised."

Echo asked with a blush, wonderingly, when he had seen the mark that first day? And he reminded her how she had been thrown from her horse, how he had brought some water and dashed it in her face, his hat, in his solicitous hurry, rather roughly brushing her hair aside on the forehead.

"Ah! I see!" said Echo, but she did not look elated or particularly pleased. The fact was she was getting a bit tired of this "mark business," as she termed it; and of the complications and surprises it seemed to lead to.

She sighed wearily. "If it hadn't been for this wretched mark," she complained, "all this trouble with the Incas would never have arisen! I thought then that the whole affair was ridiculous and unreal. I feel more certain than ever of it now."

"Why? Can't you see? They said that the mark proved I was an Inca, a princess, and so on. You say, now, it proves I am a white girl, the daughter of your friend, Col. Strange! I can't very well be both—so which is it? I don't know what to think!"

"Think!" exclaimed Rushe, with a good-natured laugh. "Why, think that you are one of us, to be sure! My dear friend's daughter, and—mistress of this ranch! Let the miserable Incas be—let 'em go hang! You are our missing heiress—that ought to be good enough for you—heiress to this ranch!"

"Oh, but—there I was a princess, you know—heiress to a throne—I suppose—and to—I dare say, to a lot of treasure! For, let me tell you, I have learned enough to convince me that the tales and legends I mentioned to you—about their supposed wealth—are true."

"Let them and their treasures go to—shall we say to Jericho?" returned Rushe, emphatically. "This mark is proof enough for me! This ranch belongs to that young lady!"

He was now addressing Judith Strange, who had been standing by all this time listening, but saying nothing. She had given Echo no welcome, had merely said two or three words of greeting, and then, stepping aside, had lapsed into an attitude of silent attention.

This attitude had not been unnoticed by Echo, and it had had its effect in making her speech a little flippant, and perhaps slightly bitter. She was far from feeling as much at ease as Rushe evidently was.

He cared not a snap of the fingers for Judith and her airs, as he mentally dubbed them; and was not to be cheated out of the delight he felt by anything she might do or say.

Suddenly he started—almost jumped—and put his hand to his head. | He stared hard at Echo for a few moments, and then exclaimed:

"Great Scott! What a chunk I've been! Miss Echo, do you remember what I said to you the first day I saw you—on our way to the Incas' Castle?"

Echo was toying with a bangle on her wrist, and seemed preoccupied. She did not look up, but answered gravely:

"I remember—er—several things that you said—and did—that day, Mr. Hands Up! Which is it you are referring to?"

Rushe coloured up, and Judith Strange, watchfully observant of all that occurred, did not fail to notice it. He never coloured, up like that for her!

"I said," he continued, after a slight hesitation, "that I thought I had seen you before—or else it was that you put me in mind of someone. I know now who that someone was! It was your father, Colonel Strange! I can see the likeness now—not only in your face, but in many little ways in your manner. Can't you see it, Judith?"

Judith answered with indifference that she had not noticed anything of the kind; and added, ungraciously, that it must be his fancy.

But the statement roused Echo at once. It seemed suddenly to bring home to her that he was really talking about her father—the father she had never known, or at least, had no recollection of.

Robert Rushe had known him—known him here, in this very house, which—must have been her home! A crowd of vague memories came surging confusedly into her brain.

"My father!" she breathed. "You knew him! You lived with him!" She glanced around dreamily. "Yes! I feel it, now—I know it must be true! I have been here before! That, too, is why I said to you that day, as I looked across at the Incas' Castle, that it seemed familiar to me! It must be that this was once my home; and so, at last, I shall know who I am, who my father was! Tell me about him, Mr. Rushe—tell me all you can about him—and my mother!"

Rushe, all aglow, went over and sat down beside her. There he talked to her, answered the rapid eager questions she poured upon him, and told her in warm, sympathetic tones, about the father and mother she had never known.

Judith left them together. She went off with a heart burning with jealousy and rage; but her departure was unnoticed. Long the two sat there, while the hours slipped away unheeded, and the soft southern evening came, lighted by the rays of the rising moon.

A new understanding rose up between them that evening, strengthening and sanctifying the love that had already taken root in their hearts.

* * * * *

"Missee, Mister Rushe he's waitin' outside an' wants t' see you. Shall he come in?"

Echo Strange—Delane no longer—looked up from her writing and nodded. She was seated at her writing desk—the desk that her father, Col. Strange, had been wont to use—going through some accounts and papers appertaining to the business of the estate. For she had now, for some weeks, been installed as the mistress of the ranch.

The family lawyer had been there, had travelled to and fro many, times, making investigations; and her claim had been admitted and established.

She carried her new honours modestly and discreetly; and she showed both aptitude and industry in looking after the affairs of the estate. Her chief trouble now had reference to her cousin Judith, who, she knew full well, would never forgive her for taking her (Judith's) place as Colonel Strange's heiress.

Echo tried all she could to conciliate her, and, in regard to money matters, had behaved very generously. Judith had an allowance of her own—a very liberal one—was free to go or come as she pleased, and was treated by Echo with the greatest kindness and consideration.

But it was all in vain. Echo knew that Judith hated her on other grounds also. She would never forgive Echo for coming between her and Rushe.

And Echo was sorry; very, very sorry. She worried much over it, and sighed and wondered what she could do to smooth matters over.

Starlight, the Indian servant who had announced that Rushe was waiting permission to see her, went out and sent him in. He looked embarrassed and confused; and Echo, noticing it at once, asked him what was the matter.

It took some time to get at the cause of his hesitations, and uneasiness. But at last it came out. He had resolved to take the plunge; he had come to ask her to marry him!

Now this, at first sight, might have looked like presumption on his part. It might even have been imputed to him that he was a fortune-hunter. But among the private papers left by Echo's father in the care of his solicitor was a statement that if his missing daughter were ever found, it was his (Col. Strange's) wish and hope, that she might choose Rushe for a husband.

"I should die happier," he wrote, "if I knew that this wish of mine would be fulfilled. I know Robert Rushe well—have known him almost from a boy, and I know his worth. He knows, too, all about the management of the property; and I feel strongly that from every point of view their union would be a desirable one."

The solicitor had already communicated the foregoing to Echo; and when Robert, therefore, now came to her, confused and shy, and stammered out his hopes and aspirations, she was not taken by surprise.

"I have been told what my father desired," she said, "and, perhaps—some day—his desire may be fulfilled."

But whether he was content or not, there was one who was very far from being content, and that one was Judith.

She had been eavesdropping, had overheard Rushe make his proposal, and had gone away a prey to jealous fury.

She knew that the Incas had not given up hope of recapturing their lost princess, as they called Echo. Indeed the jealous, unscrupulous girl had actually been in secret communication with the Sun-worshippers, half inclined to betray into their power the cousin who was treating her so generously.

Till now she had hesitated, swayed by some lingering feelings of morality. But now, what she had overheard swept all such scruples aside.

Almost crazy with jealous vindictiveness, she sought out a half-caste name José, whom she knew she could trust, and whispered to him a message and her instructions. A few minutes later he was mounted, and on his way to the Incas' abode.

That evening, just as night closed in, he returned; and he was not alone. The Inca Chief and some of his fighting men were with him. In the shadows, near the corral, Judith was waiting for them. The Chief handed something to her:

"Do not fear to use it," he whispered. "It is not deadly. It will merely induce heavy, trance-like sleep. Go and prepare! I shall be there when the time comes!"

* * * * *

"I think I shall go to bed early to-night, Judith," said Echo to her cousin that night, some time before her usual time for retiring had arrived.

She rose up, stretching her arms drowsily. "I feel strangely tired and sleepy! I—I—think I'll say good night!"

"Good night—and pleasant dreams!" the other returned, eyeing Echo curiously. Then as the new mistress of the ranch disappeared through the door, Judith, who had also been yawning and affecting to be sleepy, suddenly became very wide awake.

"Yes!" she repeated. "Good night and pleasant dreams!" Then she laughed: and her laugh was one not pleasant to hear.

* * * * *

So tired was she that she lay down only partly undressed, and fell asleep at once.

She really could not tell whether she was asleep or not; whether her experiences were real or only a—nightmare. She seemed to be under some spell, or to be in a trance in which she could see and hear, but could not move a muscle, could not speak or cry out.

She seemed to be on a horse that was galloping madly across the open country. But she was not riding it herself. No; someone, a man of giant strength was holding her—holding her as though she were but a child. He, whoever he was, was carrying her off. Where to? she wondered. And the answer seemed to be, probably she had been kidnapped in her sleep, and was being taken to the Incas' Castle.

She could hear the flying hoofs, could feel the breeze singing past, as the rider who held her urged on his powerful horse in a whirlwind flight through the night.

At last they paused. In a wild, gloomy gorge, shut in, apparently, by walls of solid rock on all sides, her captor stopped his horse and waited. And, lo! a great, massive bolder opened out, rose high in the air like the upper jaw of some titanic monster, disclosing a black space that might have been its throat, ready to swallow horse and rider.

And into this Ali Baba-like cave they rode. The entrance closed behind them, and Echo was lifted down and laid upon a long seat or couch.

Then, as the one who had put her down drew back, she had a view of him. She could see him by some uncanny radiance with which the place was illuminated.

EPISODE III.
The Phantom And The Girl.

IN the middle of the night Judith fancied she heard strange sounds in Echo's bedroom. She struck a match, lighted a small lamp, and looked at her watch.

"It is not yet time—but something is certainly going on," she muttered. "Have they come for her before the hour we arranged? I must go and see!"

As she stole softly from her room she saw, by the dim light from the moon, that a window on the landing was wide open. Through it came some confused sounds, as of a horse prancing about.

Judith looked out, and the first thing she perceived was the form of her cousin Echo lying across a horse. That did not greatly surprise her—it was part of the programme she and the Inca Chief had settled between them. But what she next, saw was a surprise indeed, and almost brought her heart into her mouth. It was certainly not in the programme she had arranged.

For, instead of the white horse and white robes of the Inca, she saw a dark, sombre apparition. The horse and its rider were both black, the latter, wearing a black sombrero, had his face so swathed with dark wrappings as to be practically masked, and had, besides, a long, sweeping black cloak.

She ran down the stairs, rushed to the front door, opened it, and went out on the verandah. She was just in time to see the Phantom Rider galloping off with his burden.

She scurried onwards, stumbled through a small thicket of pine trees, and reached the further side. Some men and horses were lying about on the ground in the deep shadow.

"Time!" Judith flung at him, in scornful anger. "Have you no ears, that you do not know what has happened? Have your watchmen no eyes?"

He seized her by the wrist, twisted her round, and stared into her face, his brow black and scowling, his eyes menacing.

She told him. "The Phantom Rider has been here—my cousin—the one you want—!"

He waited to hear no more. Shouting some hasty orders to his men, he tore off to the house to investigate for himself.

Regardless of all ceremony, he rushed upstairs into Echo's room; only to find that she had indeed gone.

Down the stairs again he almost tumbled, sprang upon his horse, and, followed by his troop, started off in furious pursuit of the flying kidnapper.

The noise they made roused the people of the ranch. Within a few minutes "Hands Up" was on the scene, had extracted from Judith a confused account of what had occurred, had gathered his cowboys together, and had set off, in his turn, to hunt for both chasers and chased.

And Judith, too impatient to await their return, donned a cycling suit, got out her motor-cycle, and started out on a lone trail of her own.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, Echo, after a thrilling ride, had finally found herself in a most wonderful cave which, like that of the "Forty Thieves," famous in Eastern story, opened and closed at the command of the one in the secret.

For a while she was too dazed, or still too much affected by the sleeping potion she had unknowingly taken to be able properly to recall her scattered senses. But by degrees her brain grew clearer.

Her captor had shown no sign of any hostile intentions. On the contrary, he was considerate enough to hand her a spare cloak to wrap round her. For, has been stated, she had lain down partly undressed on her bed, and so fallen asleep. He passed the time, while waiting for her to recover herself, in striding restlessly up and down, merely glancing at her now and then.

She, on her side, watched him from under half-closed eyelids, seeking some clue to guide her, and tell her whether she had to deal with friend or foe.

It was difficult to imagine what he was really like, he was so wrapped up. As already described, he might have been masked for all that could be seen of his face. For the rest, all she could guess at was that he seemed to be stoutly and powerfully built.

From him her gaze travelled furtively to the surroundings—to the contents of what she supposed must be considered this mysterious being's home.

It was decidedly a remarkable home. It was a cave—yes, but what a strange, wonderful cave! Furnished with barbaric splendour and luxury, a curious mixture of the old and the modern, and lighted in mystic fashion by a weird, uncanny glow from a jet of fire which seemed to be an essential part of the cave itself. It was certainly a bizarre place for a young girl to find herself in.

But then—had she not come deliberately into that part of the world hoping to meet with adventures? She had already done well in that direction. She had been claimed for a long-lost princess, and had been all but married to a prince; had been recognised as a missing heiress, and had been installed as the owner and mistress of a fine estate!

Now it looked as though something yet more mysterious was in store for her. For a cave such as this, with such rich and elaborate fittings, with a marvellous self-operating and closing boulder of rock for entrance, could surely belong only to a page from the Arabian Nights!

However, just as her wandering thoughts had reached this point, her host addressed her, and drew all her attention to himself. And certainly his words came as a further surprise.

"Senorita, you will do well to heed my words! I have just rescued you from a great peril! The Incas were lying in wait in force outside your home—"

"You were lying helpless in a deep sleep, under the influence of a poisonous drug that had been used on you. You would have been carried off without being able to give the alarm or utter a cry to bring anyone to your aid—had I not intervened—"

Echo, who was staring harder than ever as she listened, here began to murmur some expressions of gratitude, but he waved them aside:

"—had I not intervened," he repeated. "But graver dangers—even death—await you—unless—you will be guided by me! I want you to give me a promise."

"What promise?" she asked, in a low tone. Already she had a premonition that he referred to something she would not wish to agree to.

"It is that you promise you will not wed 'Hands Up'—at least for the present—till after the present trouble with the Incas has passed away or been arranged."

Echo shook her head. "I do not know that there is any likelihood of my wedding Mr. Rushe," she said "But at all events, I don't see what it has to do with other people, or why anyone should interfere to prevent it."

"Then you will have to remain here for the present. I cannot—for your own safety's sake—let you go unless you promise."

* * * * *

While this talk was proceeding inside the cave various events were happening in the country outside it.

Two parties of mounted men were searching in all directions for Echo and the "Phantom Rider."

One troop, as we know, consisted of the Incas under Axmara; while the others were the cowboys from the ranch, under "Hands Up."

There was also Judith, who was making an excursion of her own, on her motor-bicycle. She was bent on following, well as she could, the people she had been plotting with—the Incas—feeling too impatient to wait at home for news of the result of their search.

Just after dawn she came upon two Inca warriors, who were looking about for tracks in the sand on the shore of an extensive lake. Suspecting that they must have some special reason for thus separating themselves from their troop, she determined to remain there and try to discover what their special object might be.

But when, presently, they separated and went different ways, she was in a difficulty. She could not keep an eye on both. So she fixed upon one at random, and hiding her machine in some bushes, took up a position where she could see without being seen.

The man made his way, amongst some great rocks, to a little creek that ran up from the shore. Here, from a small cave, he pulled out a roomy canoe.

He took off his embroidered white cloak, and presently appeared almost stripped, and wearing only what may be described as a kind of bathing suit. Putting his clothes in the canoe and getting in himself, he paddled out of the creek, round the end of it into another, situated in a very retired, gloomy spot, of which, possibly, the very existence was only known to himself.

Then, pushing the canoe far enough on to the sand to keep it from floating off, he climbed on to a rocky ledge, and poising himself, dived into the water.

Judith, who had been creeping and dodging about, hiding and spying, with great ingenuity, without being detected, was now altogether nonplussed.

The man had absolutely gone—and did not reappear! She stared and wondered. There were the rings from the splash he had made as he dived. There were the bubbles that had appeared on the surface of the water, and that had floated away shorewards. And she waited and looked, and looked and waited—but he came not back!

She was turning away in perplexity and disappointment, when she thought she saw some bubbles appearing on the surface of the water near where the man had vanished.

She looked wonderingly—then saw other signs, and, finally, the man himself reappeared—first his head and arms, and then his body. He seemed to be struggling with something, and the girl thought that he might have been attacked by some creature in the water. But a second thought told her that this could hardly be the case; he had been beneath the surface too long for that to be possible.

Then she saw the real cause; he was carrying a box, and by all appearance a heavy one! Slowly but surely he struggled with his burden, and at last deposited it or the strand, where he paused for a rest.

The girl could not but feel a wondering admiration for a man who could perform such a feat as to swim with a load like that—for she could see it must be heavy—and get it ashore! But where had it come from?

All sorts of vague, wild ideas whirled through her brain. Quickly she sensed the idea that he had visited, under water, some storage place—perhaps had dived and come up in some other cave, close by, which could only be visited in that strange fashion.

All the curious old legends and fantastic tales of Inca treasure-stores came, with a rush, to her recollection. Could it be that she had actually seen an Inca visiting, in this curious manner, one of their treasure caves?

What a secret to have discovered! What wild, intoxicating possibilities it suggested!

While such reflections as these were rushing excitedly through her mind, the Inca had placed the box that had cost him such an effort, in the bottom of the canoe, and had gone back to the rock from which he had dived.

And Judith, with the blood racing through her veins in expectation, saw him dive again, as he had done before.

And, as before, there was no sign of any immediate reappearance. Now, then, was her opportunity!

Glancing cautiously round on all sides, she ran swiftly to the canoe, and looked eagerly at the box. She tried the lid; it was only fastened by a catch. She opened it—and then drew back, gasping with astonishment and delight!

It was a veritable treasure box! It was filled with all sorts of jewellery, which sparkled and scintillated in the sunlight. The gold and silver settings were of curious design and, she could see, must be very ancient. But their value was but trifling in comparison with the precious stones which adorned them.

Judith thought deeply for a few seconds. Then she selected one of the richest-looking ornaments, and closing and fastening the lid, hurried back to her hiding-place.

There she waited and watched, and presently saw the Inca return with another box. He placed it in the canoe, as before; but this time pushed the craft into the water, got into it, and paddled away.

The girl saw him make his way along by the shore till he came to the mouth of a river that ran down into the lake. This he turned into, paddling slowly but steadily against the current. A little later he was met by another canoe with other Incas in it.

Three or four of these got in with him, and the two boats proceeded together up the stream.

* * * * *

Some miles away was a ranch, in a lonely situation, where there lived a man known as Sam Killman.

Ostensibly, he was an ordinary rancher engaged in the usual agricultural pursuits of his class. But while posing as a respectable rancher, Killman was, secretly, the head of one of the most daring bands of outlaws in the South-West.

These outlaws worked on his land as cow-punchers, rough riders, and farm hands generally. But in reality they were all, from Killman downwards, a gang of unscrupulous desperadoes.

To this ranch came Judith Strange, on her motor-cycle, and asked to see Killman, who received her with delight. For he had long been one of her suitors, though, hitherto, she had given him no encouragement.

It did not take him long to discover that this morning she was in a very different mood.

She evidently knew—or suspected—something of his real nature and occupation; and it did not take her long to come to terms, and to conclude an infamous bargain with him.

She had thought it all out during her ride. She had grasped the fact that the Phantom Rider had taken sides, as it were, against her.

He it was who had upset her pretty little plot to deliver her cousin Echo over to the Incas. How he had got to know about it she could not imagine. It seemed almost uncanny.

But there was the fact. And with such a man on the one side, who seemed able to guess and forestall her in this way, and "Hands Up" on the other, she began to see that her own unaided efforts were not sufficient to gain her ends.

So she decided to enlist Killman on her side, foreseeing that what she had discovered about the Incas' treasure would be likely to prove a sufficiently tempting bait to gain his co-operation.

In return he must undertake to "get rid" of her cousin Echo. With Echo out of the way, she would enter into possession of the Strange Ranch and estates. And last—but not least, in her eyes—she would be able (so she hoped) to regain the love of Robert Rushe.

These were the essential points in the unholy compact entered into that morning between the two. In return for his promise to do away with Echo, she was ready to guide him to the place where he and his band could intercept the Incas, and capture the treasure they were carrying in their canoes up the river. And the better to excite his cupidity, she showed him the costly ornament she had herself taken from the canoe.

Killman, however, while willing enough to agree to all this, insisted on adding another condition on his own behalf. She must give up Rushe and promise to marry him.

And to this she had perforce to seem to agree; though she secretly resolved to repudiate it when the time came to fulfil it.

This abominable bargain having been arranged, Killman gathered together the members of his band, and they all set out for the place where they would be able to attack the Incas and capture from them their boatload of treasure.

* * * * *

The second solitary Inca whom Judith had seen, was really hunting, independently, for the secret hiding-place of the Phantom Rider.

He had seen the traces of the hoof marks, and having formed a theory of his own upon the matter, had obtained permission from his chief to follow out his idea while the others continued their quest elsewhere.

And, in effect, this man did succeed in making his way into the mysterious cave. After searching all round it below, he finally tethered his horse near, and then climbed the seemingly unscalable rocks above it; and there he chanced upon a small shaft, down which he managed to creep. Thus he entered the cave through the roof, and, with the help of his lasso, which he fastened above it, dropped down upon the floor, in the presence of the Phantom Rider and the girl he had carried there.

The result was a long and furious battle between the intruder and the mysterious owner of the cave.

For some time fortune wavered. The Inca, as it happened, was one of the most famous fighters of his tribe, and proved to be a tough opponent even for the powerfully-built "Rider." While the combat lasted, Echo was hard put to it to keep out of their way, for they fought, so to speak, all over the place. She felt strongly inclined to make some effort to assist the mysterious "Rider," and yet she hardly knew whether she ought to.

Had he not carried her off and kept her a prisoner there against her will? Had he not tried to get a promise from her which was also against her will? Why then should she take his part?

On the other hand, he had told her that he had saved her from a sort of plot—as far as she could understand it. It seemed she had been under the influence of some drug or poison—he had said so—which was all very mysterious. And so—!

Thoughts and ideas such as these ran through her mind in a confused way, the while that she was constantly shifting her position, now here, now there, as the two fighters moved about.

In the course of these movements on her part, it chanced that she found herself under the shaft by which the Inca had made his entrance, and saw the rope he had used dangling from it.

Just then the master of the cave threw his antagonist to the floor and knelt upon his chest; and Echo, regarding this as decisive, considered it a suitable time for making her own escape.

Seizing the hanging rope, therefore, she climbed it, and made her way out into the open air, finding herself high up among the crags.

Next she managed to scramble down the rocks and reach level ground; and there she saw the Inca's horse quietly grazing.

She had no scruple about making use of the animal, and very quickly got on his back.

But to find her way to the ranch was a very different matter. She was in a strange country and had no idea even which way her home lay.

In this dilemma she finally decided to trust to the horse's instinct, and let it travel, for a while, its own road.

And this turned out to be a very good plan. The horse, starting off at once for its own home, presently brought her, on its way there, to a part which she recognised. Then, turning it in the direction of the ranch, she urged it along at top speed.

She felt some misgivings as to her chances if encountering more Incas, however, and therefore took care to keep a sharp look-out. But fortunately she saw no sign of them; and eventually she reached home without further adventure.

No need to say how delighted Robert Rushe was when, returning, worn out and utterly despondent, from his long and useless search, he found that Echo had arrived, safe and unhurt, before him.

In his relief and joy he caught her in his arms and made no attempt to beat about the bush.

"Now," he said, "we must settle things! Let us get married, Echo! As my wife, you will be safe from—"

"I cannot marry you—not yet, anyway, because I've been told that if I do you will be in danger as well as myself."

She proceeded to give him an account of her adventure, and told him how the mysterious individual they called the Phantom Rider had tried to get her to promise not to marry him.

"I did not actually promise," she admitted, "but it's almost the same thing. If there is so much danger to you—"

Here Robert broke out into a storm, partly of anger against the Phantom Rider—of whom he was strongly inclined to be jealous—and partly of passionate pleading.

Echo found it hard to resist his persuasions, and, if the truth is to be told, there was a good deal of love making between them—quite sufficient to prove to him that though she was still firm on the question of not marrying at once, it was not because she had changed her feelings towards him.

And then they settled down to a calmer discussion of the situation, and of the probable future.

While they were thus engaged they heard some unexpected sounds which caused Echo to start up in alarm.

There had been a curious whirring noise, and something had come, with a whiz, through the open window. It was a large arrow, and it went with a crash against the further wall of the room, where it remained; its sharp head buried in some woodwork.

Echo's alarm seemed justified, for it looked as though this formidable weapon had boon shot at them with murderous purpose; and that they had had a narrow escape.

Robert Rushe, however, saw that there was something attached to the shaft, and he crossed over to the place where it had struck and examined it. From it he took a folded missive, unrolled it, and read there a startling message:—

"Inca treasure stolen by outlaws at Death's Entrance Canyon, near Clear Lake. Restore it to Incas, and claim, in return, a respite for your sweetheart."

Used to act quickly in emergencies, "Hands Up" lost no time in following out the surprising advice thus strangely conveyed to him.

Taking a hasty leave of Echo, he called his cowboys together, and they headed at full gallop for the gloomy gorge known as Death Entrance.

This was the place which Killman, acting on the news brought by the treacherous Judith, had fixed upon as the best point to attack the Incas. He knew that the river was shallow there; that they would have trouble in getting their canoes over the shallows, and that he and his men would be able to wade in the water and attack them to advantage.

Prompt as "Hands Up" had been, he arrived near the scene too late to foil Killman's plan. He had duly carried it out, had overcome the Incas, and captured the boxes of treasure, and was already on his way back to his own ranch.

A scout whom Rushe sent forward to reconnoitre ascertained this, and returned to report.

"They've got the boxes in the stage coach driven by 'Pole Cat Charlie,'" was his statement.

"P'raps the crooks commandeered his outfit an' compelled him to carry the stuff for 'em," suggested the scout.

"Yes, that must be the way of it, I should say," "Hands Up" decided. "Anyway, it's a hint to us! We'll commandeer him, in our turn, to carry the stuff for us—when we've got it. We'll ride across and get ahead of 'em the way they're going. I think I know a place where we can ambush 'em easy."

There followed another fleet dash, this time across broken and difficult ground; and then the troop halted in a well-wooded patch beside the trail up which the robbers were expected to come.

They had not long to wait. In a little while some of the marauders appeared round a bend, and came slowly up the ascent towards the concealed cowboys. The coach, with four horses pulling it, followed.

Rushe allowed the party to come within a hundred yards or less; and then opened fire and swooped down upon them, scattering them, and sending most of them to the right about.

Killman, who, like his followers, was masked, cursed and swore, and did his best to get them to make some sort of a stand. But he was no more anxious than they were to stay and get captured. So, as soon as he realised that the attackers were too strong for him, he, too, turned tail, and rode off at his hardest.

Pole Cat Charlie, the driver, alone remained, and he declared, when sharply questioned by Rushe, that he had been forced to aid the gang by threats of death if he refused.

"Well," he said at last, "you'll have now to help us in the same way. You'll have to carry what you've got inside your coach to the Incas' Castle.

"Ay, to the Incas' Castle. It belongs to them, an' we're goin' to take it to 'em. Turn your team round an' come with us."

Thus it came about that, at the Incas Castle, while great lamentations were going on at the news—brought by fugitive warriors—of the loss of the treasure, a party of cowboys from the Strange Ranch received a welcome such as had never been accorded to any of them before.

Oman himself came out, half toddling, half ambling, to meet them when he heard what their mission was.

"We've brought back you're derned treasure. It's there!" said Rushe, bluntly, pointing to the stage coach.

"And now you've got it, guard it better for the future. We mightn't happen to be around, you know, next time you let it be taken from you."

Oman was, needless to say, overjoyed. His usual leering smile became, for the moment, almost genial. And even the fierce-eyed, black-browed Regent tried to look as pleasant as he could.

"That you call a truce, and leave in peace the one you call the Princess Divina," Rushe demanded.

Oman and Axmara drew apart and consulted together. Then the priest announced his decision.

But if the Incas were willing to give Echo a breathing space, there were other enemies who were by no means inclined to do so. One of them was Judith, Echo's treacherous, plotting cousin, and another was her confederate Killman.

Enraged by the loss of the riches he had been so near to securing, Killman readily listened to the suggestions of the temptress, when they afterwards met secretly at the ranch.

"You must put Echo out of the way," she told him. "That is the only condition on which I will have anything more to do with you!"

"Well—but how am I do it?" he wanted to know. "She's so well guarded! My spies that I've had hangin' around tell me she never goes out without 'Hands Up' or some of the cowboys with her."

"By day, yes. But you could come at night. I can let you in on the quiet, you know. If the one they call the Phantom Rider could carry her off right from under their noses, as one may say, so could you. Are you plucky enough to try?"

"Why not to-night? No time like the present. Come round to the same window you came to the other night. I will leave it open for you!"

That night, as she was on her way up to her bedroom, the unsuspecting Echo was attacked in the dark by a man who had concealed himself in the passage.

Ere she could cry out, a hand was put over her mouth, and she was bound and gagged. Then her captor—aided, as it seemed to her, by some other person—carried her outside, put her across a horse, and mounting the animal himself, rode away with her.

EPISODE IV.
The Phantom's Trail.

There she stood, calm now, and unflinching, holding in her
hands the lives of some, at any rate, of her persecutors.

FOR some time Echo remained in a half-fainting, half-dazed condition, from which she did not completely recover until her captor set her down, and, dismounting, stood beside her.

Looking round, the girl found that she was standing on a terrace of rock near the edge of a precipice.

She was in an unknown country, so far as her knowledge of the place was concerned.

All around her were soaring rocks and crags. Below was a rushing, foaming mountain stream, its bed strewn with great boulders, among which the water dashed and leaped in a series of cascades. Echo, standing where she was, hundreds of feet above, could hear very distinctly the roar of the clashing, tumbling waters.

The masked kidnapper (she had little idea at that time that it was Killman, Judith's would-be sweetheart) untied her hands and set her free for the moment. Then he turned to look to his horse.

Echo suddenly made up her mind. She preferred death to being in the power of this scoundrel; and she darted away and stood on the very brink of the precipice.

There Killman saw her standing, her hair tossed about in the breeze, her eyes wild with a desperate determination.

He ran towards her, but paused, daunted, for the moment, by the expression he saw upon her face.

But he, recovering from his momentary hesitation, laughed evilly, and, with a spring, laid hold of her.

A fierce struggle ensued, he trying to fling her over the cliff's edge, while she clung to him tenaciously. But in the end the man prevailed; and he pushed her over.

At that moment, "Hands Up," who had tracked the kidnapper, appeared on the precipice on the other side of the river.

The two sides of the canyon through which the torrent raced, were separated by a wide gap, which was, however, bridged in precarious fashion by one of those frail rope bridges which are frequently met with in mountainous districts.

On to this swaying, flimsy structure Rushe, without hesitation, made his way. Killman did not wait to meet him, but vanished amongst the trees which fringed the terrace.

Rushe stopped on the bridge and looked down for some sign of the fate of the girl he loved.

At first he could make out nothing of her amid the rocks and trees and shrubs and derelict logs, and the white foam of the dancing, leaping waters. But at last, to his unspeakable relief and delight, he saw that she had in some way got caught in the branches of a tree that grew upon a ledge on the side of the precipice.

She was, in fact, almost underneath him, and at once he unwound his lariat and dropped one end of it towards her.

She caught sight of it as it came dangling in the air, and glanced up with glad and grateful smile. Then, when she had grasped it and pulled it far enough, she tied it securely round her body under the arms; and looked up again for instructions.

At a sign from her lover, she fearlessly cast herself free, trusting to his skill and strength to manage the rest.

The ledge which she had been caught was about half-way down the cliff, so that she was now suspended in mid air, far above the rocky bed of the roaring river.

To pull her up on to the swaying rope bridge was practically impossible. All Rushe could hope to do would be to lower her gently on to some place on the bank, whence she would be able to make her way to safer ground.

This of itself was an extremely difficult and delicate task. Nevertheless, Rushe might have accomplished it, had he been left free to do so.

But this was not to be. Killman reappeared upon the side of the stream at a point lower down. He had gone there expecting to be able to see the body of his victim lying somewhere below, and so make sure that she was really dead.

Instead, he perceived, to his intense rage and brutal disappointment, that "Hands Up" was attempting her rescue, and had already practically succeeded. Another minute or two and he would have lowered her to safety.

Lying at full length upon the rock he had been standing on, the murderous scoundrel brought his rifle into position, and aimed carefully at the swinging rope.

It was a difficult feat to attempt; but the man was known as one of the best shots in that part of the world; and his sinister skill did not fail him on this occasion.

He fired four shots, each aimed with deliberation. The first and third missed; the second touched the cord and slightly abraded it. The fourth bullet completed the fell work and the unfortunate girl fell.

The rushing river received her, caught her in its foaming embrace, and swept her away out of sight.

* * * * *

Some distance lower down, where the river ran on more level ground, and spread out into a wider and smoother stream, a band of what are known as renegade Indians had pitched their camp.

One of their number, who had been fishing on the bank of the stream, came running in with the news that he had seen the seemingly dead body of a white woman floating down; whereupon some of those he told ran to the bank to see what could be done to secure it.

One of them threw a lasso, caught the floating form, and drew it to the shore. Then they found that it was not a dead body, but that of a girl who was still alive, though evidently in a terribly exhausted condition.

They gave her into the charge of their squaws, who did the best they could for her, and eventually brought her round. And in doing so they made a discovery:

"I know this girl," said one of them, to the Headman of the tribe. "Years ago we had her in our camp as a child to take care of. But she escaped from us—or was stolen. She has the mark upon her forehead. She is the lost Princess Divina that the Inca Mission people are looking for."

The Headman was interested at once, and called a meeting of his chief braves. They investigated the matter and deliberated upon the course to be pursued.

They appointed one of their squaws and one of their chief men to question the stranger, and found that she had come from the Strange Ranch, of which she claimed to be the mistress and owner. She was still weak and felt unwell, but she laughed at the idea that she was a princess, or that her name was Divina.

"My name is Strange," she declared, "Just Echo Strange. I am no princess. Restore me to my home, or send a message to my people to tell them I am here, and I will pay you well and handsomely for saving my life, and for the care you have taken of me. You all know Mr. 'Hands Up,' I expect?"

Yes; they knew "Hands Up," they said. He was well known in all that part of the world. He was noted as a hard rider, and a splendid horseman; also as a born fighter, a fine shot, and wonderfully quick with his "gun." That was why he was called "Hands Up." He was so quick that he generally managed to "get the drop" on any one who crossed him.

"Well then," Echo commented, with pride in her face and tones as she heard her fiancé thus spoken of, "you must know very well that he will treat you liberally if you hasten to do what I have asked of you. And that if you don't, you will have him to deal with in a way you won't like. He is probably already looking for me, and may happen round here at any moment. Still, it may save time and trouble if you send a messenger to the ranch to say that I am here."

When this was reported to the Headman and his council, they were perplexed and divided in opinion. Some were for complying with Echo's request and sending a message to the Ranch. But others demurred:

Lanata, their "Medicine Man," in particular, opposed it. He, it appeared, was on friendly terms with Oman, the Inca High Priest; and, indeed, he had recently returned from a visit to him.

"Listen, O my chief! Attend, my brothers!" he urged, with a cunning glitter in his eyes. "This girl belongs to us! We have saved her life, and we have the right to ask our own price for doing so! I see a chance to gain much gold for us all—for all our tribe! She has offered to pay us for what we have done. Yes; but how much? The Incas, they want her. They say she belongs to them. She is their lost princess. They also will pay us for what we have done—for saving her life—if we save her for them. Oman spoke to me about her; and he would pay us—give us gold—much gold—for her. I am sure he would. Far more—many times more—than she would pay us. Send and ask him, and you will see!"

This harangue had a visible effect upon his hearers. Their faces showed that the suggestion had appealed to their cupidity and roused their greed. They were quite ready to betray the girl they had rescued to the Incas, if it would pay them best to do so—and if they could do it with safety.

"Why should he know?" the Lanata queried, craftily. "No one knows that we have pulled her out of the water. No one need know."

"He will come here to make enquiry," the Headman pointed out. "He is sure to come; if only to know whether we have found a dead body."

"Are we all fools? Are our squaws chatterboxes?" Lanata demanded. "Tell them—tell everyone—that no word must be uttered. No one has seen any girl here, dead or alive. That is all. He will go away knowing nothing!"

The council discussed the momentous question for some time. There was no doubt as to the direction in which their desires urged them. But "Hands Up" had such a reputation, that many among them shrunk from risking his hostility.

However, in the end, Lanata's artful words produced the effect he expected, and it was decided to send him and one of the chief men to the Inca Mission to make enquiry and see what sort of offer they would make.

Their horses were brought round and they started off accordingly, and in due time reached the Inca Castle.

"Ye have done well, brothers," he said, at the end of it. "And you will not find us ungrateful. We will prepare our reply to your Headman."

He went away to confer with his colleagues, and presently returned accompanied by several people, among them a fine-looking stalwart Inca warrior whom he presently referred to as Tampa. Tampa was the bearer of a bag which, though not large, seemed to be pretty heavy.

"Behold, Lanata!" cried Oman. "Tampa, one of the most trusted of our fighting men, is carrying our present to you! It is a bag of gold—"

"We thank you, O Oman!" said the Medicine Man stepping forward to take the bag. But he was a little too hasty it seemed; for Oman frowned and waved him back.

"No, no," Oman told him. "Tampa will give the gold into the hands of your Headman for all your people—when you have handed over the princess to him to bring to us."

"Oh!" murmured Lanata, evidently disappointed. But there was nothing he could object to in such an arrangement.

"So be it, my brother," he added. "Your messenger can return with us and see our Headman, and then bring back your princess to you here."

Oman nodded, his face wearing his usual ugly smile; and thus was the matter settled.

It is scarcely necessary to say that the three received a warm welcome from the Headman when they reached the Indian encampment, especially the Inca bearing the bag of gold.

The Headman smiled upon him graciously and greeted him effusively. It was a very hot day, as it happened, and he could feel for anyone who had a load to carry in such weather.

"Let me relieve you of your burden, O my brother," said the Headman, kindly. "How good of your worthy priest to send you to us! How tired you must be with the weight of that bag! I will take charge of it for you, and you can enjoy a rest in the shade!"

"Not so, my brother," Tampa made answer. "A rest I shall be truly glad of, and some refreshment—for it has been a hot and dusty ride. But the bag I may not hand over until I see the princess, and I have her in my charge. My orders are most precise."

Such was the purport of the dialogue between the two, though not perhaps the exact words employed. They were, as is usual in Indian talk, much more flowery. But the import was the same, and it meant this; that while the Headman was impatient to handle the gold, he seemed in no hurry to hand over the girl.

Presently this was explained by the Headman to Lanata in a talk apart, whilst the Inca was partaking of the refreshment offered to him. Again we give only the meaning of the words in English. The actual talk was much too discursive to be literally translated:

"The fact is there's trouble in the wind," the Headman explained gloomily, "'Hands Up's' been here!"

"We had a lot of bother to convince him that we knew nothing about any girl, dead or alive. He said she must have floated down past our fishing ground here. 'I saw, as I passed, that many of your men were fishing,' he said. 'It is shallow here. If she is dead she must have been carried down here. I have searched the banks of the stream above. If she had been able to creep ashore I must have come across her; but I could see no signs of her. I think she must have come this way.' That's the way he talked."

"He's gone away; but I'm sure he's not satisfied. He doubts our word and has suspicions. I could see it."

"Ah! That's the question. He went away saying he was going to search further. But when, after waiting discreetly for a little while, I sent two of my young men after him to watch him, they could not find him. Now, why is that? Has he gone off to get his cowboys and bring them back here, determined to search our camp? Or is he hiding close at hand in the hope of catching sight of the girl if she is about? In that case it is not safe to bring her out and give her into the charge of the Inca. 'Hands Up' may see her!"

"I thought perhaps," the Headman went on, "that the Inca would hand over the gold and accept our promise to send the girl over to them later on. But I'm afraid, from what I have seen, that he would not do that."

"No fear!" muttered the medicine man dolefully. "No chance of that! The only thing I can suggest is to wait until night. We might manage better in the dark."

"Yes. Good! That's a good idea! The Inca may be able to get her away then without being seen by 'Hands Up' if he is still about."

* * * * *

The Indian Chief was right in his guess. "Hands Up" had not gone far away. He had hidden himself effectually, and was keeping a watch on the Indian encampment. But after waiting for many hours in vain, he was at last almost on the point of going away, hopeless and despairing.

And then a strange thing happened. As he lingered, a little while longer, still troubled with vague suspicions as to the Indians' good faith, he heard an outcry. And lo! whom should he see but Echo herself, running towards him, pursued by several of those self-same Indians!

She had managed to escape from the custody of the old squaw, and was making a wild dash for liberty.

Rushe got behind a big boulder lying across the path, which partly sheltered him, while he was able to fire over it.

Echo had seen him, and was running straight towards him, with a string of Indians racing after her in a line, so that he could not well fire at the latter for fear of hitting her. Yet so near were they to her, that he saw they were likely to catch her up before she could reach him. So he called out to her:

And she caught the idea and obeyed. Down she dropped and lay close; and Rushe fired over her at the Indians, whose pursuit was very quickly checked.

But only for a time. They, seeing that a frontal attack was too dangerous, cleared out of his way, and began to creep round, to assail him in the rear.

Echo now stood up. The Indians made no attempt to shoot at her, being anxious to keep her against the ransom. Seeing this, Rushe advised her to go off in search of help.

"Our cowboys are somewhere about," he told her. "I'll hold up the Indians here and prevent 'em following you. You go and get help!"

Realising that he was right, that it was the best thing to be done in the circumstances, Echo started off in the direction he pointed out. And Rushe remained to manage for himself as best he could.

* * * * *

Echo ran swiftly along the trail, looking at intervals, but ever, as it seemed, in vain, for that cloud of dust in the distance which would probably be the first sign heralding the approach of the cowboy troop.

She had gone far, and was becoming tired and very despondent, when her heart suddenly gave a great bound of relief and joy. There, in the distance, coming straight towards her, was a swirl of dust in the air—the very thing she had been so anxious to catch sight of.

Nearer it came, moving swiftly down hill; then it became partially hidden in a fold of the ground.

Echo hurried forward to meet the newcomers. A patch of bush now lay between her and the point where the oncoming party might be expected to appear again. She hastened to cross this; and, for a space, was shut out from the view ahead.

As she emerged on the other side, and was crossing the open ground beyond, the riders swept round a bend and came upon her.

To her horror they were not the cowboys at all! They were a party of masked men; and ere she could retreat or make any effort to escape, they had surrounded her. One, who was evidently the leader, sprang from his horse and seized her roughly, brutally.

She heard the man laugh—a chuckling laugh that roused all her spirit at once, and set her struggling to throw him off.

We have seen before that Echo was a determined fighter when she was roused, and so she proved herself here. She knew that her cowboy friends could not be far off, and this inspired the hope that if she could only make a run for it amongst the trees, where the horses could not follow her, the cowboys might yet arrive in time to rescue her. They might come along at any moment.

The thought urged her to persevere, and she fought as she had never fought before. Moreover her antagonist was not a big man. He was short and thin, and for a space she managed fully to hold her own.

In her desperation she clutched at his mask and tore it away; and there came a mutual cessation in the struggle.

For she saw then that this man, who had thus savagely attacked her, was none other than Sam Killman, supposed to be Judith's sweetheart!

He was too angry and savage at her resistance, and the unmasking, to care to make any pretence.

"Yes! And now that you know it, my lady, you may as well know something else; you've got to do as I tell you! You've got to come with us—and you'd better come without any more nonsense—or it'll be all the worse for you!"

She was now seized by others of the gang, hoisted on to a horse, and the whole party started off.

It was a pretty long ride to the place in question, and the road was rough and uneven. Echo, already tired out by her previous exertions that day, felt almost exhausted by the time they reached it.

It proved to be an old, ramshackle, log hut, at one time inhabited, perhaps, by wood-cutters, or trappers; but now tenantless, and evidently rotting to pieces.

She was taken down from the horse and half led and half dragged, with brutal force into the hut. Killman was not with them at the time; for some reason he had lagged behind, and she found herself at the mercy of half a dozen scoundrels.

She shuddered as she looked at them and saw their leering eyes and meaning grins. They were as vicious-looking a set as any she had ever seen.

One fellow, a half-caste, made himself particularly objectionable. The very way he looked at her made her blood run cold.

She thought of Rushe—where was he now? How had he fared? Had he got clear of the Indians, and was he searching for her at that moment?

Her cowboy friends, too; where were they? Why, oh! why, had they not turned up when she was looking for them, instead of this horrible gang? Would they pick up her tracks and follow her, she wondered.

He conferred apart for a few minutes with two or three of the gang, and then addressed Echo:—

"We're going to let you decide which one of these men will be your husband," he said, with a diabolical leer.

"Be—my—husband!" Echo repeated, breathless with horror. "You cannot mean such a thing! You cannot be so unutterably wicked! Besides—you dare not!"

"You know what the result will be! 'Hands Up' will not let me be unavenged. He will hunt you down—"

"Will you? He'll have the sheriff on his side, and they'll raise the country against you."

"They'll know nothing about it. They'll not be able to prove anything! You will find all that out presently. Well, now, you see these pistols?"

He and another man had collected the men's revolvers, and laid them on the table.

"Now you've got to be blindfolded," remarked Killman, with another grin. "It is a game, you know! A most amusing and exciting game! Here are all our weapons, on the table. You, blindfolded, have to pick one out. You will belong to the man whose weapon you select."

"You brute! You fiend! I won't pick out any weapon," cried Echo. "I won't touch them!"

And in spite of her struggles, the unhappy girl was blindfolded, and then led up to the table, a man on each side holding and guiding her.

"There!" said Killman. "There you are! You've only got to stretch your hand out and put it down, and you're bound to touch one or other of them. Wait a moment, though; let us mix them up a little more. That'll be more fair."

He shifted the weapons about, as a man changes and shuffles a lot of cards lying face downwards on a table.

An idea had come into Echo's head which caused her now to alter her demeanour. Instead of resisting and refusing, she affected to be resigned to her fate, as though realising that it was useless to struggle further against the inevitable.

The idea that had occurred to her was this: Those men had put their various weapons down on the table, and were, therefore, for the time, disarmed. If, then, she seized one of the revolvers, she could challenge the whole lot and compel them to hold their hands up.

There was a stillness in the place as she stretched out her right hand and pretended to fumble about in a vague, uncertain way. Killman broke the silence jeeringly:

She swung her arm to her right, then swayed, and put her other arm out, as if in aid in balancing herself. In this way she cleared a little space round her, as the men stepped aside a little to give her free play for her elbows.

Slowly, hesitatingly, she let her right hand descend towards the table and held it there poised and wavering.

The men, all watching, became deeply interested as her hand wavered unsteadily, now over one of the weapons, then over the one beside it. Their gambling instinct was keenly roused, and they drew long breaths, or whispered involuntarily the name of the owner of each pistol which came, in turn, just under her hand.

So intent were they on watching her right hand that they did not notice that she was raising her left, in an equally vague way, nearer to her face.

Then she dropped her right hand and, touching a pistol, felt her way to the butt end.

There was a chorus of shouts and cries of "Steve!" "Stiletto Steve!" "Steve's the lucky man!"

Then a sudden hush as the noisy shouters found themselves staring at the barrel of a revolver pointed at them, with a steady and determined hand, by the young girl. She had torn the handkerchief from her head with one hand, at the same moment that she had picked up a pistol with the other—Steve's pistol, as it happened.

And very foolish and sheepish they looked, as they one and all obeyed. The girl they had ill-used and insulted, had now the upper hand. There she stood, calm now, and unflinching, holding in her hands the lives of some, at any rate, of her persecutors, had she been revengeful enough to take advantage of her opportunity.

But she was not; and those opposed to her knew that she was not; and it was that that placed her at a disadvantage.

Her triumph was short-lived. She could not have eyes all round her, and so could not see a couple of desperadoes who were creeping up, cat-like, behind her.

Suddenly they made their pounce, threw up the hand holding the pistol, which went off harmlessly, and pinned her arms.

She struggled—as she always did—desperately, pluckily, but in vain. A minute or two later she was once more a prisoner, bound, and at the mercy of Killman and his gang of cut-throats.

* * * * *

"Hands Up," now riding at the head of his troop of cowboys, hunting and searching the country for some trace of Echo, was surprised to see an Inca fighting-man wandering along by himself.

He looked tired out and weary, yet he trudged steadily onwards, carrying very carefully a stout bag which seemed to be pretty heavy.

Rushe questioned him, asking if he had seen anything of a lone girl; but the man merely shook his head, and the two parted and went their several ways.

Little did Rushe think that he and this man were bound on the same quest; that they were both trying to track Echo, and that the bag the Inca carried contained gold to be paid in exchange for her.

* * * * *

It was much later in the day, and a long time after they had lost sight of the Inca, that "Hands Up" and his companions were startled by an arrow, coming seemingly out of space, which whizzed over their heads and lodged in a tree near.

Examination disclosed a slip of paper attached to it, which bore these words:—

EPISODE V.
The Runaway Bride.

The train was waylaid and boarded by a troop of Inca warriors.

Echo heard these words with a gasp of horror. Of all the men there, this half-caste, with his odious smile and revolting leer, was the one she detested and feared the most.

For she had cause for real fear now. Plucky as she was in the case of what may be termed ordinary risks and dangers, she quailed and turned sick at the thought of being handed over to the tender mercies of this grinning ruffian.

"Consider!" she begged of him. "What good will this do you? What have I done to you that you should condemn me to a thing like this? If you really love my cousin Judith and wish to marry her, how can this help you? Instead of being free to marry her and settle down quietly, you will be hunted as you will deserve to be. You can never marry her and live quietly with her, for 'Hands Up' will avenge me! He will never rest till he has discovered exactly what has become of me, and he will punish you for it! If it is money you want—if it is the ranch that stands in the way—I am willing to let Judith have it, as she expected she would. I will go away and leave it to you two!"

Needless to say this piteous appeal was useless. Even had Killman been touched by it, he was too far committed to go back now.

He had promised Judith that he would clear Echo out of her path, He knew that she hated this innocent cousin of hers with a terrible, relentless hatred. He had thought it was because she had come between her and the estate she would otherwise have inherited.

So bitter had this hatred become, however that he knew it would not now be appeased even if the offer Echo had just made were carried out. Judith's feelings towards her had gone past that—so he believed. He had no idea that she was fooling him; making a tool of him to get rid of Echo, blindly and obstinately believing that then Robert Rushe would revert to her.

He (Killman) had no such idea. He knew that Judith desired Echo's death; not that she should merely go away. Also, she would like the girl disgraced before being done away with. From Killman's point of view, it was as much a woman's whim as anything else. But so infatuated was he with her, that he was willing to go to any lengths to please her by gratifying even that vindictive whim.

As for Echo, she was quite in earnest in making an offer to give up the ranch to Judith. For the time being, at any rate, she felt she had had enough of adventures—especially when they came so "fast, thick and furious" as had been the case just lately. And more especially when they brought her into contact with human vermin of the kind she had then to do with.

The Incas were a hard, cruel race; she knew that much. But they had some claims to respect. They were honest in their fidelity to their traditions, and had a certain code of morality of their own; though, in some respects, it might be one that the outside world could not agree with.

Then, again, they were at least brave foes. But these cowardly creatures—Killman and his gang—one could only look upon with loathing and utter disgust.

Echo's thoughts then went back to her life as a journalist. She thought of the day when the editor of the "Daily Dispatch" had asked her to throw up her ordinary work for a time and undertake this visit to the Inca Mission.

How pleased—and proud—she had felt at the offer! How little had she dreamed of all that it was destined to lead to!

"If I get out of this," she told herself, "I'll throw it all up, and go back to my old work! I was happy enough over that; and so I could be again. Judith can keep her wretched ranch, and the rest of it—"

But "the rest" would include Robert Rushe. Could she give him up to Judith, too?

"Well—if he wants her she can have him, too!" she thought, desperately. "But if he wants me—why, he'll come after me! He came after me to the Incas' Castle, alone, to rescue me. Surely, if he really loves me, he would follow me and stay with me where I am working."

Now, though these thoughts take time to write down, and to read, they flitted so quickly through Echo's brain just then, that they had come and gone ere she heard herself addressed again. This time it was the "lucky man," Stiletto Steve, who spoke. He had drawn near to her, as a panther crawls towards its prey.

Echo started from her brief abstraction. She turned and saw the fellow's hands and arms extended to enfold her, and in suite of her efforts to control herself she could not repress a scream of horror.

Steve leapt at her and seized her, and for a brief moment there was a fierce struggle. Then they all heard a cry which came to their ears as though in answer to her terrified scream. The door was flung open, and there strode in an Inca warrior.

He held up his hand, and pointed at the half-caste, who released Echo and retreated a step or two.

"The Sacred Sun Virgin belongs to the Prince of the Rising Sun," said the Inca solemnly.

Killman, who had been taken by surprise, and had shown signs of beating a hasty retreat, recovered his nerve on seeing that the Inca was alone. He had supposed that he was one of a troop who had tracked them down.

It was, in effect, Tampa the Inca who had been sent with the bag of gold to arrange the terms of ransom for Echo with the renegade Indians.

When it was realised that he was quite alone, the silence that had fallen upon them all was quickly broken. There were murmurings and mutterings, and finally the gang became very menacing.

"Here," said the Inca, surveying the threatening, hang-dog faces with quiet dignity, "here is gold—gold in exchange for the Princess. Hand her over to me, and you can have the gold."

That was a different matter! If the intruder were willing to give a bag of gold in exchange for the girl, why should he not have her? So reasoned the majority; and they agreed readily and noisily.

There was one who objected—viz., the one who had "won her fair"—by lottery, He objected to surrendering her. But as regards this he was in a minority of one.

Then he argued that as Echo belonged to him, if she was to be given up to the Inca, he was entitled to all the gold. This produced such a storm of protestations from the others that he hardly dared to persist in it.

The tumult continued for some time, during which Echo was left alone. And very thankful was she for this respite. She began to feel a little more hopeful; for surely "Hands Up" or the cowboys would find their way to her before long!

There succeeded much wrangling among the gang. Then the half-caste made a suggestion which the others agreed to, after some protest. What it was exactly Echo did not understand, as they retired to one end of the hut by themselves.

It was certainly a very curious arrangement, as it turned out. The cunning Steve had agreed that the bag of gold should be divided amongst them, on condition that they should all gamble it at once amongst themselves.

The result of this was that within a very short time the cunning villain had won it all himself. Then he coolly offered to play them "for the girl" as well; and he won that stake, too.

In all this curious business the Inca was altogether ignored. He had paid over the price of ransom, but Steve still claimed "the girl"; and the others did not care what might follow.

He swaggered up to Echo, as he had done before: "Now you are mine again," he said with his horrible leer.

But here the Inca had something to say. He had remained silent all this time, contemplating them all with a lofty dignity. Now he approached the two:

"Not if I know it, old Buck!" returned the swaggering half-caste. "Say, Killman! You going t' allow this Injun t' carry off my gal as I've won fair?"

Killman himself had taken very little part in all these proceedings, save as a sort of umpire. He had presided, as it were, over all the discussions and the gambling, and the squabbling; checking disputes when they grew too violent, by the ready exhibition of his revolver.

And as they all knew his skill in shooting, a threat from him acted like a cold douche upon the most excited fire-eater.

In this last dispute he took the part of his own man. And this at last roused the Inca.

The quarrel quickly led to fighting and shooting. When it was over, and the smoke had cleared away, there was a form lying on the ground.

It was the dead body of the Inca who had so rashly ventured into this den of thieves with his bag of gold.

And now Killman realised that they had not only done a wicked thing, but a very foolish one. This Inca would be searched for by his people. They were probably even then out looking for him. They were not likely to allow him to disappear with his bag of gold without insisting on knowing what had become of him.

"Look here, boys," Killman cried, "we'd better clear out of this before this Injun's' friends come t' look for him! We'll make for the shack under the Balance Rock!"

* * * * *

Robert Rushe, returning, desponding and despairing to the Strange Ranch after a fruitless search, was met on the threshold by the Indian servant, Starlight, who was almost out of her mind with delight. So excited was she that she could scarcely make herself intelligible.

At last he understood. Echo had returned—was then indoors! How she had returned Starlight apparently did not know, or was too excited to be able to explain. Not that Rushe cared just then to wait to inquire.

He ran into the house and burst into the principal sitting room like a tornado. And there, sure enough, he found Echo, lying on a couch, and looking very tired, and somewhat bewildered, but apparently safe and sound.

"That's just it," she replied, with a confused, half-dazed air. "I don't know how I got here!"

"And it doesn't matter, darling—for the moment! Let us both thank Heaven that you are here!"

"I think—I am almost sure—that it was 'The Phantom Rider' who brought me here. He must have rescued me when I was unconscious. But it is all like a confused dream—a terrible nightmare! I cannot tell you how glad, how thankful I am to be back here once more!"

Later on, however, she gave him a brief account of the principal things she could remember. And, in particular, she told him about Killman. How she had unmasked him.

At that Rushe swore roundly. He rose and paced up and down in incredulous amazement and indignation.

"And what, I wonder," he exclaimed, stopping suddenly and staring at her, "what will Judith have to say to this?"

"I have already told her," Echo returned, thoughtfully. "She was here when I came in. I was too worn out and dazed to say much to her; but I felt I could not keep that to myself. She seemed, as you would suppose, terribly surprised and upset."

* * * * *

In the days that followed, the ranch seemed like a quiet harbour of refuge after the storms through which Echo had passed.

And Judith murmured her sympathetic agreement. She always seemed sympathetic and friendly now; and never missed an opportunity of declaring her detestation of "the abominable, deceitful way," as she called it, in which Killman had behaved.

Perhaps, if Echo had caught one of the looks which Judith often directed at her behind her back, or even if she had felt sufficient suspicion to look her squarely and searchingly in the eyes, she might have seen something there that would have warned her.

But Echo was herself so innocent of evil, and so trusting by nature, that no thought of mistrust ever occurred to her.

Together, for a few brief, happy days, she and Rushe wandered over the hills during the day time, and sat in the porch in the evening, watching the golden sunset, or the silvery moonlight.

Each hour they seemed to learn and to realise more and more of the marvels that come with love and true comradeship.

Sometimes, in their wanderings or in the evenings, they had the company of one who was a great friend of "Hands Up." Like him this chum rejoiced in a quaint cognomen. His real name was Carter, but he was better known as "Two Gun."

Both these nicknames, as they may be termed—"Hands Up" and "Two Gun"—had reference to the rough life these two led, the dangers that frequently assailed them, and their alertness and skill in defending themselves.

Many were the "tight corners" the two had been in together, from which only their pluck and resource had rescued them. It is in such a life that men get to know one another most intimately, and to learn the real secrets of true comradeship.

Into this comradeship Echo now entered, or she and Rushe admitted Carter into theirs. And as she saw the complete trust and loyalty which existed between the two chums, she soon felt as much faith in "Two Gun" as Rushe himself had.

It was during this time that Echo learned a little of her own history. One day, when the three were together, they began to talk about it, and Rushe explained what had been discovered of the mystery up to date.

Her father, Col. Strange, had married a young Inca maiden, who, it turned out, was herself a princess of the race. Through the deaths of some other members of her family, she became the next heiress to royal rank.

This accounted, to some extent, at all events, for the present tangle. There had been cross currents, and clashing interests among the Incas. One party wanted the child 'Divina'—as they called Echo—to be brought up amongst themselves as their future queen; so they had stolen her, as a child, from her father, and kept her, for a while, in secret, a prisoner in their Castle.

But another party had other views. They wanted "Divina" out of the way altogether. They therefore carried her off, and placed her in the care of the tribe of renegade Indians who were now encamped near at hand; but had, in those days, lived far away in another part of the country altogether.

"So far," said Rushe, "the matter appears tolerably clear. But it is certain that you were either lost by those Indians accidentally, or were stolen again, and taken away somewhere else in order to make more sure of your never returning to the Inca fold.

"But what happened to you after that, and how you came to be in the position you were in with the 'Daily Dispatch,' our lawyer has not yet been able to trace. He is still searching about for evidence to clear it all up."

"I'm sure I'm very grateful to him, and to you Robert," Echo said thoughtfully, after some reflection, "for taking so much trouble. And now that reminds me of something that has been on my mind, and that I've wanted to talk to you about since—well, since the day I was in Killman's hands, and his infamous gang were casting lots among themselves to decide which one I was to belong to!"

She coloured up and shuddered at the recollection of the horror and shame of it all. Then went on:

"And I felt then that it would be wiser and better for me to give up my place here—"

Rushe and his chum both uttered exclamations of protest; but she silenced them by a gesture, and continued:

"To give up my place here and go back whence I came I was happy enough there, with my writing work and so on. Certainly, I had curious longings at times—strange ideas and fancies would come to me, and a sort of restless feeling, urging me to break away from humdrum, workaday life and to seek adventures.

"I suppose," she suggested, with a short laugh, "from what you now tell me, that that sort of thing must be in my blood. However, what I have experienced since I came here has, I think I may say, taken it out of my blood, if I may put it that way.

"I have told you how, that day, I offered to Killman that if he would set me free he could go and marry Judith, and the two of them could have the ranch, for all I cared. And I meant it, too!"

"But you don't mean it now!" Rushe put in, and to his discomfiture she answered:

"But I do! It seems to me that as long as I stay here within reach of these people they will pester me with their efforts to get me, again and again. So I went to turn my back on it, and get far enough away from them to be able to feel safe, and lead a reasonably quiet life.

"And yet," she added, in a softer tone, "I feel very sorry for them! I can't help feeling sorry for them. Maybe it's because, if your account is correct, I am of their race. Not that I would care to—well, to marry that young prince, as they want me to, of course. No; what I feel is, that I would like to do some good amongst them if I could. Their worship of the Sun, and all that nonsense, for instance. Why, it's rank paganism! I would like to try to win them from that, and turn them into ordinary, civilised, useful beings."

"Ye'd never do that, Miss Echo," Carter declared, with conviction. "As our minister says, they're fanatics. That's what he calls 'em—fanatics. He's tried pretty hard himself t' convert 'em—but they chased him away from the place."

"No," Rushe agreed, seriously, "I don't believe you'd ever succeed in that, Echo. You may as well give up that idea."

"Then that confirms me in my wish to go away. Why should I stay on here and live a life like this—always at war—and with my own people?"

"Tell you what it is!" cried Rushe. "I'll get the sheriff to take the matter up and clear 'em out of this country! If someone's got to go, it's got to be them—not you! And I'll tell him about Killman, too; an' he'll clear him an' his lively, low-down lot out at the same time!"

"No, Robert, no!" Echo returned, very earnestly. "No; I do not wish it! I do not wish to be the cause of clearing anybody out. I would rather go myself. I've been thinking about it, and the more I think of it, the more satisfied I feel that I must go!"

"Then," exclaimed Rushe, "by gosh, you shan't go alone! You've got to take me with you! Say the word, an' we'll go off together an' get married; an', as you say, get out of it, an' go somewhere where we can lead a quiet life!"

Echo looked softly and approvingly at him. She saw that he was in thorough, red-hot earnest, and she was glad. This was what she had hoped for; what she would have had him say.

"Two Gun," seeing how matters were shaping, suddenly remembered about some horses he wanted to see to at the corral, and strolled off, leaving the lovers to talk it over by themselves.

When he returned, an hour later, they wore still talking, but they had settled it. They had agreed together to go and get married, and to seek their future fortune in a more settled part of the country.

But while they were making their plans—their enemies were planning and watching too. In fact, even during this interval, which had been such a relief to them of apparent peace, sinister influences had been at work.

It was the next day after the talk recorded above that one of the cowboys came to "Two Gun" and gave him some disturbing news.

It had already been settled between the two chums that Carter was to step into Rushe's shoes, as manager of the estate, when he (Rushe) went away. And at the request of the latter, his chum began at once quietly to make preparations for assuming the duties; and he had passed on this hint to Barry, as the cowboy was called, because he was one of his most reliable assistants.

It was this man, Barry, who came to Carter saying that he wanted to "put him wise" to something that was going on.

"I've seen, he averred, one them Inca guys about here agen o' nights. Aye, an' it seemed t' me he's skulkin' around in the day time, too. Just caught sight of him flittin' in an' out, like a shadder, in the thickets near the ranch. But when I went t' look for him, I couldn't find the skunk."

"Ah! You're not makin' any mistake? Ye ain't got Inca on the brain, an' go takin' every slinking coyote for one? Feel certain about it? We don't want to alarm the mistress onless there's reason, ye know."

"Sure! I'd a had a shot at un, more'n once, but for what you say. We don't want to alarm the missie."

This was reported to Rushe, who used it as an argument with Echo for hastening the date of their departure to get married. It also had the effect of causing him to alter his arrangements.

He decided to cease all outward show of preparation, and do what was required as quietly as possible.

"And yet," he said, "it don't seem the thing, like, t' sneak off t' get, married as if we was ashamed of it. Why should you be a sort o' runaway bride? Why should we let these derned Incas upset our plans—?"

"Oh, please don't worry about that, Robert dear," Echo urged, earnestly. "If they got to know we were going, they would very likely come over with their troop, and try to prevent my going away by force. And think what that would mean? At the best, more trouble and annoyance. But very likely worse than that—a horrid fight—and think what a dreadful beginning to—to our honeymoon, dear! Perhaps one or two killed—others badly hurt! Oh, no! We must not have that! We must not risk it! Say—promise me—you will try to avoid all trouble of that, sort! Let us go away quietly, if it is necessary. What does it matter?"

Rushe gave in to this pleading, though not without grumbling and the calling down upon the heads of their enemies a number of vague somethings that were not exactly blessings.

However, he promised; and having promised, he set to work in every way he could think of to throw the enemy off the scent, and to keep his own intentions and the date of his and Echo's departure a secret. And the better to do this, he told off some of the boys to scout around, quietly, in turns, day and night; and so make impossible any continuance of the spying which Barry believed had been going on.

But he might have saved himself the trouble. The spies that really, mattered were closer at home.

And the one that mattered most of all was within the home; one with whom he and Echo were in daily, hourly contact; Judith to wit.

She had listened to all their plans and traitorously communicated them to the Incas, though she had been careful not to act directly in the matter herself. She made use of the half-caste José, one of the men employed on the estate, as she had done before.

And the only result of the precautions "Hands Up" adopted, was, therefore, that this go-between had to take secret rides to the Castle at dead of night, instead of meeting an Inca spy near the ranch, as he had done before.

* * * * *

The day fixed for the departure of the two lovers upon what it was intended should be their honeymoon trip, duly arrived. An early start was made almost before the dawn, without baggage, and in such a way as to attract the least attention.

There were no noisy leave-takings; no cheering cowboy friends to give them a send-off and wish them luck. They almost, Rushe moodily put it, "sneaked off" to get married, and Echo became, in actual fact, what he had said in jest, a "runaway bride."

The train, however, seemed practically empty until it had travelled some considerable distance, when it was waylaid and boarded by a troop of Inca warriors. Then it started on again, and the two lovers were attacked by assailants, who surprised them in their car.

Rushe was attacked by one group, and Echo found herself assailed by an Inca who crawled down off the roof and in at the open doorway.

But he had not reckoned with the strength and determination of the girl he sought to capture. He forgot, perhaps, that if she were really a princess of his nation, she would necessarily inherit some of the fighting blood of her ancestors.

She, at any rate, quickly proved that much. She climbed up, by an iron stay, on to the roof and crawled along the top of the train while it rushed onwards and swayed and rocked and jolted, threatening every moment to fling her off on to the track.

EPISODE VI.
Flames Of Vengeance.

Very beautiful she looked, spite of her ruffled hair and angry face.
No "Sun-bride" they had seen had ever looked so lovely, so fascinating.

THE train rolled unceasingly on its way; it rocked and swayed and jolted, but still the bitter struggle in the empty van between Echo and the Inca warrior continued.

The door of the van was open, and as the train swerved from time to time, the two came perilously near to being pitched out headlong.

Beside the rushing train appeared a wondrous, an almost incredible apparition. It was that of a horseman, racing alongside and galloping so furiously, that he actually gained upon the train!

It was the "Phantom Rider!" The same powerful, sable steed, carrying the rider clad in black who has appeared at times, in the course of this story, so unexpectedly, but never in more wonderful manner or in more amazing circumstances than the present.

A marvellous, a seemingly impossible thing to do—to race a flying train! Yet he was doing it!

Inch, by inch, foot by foot, he passed, first one car, then another, till he drew near to the van with the open door.

At that moment the plucky, determined girl and the Inca warrior appeared together, poised on the very edge. Another moment and they must have fallen out, when something took place with such lightning suddenness that even the hard-pressed girl herself hardly knew what had occurred.

Only one thing was clear to her—she was alone, and unhurt, in the van. She held on to the framework of the doorway and looked out.

Beside the raised track the Inca was rolling over and over down an embankment. On the track itself, the Phantom Rider had turned his plunging horse, and was riding back by the way he had come!

* * * * *

For the nonce Echo was safe. But the spite was but a brief one. From the roof outside, there appeared in the doorway first a clutching hand and arm, next a dangling leg. Then she realised that in another minute she would have a new foe to contend with, and that the struggle would begin all over again.

A desperate resolve came into her mind. The train thundered on to a bridge, and she saw a broad river gleaming beneath. In a moment she had sprung through the doorway and dived with a splash into the water.

Scarcely had she come to the surface and commenced to swim, when there was a second splash a short distance away. Fearing that it was another assailant, she struck out vigorously for the river bank which she could see a few hundred yards off. But the sound of a voice she knew well, caused her to pause and look back in delighted surprise.

The other swimmer was "Hands Up." He had climbed on to the roof of one of the carriages and had been making his way along to her assistance when he had seen her plucky dive. He at once followed suit; and now together they reached the bank.

But alas this was but another brief respite. There were other splashes as first one and then another of their enemies sprang into the water and swam rapidly towards the bank.

When the hunted lovers turned to flee they found that yet more of the Inca band were surrounding them on the land side. A few moments more and these had closed in on them from every direction; and once again the luckless fugitives became engaged in a fierce fight against tremendous odds.

In the result, spite of heroic resistance, they were overborne, bound, placed roughly on their captors' horses and carried off in triumph.

* * * * *

In a gloomy gorge known locally as Dead Man's Pit, the principals of the Inca Mission had gathered together with great ceremony, and the observance of many strange rites, to carry out the decision of Oman and his fellow priests.

"Who kills an Inca must die by Fire!" their laws decreed. And in the heat of battle in defending herself from attack, Echo had shot one of their warriors. Therefore her life was forfeit.

But there was another reason. Echo was (so they asserted) their long lost Princess Divina, who had been betrothed while yet a child to their Prince, Pampas. The Oracle had declared that she would be found, and that she must then first be married to the Prince, and afterwards sacrificed by fire as an offering to the Sun-god. Whereupon (the Oracle went on to predict) the great Inca nation would be restored to its ancient position in the world.

They would rise up as a mighty power on the earth, would drive out those who now lorded it over their native land, and possess and rule it themselves henceforth and for ever.

And all this had, as they thought, come almost to pass—when everything had been upset and postponed by the strange and unaccountable disappearance of the Prince.

Divina was there—or, at least, she had been—and the ceremony of marriage between the two had been on the very point of accomplishment when some malign influence had been set to work and had prevented the marriage.

This untoward outcome had greatly exercised the minds of Oman and his colleagues, and eventually they had come to the decision recorded above. Divina must be sacrificed without waiting to be married first. That would appease the wrath of their Sun-god—who was obviously in a bad humour about something or other—and thereafter things would go on as had been prophesied.

Having in their supreme wisdom delivered themselves of this judgment, they had made their preparations for carrying it out as soon as Divina or Echo—could be re-captured.

In this grim retreat, the gloomy chasm called Dead Man's Pit, a special excavation had been made, filled with inflammable material and then set on fire. And now it was surrounded by a swaying, bowing, kneeling concourse of devotees—fanatics everyone of them, and cruel—yet, as it seemed, honest in their fanaticism.

To a disinterested onlooker it was a fine sight, impressive almost to fascination, demonstrating the great space that divided these survivors of a once powerful race in South America, from the present day survivors of the Red Indians of North America.

The dresses alone spoke volumes. To say that they were picturesque conveys a very inadequate idea of their character. And over and above that there were the jewelled ornaments that could everywhere be seen, flashing and sparkling, as they reflected the dancing light of the flames with every movement of the wearers.

There were many other points—unimportant in themselves, but significant in the aggregate—which would have impressed the most casual onlooker with the conviction that these were no ordinary people.

It was into the midst of this assembly that the two prisoners, Echo and Robert Rushe, were brought and set down. Or, rather, Echo was set down there; but Rushe was ordered to be taken outside the precincts of the camp. There he was tied up to a tree and left.

Echo—who, as usual, started a fresh struggle with her captors as soon as she had been untied—was forced to put on a very gorgeous dress, such as was deemed suitable for one who was to be, in their language, "the Bride of the Sun-god."

Then, tired of fighting and wrestling, she stood up and gazed round defiantly and scornfully at the select group who had condemned her to be sacrificed.

Very beautiful she looked, spite of her ruffled hair and angry face. No "Sun-bride" they had seen had ever looked so lovely, so fascinating. An involuntary murmur of admiration arose and rippled round the throng.

Some, indeed, actually gloated over the horrible deed they contemplated. Oman, the repulsive old priest with the tusk-like teeth and the cruel, snake-like smile, was one.

He came up to the girl and looked at her this way and that, probably expressing his approval after his own peculiar fashion; but Echo felt she would as soon have been "approved" by a crocodile.

Others of the principals approached and looked at her with a sort of wondering curiosity. In particular they seemed greatly interested in the mark she bore upon her forehead.

Axmara was among them, but too loftily detached in his bearing to be rude or annoying. Always richly dressed, he was to-day more resplendent than ever. But Echo could not refrain from noticing, even then, the natural dignity which tinged his every pose and every movement.

Many others there were among the crowd who were notable for their proud, martial mien; but none that rivalled the "Grand Envoy" in this respect.

"So, Axmara, the proud descendant of great Inca warriors, you, too, make war on women! Are there no men left for you to fight with? Or have you grown afraid of them and become like Oman and his priests, who take pleasure in the torture of a girl?"

She spoke to him in Spanish, which she knew well. Indeed, one reason why the editor of the "Daily Dispatch" had chosen her to visit the Mission had been that he knew she was a good Spanish scholar. And Axmara was much more at home in that language than in English.

He turned on her with the sudden, alert movement habitual to him, which always suggested restrained strength; and looked with his fierce, scowling glance straight in her eyes.

"If you were a man, princess—even if you were a prince—I would strike you down for that speech! Axmara knows not fear of any man!"

"I am sure of that," returned Echo quietly. "That makes it all the more extraordinary that you should lend yourself to torturing a girl to death! I admired you when I first saw you—and again when I saw you fighting, even though you were my enemy. I felt complimented when you bowed over my hand and kissed it. But—to-day—I die—if I am to die—with only scorn and contempt for you in my heart! Be proud of it! Farewell!" And she turned her back upon him disdainfully.

As for Axmara, he seemed thunderstruck. He raised his sinewy, bare arm with a great swing, and for a moment it seemed as though he meant to bring it down on the girl and crush her. And even at that moment, in his fury, he would have made a splendid model for a sculptor, because, though he was in such a rage he was still master of himself.

The arm swung back harmlessly, not owing to "second thoughts," but because he willed it so.

Then he strode over to Oman, and a colloquy ensued between the two, during which the Envoy conveyed in every motion he made the same idea of fierce, seething energy and power, curbed by a yet stronger will.

There followed more bowing to the very ground on the part of the worshippers, and great outbursts of chanting and other forms of singing. Then a procession was formed, with the intended victim in the centre. She was forced thus to parade round and round the burning pit, amid clouds of strangely-tinted smoke or vapour, wafted from the leaping flames in the burning pit.

* * * * *

The Phantom Rider was busy that night. He passed, at a furious rate, along the railway track and paused beside one of the telegraph poles. He had seen a figure standing there bound to it. He dismounted, looked at the figure, and at once set it free. It was Starlight, the Indian servant at the Strange Ranch.

Starlight explained. She had been riding on an errand when she had been set upon by some masked men and tied to the post.

She thought it was likely to be near at hand. The outlaws had not taken it with them.

The masked Rider made a circuit round the post, discovered the horse, and brought it to her.

He took out a slip of paper and gave it to her, thrusting at the same time a brace of revolvers into her hands. "Ride—ride hard," he commanded her. "Tell them your mistress and 'Hands Up' are in sore peril at the place named there—Dead Man's Pit. Bid them ride like the wind, or it may be too late!"

* * * * *

"Hands Up" was still striving and wriggling with the cords which bound him to the tree outside the circle of worshippers round the burning pit.

He had striven thus incessantly ever since he had been tied there. He was frantic, maddened at being kept in this helpless position, knowing the doom that threatened the girl he loved.

He had made his hands sore and cut them so that they were bleeding in his frantic struggles to get free. Only when one or other of the Inca warriors who patrolled the ground came near, did he, for a space, desist from his efforts. But with all his wriggling, and despite the fact that he was not unskilled in such matters, he could not loosen his bonds.

Suddenly, he stopped and stiffened. Something had moved on the ground not far away. There had been a rustling sound, too, which, because it was near, he had detected, in spite of the babel of sounds coming from the worshippers.

He waited and watched. Then, in the shadow under some trees, his keen gaze, becoming more used to the dim light, made out something that looked like a long, round faggot of boughs with the green leaves still on them.

And—as he was looking at it, it moved. It rolled over a little in his direction!

Startled and perplexed, he watched it further. Again it rolled over—and was evidently, of set purpose, coming towards him!

Then he grasped the explanation; some one was concealed in that faggot; had used it, in short, as a kind of camouflage. Someone who wished to approach him in this stealthy way, unseen by any of the crowd.

This was all very well—if it were a friend. But—it might be an enemy! An Inca Indian who wished to kill him—he thought of that other one who had come to look for him when he had been left for dead! Suppose it were the same foe; still relentless? He could effect his fell purpose now, easily enough, for Rushe, tied up as he was, could not defend himself. He was helpless.

And, as he watched, with doubtful foreboding, the faggot gave another little roll in his direction.

Another and yet another followed, until at last it was beside him, at his very feet, so that he could have kicked at it a little, if he liked.

Then the thing, the faggot, raised itself on end. From the upper end appeared first a mass of black hair, then a stealthy hand holding a glittering knife. What did it mean to do? If it was a foe and meant murder he was at the creature's mercy!

But the creature had no such hostile intentions. It merely proceeded, in the most prosaic but friendly fashion, to cut his bonds!

A minute or two later he was free, and now the faggot came apart and what should appear there but the head and face of the faithful Starlight.

"Sh'sh!" she warned, and put two revolvers into his hand. "De boys be here. Hey wait t'hear you shoot, Mass'r Robert! Den dey rush in."

There was no time to be surprised or to ask further questions. Certain sounds had risen up, as it were, round the pit, which warned him that the critical moment had come, and that he must act at once.

With a pistol in each hand, he raced round to the front of the pit, and arrived there just as two big Incas, who had hold of Echo, were about to cast her into the roaring flames.

Another moment it would have been too late. Yet just in that moment he caught sight of Oman's face, and noted—for future remembrance—the horrible, gloating look, and deadly smile of the watching priest.

He would dearly have liked to shoot him then and there; but though he had two pistols, he wanted them both for the two wretches who were about to give his sweetheart to the fire.

Two shots rang out, and they both fell. Echo was left free. She locked round, saw Rushe, and, with a glad cry of delight and gratitude, ran towards him. At the same moment two or three Inca warriors, seeing what had happened, ran forward to seize them both.

But they never reached the pair. There was heard a great cheer, a wild, ear-piercing whoop, the thunder of the clattering hoofs of many horses as they swept forward at the charge, striking and shooting fiercely, right and left, and bearing down all opposition.

They swept through the place like an avalanche. They turned not back, but forged ahead, bearing with them both Echo and Rushe, who had been caught up by daring riders on their horses, and carried away.

It all passed in a minute or so. The Incas were left, some staring in dumb surprise, others rolling on the ground where they had been knocked or shot down.

Then those unhurt ran for their horses; but it was not easy to find them, for they had been cut loose and stampeded.

By the time a mounted troop had been got together, the band of rescuers were far away, well on the road home to the Strange Ranch.

But the Incas did not follow them far. They returned after a short run, without assigning any reason, and it was noticed that the leaders appeared unusually dispirited. Some there were amongst them who declared that the Sun-God was angry. That what had occurred was a direct punishment for their having attempted the sacrifice of the Princess without previously marrying her to their Prince, as ordered by their law. Therefore it was that the Sun-God had set them free.

* * * * *

The next day an important event took place at the Strange Ranch. The train brought a group of officials connected with the military authorities, and one of them called at the house.

He was the bearer of a state document to the effect that the name of Robert Rushe had been selected among those called upon to serve in the great war, and that he was required to report within a few days at the depot accordingly.

To say that the summons was a welcome one, would scarcely perhaps be correct. But it was accepted by Rushe with patriotic readiness, and in this he was backed up by Echo.

"It puts an end to all our plans for going away," she commented, a little sorrowfully. "I suppose, if it is your duty to go, it is equally my duty to remain, and help to do your work of looking after the estate."

"It appears to me so," Rushe agreed gravely. "It doesn't seem right for both of us to go off separately, an' leave things. 'Tisn't like goin' t' get married, is it?"

"I suppose not. And perhaps it wasn't right of me to want to run away from it all as I did. It was running away from trouble instead of meeting it boldly, and that is never a brave thing to do, is it? Heaven knows you are taking on trouble in going out, and facing it bravely. It is only right I should face my part here. And, Robert, I mean to stay and do so!"

"That's a right brave little girl! Your way of looking at it will help, to hearten me! I—I—was afraid, you know—that—er—that is—"

"That I would make a scene, I suppose? No, Robert! That would be unworthy weakness! The way I look at it is this; I hate to have you go—but I know I'll be proud of you!

"Well, now I must call in Carter and give him his orders. He's got to take my place so far as looking after your safety is concerned. And you and I both know we can trust him to do his best."

* * * * *

The great gong had been heard which was only sounded on great and special occasions, and all the faithful at once repaired to the Temple.

From the altar at the top of the great flight of white marble steps, Oman, the High Priest, addressed the assemblage. He had a momentous message to deliver, one that filled all there with consternation and sorrow.

"Brothers! Our great and noble King, the descendant of the long and ancient line of Peruvian monarchs, is dead. This terribly sad news has just been brought to us by a special messenger!"

They bowed themselves low before the altar, with its great figure, in solid gold, of the Sun. And the wail that had at first been low and half-smothered, grew louder, and swelled into a great, rebounding chorus of lamentation.

It merged, after a while, into a dirge sung by the priests, and joined in by the whole concourse, finally dying away when Oman held up his hand as a sign that he had more to tell them.

"The Royal Messenger," he said, "who bore to us this message, brought also our dying King's last command. It is that his Envoy, the most noble Axmara, shall, during the absence of Prince Pampas, be proclaimed Regent. Behold, then, I place upon his head the Sacred Diadem of the Incas, and invest him with the robes and other insignia of his high office!"

There followed many picturesque ceremonies, much marching to and fro in processional order, and a great deal of chanting and singing. At the end of it Axmara took the place of honour at the head of the steps, Oman giving way to him—though not, apparently, very willingly.

However, it soon became apparent that Axmara, having been invested with power, meant to use it in his own fashion.

Very fine was the figure he made in his costly robes and the bejewelled diadem, in which sparkled a blaze of precious stones literally "worth a king's ransom."

His splendid figure, and his natural dignity of mien were in sharp contrast to the doddering gait of the old priest.

Some contention arose between the two, the exact nature of which was not clear. It was, however, quickly made evident to all there that Axmara was master and meant to show it.

With haughty, masterful gestures, which yet had in them no suggestion of vulgar swagger or self-assertion, he waved the priest aside, and made an oration to the worshippers which evidently pleased them, for he had to pause several times to allow the applause to subside.

What it was all about matters not here. It is sufficient to say that it related to their own affairs, to the missing Prince, and other matters which they all understood.

It was at the end, after a pause, that he came to the question of their Princess—Divina.

"Our first great work," he declared, "is to find our missing Prince—or, rather, King—for he is now King of all the Incas—who, when he is found, will go to Peru to take his rightful place there.

"And since it is the fixed belief of our people that his marriage with his kinswoman, the Princess Divina—who has been miraculously found, as prophesied, by the Oracle—will restore our power on earth, he will desire to take her to Peru with him.

"Therefore, my people, we must insist upon our Princess coming here to await his return.

"It has come to be a duel between her and ourselves. Again and again we have had her in our charge; and yet, each time, she has somehow managed to slip off and defy us.

"This must not be! Our Prince, when he returns, must find his future wife here, dutifully awaiting him. That, therefore, is the task we must take up and carry through with determination. May our next efforts meet with better and more lasting success than has hitherto been the case!"

The speech was received with acclamation, and the faces and demeanour of those he addressed showed that they wore fully as determined in the matter as he was.

* * * * *

That evening, when darkness had fallen, a curious meeting took place just outside the walls of the Inca Castle.

Incadede—"the most beautiful of all the Virgins of the Sun"—crept out to whisper an account of what had taken place to one who was waiting for her.

EPISODE VII.
Tossed Into The Torrent.

Echo, gasping with her struggles, turned to thank her two rescuers, and dis-
covered, to her amazement and dismay, that they were Killman and Stiletto Steve!

"WELL now, Echo dear, you said there was one other thing you particularly wanted to speak to me about before I went away," said Rushe. "My time is getting short. Shall we go into it now, dear—lest we forget about it in the rush of our preparations?"

It was two days after the momentous summons calling on Rushe to take his place in the fighting ranks had arrived—and they had been very busy days. Echo had accompanied him in his visits here and there to post her up further in various details of the management of the estate, and she was trying to remember all that he explained to her. For the most part Carter went with them and assisted at their councils. But this morning they had gone out together without him.

They were returning to the ranch, and had sat down to take a rest upon a rustic seat in a shady spot just in view of the house.

"I think," Rushe continued, "I fancy, at any rate, that it had something to do with the one we call the Phantom Rider."

"Ah, yes! I am glad you reminded me, Robert! I want you to tell me, before you go, what you know about him."

"Well," said Echo, half jestingly, "it all seems so funny, you see! Many queer things seem to happen about here, and this is certainly one of the strangest! How oddly he behaves! Twice the other day, when I was in danger, he intervened on my behalf, not to mention other occasions. Decidedly, therefore, he seems to be taking an interest in my safety. But he appears and disappears without a word of explanation, of greeting or good-bye—just, I imagine, as a phantom should—"

"I'm sure I don't know what to think," Echo returned, shaking her pretty head with a comical expression of bewilderment.

"Well," said Rushe, "if he's a spook, he's an amiable one, apparently. As you say, he's done you more than one good turn. So we needn't fear him. At the same time, I confess I've been feeling more curious myself, lately, than I used to be. But you ought to know more about him than I do, for you have visited him and I haven't."

"Visited him!" she repeated laughing. "Funny way to pay a visit—but as I said before, funny things happen about here. So I suppose I ought to take it all as a matter of course."

"Well, but you have seen his abode," Rushe reminded her, more seriously. "And that's more than anyone else I know has done. And you've kept it pretty much to yourself—"

"Because he made me promise, Robert dear," Echo answered, also more seriously. "I could not break my promise—could I?"

"I don't know," Robert grumbled, half in earnest, half humorously. "Some lovers would even feel a bit jealous—visiting a bachelor (I suppose he's a bachelor spook), and then refusing to give details on the ground that you'd given a promise. You haven't even told me where this precious cave of his is!"

"Well as to that, I really don't know Robert. You must remember that when I was taken there it was in the dark, and I was in a very dazed condition. And when I left I was in such a hurry to get away that I never thought of noticing any landmarks. Nor have I seen any place since that reminded me of the outside."

"It's a strange affair altogether," Rushe mused, reflectively. "Before you came we none of us bothered our selves much about him. We wondered where he lived—some said he must be a sort of recluse—a hermit—"

"Ah!" Echo laid a hand upon his arm. "Now you have given me an idea! A hermit! A recluse! Yes! I will tell you one thing—just one little thing I noticed, which rather carried out that idea! When I woke up out of the stupor I was in, and found myself in the cave, I lay at first quite still where he had put me down—on a sort of couch—"

"There! Now you have led me to say something I did not intend to say. However, having told you so much, I may as well tell you that there is a lot of furniture in that cave, which you would not expect to find in such a place. But to resume—I lay still, partly stupefied, and unable to make up my mind whether it was all real or whether I was dreaming. I saw no one—and the place was lighted in such a curious, weird sort of way that some things were partly in shadow and could scarcely be seen at all, while the shapes of others more in the light looked distorted and unreal.

"But gradually, as my eyes grew accustomed to the dim radiance, I perceived what looked like a dark figure, either kneeling or crouching, with his back to me. Looking further, and beyond this figure—over the bowed head in fact—I made out a kind of altar."

"Perhaps I should have said shrine—yes, that's a better word! It was a shrine of some sort—but it was so much in shadow, and what light there was flickered so, and was so uncertain, that I could not distinguish any exact details. I have a vague idea of a disk that gleamed—like a figure of the sun—"

"I understand what you are thinking of—like the great gold disk the Incas have in their temple?"

"Yes. Of course! Because they are sun-worshippers—or fire-worshippers. But this chap can't be one of that crowd—?"

"No; you wouldn't think so. I don't see how he could be. And I am not at all sure I am right in saying that what I saw was that sort of thing. It was all too dark and shadowy. And I had only time for a glance at it when the figure rose up and partly hid it from me. Then he drew a curtain across the whole affair, and shut it out completely, but with a very solemn, reverential air, finally he turned and glanced across at me—no doubt to see if I were showing any signs of waking up. And I saw then that it was the mysterious person you had called the Phantom Rider. He was so swathed up, and his hat—which he kept on—came down so low, that I could see nothing of his face. Only his eyes could I see, and they glittered and flashed in a way that seemed to draw my gaze to them and to fascinate me."

"Humph! Pleasant that!" Rushe commented. "Alone in a cave with a spook who had glittering eyes that fascinate people—"

"Because—well, because it seems to imply something uncanny or sinister. And I don't think he's that!" Echo shivered. "I wouldn't like to find myself, as you say, alone in a cave with a creature of that kind. Besides his eyes, though they flashed and looked stern at times, had nothing sinister in them. Of that I feel sure!"

"Well—but if he's honest and wants to be friendly, why doesn't he come out into the open and declare himself Mr. friend?"

"I don't know, of course. Perhaps he is only eccentric—or he may be some kind of fanatic, you know. His eyes looked a little that way—and that, taken in conjunction with the shrine, and the fact that I saw him kneeling reverentially before it, rather points to a sort of eccentric or fanatical recluse."

"Well," remarked Rushe, with a stifled yawn, "talking about him won't help us much, as far as I can see. After all, the main thing is, as you say, that he seems friendly, and has done you two or three good turns."

"And you, Robert," Echo reminded him. "Don't forget that he has done as much for you."

"Why—you told me about it yourself. You told me of that time when you were left for dead out in the woods. You told me about the Inca who you believed had tried to murder you while you had been lying half-stunned. And you thought it must have been the Phantom Rider who had interfered and saved you."

"Yes," he said. "I don't see who else it could have been. Well, I hope while I'm away he'll do you more good turns, if you should need them; though I'd rather that no need for them should arise. Only—don't look upon him with too much favour. Don't reverence him as a guardian angel—and don't fall in love with him!"

She laughed merrily at that, but coloured up a little nevertheless, and he, noticing it, laughed too.

"There's one other thing I'd like to mention to you, Robert," Echo now went on. "I never have been able to understand exactly why I was sent here at all. I was told at the time, by our Editor, that the idea was merely to get a good story—but—somehow, I have fancied since that something more important, something deeper, may have been behind it!"

"Something that may be important or may be nothing at all. But do not forget that these are troubled times. We hear a good deal about lawless plots and conspiracies; about spies and suspicious persons going about with gold to bribe traitors, to stir up strife, and fan small, petty quarrels into riots, to plan outrages, and so on?"

"My stars, Echo! You've got something buzzing about in that little head of yours now! Is it mere speculation—or have you any real foundation to go upon?"

"Well, Robert, I know no more than this: Mr. Horne—the editor of the 'Daily Tribune,' who sent me here, you know—is in the confidence of some of the high chiefs of the secret service. And I know that he is very sharply on the look out for anything in the direction I have indicated. You know that he gave me a letter of introduction to these Incas—to their chief or chiefs—which at once made me welcome there."

"So he did, by gum!" Rushe assented. "What could have been in that letter—and who gave him the introduction I wonder?"

"Just so. That's what I have been wondering. Here again there seems to be some mystery, you perceive. Now if this other matter hadn't crept in—the silly nonsense about my being a princess, and their wanting to marry me to their prince, and then sacrifice me, and all that—if this had not happened, I should, as far as I can judge, have been able to stay there as long as I liked, quite safely and comfortably. Do you see? What then would have followed? That's what I've been wondering."

"Well of course I tried to put two and two together. Those Incas are peculiar people, and are lawless when they choose to set themselves against their neighbours. That's certain. Also they are in constant communication with their people in Peru, who are themselves living more or less in a semi-lawless state in secret. Envoys, as they call them, are travelling backward and forward with messages from so-called oracles but that may be but a pretence. Further, there's a lot of money at the back of it all. They have been drawing upon their store of secret concealed treasure lately—as you know. What for? What is that treasure required for just now? Why has it been withdrawn from their secret hoard just at this time?"

Rushe rose and walked up and down thoughtfully. But finally declared, with a short laugh, that he could make nothing of it.

"But, you just keep your ears and your eyes skinned my girl," he advised. "You've got a better head for this sort of thing and keener wits than I have! Keep 'em polished and sharpened, and I'll be bound you'll see as far into a stone wall as any of 'em! Now let's get indoors, an' have a talk with 'Two-gun,' an' see what he's been doin' this mornin'."

This was the last long talk of the kind between the two. Henceforth, all their thought was given to their coming separation and to the needful preparations.

Then, one morning, Rushe said good-bye all round, gave a brotherly kiss to Judith, which she returned in a sisterly manner, and started off, by early train, for the depot at which he had to report himself.

Echo went on the train with him part of the way. It was arranged that she should get out at a junction about half way, wait there for a train back, and so return, reaching the ranch again by the afternoon.

Amid tremendous cheering and shouting, the train started on its way; and Judith, who had gone with the rest to the station, went back to the ranch alone.

Or, rather, it was thought that she did so. But the truth of the matter was that she had no sooner seen Rushe start off—with her false kiss upon his lips—than she began again her plotting against her unsuspicious cousin.

And it was in connection therewith that she went out of her way, when returning, to go through a certain isolated plantation, which lay on the grass land just out of sight of the house.

There she found the ruffianly Sam Killman waiting for her; and he had some news to tell.

First there was a little love-making between the two. Very little, however, for it was all on Killman's side. Vainly he strove to steal even one kiss. In reply to his reminder that she had promised to marry him, she coolly reminded him in return, more than once: "Not while my cousin is alive, remember!"

As to his news, it was sufficiently startling. One of his spies who had kept in communication with the Incas, had ridden over that morning to say that they were coming to attack the ranch, and try to recapture Echo that very day.

"They're losing no time, you see," Killman pointed out, "They had learned that 'Hands Up' would be leaving this morning, so they evidently decided to wait till he had gone, and no longer. Now what's to happen?"

"They mustn't get Echo," Judith insisted. "We don't want them to; I don't want them to, at any rate. It's true they say they want to sacrifice her, but they don't do it—or they haven't so far, though they've had several chances."

"She's slipped through their hands each time," muttered Killman, with an oath, "just as she has through mine! She's got as many lives as a cat."

"And you can make many blunders as any born fool," retorted Judith contemptuously. "Well, you must make one more attempt to-day, and see that you make sure this time!"

"How'm I to do that," grumbled the man, "if them Injuns are comin' over? What's your game?"

"I have a plan, Sam! You know that the four-horse stage passes here this afternoon. 'Polecat Charlie' will be driving. See that you intercept him before he gets here and give him his orders. And have your boys within reach, too. I will have just enough of our boys at hand to keep the Incas busy in one part of the house where they will think Echo is. But I will see that she is able to slip out the other way, run round and meet the coach and get into it, and drive off before the Incas know anything about it. You and your boys can follow the coach and do the rest!"

"Oh, glory! what a splendid idea. What a head you've got, Judith! But—suppose Echo doesn't fall into the trap? What if she won't trust herself with the coach?"

"Then that's all O.K.!" exclaimed Killman, lost in admiration at his confederate's sinister cunning. And he went off to see after his part in the foul plot; whilst Judith went on to the ranch, there to await Echo's return, and to receive her with that feline craft which seemed to be part of the very nature of the girl.

In due course Echo returned. Had she been in the least distrustful, or even, perhaps, less preoccupied, she might have seen much that was strange and even suspicious in Judith's manner, especially in the boundless high spirits she was evidently in. They comported oddly with what had taken place that day, and with the concern and regret—real or simulated—she had exhibited at Rushe's departure for the wars.

But Echo noticed nothing; she had too much sorrow and anxiety at her heart now that the need to appear cheerful had gone. It had been a bitter parting to her; though, all the time she had done her best to keep her lover in good spirits.

However, she had plenty to take her thoughts off, and keep them from dwelling upon her loss, later on, when the attack from the Incas began.

Then the place seemed to be alive with fighting men. Such cowboys as were at home resisted pluckily, and made the best defence they could. But the Indians were too strong for them on this occasion, and forced their way into the house looking for Echo.

"Keep up your courage, Echo," she said. "I have a plan! I can get you away without their seeing you!"

"Listen. The stage coach is passing near here this afternoon. It is about due now. I will send one of the boys out to stop it and keep it till we come. You and I will then creep out and you can jump in and get safely away while the Incas are wasting their time hunting for you here! Now isn't that a good idea?"

Echo thought it was. Anyway, it was better to take the chance it offered and make an effort to escape than remain to be captured tamely. So she agreed readily enough; and Judith carried it out.

They met the coach—which was empty, apart from the driver. Echo got up and took her seat beside him, Judith said "good-bye and good luck" (with another false kiss), and then tripped back to the ranch.

Now what this arrangement was intended to lead to cannot be told; all that is certain being that it miscarried.

Probably the driver, being in Killman's pay, had received secret instructions of some kind which were intended to lead to Echo's undoing. But he it was, as things turned out, who came worst off.

Echo's escape was discovered—no doubt by an Inca on scout duty—and reported to the party who were searching the house; whereupon they abandoned their search there, and started off in furious pursuit of the coach.

One of them, better mounted than the rest, overtook it near the top of a road which led, by a winding course several miles in length, to a torrent that ran through the valley, crossing it at a point where, in dry weather, there was a ford.

The Inca, on coming up with the coach, called to the driver to stop; but instead of obeying he only urged his horses into a mad gallop down the road.

Then the Inca shot the driver, and he rolled off his seat. The reins went with him and trailed on the ground, leaving Echo without any control over the maddened team.

Down a steep, winding hill they tore, negotiating the awkward bends and turns and corners, by some wonderful instinct, or even more wonderful luck, till they dashed pell-mell into a rushing torrent at the bottom of the valley. There they came to grief; and Echo was pitched out into the torrent.

She was a powerful swimmer, and at once struck out, battling bravely against the swirling stream; but for a time her fate seemed to hang in the balance.

Then an eddy seized her, whirled her about this way and that, dashed her against the edge of a rocky boulder, spun her round a whirlpool, and finally flung her into shallow water.

Thence she was able to wade ashore, where she sat down all wet and bedraggled, to take stock of her surroundings.

She was in a wild, isolated gorge, with great cliffs rising on every side. She had not seen the place before, and at first could see no sign that it was inhabited. Then, however she caught sight of a small log dwelling on the bank of the river.

Wooden steps, with a guard rail, came down to the water. But it appeared to be deserted. No sign of life could she discern.

Suddenly, looking round in the other direction, she perceived that she was being pursued. A couple of Incas had tracked her, and were riding through the torrent towards her.

Instinctively she started off towards the cottage, and had got as far as the wooden steps when the Incas overtook her and tried to make her a prisoner.

While she was fighting with them for her liberty, the door of the cottage suddenly opened, and two men appeared.

Directly they saw what was going on they ran down the steps and attacked her assailants, and that to such purpose that they gave Echo up and retreated.

Echo, gasping with her struggles, turned to thank her two rescuers, and discovered, to her amazement and dismay, that they were—Killman and Stiletto Steve!

She could fight no more. She was exhausted, worn out; and when they led her up the steps and into the cottage, she made no resistance, but accompanied them listlessly. And once inside, she was glad to sink down into the only chair the place contained.

* * * * *

The two Incas, baffled in their purpose for the moment, were not away very long. They met others of their band, and thus reinforced returned to the cottage, surrounded it, and demanded that "their Princess" should be given up to them.

And this time they met with no resistance at all. Killman and his half-caste assistant were too wise to fight against such odds, while, as to Echo, she was only too glad to get out of the hands of the scoundrelly pair.

* * * * *

"What are they going to do with me this time, Incadede?" Echo asked, wearily, of the Inca maiden in attendance upon her. "This is not a sacrificial robe, I see; nor is it a wedding garment. What does it mean?"

"Now you are dressed as our Princess should be!" she had exclaimed. "Those are queenly robes—some of the State robes of your royal line. O Princess Divina! Look in the glass! See how the dress becomes you! See how the jewels sparkle and glisten! Maidens, Virgins of the Sun," she called, turning to the other attendants, "come and see what our Princess Divina is like now!"

And the others gathered round, and bowed low in respectful salutation. Then, following Incadede's example, they clapped their hands and smiled their approbation.

No wonder then, that Echo, as has been said, "almost" smiled in return. Indeed, the "almost" became a real smile a moment later, when Incadede, answering her query, said:

"I do not know exactly what our people now intend doing with you, Princess. This, however, I can tell you—you have nothing to fear from them—at present. You will hear more shortly; but whatever may happen later on, do not forget, Princess, that I shall help you in every way I can."

"Nay, do not speak like that, Princess," Incadede entreated earnestly. "Do not doubt me! I have always been on your side, though I dared not show it! indeed, I was ordered to be from the first, before I knew you and loved you for yourself! And these others, too—my friends, here—they are your friends in their hearts, but we dare not openly show it—yet."

"My friend before you knew me?" she repented. "Ordered to be my friend? Who ordered you, Incadede?" And her frank, honest eyes; were fixed searchingly upon the girl.

Incadede coloured up a rosy red, dropped her eyes, and sought refuge in a low, respectful bow.

"Someone who has the right," she murmured, scarcely above a whisper. "You will know more some day—if we all live," she added.

And then an official entered with a message to Incadede. It was a summons for the Princess to attend the Regent in an adjoining apartment.

So all private talk had to be postponed, since the messenger remained in waiting.

But Echo still had time for thought. Her attendants had not quite finished their duties. They now brought yet more costly ornaments—a jewelled coronet or headpiece of curious, almost fantastic design, but becoming withal; and a magnificent necklace of priceless pearls.

"Ah! Now you look splendid—wonderful, my Princess!" cried Incadede when these had been adjusted. "Look in the glass, Princess!"

And Echo looked; and the reflection she saw there made her feel well satisfied with her appearance.

And, truth to tell, she looked "every inch a princess," and bore herself with remarkable dignity.

Suddenly she started slightly. She looked again in the glass, and noted the details of her dress. Then she glanced with an anxious air at the dresses of the Inca maidens. These, she knew, were of high standing amongst the Incas, and would naturally therefore be arrayed in the proper mode.

Their dresses were quite different in many ways from her own. A horrid thought came to her! Incadede had said that the clothes she wore had belonged to the royal line—years ago! They were then out of fashion! Hopelessly out of fashion! Why—they were, perhaps, hundreds of years behind present fashions!

So disturbed did she feel that she spoke to Incadede about it. But that young lady sagely declared that royal raiment could not possibly be out of fashion.

"It is your privilege," said she, "to set your own fashions for your loyal people!"

* * * * *

".. And so, Princess, our commands are that we are to send you to Peru to wait the discovery of the Prince who is to wed you. A ship has been sent, with these orders, specially to take you, and she lies off the coast waiting for you!"

"But I don't want to go!" said Echo firmly. "And—what's more—I will not go!"

It was after some grand ceremonies where Echo, clad in her royal roles, had been presented to the assembled Incas and acclaimed by them.

Then Axmara had conducted her to the apartment adjoining that in which her maidens were awaiting her.

"Well," returned the Regent, pausing, and looking at her amorously, "there is one way in which you can avoid it."

"No! I say marry me. Marry me, and you shall have riches and power. I am very rich! I have command of all the Inca treasure, and I will bestow it all upon you if you will be my bride!"

He had been watching Echo all the time, ever since she had come before him, a dream of beauty in her royal robes. Her beauty, her dignity, her queenly presence, had fascinated him, and had driven him to make her this offer.

But Echo, as soon as she realised that he was in earnest, and what it meant, rejected it in a fury of indignation and scorn.

"How dare you?" she cried, her eyes blazing, her voice ringing with anger. "You are a traitor to your people! A false, treacherous traitor! I shall tell your people, and denounce you!"

She started for the doorway, but he seized her roughly, pushed her down upon a divan, and, snatching up a cushion, pressed it over her face.

"No! You will not denounce me!" he breathed. "Promise to marry me. Swear that you will marry me—or I will kill you!"

EPISODE VIII.
The Fatal Jewels.

They found the Regent lying on the ground
outside, sorely wounded, but still alive.

ALONG the winding road which led up to the mysterious Inca Castle, a solitary horseman rode in the gloaming at breakneck pace. Horse and rider were alike sombre in tint, and they merged well into the gathering shadows of what promised to be a stormy night. Perhaps that was the reason that he arrived under the castle walls and took up his stand near the side gate without being challenged.

The reader will have guessed that it was the "Phantom Rider" who thus ventured alone upon such dangerous ground.

Scarcely had he come to a halt when the gate opened silently, and a veiled figure stole noiselessly out to meet him.

"You are just in time," she whispered in trembling tones. "Dreadful things are going on inside! The Reagent seems to have gone mad—mad with love for the Princess Divina! For her he has declared himself willing to become a traitor to his country and his King, and to save her not only from marriage with the missing prince should he reappear, but from the sacrifice—if she will marry him instead. I myself, heard all this!"

"She the Princess—repulsed him with scorn and contumely, and threatened to denounce him to his people for the traitor that this showed him to be. And this so angered the Regent that he tried to murder her. Is trying now! Haste, oh, haste!—if, indeed, you think you can do aught to save her!"

"Hark!" breathed the "Phantom." "Can you hear? It seems to me. I can detect the pounding of horses hoofs, as yet far distant. Do you hear them?"

The veiled figure listened. "I hear nothing," she whispered, "save the sound of the wind, which to my ears is like that of a rising storm.

"There are many riders," he continued, disregarding her remark. "They will be here by the time they are wanted. Let us then haste, as you say."

He left his sable steed to await his return, and followed his guide into the outer courtyard and then into the building.

Finally the two entered the large private apartment in which Echo was carrying on a determined but hopeless struggle against the enraged, and now madly murderous, Axmara.

Axmara, attired as Regent of the Kingdom, in the magnificent dress which showed off his splendid physique so well, had evidently abandoned all his self-restrain, and was in the throes of an overmastering passion.

He knew that whichever way things went he would pay forfeit with his life. Since then, as he knew, he must die either way, he was determined, in his awful rage and passion, that she should die too.

Bending over her with the ferocious murder lust in his eyes, he saw not the entrance of the masked stranger, nor did he hear him, so noiseless was his tread.

A powerful grasp seized him and pulled him backward. A blow from butt-end of a revolver sent him crashing to the floor, where he lay stunned.

Then the "Phantom" motioned to his veiled companion to attend to the "Princess," who was in a half-faint; and taking up the Regent in his arms, carried him outside to where his horse was standing awaiting his return.

He was followed by Echo, who, roused by the veiled friend and partly supported by her, managed to make her way also outside, where the fresh strong breeze helped to revive her.

The veiled one started and listened, and now she could hear plainly enough the thunder of many hoofs, as the "Phantom" had predicted.

"Your friends are coming! Have courage!" she whispered to Echo, and this welcome news roused her still further.

And, in fact, but a minute or two later "Two-Gun" and his cowboys arrived at a gallop, and very quickly "took in" the state of affairs.

There was no time to lose. The alarm had not yet been given in the temple, but it might be at any moment. It was certain the Incas then would fight desperately to recover their Reagent, alive or dead.

"Take him away and hide him in a safe place," was the Phantom's whispered advice to Carter. "Then you can bargain. In return for their Regent, make them promise to leave the girl alone."

"Two-Gun" nodded his agreement, and the next moment the Phantom had disappeared. He had sprung upon his big, powerful steed, and had vanished into the night.

Carter consulted for a brief space with one of his troop. Then, after a few words of explanation to Echo, the still unconscious Regent was bound, lifted on to a horse in front of Carter. Echo mounted her own horse, which the rescuers had with them, and the whole party moved off.

Later on, when they were well clear of the castle, they divided into two parties. One consisted of Echo, Carter, and the "veiled figure," who now revealed herself as Incadede ("the most beautiful of the Sun-maidens," as she was called), who had proved a friend to Echo when she had been prisoner in the Castle. She had now resolved to come with Echo and take her chance with her.

With these, besides one or two cowboys, was the man, "Polecat Charlie," who had succeeded in palming himself off on the unsuspecting Carter as a friend, who was willing and anxious to hunt down Killman and his gang of outlaws. Instead, the scoundrel was in intimate communication with that daring criminal, and was planning to deliver Echo into his hands. And, with her, now, the Regent also, for the sake of the jewels—"worth a king's ransom"—in the wondrous diadem he wore upon his head.

He ("Polecat") it was who had advised Carter to divide his party, sending one lot home, as had now been done.

"If you take the Regent to the ranch," he advised, "you will have the Incas there after him directly. That will be the very first place they will go to to find him. Therefore, I should take him to a place I know of, a lonely shepherd's hut, where they will never think of looking for him. You can shelter there from the storm that seems to be coming up, and for the night, but the less people you have with you the better. If you have a lot they will only attract attention, and lead to the Incas tracking you."

How treacherously false this advice had been may be best shown by a little conversation which passed between Polecat and Killman later on that night, when having led the party to the shepherd's hut, the villain stole out for a few minutes to look for his confederate.

"The Regent is in the hut," the traitor reported with glee, "lying on the shepherd's bed. There's nobody there but the two girls an' Carter."

"Nice work, Polecat! You did the trick well!" Killman replied. "Stick close to 'Two-Gun,' but don't, let him guess your game. If things go right we'll have that Inca's jewelled head-piece before to-morrow night! And we'll finish off the girl as well!"

* * * * *

The next morning the little party in the hut were taken by surprise. A gang of masked outlaws attacked the place, broke in, and a fight—a very one-sided affair—ensued.

Axmara, somehow, got free, and joined in the fight against the marauders. He was attacked by two of them both masked—and after a fierce resistance was stabbed by Killman and fell to the ground.

Echo, shocked by what she saw, pluckily rushed in, attacked the two, and tore off the mask of one of them, and lo! as had happened once before! Killman stood revealed to her.

"So—it is you again, Sam Killman! And you wanted me to trust you—you thief—and murderer!" And the second man then threw off his mask and stood confessed as the hateful half-caste, Stiletto Steve.

In the end Carter was made prisoner, bound, and given into the charge of some of the band. Echo and her companions were tied up also, and carried off by Killman. Finally, the outlaws set fire to the hut before going away, Killman taking care to possess himself of the Regent's jewelled diadem.

* * * * *

Killman had now attained all that he had been striving and plotting and planning for.

He had obtained possession of the Inca chief's wondrous head-piece with its priceless jewels, and Echo was once more in his power. He would, he told himself, now be able to atone for previous failures and make sure of her.

He took her some distance away among the mountains, far enough from "the haunts of men" to prevent the likelihood of her friends coming to her aid, or knowing what had happened to her.

In this, however, he was not quite correct. He forgot the "Phantom Rider," that ubiquitous mystery who had such an uncanny habit of turning up when least expected.

Many ideas suggested themselves to him, only to be dismissed in turn. He and Steve dragged her up to the top of a high rock, and told her they were going to cast her down.

"You want to go home," he said to her, with brutal enjoyment in torturing her by anticipation. "Very well, here's a short cut. We're going to send you home by that quick route."

And the two callous wretches actually picked her up and swung her two or three times on the brink of a precipice as though going to launch her into space.

"You don't like this way?" he grinned. "Very well, we'll take her back to the road, Steve, and send her home by her own horse. There! I'm going to be good-natured, you see, after all!"

This "good-nature" took the diabolical form of tying her, all bound as she was, at the end of a long rope attached to her horse, and then starting him off, with a cut of the whip, on his road home!

And that is what the two fiends actually did to the poor, helpless girl! The horse started and went his own way, little knowing that he was expected to dash the life out of his own kind-hearted beloved mistress, by dragging her along the ground behind him!

He went down the track, and the two fiends watched him as long as he remained in sight, chuckling over their frightful deed. Then they turned their steps towards where their own men were awaiting their return to them. With them was the "Sun-Maiden," Incadede, who sought to gain from their talk some idea of what had become of "the princess."

"Well, that's done with. She'll not trouble us again," she heard Killman say, and her blood seemed to run cold as she heard his callous chuckle, and guessed that it meant that murder had been done.

However, she had not much time to think about it then, for other events were at hand.

There came a great shouting, a roaring, defiant cheer, and lo! the cowboys, who were supposed to have returned to the ranch, came along with a rush, and attacked the ruffianly band.

After a brief fight the outlaws were put to flight, Carter was found and set free, the Inca maiden also, and then they all set off to endeavour to find Echo.

What Incadede had seen and overheard helped to put them on the right track, and, in effect, having picked up the trail of the horse, they followed it until they came upon it. Beside it they found Echo herself, unbound, and not—marvellous to relate—very much the worse for her terrible experience.

Great were the rage and indignation of the rescuers when they learned about the dastardly treatment she had been subjected to.

"But how," Carter asked in astonishment, "how in the world have you got free then?"

"I waited till I knew I was out of sight of my would-be murderers," she said. "That was the worst part; it's a mercy I wasn't killed then by being jerked against some of the rocks and boulders. But when we turned a corner. I just called out, 'Whoa Dick! Whoa!' And good old Dick whoa-ed! That's all!"

The beautiful Inca maiden, with tears of sympathy in her eyes, threw her arms round Echo's neck and hugged her for very joy at her escape.

"Oh, that was easy enough. I called out to Dick again, and explained as well as I could what it was I wanted. And the clear old thing just came to me, putting his nose down and sniffing about, and pulling at the cords that bound my hands with his great teeth. And, presto! Before you could say 'Jack Robinson,' he had bitten them through! The other cords round my legs, of course, I could then loosen for myself."

"And what about that wretch, Killman, and his horrible lieutenant, the half-caste?" Echo asked. "Have you got them?"

"The cowardly beggars bolted at once when they saw how things were going," said Carter. "They both got clear away."

"Jewels? What jewels?" they all cried out at once. "Had they any jewels with them?"

Echo explained about the Regent and his priceless diadem; and great was their chagrin when they learned that they had allowed Killman to escape with such a rich booty.

"Alas, he is dead!" Incadede answered. "They stabbed him and killed him, and then set fire to the place. So he is no more!"

"We must look into this!" Carter decided at once. "Can you guide us to the place? It might be that he was not dead after all, you know."

"Yes, yes; you are right!" Echo cried. "We will go at once! We can lead you there! Perhaps, as you say, we may yet be able to succour him!"

And, indeed, this was just what happened. For when they reached the burning building they found the Regent lying on the ground outside, sorely wounded, but still alive.

Then the two girls—Echo and the Inca maiden—took in hand the task of succouring him. They exhibited all the best womanly traits of their nature, and, forgetting and forgiving the cruel suffering he had inflicted upon them—upon Echo especially—they lavished upon him the tenderest care, and so won him back to life.

They were still deeply engaged in this godly task when shots began to resound around them.

A mounted troop of Inca warriors, sent out to hunt for their lost chief, had tracked down the party of cowboys. They now attacked with fierce energy, determined, if they failed to find their Regent that they would pour out their vengeance upon those who had kidnapped him.

Hotter and hotter waxed the fighting, and it seemed as though the Incas were getting the best of it. The cowboys began to give way, and fell back towards the still smoking hut, near which the two girls were engaged with their patient.

Then the sorely wounded man raised, himself upon one arm, and holding the other aloft as a sign to his warriors to listen to him, cried out to them to stay their hands.

"Cease this struggle, my people!" he commanded them. "These you see here have saved my life and treated me well!"

Then to Carter and his troops he said, "Join with my warriors, capture the outlaws between you, and recover the jewels they have stolen, and I will annul the marriage contract of the Princess Divina!"

Thus was a truce arranged for a time, at any rate, between the people at the Castle and the dwellers at the Strange Ranch.

Two men were told off from each party, two Incas to escort the Regent and Incadede back to the Mission, and two cowboys to perform a similar service in regard to Echo.

But as their roads were the same for some of the distance, the two girls rode side by side. And Echo's thoughts reverted to the talk she had had with the Inca maiden the day before.

"You said two or three things yesterday, Incadede, which somewhat puzzled me. You told me you had been my friend from the first, only you dared not show it. And then you said something about having been ordered to be friendly with me by one who had the right. Who could that be?"

Incadede shook her head. "Oh, no, of course not—but—do not press me. I cannot tell you, Princess."

"Look here, Incadede," Echo proceeded, seriously. "I do wish you would not keep calling me princess! I am not a princess—"

"Yes. My mother was your mother's sister. So we are cousins, you and I. It is only right, therefore, that we should be good friends."

"Cousins! You and I are cousins! So be it! I am delighted to hear it, dear cousin," said Echo. She stretched a hand out to the other, and the two clasped hands.

For a space there was silence between them. Echo's puckered brow indicated that she was thinking pretty deeply.

"But," she presently went on, in a puzzled tone, "if I am a princess, and you are my cousin, y—you—you must be a princess, too! Is that not right?"

"Yes, yes; that is quite true. But—you come before me. My mother was a younger sister of your mother's, you see."

"Well, but—why, then, did they not want to marry you to your precious Prince Pampas?"

Incadede bowed her head. "They would have done so, if—if—you had not been found," she confided, in a low tone.

"Ah!" Echo glanced sideways at her. "And how would you have liked that, Incadede? And he? What was his idea about it? Was he in love with you? He told me frankly," she added, laughingly, "that he was not in love with me—that there was another whom he had set his heart on. Was it then you?"

"No, no; not a bit of it," Incadede declared, eagerly. "I know who it is—but I may not tell you now. It had nothing to do with me! Only, if you had not come to us, they would have put me in your place, as the next in rank to you."

"So it was a jolly good thing for you that I turned up," Echo remarked, laughing again.

"Nay, do not make a jest of it. It is too serious, Princess!" the other entreated.

"'Princess' again! Why do you persist in calling me that? If I am indeed your cousin, call me by my name—Echo."

"H'm! I suppose that seems right from your point of view; so we will let it go at that. And that leads me to wish to have a serious talk with you, my good cousin. You see I am in two moods about all this. Sometimes I laugh at the idea of being a princess, and all that hangs on to it. I prefer being just plain Echo Strange.

"But then, again, when the other mood comes on me, I think to myself that if I really am, by birth, in the position you all here ascribe to me, then a great responsibility devolves upon me, and it is not right—indeed it is very wrong—almost cowardly—in me to try to evade that responsibility. Do you understand my meaning?"

"I'll explain, then. The people here—your people and mine—are Sun-worshippers—that is, heathens—pagans. That is because they are ignorant—they know no better. Now I do know better—and ought I not, therefore, to try to teach them better? To endeavour to lead them in the right path—to convert them—"

"Oh, Cousin Divina! If only you would try—I would help you with all my heart and soul! But, alas! I fear there is little chance of success!"

"Then—you agree with me, cousin mine? You—you—are not—er—a sun worshipper?"

"OK, no, no! No in heart! Ah, Divina, if we could only convert all our people, as I hare been converted! But—I am not hopeful!"

"But—who led you to talk like that, Incadede?" Echo asked curiously. "I had no idea of such a thing! How long has it been so? Are there any more of your way of thinking?"

"Oh, come! That's good news indeed!" Echo exclaimed. "I had no idea of anything of the kind. I am so pleased—"

"Hush! You must not speak of it," her companion warned, looking round apprehensively, for Echo had unconsciously raised her voice. "If it were known, death, a dreadful death, would be our fate—everyone of us! We had been planning to run away, but we had nowhere to go—"

"You can come to me—at the ranch," Echo began, impulsively. Then she went on, "But I'm afraid that would be of no use. I cannot protect myself—so I'm afraid I should be of small use in protecting you. So—I suppose we must wait—"

"Yes, yes, Cousin Divina," Incadede returned dreamily. "We are waiting. We have reason to believe—so the soothsayers declare—that strange events are on the way! Great events! I cannot tell you more than that. I know not their nature—but if sight of the jewels and the thought of all the luxuries and pleasures they could provide her with, but she had no intention whatever of keeping her part of the bargain, and paying the price that Killman expected."

He declared solemnly that Echo was really dead this time; so she believed she had attained her end in that direction; and she was determined to get her own way in the other matter.

The immediate question was, therefore, how to get and keep possession of the jewels herself—for Killman's intention was to take them away with him, so as to have them in his own keeping.

"They would be safer here," she suggested. "They will be sought for, you know, high and low. Leave them with me. No one will ever suspect me!"

There was some discussion as to this but eventually he agreed, on condition that they were to go away together at once—that every day.

"Very well," he finally said. "Meet me with them at Sirrocco railway station to-night, and we'll catch the train for 'Frisco. I've several matters I want to attend to between this and then."

Then he went away—this time really with a kiss from her—a kiss as false as those with which she was wont to deceive the unsuspicious Echo.

After he had taken his departure she stayed long gazing in rapture at the jewels.

EPISODE IX.
A Leap Through Space.

Then she sprang out of bed, put two or three things hastily
on, caught up a revolver, and moved swiftly but silently
to the door of her room. There she paused and listened.

Judith Strange repeated the words to herself as though she found a deep satisfaction in their utterance. And she laughed again; an evil, sinister laugh of the kind not good to hear at any time; least of all from a young girl such as she was.

She had "got all she wanted"—or so she thought. And she chuckled and exulted in having, as she supposed, at last gained her ends.

Her cousin Echo was dead. So her accomplice Killman had assured her; therefore she (Judith) was now the owner and mistress of the ranch. This was what she had hoped for for years. She had schemed for it, plotted or it ever since her uncle, the late owner, Col. Strange, had sent for her to take towards him the place of his missing daughter.

The disappearance of Col. Strange—for that was what had actually happened—had given her a first taste of the sweets and advantages of her new position. He had gone out one day and had never returned. Only his horse had come back—having found its way home alone. It could not tell the story of what had happened to its unfortunate master. But after much searching of the countryside, certain articles which had belonged to the missing man had been discovered on the top of a precipice overlooking a mountain torrent.

It was, in effect, the same place from which Echo had been thrown by the bandit Killman, had escaped so miraculously; when she had been first rescued, and then held captive, by the renegade Indians.

Her father had apparently been less fortunate. The rushing river—which had at that time been swollen by heavy rains—must have carried him away at once. He had never been seen again, dead or alive.

After an interval—during which there had been much coming and going of lawyers and legal officials—his death had been legally "presumed," and his will had been ordered to be read and acted upon.

It was during this interval that Judith had had the foretaste of ownership alluded to above; during which time she had been practically free from interference, and had been to do as she pleased.

True, there had been her cousin, Roy Strange; but he had never taken much interest in the ranch, and was only occasionally to be seen there. He had certain mines in the district, in which he appeared to be, so to speak, wholly wrapped up.

Rumour had it that things were not in a very satisfactory state there. Some of the mines, it was said, were giving out; at others, he had trouble with his workpeople, who were frequently striking, so that he had very little time to spare for visiting the paternal home.

At any rate, that was the explanation generally accepted. It seemed that he must have his real home elsewhere, so seldom was he seen at the Strange Ranch.

So it had appeared, as stated, as though Judith was on the very point of becoming complete mistress of the Ranch and its estates, when—Echo had come upon the scene, and had been installed in Judith's place. Not only that—and this it was that exasperated the girl's ill-balanced mind most of all—she (Echo) and Robert Rushe had promptly fallen in love with one another; thus finally shutting Judith out, not only from the ownership of the estate, but from all chance of marrying the man she set her mind on.

Judging others by herself, she cunningly turned over in her mind some of the numerous ways in which wealth can be employed in skilful hands.

Robert Rushe would fall to her sooner or later—when he returned from the war. If not by one means then by another. By hook or by crook, she would turn him on and bring him finally to her feet.

She spent some time in such reflections as these, and in examining and admiring the sparkling jewels now in her custody. Then she considered it was time to find a hiding-place for them, and she went up to her bedroom for that purpose.

Here she hesitated, choosing first one likely place and then another. Finally she decided that the handiest place, and also the safest, in which to hide the jewels, would be her travelling trunk. They would be ready there to take away with her when she started for some large town, where she would be able to meet with a purchaser for some of the gems.

It was curious that to Killman she gave no thought; or, if she did, she felt no fear of his anger. He was a crook, a bandit, and she had only to open her mouth and tell some of the things she knew about him and he would be "wanted" at once. He would be arrested. Or, if he avoided that, it would only be by fleeing the country.

And he, knowing that she could denounce him would not dare to show his anger or attempt reprisals. No—thus she argued with herself—she need not fear Killman. She had done with him; and there was an end of it!

As for meeting him at the station to go off with him, as she had promised, she now laughed at the idea. If he really expected that she would do so, it was only one more proof of what a poor fool he was!

Now, she had scarcely finished with the trunk in which she had packed away the jewels, when she heard a clatter of hoofs. She ran to the window and looked out, but from where she was could only catch sight of one or two of the troop of cowboys who had gone out from the ranch to look for Echo.

She then heard someone moving about in the sitting-room below. That, no doubt, would be Carter, who had returned disheartened and depressed, after an unsuccessful search. Her cue was to go down at once, to make anxious inquiries, and to pretend to condole with him upon his want of success.

So she ran lightly down the stairs and along the passage, threw open the door, and saw—not Carter, but—Echo!

Yes, Echo herself! Echo looking very tired, yet as kindly and affectionate in her manner as ever!

"Yes! Here I am!" Echo cried, cheerily, to Judith. "I'm not dead yet, you see; though"—her face suddenly grew grave—"some of them have done their best to send me to my death! I've a lot to tell you, Judith! But first, how've you been getting on, dear? Did those wretched Incas behave badly when they found I'd given them the slip? Thanks to your clever plan, you know—"

"Ah—my plan! Yes! I knew my plan would work, and that you would get back safely!"

"H'm! Your plan was clever enough at first," Echo returned, dubiously. "It enabled me, as I say, to give them the slip. But it didn't work beyond that!"

"Oh, a lot! Everything went wrong! And, in particular, that man again—Killman! Judith—that man, Killman, your sweetheart, is a thief and a murderer!"

"Oh! This is terrible news! It just breaks my heart!" she exclaimed aloud. But to herself she said, "I wonder how she came to find that out—and how much she knows?"

"Yes," Echo continued; "all his regret for what he did before was mere pretence! He has shown himself in his true colours now! Carter knows all about it, and is going to denounce him to the sheriff!"

Judith rapidly turned this information over in her thoughts and came to a decision. She would denounce him, too, and so assist them, in some measure, to get rid of him.

"Why," she told Echo, "Killman's been here! Fancy him having the impudence to come here! But I can tell you where he's gone—he started off for the Strangers' Rest."

After a little more talk Judith left her on the plea that she had house-hold affairs to attend to, and then "Two-Gun" Carter entered. He had been looking to the horses and other matters.

"Killman has just left here. He's headed for Strangers' Rest. Judith just told me!"

"So! I wonder if that's reliable? I suppose you told her about him? What did she say?"

"Said her heart was broken. And I dare say she must feel a good deal upset; though, do you know, I never thought she was really much in love with him!"

"Nor I, either. So I suppose the discovery that he's a bad lot won't hurt so much but what she'll get over it. I wonder, now—I wonder if that's true—as to where he's gone to?"

"I think it is—so far as she is concerned, because she seemed very earnest and angry about it."

"Then," said Carter, "I shall follow him up! This may be a good chance to take him unawares and catch him! I'll call out the boys and we'll start. We can leave you without fear now that we've made our peace with those bally Inca chaps—at any rate for a while. So I'm off to the Strangers' Rest."

* * * * *

"The Strangers' Rest" was the name given to a drinking and dancing saloon situated some miles away on the outskirts of a small mining colony.

The colony itself was in a rocky gorge amongst the mountains, in the midst of very wild, rugged surroundings. The drinking saloon was the habitual haunt of some of the roughest and most rowdy inhabitants in the colony.

It was also occasionally patronised by even wilder characters—outlaws, "road agents," and others who, having made their own regular resorts too hot for them for a time, were forced to seek elsewhere a temporary meeting place.

This was the retreat Killman had appointed as a rendezvous for his gang, after their designs against Echo had once more ended badly.

Echo's escape, the subsequent interference of the Incas, and finally the truce that had been agreed to between Echo and the Regent, had upset Killman's plans. However, he had gained possession of the Regent's jewelled headpiece, and had given it into Judith's keeping. And he had finally arranged with her to meet him at the nearest railway station in order that they might go off together.

But, meantime, he had the members of his gang to consider. If he did not settle things with them before his flight, and they found out that he had gone off with the Inca's jewels, he would have them added to the list of the enemies who would be hunting for him.

Hence his presence at the drinking bar of the saloon, in private conference with the half-caste, Stiletto Steve, and Polecat, the driver of the stage coach, who was secretly in league with the outlaws.

There were a good many customers there that day, and they were divided up into groups and parties in the different rooms. Some were engaged in gambling feverishly, some were dancing, while many more hung about watching "the fun," and occasionally breaking out into snatches of rough song.

From the various groups, men in a semi-sober state would get up and go off to the bar for more drink. There, coming and going, they would come into collision with one another or with the loungers, which frequently resulted in the spilling of some of the liquor. Then, probably, a squabble would follow, which might or might not end in the drawing of weapons and a little free shooting.

Quarrels were even more frequent among the gamblers, if one might judge by the sudden outbursts of protests and throats and volleys of "strange oaths." Altogether a succession of scenes of noisy confusion, and clamour and disorder; but so far, that day, no actual violence had occurred.

It was into this assembly that Carter and his cowboys entered—not in a body, but singly or in pairs, and in such a way as to attract little attention as possible.

They had left their horses tethered out of sight, some little distance away, and had received their orders from their leader before going inside.

"If the Killman gang's really there," he had said, "each of you pick out his man amongst them, and when I give the signal—go for him!"

"Looks as if there's trouble brewin'," he muttered to Steve and Polecat. "The ranch crowd is here!"

But for a time nothing particular happened. The "ranch crowd" behaved as though they had merely come there by chance, for some refreshment, while out on their ordinary business.

Of Killman and his followers they took no notice whatever; seemed not to recognise any of them. And of course that might well be the case, since all the desperadoes, including the leader himself, went masked when engaged in their marauding expeditions.

Still, Killman was uneasy. He sent his lieutenants round to whisper words of warning to the others of the band, which words were for the most part unheeded. The men were by that time mostly in a state of half-drunken, valorous self-confidence, or were too deeply immersed in their gambling to give much attention to what was said to them.

Suddenly, a shill whistle was heard, and then arose a scene of indescribable turmoil and uproar. There were shouts and yells, sounds of long-drawn breaths as of men engaged in fierce hand-to-hand struggles. Then came the inevitable pistol shots. Those who were not particularly interested removed themselves from sight as quickly as they possibly could. They scrambled under tables, or into cupboards, ran upstairs, or cleared out altogether.

Amongst the latter was Killman himself. He had no desire to indulge in fighting that day. He had other fish to fry. He wanted to be free to get to the railway station to keep an appointment to meet a certain young lady whom he expected would be there to run away with him. And he wanted to make sure of being there in time.

Apart from that, he did not trouble himself greatly about the attack on his followers. It would give them something pressing to think about, and afford some excuse in their eyes, when it was found that he had gone off and left them to shift for themselves. There were several little questions they might have wanted settled up before his departure, which he could now leave over till another time.

So he cleared out; or rather he tried to. Watchful eyes, however, were on the alert, and he had not got very far away from the establishment before he became aware that he was being followed.

Not only followed, but surrounded. He turned this way and that. He ran and he doubled. But whichever way he ran he found one of "the ranch crowd" ready to head him off.

At last, in desperation, he went straight ahead—a course which brought forth some triumphant shouts from his pursuers. They felt sure of him now, for he was heading for a high rock, the other side of which was a sheer precipice.

"Leave him to me, boys!" It was the cheery voice of "Two-Gun" Carter which rang out, clear and steady, above all other sounds. "I'm after him—and I mean to get him!"

So the others hung back a little, and he went ahead up the steep, in the wake of the fugitive, who was already nearly at the top of the rock.

Killman had very little further to go. He could not now turn to right or to left. Men were waiting for him either way. What then was his idea, those behind him wondered.

It looked as though he knew that he was cornered and was going, in desperation, to try to throw his foes over the cliff by sheer strength, one after the other, as they came up.

Carter would be the first to reach him. Was there to be a short, hand-to-hand struggle, a furious death-wrestle on the very brink of the rock at that giddy height?

That's what it looked like. It was what all those who were there to see now expected. And as Carter still tore upwards and drew nearer and nearer to the hard-pressed fugitive, the others held their breath in puzzled suspense.

Then, all at once, the situation was changed. Killman ran on and on up to the very edge of the cliff, and—leaped over!

Two-Gun Carter went on almost to the edge, and looked over with a shudder. He knew the place well; and he expected to see the crushed body of the bandit lying on the rocks below. The idea now in his mind—and in the minds of others who had seen the leap—was that the man had deliberately committed suicide to escape capture.

But that, as Carter now found to his amazement, had not been the case. Killman had deliberately jumped into the midst of a large tree which grew at the bottom of the precipice.

He had caught at the branches as he fell, swung, over on them, and landed safely on the ground. And there he was now, wading through some shallow water amongst some tall reeds, no doubt hoping to hide himself amongst them, and so eventually get away.

From his pursuers he evidently felt himself safe enough for the time being. It had been an amazing feat that he had performed there; and it was not surprising that he should think that no one amongst his enemies would attempt it.

If that was his idea, however, he was mistaken, as he soon discovered. Two-Gun Carter was not going to let him get away so easily as all that.

What Killman could do, he (Carter) could do; so the plucky cowboy reasoned. Had any of his friends been near enough, they would probably have interfered and stopped him from attempting the foolhardy jump. But though they shouted out to him as they saw him preparing to take the leap, he paid no heed. Another moment and he had gone over—and, like Killman, he landed in the tree. But, less fortunate than he had been, in swinging down, he fell and struck his head against a stone. And there he lay, half-stunned, when his companions arrived near enough to the top to look over.

And there they remained—on the top. For not one of them dared imitate what those two had done. After a short pause some of them started to get down, by a roundabout route, to the assistance of their leader.

The fight with Killman's followers at the Strangers' Rest was now over; had been for some time. Some of them had been wounded and captured, one unwounded prisoner had been secured; the rest had bolted and had got away.

So now the victors were free to devote themselves to going to the aid of their leader, and to assisting in the hunt for Killman.

Presently, however, Carter revived; and after a little rest was able to take up the search himself, even before his friends had come round to him.

In the meantime Killman seemed to have vanished into thin air. No doubt he knew the district well and thus had been able for the time, at any rate, to throw his pursuers completely off the scent.

* * * * *

Judith was awakened that night by hearing someone or something creeping about in her bedroom.

Ere she had time to do anything, or even to cry out, a bright light was suddenly flashed upon her from a pocket torch.

By it she saw dazedly that it was Killman who was holding the lamp; and that he held, in the other hand, a revolver, which he was pointing at her.

To say that she was not frightened would scarcely be correct. Yet it was the fact that, she had so completely impressed upon herself that she had done with Killman, and he was not to be feared, that she was by no means cowed.

She knew he had come after the jewels; and she was not going to let his get them if she could help it.

Such a visit as this—in the middle of the night—was certainly unexpected; but she thought she could "bluff" him.

He uttered a short laugh—a hard, significant sort of laugh. And when he spoke, he took no notice of her question:

"I went to the station," he said, between his teeth, "expecting you would be there to meet me! I come here, and find you snug in bed, an' you have the nerve to ask me what I want! I've been a blind fool—but I've finally got my eyes open! Get up! I want to talk to you!"

Judith got sulkily out of bed and put some wraps around her, he pointing the pistol at her all the time.

"Why didn't you come to the station—as you promised me?" he presently demanded, with ominous calmness.

He snapped out an oath under his breath. "You knew it all along," he declared with contempt. "But you proposed to use me as your cats-paw!"

He spoke, as she had done, in very low tones—scarce above a whisper. Neither seemed anxious to arouse the household.

"And you pretended to be anxious for me and for the safety of the Inca jewels! You're lucky that I don't kill you right away! But enough of this! I want those jewels! Come! Hand 'em over!"

"How dare you? Get out of my room! I don't know anything about any jewels," she had the hardihood to assert.

He pulled out drawers, opened boxes, looked here, and there, and hunted about in all directions, she sitting beside the bed and watching him all the time. And finally he forced open the trunk, and there found the precious Inca head-piece.

Then she sprang at him like a tigress, and tried to wrest the treasure from him; but he quieted her by pointing the pistol at her again.

"Now," he said at last, "you're coming with me! I've got the jewels, an' I've got you! I'm goin' to take 'em with me, an' you're goin' with me, too!"

"Never!" she cried. "Going with you, indeed! I'd rather die, any day, than live with you!"

Her voice was full of a scorn and contempt that cut him to the quick. He swore, savagely, that she would have to go with him. His eyes glittered with mad anger and fierce determination, and when she began struggling furiously, declaring over and over again that she would rather die than go with him, he finally lost all control of himself:

The pistol flashed, there followed a report, and the unhappy girl fell back with a last cry.

* * * * *

The shot and the cry were heard by Echo in her bedroom. She had woke up a little while before, and had lain for some time fancying she could hear strange sounds. But being extremely tired and sleepy after all she had been through, she did not rouse up thoroughly till there came the sound of a shot, and that one terrible cry rang out through the night.

Then she sprang out of bed, put two or three things hastily on, caught up a revolver, and moved swiftly but silently to the door of her room. There she paused and listened. All seemed quiet for the moment; but she fancied she could still hear stealthy sounds, as of someone creeping about.

She sought the switch and turned on the electric light. She went silently to the door of Judith's room and peeped in—to start back unsteadily, gasping, yet pluckily repressing a wild impulse to shriek at the top of her voice.

For she knew now that her cousin had been murdered, and that the creeping sound she had heard in the other direction must have been made by the murderer. She was not going to let him get away if she could prevent it.

Softly, slowly, noiselessly, she stole along in the direction of a door which was standing open further along. Beyond that door all was in darkness.

Just within the door, in the black shadow, Killman was waiting, pistol in hand, for the girl who was moving, step by step, towards him.

EPISODE X.
The Sun Message.

He was now standing near, looking at her, with a ferocious grin on his face.

KILLMAN, within the dark doorway of the room opening off the passage, waited, pistol in hand, for the girl he knew, was coming slowly, softly, step by step, towards him, though, where he was, he could not see her.

But he had heard her creep to Judith's room, had heard her stifled gasp of horror as she realised that her cousin had been killed.

And he guessed why she was creeping so cautiously towards where he was concealed. She had heard him, knew that he was still somewhere about, and she was resolved that he not be free to get away.

Probably she did not know his identity, though she might suspect. In any case, it was clear to him that this intrepid, clever girl had trapped him, and would either shoot him or bring about his capture, unless he could shoot her first.

Echo was advancing so pluckily, too! For she was in the open, and full in the glare of the electric light; while he was hidden in the shadow.

He could not yet see her—or he would have fired at once. And he dared not peer round the corner of the door to take aim, for he knew the one he had to deal with. He knew that she was as good a shot as any man, and even quicker than a good many.

So he could only do as he was doing—lie in wait, with his finger on the trigger, ready to get in the first shot when she eventually moved into his line of vision.

Killman heard a slight sound behind him. Quickly he turned his head for a second, and—found himself staring down the muzzle of a revolver!

Though the room he was in was in what seemed total darkness, there was really light enough from the lighted passage outside to enable him to make out not only the pistol, but the man—for it was a man not a girl, this time—who held it.

There was also a little light now coming from the open window behind the man—the window Killman had himself forced open and entered and left open. And he was ready now to call himself every kind of a fool for not having fastened it behind him.

Moreover it was "his own familiar friend" who had thus crept in, at the very window he had left open, to turn the tables on him in this way.

For the man was Polecat, the stage coach driver—Killman's own accomplice, who was playing this "low down" trick on him!

Killman had planned, as we know, to go away, carrying the Incas' jewels with him instead of first dividing up the spoil with his confederates, as per the usual custom of thieves of their kidney.

Instead of that, it would now be Polecat who would have the extreme pleasure of going off with the whole swag; and it would be he, Killman, who would he left in the lurch!

There was the precious jewelled head-piece lying on the floor by his (Killman's) side, where he had put it down when he had heard Echo coming to look for him.

And now Polecat coolly took it up and retreated backwards with it, keeping his leader covered with his pistol all the time.

Slowly, quietly, the fellow thus went back by the way he had come, leaving Killman gnashing his teeth and nearly bursting a blood-vessel or two with rage and fury at being robbed—as he considered it—and made a fool of into the bargain.

So intense was his feeling of exasperation that the despoiler had no sooner disappeared through the window and removed the threat of the levelled weapon, than Killman darted after him.

Forgetting, or ignoring, the enemy on the other side, flinging all prudence to the winds, risking what Echo's pistol might do, he rushed out in pursuit of Polecat, intent only on forcing him to restore the treasure he had secured.

Echo, hearing enough to lead her to guess that the murderer she had been so patiently trying to stalk was making off, rushed boldly into the room. And, finding it empty, hurried to the window and looked out.

The light was better now, for the dawn was coming, and she could distinguish two figures, one behind the other running away. The one in front was carrying something, and Echo's thoughts connected all this at once with the Regent's head-piece, and without more ado, therefore, she fired at the flying thief.

And she brought him down! Polecat rolled over, and Killman was about to rush in upon him and recover the costly head-piece, when the unexpected once more interfered and upset his little plans.

There was a great clatter of hoofs, and who should appear suddenly on the scene but the whole "ranch crowd"—as Killman had himself styled them—with "Two-Gun" at their head.

They had been nearing home on their return after their adventures at the "Strangers' Rest," when they had heard Echo's shot, and naturally had hurried forward to find out what was going on.

They recognised Killman just as he had grasped the treasure and wrested it from the hands of the fallen Polecat.

"Seize him!" she cried, her voice ringing with anger and horror. "He's just killed Judith to get the Incas' jewels!"

She told Carter hurriedly and excitedly what had taken place; and then she swayed and turned sick and faint, so that she would have fallen if he had not caught her and held her up.

He led her gently back to the house and delivered her over to the care of Starlight; while he proceeded to investigate the state of affairs for himself. After which he had to arrange for the safe custody of the murderer and the wounded Polecat, and to send notice to the coroner and the police.

* * * * *

"Well, now our next business will be to have another interview with the Inca people, I suppose," said "Two-Gun" Carter. "We're in a position to make fresh terms—better ones this time as our conditions for returning their treasured diadem. We'd better go over there and get it settled as soon as possible."

Echo, to whom the words were addressed inclined her head in reluctant assent. She had no liking for any more visits to the Incas' Castle, even though it were merely to take her part in a peace conference on a small scale.

"I suppose you are right," she answered, with an air of weariness. "Shall we never get to the end of all this business, and be able to live a life free from 'excursions and alarums'?"

It was a week after the murder of Judith that this talk took place. An inquest had been held, and Killman was in the sheriff's hands awaiting trial for the crime.

It had been a very trying time for Echo. She had felt acutely her lonely position. Her lover was away engaged in the war, and now she had lost the only one of her own sex who had been a companion to her.

Lost her! Alas! She had lost her in a double sense, for, in going over the dead girl's belongings, certain discoveries had been made, and Echo now knew what her pretended friendship had been worth.

This had affected her badly, so that she was in no mood to meet the Incas again However, Carter seemed to consider it necessary; so she resigned herself to the inevitable.

* * * * *

The following day saw the two on their way once more to the Incas' castle. To Echo's way of regarding the place it might very well have been called "the Ogres' Castle." For, spite of her sound common sense and high courage, she could not quite repress a slight shudder when they came in sight of it.

However, she felt a certain amount of satisfaction in the fact that this time they were accompanied by the Sheriff himself. He, it seemed, was taking Killman over there on some question of identification. Also, he wanted to witness the handing back of the stolen jewels.

Besides the Sheriff, and two or three of his men in charge of the prisoner, there were two of the ranch cowboys. So (she reflected) they ought to be safe from any sudden treachery on the part of these uncertain people. Yet—something had prompted that involuntary shudder! Could it have been a premonition that more trouble lay before her.

These misgivings—they were hardly more—proved, nevertheless, to be, in a sense, prophetic; for their visit, far from being the peaceable settlement they had hoped for, was a stormy one.

There had apparently been some, quarrel or misunderstanding between the two chiefs of the Mission—Osman, the Chief Priest, and Axmara, the Regent. And they were now in bad humour with one another and with—seemingly—everybody and everything around.

So far as the return of the stolen head-piece, with its array of flashing, costly jewels was concerned, Osman—who seemed to have got the upper hand and was now chief spokesman—accepted it merely as a matter of course. It was theirs, it had been stolen, and it had been returned. Well and good.

But when Carter went on to speak of the conditions he wished to impose Osman took the high horse and refused absolutely to listen to anything of the kind. He even repudiated the arrangement that the Regent had agreed to.

"The Regent has exceeded his authority," he declared, "and had no right to give any such promise—unless we knew, for a fact, that Prince Pampas is dead."

Not content with that, he wanted to have Killman delivered over to the Incas that he might be put to death, at once for his impious act in stealing the sacred diadem.

"We have complied with your other terms—but cannot agree to this. Killman is wanted for murder—the murder of a white girl—and he will be tried and punished according to our laws. We cannot hand him over to you for punishment."

"Then we must have the Princess Divina instead," was the uncompromising answer. "Inca blood has been shed. For that the Princess Divina shall be held a prisoner until the Prince is found."

"Not if I know it!" cried Carter, now infuriated at this breach of faith and the shifts and quibbles with which the crafty old priest pretended to justify it. And he pulled out the "two guns" that had given him his name.

The Sheriff produced his "shooting iron," too, the Incas around, at a sign from Osman, made a rush, and a general fight began between them and the two white men, aided by the Sheriff's men.

Carter had left his two cowboys outside, as a precaution, with these instructions: "If there is any trouble, an' you hear any shootin', don't come in to try to help us, but jest ride off an' get a posse as quick as you can."

That, therefore, was what now happened. The two started off on hearing pistol shots, and Carter, the Sheriff and the latter's men were left to do the best they could against the whole Inca crowd.

Directly they tried to lay hands on Echo she, too, showed fight and, breaking away, ran off along a passage she had not known before.

Something gave way beneath her feet, and she fell, through a trapdoor, into depths beneath.

* * * * *

When she recovered from the shaking she had received in her fall, and began to look about her, she found that she was in a stone cell—it might well have been called by the grimmer name of dungeon. She guessed, from the dim light which came into it from a heavily barred window which looked out into what seemed to be a small square shaft, that it was probably underground.

With her usual energy when in a critical situation, she set to work at once to try to find some way out. But her efforts in that direction were vain. The stones of which it was built were of great thickness, the doors—there were two—were heavy, massive affairs studded with iron; and the bars of the window resisted all her attempts even to shake them. The place she had fallen through in the ceiling had closed up again.

Then she heard voices and footsteps outside, a heavy key was inserted in the lock of the door, which swung open with much creaking, and there entered—Osman, the High Priest, and the Regent.

They both stood and looked at her; the priest with the horrible, gloating, leering smile she had seen so many times before, which disclosed his hideous tusk-like teeth. The Regent with his habitual scowl.

"So, Princess, you have found your way into what we call our best parlour," sneered Osman. "You came here of your own accord, and here you will stay till we have settled what to do with you. You will find it less easy to get out of here than the places you have escaped from before."

"Come," the Regent interrupted, impatiently, "cease this talk. We did not come here to interview the princess. 'Tis the other one we want to see!"

Osman shrugged his shoulders, and producing another key turned to the second door. This was unlocked, and they entered it and closed it behind them.

At least that was what they, no doubt, intended to do; but the Regent, who seemed either in a hurry or unusually impatient, pushed it to without locking or fastening it. Echo, ever on the alert, noticed this and crept up on tip-toe to try to peep through the keyhole.

She could not do this as the key was still in the lock, so she tried gently to push the door open slightly. In this she succeeded so far as to be able to hear something of what was being said on the other side, though not to allow her to see anything of the interior.

The very first words she caught made her blood run cold, for they spoke of cruelty and torture.

"It is useless to complain.... daily torture will be the penalty.... until you divulge....!"

These words were spoken by the priest in tones which made the horrified listener picture him as gloating over the suffering he threatened.

Then came other words uttered in quavering accents by another voice—like that of a weak old man, pitifully appealing for mercy!

Echo shuddered; and now her blood, that had seemed to turn cold with horror, felt nearer to boiling with indignation.

The strange voice was so feeble that she could make out but little of what it said; but that little increased her horror. The speaker was evidently in the last throes of misery and despair.

Then came an answer from Osman which startled her. For she heard herself referred to.

The priest spoke sternly and therefore raised his voice, and his words came clearly to her ears:

"In the next dungeon the princess Divina is now our prisoner. To-morrow you will tell us what we want to know—or you will both die!"

This seemed to excite the hapless prisoner, for he cried out loud enough for the surprised listener to hear plainly:

"Divina! Divina—a prisoner—here. She has been found? You have her—No! no, no. It is not true! You lie, you lie, you lie! You are liars—and murderers, and torturers—your horrible, devilish—sacrifices. No—you would not dare—you are liars, and you lie—I—say!"

The failing voice died away. The sudden excitement that had given the poor fellow, whoever he was, a passing touch of strength had gone. It sounded to Echo as though he had fallen to the floor and rolled over in a fainting condition.

His brutal gaolers left him with no more pity than if he had been a whining puppy, and Echo had only just time to get across to the other side of the cell before they had opened the door and entered her cell.

She turned her back upon them, partly in disgust and abhorrence, partly to hide her agitation and help her to keep control over herself. It was as much as she could do to refrain from upbraiding them for their cruelty.

Fortunately, they took no notice of her, but went out, closed and locked the door behind them, and she heard their footsteps as they went along the stone-flagged passage.

When they had quite gone she went to the other door and knocked at first softly; then, as no answer came, she ventured to knock more loudly. But still she got nothing in the shape of a reply, and she turned away with a sigh of disappointment.

She had hoped to be able to speak, through the crack of the door, a few words of sympathy and encouragement to this hapless prisoner. To tell him that she had friends who would be sure to come to rescue her, and that now she knew of his plight, she would tell them, and they would come to his help also.

But, as no sign had come to her that her taps had been heard, she came to the conclusion that the unfortunate man must have fainted, or be lying there too utterly exhausted to make himself heard.

She was too restless, too much excited, to remain still, and she paced up and down like a caged wild animal.

And then a strange thing happened. As she marched to and fro, going again and again over one place near the wall by the door she had been knocking at, she fancied she felt the floor move.

That is to say, it seemed as though one of the square flag stones with which the floor was paved, gave way a little under her tread.

Trying again over the same part, she realised that it had not exactly given way, but that the weight of her foot had pushed it back into its place. And if that were so, of course it must be loose. And, since it had happened several times—she had not taken any particular notice of it at first—something must be pushing it up each time after she trod it down!

In a moment, as this thought came to her, she was down on her knees feverishly clawing at the stone all round the join.

And then, with staring eyes, she saw that it seemed to be trying, as it were, to lift itself up!

She got her fingers underneath to assist the movement, and raised it. It was so heavy she could not have done this, but that—as she now knew—she was being helped from below.

Up it came at last. She tilted it back so that it fell to one side—and there emerged from the hole thus disclosed, an extraordinary head, covered with a mass of matted grey hair and long beard.

Slowly, painfully, with many half-suppressed moans, a body followed—the body of a man so lean and spare as to appear, where it could be seen, almost a living skeleton.

Finally, the poor creature stood up and stared at her with sunken eyes that had an eager, unnatural fire in them, like the light of fever.

She knew then that this must be the hapless prisoner from the adjoining cell. Evidently, he had, in the course of time, succeeded in constructing a secret tunnel, in the hope of eventually effecting his escape. But having been told that the "Princess Divina" was in the next cell, he had ventured to make his way through to her.

With what object—to make some appeal to her—to tell her something of importance? Doubtless, she said to herself.

"I am your father, child!" was the astounding announcement he made. "I am Colonel Strange, and you are my daughter Divina, lost to me ever since you were a child!"

"B—but—but—I thought you were dead!" gasped Echo. "They told me so—everyone thinks so—how can this thing be?"

The old man laughed bitterly. "So that's what they put about, then? It's another of their lies! No, my child! They captured me, brought me here, and have kept me a prisoner ever since. They have made my life a horrible misery!"

He poured forth a flood of explanations, Echo listening with a beating heart and wondering ears, and asking questions here and there, till their talk was interrupted by sounds in the corridor outside.

"They are coming back!" exclaimed Col. Strange. "They must not find me here. I—"

"But, father!" whispered Echo, looking down with a shiver into the uninviting hole. "Surely—you're not going down there again. It seems horrible—like—like—!"

She was going to say "like going down into an open grave,'" but hesitated to put her thought into words. Her father, however, did not hesitate; in fact, he was already scrambling down into the tunnel.

"Help me to get the stone back into place, child; and mind you do your best to remove all marks," was all he said. Another moment and he had disappeared from view. She carried out his instructions as well as she could, and then braced herself for the coming interview.

There entered a masked man—whom she recognised as the Phantom Rider—that mysterious being, whether hermit, mystic, or "spook" (as he had been called) she knew not—and—"Two-Gun" Carter himself!

They made signs to her to be silent, the while that the masked man proceeded with the unwinding of a long coil of stout rope which he had brought with him. He pointed to the window to intimate to her that they were to escape that way. But she shook her head and pointed to the second door.

"My father is in that room," she whispered. "He has been kept a prisoner here, it seems, for a long, long time by these terrible people, and has been most shamefully treated. I cannot go without him!"

* * * * *

That night, in the darkness, two horsemen, going in opposite directions, met on the road leading up to the Castle, and one challenging the other, they stopped and conferred.

One proved to be the Regent; while the other was Killman. The latter spoke first:

"I have come to give you news," he said. "My men are close at hand, so it is of no use for you to try to seize me—"

"I have no wish to seize you," the other broke in disdainfully, with a haughty wave of the arm. "You and I are on the same footing now. I have left my people. What is your news?"

Killman stared, and was silent a moment, turning this announcement over in his mind. Then he went on:

"Listen! After my escape to-day from your place, I went and rounded up some of my boys, then was coming back here when we met a mounted party galloping along from your direction. We caught sight of them in time to get out of the way, so that they did not see us. They had your Princess, as you call her, with them, and were heading for the ranch—"

"I know," growled the Regent. "She has escaped once more; but this time she has taken another with her whom we have been holding prisoner. For his escape I am held responsible. He takes with him the knowledge of a certain secret."

The Inca started; then gripped Killman with one hand in an iron grasp, and bringing his dark, scowling face close to his stared into his eyes:

"I followed 'em," Killman explained. "They went to the ranch. I listened in the shadows beneath the open window. Your escaped prisoner, I heard, is her father. He was telling her how he had hidden the 'Sun Message' in a cave beneath the ranch. Then they went together to look for it. I saw how they got access to the place by a secret door. If I take you there and show you, what will you give me?"

"I am at present a fugitive like yourself," the Regent answered slowly. "But if I can find that message and take it back to the Castle, I shall be restored to my position. Help me to do that and I will give you half my jewels!"

"That's a bargain!" cried Killman. "I'll call my men and we'll go on to the ranch at once. If we're quick enough we may surprise them with the paper in their possession, and you can take it with you!"

* * * * *

The strange-looking old man whom Echo now knew for her father, and who had escaped with her, pointed to a metal door fixed to a wall of rock.

They were in a cave—part of a labyrinth, in fact, for it had many ramifications—which ran beneath the Strange Ranch.

Col. Strange, after his escape with Echo and Carter, had lost no time, when they had reached the ranch, in searching for the "message," to which so much importance attached. But his long imprisonment and the ill-treatment he had received had impaired his memory; and though he had remembered the secret way to get down into the cave, he could not recall the exact whereabouts of the hiding-place.

Now he had come to it, and recognised it. He had been able to find again the concealed means of opening it, and they gathered round in eager curiosity.

So eager were they that they did not hear the approach of stealthy footsteps, and had no idea that Killman and his gang had tracked them.

There came a rush of many feet, shouts end cries, followed by a confused, fierce fight. They had, however, little chance against superior numbers. Killman and his men prevailed; they overpowered the little party and proceeded to bind them, one by one.

Echo received, in the fighting, a blow which dazed her, and it was some time before she came to her proper senses. When she was able to look round intelligently, she found that she had been tied up hand and foot, and was lying on her back in what was to her an unknown part of the cave.

Overhead was an enormous piece of rock. It weighed, probably, several tons and was suspended in the air by a thick cable, it was, in fact, a counter-weight which had been hung thus to work the secret door opening into the cave.

Echo's glance travelled along the cable, which went up to the roof of the cave, and, for some distance, was held there by pulleys. Then it came down perpendicularly, and wound round a roller.

There was a lighted candle, so placed that its flame was slowly burning the rope. She saw—and she understood.

This had been a diabolical idea of Killman's! He was now standing near, looking at her, with a ferocious grin on his face.

"Ah!" he chuckled. "I see you comprehend the situation! When yonder rope burns through, down comes the rock on you! This is my revenge. I've got you at last, and I'm paying off my debt, as I did with your cousin Judith, and as I always do, in the end, with everybody that crosses me. And I've your precious 'Sun Message,' and I'm going off with it!"

He held up a paper in his hand as he spoke, and then, turning, went away and left her.

EPISODE XI.
The Stranger From The Sea.

ECHO stared, with horror-stricken eyes, at the candle and the slowly smoldering rope, then at the great rock which was held suspended over her; and wondered, in a dull way, how long it would he ere the rope parted, and the immense mass fell and crushed her life out.

Already it was oppressing her brain by the mere contemplation of its enormous mass. In fancy she could almost feel it slowly descending; and the sensation was terrible.

To distract her thoughts for a moment from the fascination of this horror, she turned her head and looked round. And then she saw with amazement that her father and Carter were there with her! They were lying but a little distance away, each, not only bound, but gagged.

They were staring helplessly at her, unable to speak. But in their eyes she read the same horror that she felt herself.

And still the candle burned on, the flame playing upon the rope, and slowly eating into it, strand by strand.

Suddenly she heard a glad cry. Carter had wriggled himself free and had sprung to his feet. He rushed to the candle and put it out!

He was only just in time, for the rope was almost burned through. In fact, he felt afraid it might give way even before he could reach Echo and drag her from her terrible position.

Feverishly he moved her to a safer place and released her from her bonds. Then he set her father free; and the three left the cave and went up into the ranch.

Here Col. Strange made a statement which was as satisfactory to his hearers as it was surprising.

"They have not carried off the 'Sun Message,'" he said, with a laugh. "Killman thought it was written on the piece of parchment I was holding in my hand and examining at the time I was attacked. I had already put the real 'message' into my pocket—and I have it here now."

He drew out what looked like a lump of some shiny metal or other heavy substance. One side was smooth, and polished, and it had some characters engraved upon it. But they were in a language which neither Echo nor Carter understood.

"This," Echo's father explained, "is said to be a meteor—or part of one. The legend is that it fell from the skies with this message already engraved upon it. But that, to my mind, is, at least, somewhat doubtful!

"However, the Incas believe it; and that in why they value it so highly. They believe that it came direct to them from the sun—that is, from their god; and they reverence it accordingly. The message upon it is to this effect, that whoever possesses it—the meteor—shall be exempt from sacrifice. Therefore, my daughter, this should make you safe from the Incas for the future. Let us jointly thank Heaven this day, that I have lived to set eyes on my dear daughter after so many years; and that I am able to give into her hands this talisman to ensure her future safety."

* * * * *

There followed a few happy days—days which Echo remembered with wistful appreciation afterwards. For they were a time of restful peace, such as she had not known since an inscrutable Fate had plunged her into the stormy sea of adventure in which she seemed to have been floundering ever since.

In her father she had found what she had been longing for so intently—some one she could trust and confide in, some one to whom she could turn for advice and sympathy.

The father and daughter had many long talks together. He told her about her mother, who she had been, and how she (Echo—or Divina as she had been named) had been stolen from them.

"Listen, child!" he began. "It was when I was engaged on a mine in one of the little-known regions of South America, that I met your mother. High up on the eastern slopes of those stupendous mountains, the Andes, is an extensive plain. It lies at a height of 12,000 feet above the level of the sea; and there, at that great height, is one of the largest lakes in South America, a sheet of water two or three thousand square miles in area.

"On its shores are the crumbling remains of what was at one time a magnificent city.* It is now nothing but ruins; yet among these ruins are some of the oldest and most wonderful monuments in the world. They are thousands of years old."

"This city was the capital of a powerful empire, inhabited by a race of mighty conquerors, who held sway over nearly the whole of the continent. But in time they grew weak, and their power passed into other hands. Their distant provinces were invaded by hordes of enemies, who conquered and took possession of them one by one, till, in time, they captured the capital town itself—the great city on the lake, and destroyed or drove away most of its inhabitants.

"Now, farther up the sides of the great mountain chain, is another plain and another lake, almost unknown to the outside world, because it is so shut in by the towering sides of yet higher and more precipitous mountains, as to be almost inaccessible.

"It was to this wild and isolated region that the survivors of the Lake City fled when they were driven out of their homes. The reigning monarch, with his court, his priests, and his warriors, the remains of his defeated armies, and many of the populace, established themselves there. And, aided by the natural strength and inaccessibility of the position, they resisted all the efforts of their conquerors to dislodge them.

"They managed, too, to take with them, secretly, much treasure in the form of gold and precious stones—for the nation had been marvellously wealthy.

"Time has passed, the race that had driven them out became in turn enfeebled, and were themselves conquered by other races. But the descendants of the refugees from the Lake City have continued to dwell in their stronghold above the clouds, and among the soaring summits of the lofty Andes, apparently 'forgetting the world, and by the world forgot.'

"But only apparently. Forgotten—or almost so—by the outer world, yes! Their names, the names of their mighty kings and men of war, appear now only in books of history, or stories of legend and romance of the olden time.

"But they themselves have never forgotten! No! They have not forgotten their own splendid past history! They have never ceased to remember that they once held sway over more than half the continent.

"They were—are still—an extremely superstitious race, dealing much in astrology, placing faith in soothsayers, oracles, and so on. They have not altered much as amongst themselves. There have been no revolutions, no change of dynasty, or of their forms of government or religion.

"Their King, to-day, is a lineal descendant of the potentates who ruled in such pomp and splendour in the Lake City when it was the brilliant capital of their far-flung empire. Your mother was equally one of their direct descendants; and that, my child, is why they claim you as one of themselves."

Echo drew a long breath. In her eyes, in her face, in her whole attitude, there were evidences of strong emotion. That feeling which is known as "pride of race rose unbidden in her breast, and filled her with thoughts she had been vaguely conscious of before, but which, she had never understood.

"I have told you these things, child," said her father, "because I deemed it my duty—not because I feel any great interest in them—and least of all that you should glory in them!"

"But, father," Echo responded, with glowing eyes, "it is not wrong to feel an interest in those one is descended from, is it?"

"I don't know," returned Col. Strange, doubtfully. "These people—I am sorry to have to say it, since they are your people—are a cruel, cold-blooded lot! See how they have treated me! Look at their religion—at their horrible creed of sacrifice! Why, they're a race of pagans, of rank heathens and unbelievers—of—!"

Echo put a hand upon his arm, and something in her earnest look stayed his outburst.

"Yes, yes, father, dear! All that is true," she agreed. "But—don't you see?—it points out the more clearly on which side my duty lies! To turn them from their ways, to convert them to a better, a nobler life—"

"Convert them? You'll never do that, child—never in this world! They've been steeped in it for hundreds, thousands of years! No—they're too old—"

"Ah, yes—the eldest ones may be—but not the younger ones. There is hope for them—especially if I, their Princess, can gain their obedience and lead them along the right road. Father, this explains to me the vague longings I have been conscious of in regard to these people. They have certainly not treated me well—yet I have felt I could not be very angry with them. I only felt sorry, and pitied them. There is much in them that I admire—"

"That's where I admire them—and pity them, too. They think they are doing right; they are faithful to their own traditions, to their own beliefs. If I could once gain their confidence and teach them better. Now tell me more. What was my mother's name?"

"Yes, yes. I met her first by chance when engaged in prospecting near the wild, isolated region in which she lived. It was useless to attempt to obtain the consent of the King, her father—"

"Aye; he was a terrible tyrant. It was death for any one amongst his people to have anything to do with—even so much as speak to—one of the outer world. And he enforced the penalty—often ruthlessly, mercilessly! He would have enforced it on his own daughter, your mother—had he found out that she had had anything to say to me."

"Therefore, we eloped; and knowing the vengeful character of her people, I threw up the business I was engaged on, and left that part of the continent. But the Incas' vengeance pursued me. I was hunted from pillar to post, and finally settled down here, where I thought I was beyond their reach. Then they must needs send out what they called a mission, and establish themselves near my home."

* * * * *

And thus—as had been stated—for a short time the father and daughter, who had been so unexpectedly reunited, passed their time together in peaceful, affectionate companionship.

EPISODE XII.
The Silver Book.

They both gave their attention to her father,
who was evidently making efforts to talk.

THEY were sitting together one afternoon, engaged in converse more or less similar to the foregoing when, as it happened, her father referred to a fresh subject that he had evidently been turning over in his mind:

"You have spoken of having been lonely here, child," he said, "and I can understand your feelings. You want a companion, apart from myself; one nearer your own age. Judith was not your only cousin; there is another living, about as old as yourself—Susie Strange. I have not seen her for several years, but I can tell you where to find her. We will invite her here to stay with you, on a visit, and we shall see how you get on together."

Echo received this suggestion with gladness. Not, as she said at once, that she was not well satisfied with having her father with her; but she agreed that it would be all the better to have one about her own age as well.

She began to ask a lot of questions, to which Col. Strange answered with good-humoured readiness. Their talk became so animated that they did not hear the approach of stealthy footstep, and no idea that danger threatened them entered their minds.

As a matter of fact, however, their confidential chat had been listened to by the two men they had most reason to fear—Killman and the Inca Regent.

These two had entered the ranch surreptitiously, and, without their presence being suspected, they had heard every word that had been spoken. And they would doubtless have heard more, had it not been that Killman, in his eagerness to learn all he could about the plans of the father and daughter, made some involuntary movement which caused Echo to start up and turn round.

"We've come for that 'Sun Message,'" said Killman, in rasping tones. "The real one this time—not that precious bit of parchment you fooled me into taking before! We've bin list'nin' t' what ye've bin sayin' an' we know ye've got it. So no nonsense! Hand it over at once, or it'll be all the worse for both of you!"

But Col. Strange was not one to give in to such a demand without a fight for it.

Ignoring the risk he ran, he suddenly sprang forward, and pluckily endeavoured to close with the scoundrel and wrest his weapon from him before he could shoot.

And, spite of his enfeebled condition, he almost succeeded. He seized Killman by the wrist with one hand and by the throat with the other, and there followed a desperate struggle between the two.

Echo rushed to her father's assistance, attacking Killman with the fury of an enraged tigress, careless of the fact that she was laying herself open to attack from the Inca. The latter crept up, and, gripping her from behind, hurled her to the floor.

Killman uttered a savage curse. This unexpected resistance had upset his plans. He knew that the sound of the shot would bring some of the ranch people on the scene. Consequently, he and his confederate must either clear out at once without gaining what they had come for, or risk being captured and perhaps lynched on the spot, by a crowd of infuriated cowboys.

As he placed a considerable value upon his own neck, he wasted no time in hesitation; but, with another curse, turned and bolted at once. And the Inca chief, taking his cue from him, promptly followed suit.

Echo, getting up painfully from the floor where she had been thrown, ran to her father's side just as he collapsed, and fell to the ground.

At that moment "Two-Gun" Carter rushed into the room, followed by two or three of his men. Echo told him as briefly as possible what had occurred; and, leaving a couple of his followers to assist her, he darted out himself in pursuit of the murderer.

When he returned, after a useless chase of the fleeing assailants, he found Col. Strange lying in a dying state upon a couch, tended by his daughter and Starlight, and other servants.

The latter he sent away. He saw that they could do no good. Col. Strange was past all earthly help. Carter, who had known him so well and so long, could see that; and could guess what his wishes were likely to be at such a time. He would desire to be alone with his daughter.

He was about to steal away himself when the injured man, who had remained in a sort of lethargy, roused up, and feebly raised a hand, waving to him to remain.

Echo had already anticipated his wish, and was bringing some in a glass that had been standing on a sideboard.

"He would not take any just now," she told Carter in low tones. "I am glad you have come! He roused up and asked for you once, and I told him where you'd gone. I suppose they got away?

"For the present," Carter replied, between his teeth. "But I started some of the boys out to look for 'em, and then I came back here to see—"

She nodded, and they both gave their attention to her father, who was evidently making efforts to talk. They bent over him together.

"Mind—you—send—for your— cousin—Susie," he said faintly. "Glad I thought of it—and told you. You know where I—hid the—meteor."

"Guard it well—but be careful. You are still in grave—danger—but the—Phantom Rider—I must tell you who he is. He is—is—!"

But there the voice fell away, the sufferer's head fell back, and he never spoke again. Thus did Col. Strange draw his last breath in the arms of the daughter of whom he had seen so little in life; leaving untold the secret he had tried at the last moment to disclose.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, the cowboys whom Carter had sent out on the track of the miscreant Killman and his companion, failed to pick up their traces.

This may have been because Killman had gone in the direction of the Sheriff's house; about the last place, probably, where any pursuers were likely to look for them.

The Inca himself was somewhat dubious when he realised whither he was being led. It may even be, perhaps, that dark suspicions of treachery entered the Indian's mind. However, Killman explained his intentions, and showed that there was method in his apparently mad idea.

"Sheriff Flynt is a gambler," he declared, "and might be bought. You have gold—"

"Leave that to me. I will get it later. I have a plan; and I think I can work it through Flynt."

When the pair reached the Sheriff's residence, Killman entered it alone, after taking various precautions to make sure that that public-spirited official was alone. The Regent he left on the watch outside, in case of any visit from the ranch party.

When he had obtained a private interview, his speech was direct, and to the point.

The surprised functionary asked certain questions; and Killman told him what had happened, and then unfolded to him a plan he had been cunningly working out in his mind.

First he called in the Inca. "Here," he explained, "is my financial backer. Your job is to keep him out of gaol, and he on the square with me."

"See here," he went on. "You've got a niece—Stella, I think her name is—she was with Cap'n Salter, as they call him, I remember, at the Crow's Nest. Is she there now?"

"Just this, Sheriff. That girl at the ranch is sendin' for a cousin called Susie—Susie Strange. She's never seen her, an' wouldn't know her from Adam—or Eve. Now, I heard all about her, where she lives, who she's with, an' the rest of it. I'll find out when she is comin' to the ranch, an' I'll intercept her. I want you to let your girl Stella go to the ranch in her place, as Susie Strange. Then we shall have a friend inside who can find out all their secrets, and put us up to all their moves. See?"

At first the Sheriff demurred. He thought the plan too risky; it might get "his girl" into trouble, and so forth. But the crafty Killman countered all his objections—he guessed, in fact, that he was only standing out in order to ask higher terms—and in the end a bargain was struck.

The Regent wanted the "Sun Message," and was willing to pay a big price for it when it was delivered into his hands. Killman was willing to share that price with the Sheriff. Thus the nefarious bargain was arranged.

"There's something I can tell you as'll likely help us over this," said Flynt, when they had settled terms. "I've heard from my girl as they've had a stranger cast up on the shore there. He's a Spaniard, I believe, and the funny thing is he says he's got some mysterious message he wants to deliver to Miss Echo Strange. Rum business, isn't it?"

"Ought to see into this," he said aside to Killman. "Might be something important for my people!"

"Ah, yes! Capital! Just the very thing! I can work it into my plans," Killman exclaimed, eagerly. "When we've got your girl to the ranch in place of the cousin, Sheriff, she can tell Echo about this stranger from the sea who's got a message for her. But she must say that Echo must go to the 'Crow's Nest' to see him, as he's too ill to go to see her. See? That'll be a fine lure to get her over to the 'Crow's Nest.' She'll come there alone, or nearly alone, maybe, and—"

"And I and my warriors will be there to receive her," the Inca Chief put in, with a grim smile.

* * * * *

The family lawyer who had acted under Col. Strange's will after it had been presumed that he was dead, took charge now of all the legal business consequent upon his final unhappy death.

He also assisted Echo in carrying out her late father's wishes respecting her niece Susie Strange.

Things were so managed, however, by the plotters behind the scenes, that when the visitor finally arrived, it was really the girl Stella Flynt, masquerading under the guise of "Susie Strange."

"Susie" had, somehow, got to know something about the "Sun Message"; and on the plea of taking great interest in all that related to Echo, she inquired more than once where it had been hidden.

But in regard to that she learned nothing; for though Echo was far from entertaining any suspicions, her innate caution led her to give evasive answers.

Then there came, one day, a letter from "Captain Salter," of the "Crowds Nest," telling about "the stranger from the sea," who, the writer said, was lying ill at his house, and was asking for the young lady known as the Princess Divina, or Echo Strange. He was most anxious for her to come to see him, as he had a most important secret communication to make to her.

Echo, suspecting nothing, promptly made up her mind to go to see the poor cast-away; and Carter, a little doubtful, though far from feeling any real suspicions, said he would accompany her.

* * * * *

Echo arrived, in due course, with her companion, at the "Crow's Nest," which was, a not too reputable, inn, or tavern, on the seashore. Old Salter, who was expecting her, received her, and led her to the chamber where the sick man lay.

"Your father," he said, "once did me a great service—and now I am able to repay it by rendering his daughter a service.

"When with a party prospecting in Peru, I lived for a time with some Incas, and there learned that—"

Echo started up in alarm. Her quick ears had heard sounds outside which seemed to her suspicious. She hurried to the door and threw it open. And there she saw—Killman and the Inca Chief with Carter in their hands.

"Quick! Save yourself!" Carter urged her. "Do not trouble about me! I shall be all right!"

Echo started off towards where they had tied up their horses; but had not gone far before she caught sight of some Inca warriors trying to head her off. Then she turned along the shore, and in desperation ran up a path leading to a cliff above.

Lying off, some little distance away was a ship, motionless, as though waiting for a boat from the land.

Echo, as she climbed the steep path, noticed this; and an idea came to her. She saw that she was already again cut off on the land side, for there were Incas cutting across to the cliff top ahead of her, as well as in other directions. They now began running towards her.

There was only one way to escape them—and she took it. She turned aside—to the edge of the cliff—and threw herself from it into the sea.

When Echo, in desperation, threw herself from the top of the rock into the sea, her action was seen by the two—Killman and Axmara (the Inca Regent), who had captured "Two-Gun," the plucky man from the Strange Ranch. In their surprise and concern they involuntarily relaxed their hold on their prisoner, who forthwith took advantage of it and broke away.

He raced along the shore and plunged in to Echo's assistance. Meantime some boats had appeared, with more Incas in them—some from the Regent's party, and some from the ship.

These tried to capture Echo; but Carter got her away, and the two together managed to gain the "Crow's Nest," where they were met at the doorway by the owner, old "Captain Salter. He gave them strange news:

"The poor shipwrecked fellow is dead!" he told Echo, solemnly. "He died just after you ran out. With his last breath he begged me to give you this paper. He wrote it just before he died."

Echo took the paper offered to her, and she and "Two-Gun" Carter read it together. It was written in Spanish, which Echo understood well, and Carter a little.

"To the Princess Divina: By corner-stone—Inca Castle at Sirocco—The Silver Book—last page."

"Now what does that mean?" murmured Echo, half to herself and half to Carter. "And what are we to do with it? How does it affect me?"

"I think it may affect our position here, anyway," Carter suggested. "I think it might be a good idea to show it to the Regent."

"The Regent?" Echo repeated, puckering her pretty brows. "But he is our enemy, and is trying to capture us—in league with that outlaw Killman—the murderer of my father."

"'M—yes. But—you know, Miss Echo, what your father told you, and what we ourselves know, now, about the superstitions of these people. The Regent is a sort of outcast from them at present. He wants that durned Sun Message to help him to make friends with them again. If he can't get that, this 'Silver Book' affair may come in useful to him instead."

"I see your idea, friend Carter," returned Echo, nodding her head sagely. "There's no harm in trying it. He can talk Spanish, we know. Can he read it?"

"Well enough to make that out, I guess," Carter assured her. "I'll try it anyway. It can't make things much worse for us than they seem to be just now."

"That's true enough," Echo agreed, with a sigh. "Yes, we'd better see what you can do."

EPISODE XIII.
The Last Warning.

CARTER borrowed Echo's white handkerchief, and, going to a window, waved it so as to attract the Regent's attention. He and Killman and two or three Incas from the ship were conferring together, no doubt as to how they should attack the place and secure Echo and her companion.

On seeing the white handkerchief he first gave instructions to those around him to be on their guard against a possible trick, then strode across to the window.

Carter told him through the open window, and showed him the paper, at the same time explaining how it had come into his hands.

At first the Inca Chief glanced at it impatiently with his usual scowl—Echo thought it more savage looking than ever. She, indeed, had made a snatch at the paper to prevent Carter from handing it over. She thought Axmara ought only to be allowed to read it. But Carter had argued with himself that the paper by itself would be of no use to the Inca. It referred specially to "the Princess Divina."

After some discussion, Axmara went back and had a talk with Killman and the others; then came again to the window, and asked what it was that the Princess proposed.

"That I and you go together to your Castle—or that I shall go on behalf of the Princess," he said, "to find this book and see what there is in it relating to you or to her. Maybe there is something in it which will tell you what you both—you and the Princess—ought to do."

Axmara considered this. He, like the rest of his people, had a great respect for old books or archives belonging to their race; and the very name used here—the "Silver Book"—had an air of mystery and authority, so to speak.

"We must return to the ranch first—the Princess is wet, as you know—and she desires to change her clothes as quickly as possible. Suppose we say to-morrow morning?"

Axmara agreed, and went back to his party to tell them of the new truce he had arranged.

Finally, he strode towards Echo and her companion like (Echo thought) some imperious war chief of old; and pointing, with grave dignity, in the direction in which the ranch lay, said, in Spanish:

"You are free to go! Hasten, ere my people get out of hand. I shall expect you at the Castle to-morrow."

* * * * *

Early the following morning Carter paid a visit to the Castle, and returned about midday with some strange news, and a still stranger message.

Echo was sitting talking to the one she imagined was her cousin, Susie, but who was in reality, Stella, the niece of Sheriff Flynt, and in league with her enemies.

Carter told how they had found the mysterious Silver Book; which, as far he could make out, was filled with ancient lore concerning the laws of the Inca nation.

"So far so good," Carter commented. "The Regent and the rest of them are well pleased with this discovery, and are, besides, greatly excited over another matter which they say intimately affects you. Their astrologers, or soothsayers, or whatever they are, have prophesied that their missing prince, Prince Pampas, will return to them to-night. They are arranging a great festival for the occasion, and they want you to be there."

"So far as I can understand it, things are different now," Carter went on. "I fancy they have an idea of 'burying the hatchet,' as the Indians call it." "But how so?" Echo queried. "Can we trust them—?"

She was interrupted by the entry of her faithful Indian attendant, Starlight, who carried a slip of paper in her hand. She declared that the Phantom Rider had suddenly appeared, given her the paper, and ordered her to take it at once to her mistress. Then he had vanished.

"On the stroke of nine to-night, the missing Prince Pampas, ruling Prince of the Incas, will appear at the Inca Castle, to offer himself voluntarily for sacrifice as substitute for the Princess Divina.—THE PHANTOM RIDER."

"That means, I suppose," Carter observed, "that he wants you to go to this meeting?"

"It looks like it," Echo murmured, greatly perplexed. "Though why they can't do without me—however, as the Phantom Rider wishes me to go I suppose I must do so."

A little later, however, Starlight came again before her mistress with another slip of paper.

"Take the Sun Message to the Castle to-night and pass it to the Prince immediately on his entrance.—THE PHANTOM RIDER."

* * * * *

The great "function" at the Inca Castle was a grand spectacular affair. All those taking part in it had not only put on their most gorgeous dresses, but were making a great show of their wonderful stores of jewellery.

Though Echo had had many opportunities of viewing some of these treasures previously, she was astonished at the dazzling splendour of the present display.

The Incas, as a whole, from the highest to the lowest, were greatly excited by the predicted return of their lost Prince; and their excitement increased as the hour for his promised appearance—9 o'clock—approached.

Echo had become so interested in all that went on, that she forgot her previous misgivings, and was beginning to enter fully into the enjoyment of its gaiety, when her forebodings were revived by a warning whispered by the loyal and faithful Incadede.

"They know somehow, that you have the 'Sun Message,' and that you intend to give it to the Prince. They wish to prevent that; so be careful and watchful!"

Poor Echo's heart sank at once. Was it ever to be thus? Was she never to be able to feel safe or at ease, even when she had been invited and pressed to attend a ceremony which was supposed to be for the express purpose—as Carter had termed it—of "burying the hatchet"?

Her face unconsciously took on a harder look, her eyes grew more alert. She began to wish she had brought her revolver into the place with her.

She had not time to prepare, or even to consult with Carter, however, for there were hurried movements amongst some of the crowd which told that a crisis of some kind was at hand.

Yet the appointed time—9 o'clock—had not arrived. What, then, was happening?

But still it was not yet time! Echo, glancing round, questioningly, caught sight of Stella looking at her with an expression which she could not fathom. Then there rose great shouts and cheers as two horsemen, both masked, rode into the midst of the throng.

One was all in white, and was on a white steed; while the other, in black, was like unto the Phantom Rider.

Echo moved quietly across to the former, whom she supposed to be the Prince—everyone was so acclaiming him—and slipped the "meteor" with the "Sun Message" upon it, into his hand.

But Incadede, who had approached the man on the other side, and was looking very hard at him, suddenly reached out and pulled off his white mask.

There were cries of disappointment and howls of rage when it was seen that instead of the missing prince the man was Flynt, the Sheriff!

He held up his hand, with the "meteor" in it. He knew that by their laws, it shielded him from harm.

But some one fired at him, and he fell off his horse dead. The "meteor" with the mysterious Sun Message dropped from his hand as he fell, and was broken into small pieces.

Then the masked man in black pulled off his mask, and lo! it was Killman, with his evil, sinister smile.

He put a whistle to his lips and blew it, and the men of his band came rushing in and stood, with revolvers levelled, threatening the assembly.

"Give up your jewels!" cried Killman. Then to his men: "Collect all their trinkets—while I look after the Princess!"

"Quick! Follow me, Divina!" whispered Incadede, as she led the way out and up some steps into a tower, Echo following.

Killman saw them and dashed after them, and Incadede had only just time to open a door and shut and lock Echo into a recess behind it when he rushed into the place and demanded to know where she had gone to.

"Where is the Princess?" he demanded again. "Is she in there? Tell me at once, or I will shoot, and if she is there, kill her through the door!"

When the door had been closed and locked behind her by the faithful Incadede, Echo found herself in a very awkward position.

She was standing upon a mere ledge inside the door, beyond which was what looked like a shaft or chimney, which came up from depths below and went on towards the top of the tower above. Indeed, it had been more by good fortune than by any timely effort of her own that she had escaped falling into this shaft.

She now stood precariously upon its edge, balancing herself by holding on to the handle of the door itself.

She heard Killman dash into the apartment in the tower where Incadede was, and heard him question the girl and utter his murderous threat; and Echo realised her peril. If the scoundrel carried out his threat to shoot through the door, then her fate was certain.

There was but one course—and that a desperate one—open to her—it was to try to descend the shaft.

It was not an easy thing to do; and apart from that, it required some nerve to trust herself in its black depths; for dark as it was when she was standing, the shaft yawned before her with a blackness that was even greater.

However, she essayed the task—and, as it turned out, only just in time. For scarcely had she lowered herself and commenced the difficult descent, when she heard the report of a revolver above. It was followed by the sound of splintering wood, as the bullet tore its way through the panel of the door.

Another and another bullet followed, and Echo shuddered as she thought of what would have been her fate had she remained longer on the ledge above.

Now she was well on her way down, and in another minute or so, found her way out of the shaft into a room below. The shaft was, in fact, as she had already guessed, a chimney.

But she soon discovered that even here she was not much better off. The door of this room was locked—a heavy, iron-studded door which it was useless to try to force open.

It was from Killman—a cry partly of rage and disappointment at finding, when he had torn open the shattered door, that his prey had escaped, partly of satisfaction at finding that he could follow her down the shaft.

He was, in fact, then climbing down. She could hear him distinctly scrambling, and struggling, and cursing as he panted and gasped with his exertions.

Echo ran to one of the windows. It was not fastened. She wrenched it open and looked out. Outside it was moonlight, and she saw that she was still some height from the ground—too high to jump. But just below her was a thick bushy tree, and below this she saw, to her delight, her cowboys looking up anxiously.

Without hesitation she mounted on to the window sill and jumped, landing in the tree top. Though she escaped injury she was not yet, so to speak, "out of the wood"; on the contrary she was held fast in it, and seemed likely to remain so unless assistance reached her from below.

The cowboys saw her predicament, and two or three of them sprang off their horses and began climbing the tree, while the others kept watch ready to fight anyone who should attempt to interfere.

Killman appeared at the window, from which Echo had leaped, but was quickly forced to beat a retreat.

A few minutes later Echo had reached the ground, and, mounting a spare horse which had been brought for her, was about to start for the ranch, when she noticed Carter's absence.

"Where is he?" she cried. "Is he then still a prisoner, as I was? They seized him—"

And then, to her great relief, "Two-Gun" appeared, in company with Stella. And what was more surprising still, no one appeared in pursuit, or to dispute their departure.

"I hardly know," Carter confessed. He was evidently puzzled himself. "I was told I could go—and—here I am! As I was coming out, Stella joined me. Perhaps Stella can tell you more."

It would have been very awkward for her had the real reason been known. For what had actually occurred was this:

She had approached Oman and Axmara secretly, saying quietly, "If you want me to continue to help you with your plans, you must release my friend 'Two-Gun.'"

And lo! the threat had sufficed; which proved two things unknown either to Carter or Echo. First that Stella was in league with their enemies; and second that she was all the time in love with the handsome young Cowboy leader.

He, having no suspicion of anything of the kind, rode back with the troop, rejoicing greatly at his fortunate escape and wondering how it had come about.

Echo returned with them to the ranch, weary and dispirited. The treachery and callousness that had been once more shown by these, her own people, grieved and disheartened, rather than angered her.

She was sad and disappointed. She had longed to lead her kinsfolk into better courses; but had sorrowfully to admit that at present there seemed no chance of her ever succeeding in her great wish. She seemed to have no influence with them whatever.

"It's chiefly due to that awful old man, Oman," she said to herself. "If it were not for him, I really believe I might do some good! I would not despair even of Axmara. But Oman—! Ough! Only to look at him, and catch sight of his leering smile, and snake-like eyes, is sufficient to set one's very nerves on edge!"

Axmara came over with a troop of his warriors, and this time Oman was with him. And they demanded, to Echo's astonishment, that their prince—Prince Pampas—should be given up to them.

"Good gracious; what next?" cried Echo. "Do you think I've got him in my pocket?"

"We have reason to believe, Princess, that you are keeping him a prisoner! We have information to that effect!"

"Where? Here, in the ranch?" Echo wanted to know, almost laughing at the absurdity of the idea.

"It's rubbish!" Echo answered, disdainfully. "You can search the place if you like, and see for yourselves."

Now it so happened that Carter and his cowboys were away, but Echo expected them back at any moment. In their absence she was at the mercy of these intruders, and if they insisted on searching the place she obviously could not prevent them.

And, indeed, it occurred to her that perhaps it might be the best thing for her that they should. For, if Carter and his band returned while the Incas were underground, they would probably be very neatly trapped.

She did not feel indifferent, however, when Axmara, before going below with his men, deputed the hateful old priest to remain above, with a couple of the Incas, to keep guard over her.

The prospect of passing even half an hour or less in his custody, was not only repulsive to her, but it filled her with a cold fear.

And this fear was justified later, when sounds were heard heralding the approach of the returning cowboys.

Oman turned furious. Axmara and nearly all his troop were below ground exploring the labyrinth of subterranean caves and passages; and the priest realised the situation.

"This is a trick, Princess!" he exclaimed, almost foaming at the mouth with rage. "No wonder you were so ready to allow us to make the search! You knew your people would return and take us at a disadvantage!

"But it shall avail you nothing! Your life has long been forfeit—payment is overdue! This is the last time you will trick us! Die, then—faithless traitress that you are!"

While speaking he had drawn a long, glittering, murderous-looking knife. Echo, with a short sharp cry, stepped back, but he followed her up.

Raising the knife high in the air, he struck at her with vicious force, and Echo sank to the floor.

EPISODE XIV.
The Oracle's Decree.

Echo was surrounded by a group of them—the Regent, Oman
and others. But instead of thanking her, as she had expected,
they demanded to know where Prince Pampas was.

EVEN as the furious old priest struck his blow, "Two-Gun" Carter burst into the place, followed by Barry, and some of their cowboys.

They witnessed the foul blow, saw the dagger in the priest's hand, and saw Echo sink to the ground. With fierce rage they fell upon the Incas, and drove them out; and then the leaders left the others to chase them, while they gave their attention to Echo.

Carter on one side, and Barry on the other, threw themselves on their knees beside her, as she lay motionless upon her back.

To their amazement she sat up quietly, and regarded them with a reassuring smile!

"I am not hurt! Do not trouble about me," she declared composedly. "Just a hand—thank you!" and she struggled on to her feet.

"Gee! I saw that old brute stab you—or so I thought, Miss Echo!" Barry put in.

"He did, Barry," Echo confirmed; and for a brief space her manner changed, her eyes flashed, and she looked angry and stern.

But this little wave of indignation passed. She laughed again softly, and looked at them in that quizzical way that she could assume so well when the mood came, evidently enjoying their perplexity.

"It's too bad to tease you," she then said, "when you're so anxious about me! So I'll let you into a little secret."

"What secret?" Carter asked, greatly mystified; for Echo had paused again, and a mischievous gleam had crept into her eyes.

"Well, I suppose I must not tease you any longer—so be prepared, for here comes the cat out of the bag! It was my coat of mail that saved me!"

"Pooh!" Carter remarked, glancing at Barry. "Miss Echo's only joking, you know."

"Is she? I saw you wink at Barry, Mr. Ted," the girl laughed. "Yon don't believe me? Then look here!"

She pulled her dress open a little on her breast; and there, sure enough, beneath it, was a bright, shiny, beautifully made coat of mail.

It was so fine and light, and so exquisitely worked, and they exhibited such surprise and admiration, that she let them examine it more closely. And the more they looked into it, the greater grew their wonder, for they had never, either of them, seen anything like it before.

They were not connoisseurs in such matters it is true; but they both had an instinctive feeling that it was something costly and altogether out of the common.

And they were right; as Echo, divining their thoughts, proceeded to explain. And as she did so, her manner underwent another sudden change. She became grave, and a curious, subtle suggestion of pride replaced her former bantering air.

"Yes," she said, "as you are probably thinking, it's a rare piece of work, and would be worth a lot of money, I expect, if it were offered for sale in one of the big cities, for it is very, very old! It has a history, too! It is said to have belonged to a great and illustrious ancestor of mine, one of the great conquerors of hundreds and hundreds of years ago—one of the Kings of ancient Peru! I don't suppose he actually wore it—it would not have been big enough—unless when he was a youth. But it has been handed down as having belonged to him!"

Her air of conscious pride had become more marked now; and her eyes had a dreamy look in them, as though she were picturing to herself something of the past history of the relic.

Echo hesitated. Then, as though suddenly making up her mind, she answered in a slow, almost solemn manner:

"The Phantom Rider! 'Twas he who gave me this, bidding me wear it as a protection; and he told me a little of its history. And—you see how right he has been in advising me to wear it under my clothes! It has probably saved my life to-day. Look at my dress! See where that wicked vicious old priest's dagger cut through it!"

And so he was; but not so much of what they had been talking about, as of the continuation Echo's statement afforded of what had been told to him concerning her relations with the mysterious Phantom Rider.

Who was he then, that he should be able to make such a gift to her, and to give her such an account of its history? And what, in that case, was the real nature of the relations between the two? Were they really innocent? Could they be—where there was kissing? Was Echo, after all, but a false-hearted flirt—?

Carter thought of his chum, "Hands Up," and involuntarily he sighed. At the same moment he happened to glance up, and saw Echo's eyes fixed upon him.

It was almost as though she had guessed his thoughts and was gently reproaching him for doubting her. Looking into those eyes, so open, so honest, so fearless, as they appeared now, yet with a touch of mournfulness in them, he suddenly changed his ideas. He felt a rush of anger against Stella for having been the means of starting such thoughts in his mind—and against himself having descended to playing the mean part of a spy.

That's how things appeared to him now. That one look of Echo's seemed to have cleared his mind, and banished all his unpleasant misgivings.

* * * * *

The encounter with the Incas ended in a drawn battle, as it were. They retired sullenly and at their own pace, for they were stronger in numbers than the cowboys just then. Moreover Carter has issued certain instructions to his men not to press the fighting. This had been done in response to an earnest appeal from Echo, who could never forget that they were her kinsfolk.

She felt differently in the case of the outlaw Killman, whom she detested thoroughly and sought to run down and deliver over to the law as being the murderer of her father. She had published a proclamation, through the new Sheriff, offering 1,000 dollars reward for his capture.

Both he and the Incas persisted in being her enemies, but she felt there was a great difference between the two. And it pained her to think that "her people," as she considered them, should have stooped to accepting the aid of such a miscreant against her.

Killman, on his part, returned her hatred in full. Indeed his thirst for revenge became a sort of mania with him, and exceeded even his desire to become possessed of some of the Incas' jewels and other treasure.

It was Judith who had first started this feeling in his villainous mind—to her own undoing, as it afterwards proved. And though she was now no longer there to fan the flame, it seemed to burn more fiercely as time went on.

And he had a means of plotting against her which Echo never dreamed of. For he had Stella, his treacherous tool and confederate, in Echo's very home.

It was through her connivance that he was able to carry out one more devilish scheme against her which he had planned with atrocious ingenuity.

One night in the darkness there came a mysterious visitor to see Echo. It was Incadede, whom Echo called cousin. She had stolen out from the Castle, got a horse, and ridden over, in the dark, to the ranch on purpose to warn Echo that the Incas were preparing another move against her for the next day.

Now it so happened that Carter and the cowboys were away—they were, in fact, out hunting for Killman in one direction, while he was hiding in another.

Stella, of course, heard the warning given, and pretending to be very anxious for Echo's safety, made a cunning, traitorous suggestion which would, she knew, be the means of delivering her into Killman's hands.

She urged Echo to fly from the ranch in the morning and go into the town of Sirocco for a day or two till she knew that the boys were back, and the danger past.

And when Echo had assented, she sent, by means of a traitor in the place—José, that same scoundrel who had been the tool and confederate of the traitress Judith—a message to Killman, acquainting him with their intended movements.

This was all in accordance with an infamous plan that had been schemed out and arranged, in all its details, between the two—Stella and Killman—in expectation of something of the kind happening.

Thus advised, it was easy for the plotting miscreant to send a stage coach along, driven by his accomplice "Polecat Charlie," to take up the two girls and bring them to—the outlaws' hiding place.

And this was what happened. The innocent-minded and unsuspecting Echo fell into the trap; the abominable scheme was cleverly carried out, and the unfortunate girl was duly delivered into Killman's hands.

Stella, of course, was with her; and he and his gang pretended to take them both prisoners. But it was easy enough for him to order that they should be separated; and Stella was then sent somewhere out of sight, and set free. Then she could go off at her leisure and leave her "cousin" to her fate.

And—whether Stella knew it or not—a very horrible fate it was that the diabolical bandit had prepared for her.

First she was dragged into the dwelling of a trapper who lived at a lonely spot among the mountains. With him Killman had struck an unholy bargain, and for a bribe he had lent himself and his dwelling to this atrocity.

When Echo was dragged into the place she found there men whom she lad met before under somewhat similar circumstances—for they were, of course, members of Killman's band.

This time, however, they did not annoy her or take any particular notice of her. Only Killman himself attended to that part of the shameful proceedings. And he at first pretended that he intended no harm and wished to be friendly.

Echo was not deceived by this pretence. She knew the man too well by this time, and realised the position in which she stood. She read it, too, in the villain's face and eyes and knew that there was no mercy there for her.

The fellow meant murder—and she was there alone and without a soul to take her part. Moreover, none of the ranch people would know where to look for her when they returned and found she had gone.

No! They would have no idea! She had left word that she had gone to Sirocco, and they would go there to seek her, and of course, would not find her.

It seemed to the unhappy girl that all chance, all possibility of a rescue had been provided against with Satanic cleverness. Killman meant to have his long-sought revenge. He meant to take her life; and then he would bury her, or do away with her body in some way, so that no trace of her fate would be left.

Echo sank upon a rough bench near her, and for a time gave herself up to despair. She could see no chance of escape or rescue; no loophole for a ray of hope to enter.

Killman and one of his vile associates passed near her, talking. They glanced at her, but she was scarcely conscious of their presence; and they, on their side perhaps, deemed her too dazed to listen to what they said. Anyway, they did not even lower their voices.

"Yes; now's our time," said Killman. "All the Inca warriors are away searching for their precious prince. It seems that their oracle or something has spoken again and given out an order that he's to be found, or else somebody'll have to suffer for it. So now's our chance—while they're away! There's not only the great Golden Sun—all solid gold—which we can carry off, but I've found out where their treasure is kept, an' how to get to it. We'll bag the whole lot and clear out of the country."

"But the reason they're so anxious to find their Prince is because they want to marry him to the girl, isn't it? If they haven't got her, what use will he be to them?" the other asked.

"That's their look out. I've bagged her, and I'm goin' t' make sure of her!" Killman replied with grim emphasis. "I'm not goin' t' give her a chance t' escape me agen! Now I'll show you—"

They passed away out of hearing, but Echo watched them with fascinated interest. Something in Killman's tones—a suggestion of callous cruelty and fierce exultation had given her the idea that he had intended her to hear what he had said. And now he was going to show—!

At that moment a sudden, terrible sound arose that startled her into temporary alertness. It seemed, to come from no particular direction, but to be all round her, to pervade the very air.

The earth seemed to tremble beneath her feet. The sound rumbled and reverberated like a rolling thunderclap; but she knew it was not thunder. Then it diminished in intensity, and finally died away into grunts, and sobbing moans.

And now she knew what it was; and in a flash of comprehension she realised what her fate was to be, and understood the horrible, gloating tones of Killman's talk.

What she had heard had been the roaring of wild beasts—of lions! They were in a pit or cellar beneath the floor of the house! Killman had gone to it, and lifted a trap-door to look at them and show them to his companion. And that had started them roaring.

He had then closed the flap, and was standing looking at her fixedly; while an evil, wicked smile appeared upon his face as he saw that she understood.

Yes; that was the meaning of it all! There were already signs of a hurried departure. Men went off in twos and threes; and all, as they passed, looked at her with significant meaning in their eyes. For the most part with a fiendish relish; but some there were who turned their heads away, or even threw her a pitying glance. But none showed any intention of interfering on her behalf.

They all disappeared save Killman and two others—no doubt chosen for the special cruelty and callousness of their dispositions. Then the three approached Echo and two of them seized her and began to drag her toward the trapdoor, while the other threw open in readiness:

From it came now a great volume of sound, like a sudden burst of thunder, in the midst of which the unhappy girl struggled till she could struggle no longer, and her brain sank into unconsciousness.

* * * * *

When she came to herself, she was lying on the ground outside the house. She could hear the growling of the lions some distance away, and at first thought that Killman was bending over her.

But as she opened her eyes and could see more clearly she perceived that it was the Phantom Rider.

He was tending her with the utmost tenderness, and in his eyes she saw plainly written, both pity and sympathy.

He poured something from a flask down her throat which, had a wonderful effect in rousing her and restoring her strength.

When she had sufficiently recovered to be able to ride, he led her to a waiting horse, and lifted her into the saddle.

And if "Two-Gun" Carter had been there to witness their parting, all his former misgivings would have returned in full force, for the "Phantom" kissed her as he said good-bye. And she did not resent it.

* * * * *

But alas! Echo's unkindly fate still pursued her—or must have been trotting along, unseen, beside her, causing her to pass along a trail upon which a number of Incas were returning to their Castle.

Axmara, the Regent, was at their head; and he bowed to Echo with grim irony as they met:

"Welcome, thrice welcome, Princess!" he said in Spanish. "Our gods are kind to us indeed! We have sought for you in all directions till we heard that you had fled to Sirocco, so we were returning disappointed! And lo! you come to us of your own accord!"

But Echo was too weary with all she had been through even to answer his sarcastic talk. They made her prisoner; and once more bore her off to their Castle.

"For the last time!" Axmara declared confidently. "It was prophesied that you would return, and our Prince also. The first part of the prophecy has come true. Now may we rest assured that the second part will follow!"

"Listen!" she cried. "I have something to tell you! Something you would give a lot to know! It concerns the safety of your treasure! If I tell it to you, will you promise me good treatment?"

Axmara considered, and looked at her with thoughtful eyes. He knew her well enough to believe that she must have some good reason for what she said. He felt assured she would not descend to telling an untruth.

"Princess, if your news is indeed of value to us, I give my promise to use my best influence on your behalf. More than that I cannot say. You know that it does not rest altogether with me!"

"I will accept your promise, Echo returned, with a nod of her head. And forthwith she told him what she had overheard.

"Haste, then, Axmara!" she concluded. "Ride hard—and you may be just in time to save the great Golden Sun and the rest of your treasure!"

Axmara needed no further urging. He called to his men, repeated to them briefly what the Princess had said, told off half-a-dozen warriors to escort her to the Castle, and rode off with the remainder like a whirlwind.

* * * * *

When Echo, travelling more slowly, arrived at the Castle, she was conducted at once to the audience chamber. There she found Axmara and Oman and others gathered, while, on the floor beside them, lay Killman.

He seemed to be in a bad way; and, in fact, he had been mortally wounded in the fight that had taken place. Axmara had arrived just in time to foil his daring attempt. His band had been driven off, and he himself now lay at death's door.

Echo was surrounded by a group of them—the Regent, Oman and others. But instead of thanking her, as she had expected, they demanded to know where Prince Pampas was.

"I do not know," she declared firmly. And to Oman, "this is not the sort of reception I was promised! I did you a service—but it was done conditionally." And she told him what Axmara had promised.

"He had no authority to make any such promise!" the furious priest blustered, ungratefully. "We believe that you know where our prince is hidden—and we insist upon your telling us!"

"Let—me—speak—to—her—alone," he gasped out, "and I'll tell you where your prince is, and how to rescue him! I know where he is! But—you—must be—quick, for—I— know—that—I—am dying!"

"Come close—to me, Echo Strange," the dying bandit pleaded. "I—have—not much breath—left."

The unsuspecting girl, forgetting, at once, in her pity, all his villainy and treachery towards her, drew near and knelt down beside him.

Then, as she bent over him, he suddenly seized her by the throat with both hands, and called up all his remaining strength to strangle her.

EPISODE XV.
"The Celestial Messenger."

There she lay, white and death-like, white as the bridal
array in which they had decked her, motionless and still
with closed eyes, and hands folded across her breast.

AXMARA, the Inca Regent, waited impatiently for the end of the interview he had allowed between Echo and the wounded outlaw, Killman.

Taking little notice of the throng of people around him—a brilliant crowd, all in festive attire—he kept striding restlessly to and fro. His fierce, scowling glance flashed now here now there but always returned to the door of the inner apartment where the two had been left alone.

But there came no sign. The door remained closed. He went up to it and listened, but could detect no sound of voices. He grew not only more impatient, but suspicious as well.

Turning to his attendants he made a sweeping gesture with his arm, pointing to the door.

"They have talked long enough," he said. "Go, prepare the Princess for the wedding!"

The beauteous maiden, Incadede, needed no second bidding. She, too, had been growing impatient—and more than that, anxious. And now that Axmara had given the word, she was one of the first to act upon it. She pushed open the door and disappeared, closely followed by a curious crowd.

There came a terrified cry from her lips that was heard by all there, and had the effect of hurrying up those in the rear. Axmara pushed his way imperiously through the jostling crowd into the inner room, and was about to demand the cause of the outcry, when his startled gaze fell upon a dreadful scene.

Echo—their Princess Divina—was lying upon the floor beside the robber leader. Both were motionless, and neither stirred or spoke as the horrified spectators gathered round them.

The Inca maiden, after that one loud shriek, had thrown herself on her knees beside the two, and was frantically endeavouring to separate them.

She was, in fact, trying to unloose Killman's deadly clutch upon the poor girl's throat.

He himself was dead—had died in the very act of treacherously, foully trying to strangle the generous-minded girl who had so far trusted him to place herself, alone, in his power.

Providentially, he had died before he could effect his fell purpose. But Echo had fainted under the terrible ordeal; and Incadede and the others had no small difficulty in releasing her from the murderous fingers now stiff in death.

Cries, exclamations, screams of horror and fright, came from the women among the crowd; and curses, loud and deep, in a strange tongue from the men. At first there was much confusion, but Axmara's stern, ringing voice, shouting his commands, speedily restored something like order.

The dead body of the bandit was carried off, the men were sent away, and the still unconscious princess was left to the attention and care of Incadede and two or three of the elder woman.

When, presently, it became known that the princess was recovering, the people were able to give their thoughts to the final preparations for the marriage between her and their newly returned Prince.

According to the prophecies of their astrologers and oracles this was to be a night marked by events of tremendous importance.

First, their missing prince was to be returned to them; that had come about. He had appeared suddenly, mysteriously, telling them nothing of where he had been, or why he had been away. He was to be married to their Princess Divina—that was about to take place.

Next, the Inca law demanded her sacrifice by fire; that also would take place in due course. All preparations had been made. Oman had seen to that.

Then, as a reward for this sacrifice and the unanimous submission to the law which it signified, a wonderful sign of divine favour was to follow.

The exact form that this would take was somewhat uncertain. Various ideas and expectations prevailed.

The favourite idea, however, was that a Celestial Messenger was to appear, coming direct from the skies, bringing the assurance of some great and far-reaching benefit that was to follow.

Probably it would prove to be the great event—long hoped for and looked forward to—the Restoration of the Ancient Power and Sovereignty of the Inca Nation.

Some there were, however, who expected, for the present, no more than another meteor, with special message written upon it, telling of greater things to follow.

In any case there was a belief, a conviction, that this was destined to be a great and critical, a wonderful day, a turning point in their history. And every soul in the place therefore was on tip-toe with feverish expectation.

After a while, Echo had recovered sufficiently to receive a visitor or two. And the first one admitted was the man she was to be compelled to wed—the Inca Prince.

Echo, who felt still weak and shaken, made an appeal to him to let her go free. And he, on his part, confessed that if he had been able to act as he pleased, he would have acceded to her wishes.

"But, Princess," he said, "my superstitious people demand this marriage. We must obey."

"Would that it might be so," the Prince returned moodily. "But I fear it cannot be. How can you succeed in face of the power of Oman and Axmara, backed up, as they are, by the fighting men and all the populace?"

"Listen, Prince!" she went on. "I have had an interview with the one they call the Phantom Rider—"

"Ha!" muttered the Prince, significantly, and he glanced keenly at her. "I have an idea that you have had more than one interview with that elusive gentleman!"

She coloured up yet more, but continued as calmly as possible: "He has settled this plan, and made arrangements for carrying it out. But first, Prince, I was to remind you that you have the power this day to order all prisoners to be released."

"I understand, Incadede. It shall be so. I can at any rate," he muttered, bitterly, "insist on my privileges in that respect."

* * * * *

There was a perceptible slackening in the enthusiasm of the groups of worshippers who had assembled, and were waiting, more or less patiently, for the great ceremony.

Strange rumours had got about. Mere whimpers at first; but they had evidently produced unpleasant effects. People looked at one another, conversed in low tones, and nodded mysteriously.

Anxious looks took the place of smiles and rejoicing in the countenances of the crowd. They watched the attendants who were seen hurrying to and fro, and coming and going from the chamber where it was supposed that the Princess was being arrayed in the bridal garments.

Ominous comments were made, as it was noticed that among those were doctors and nurses. Sinister suggestions flew about, whispering that something was wrong—something had happened. Some great calamity was feared! The signs of joy and rejoicing insensibly disappeared, and were succeeded by gloom and apprehension.

Incadede come out from the Princess's room, throwing open the door, her face expressive partly of sorrow, partly of anger and indignation:

"Behold!" she cried, addressing herself more particularly to Oman and Axmara. "Come and see the result of your persecutions! Our beloved Princess has taken her own life!"

The High Priest and the Regent started and stared, first at the girl, then at one another. Axmara's first impulse, as usual, was one of lofty disbelief. With his accustomed imperious gesture, he signified his refusal to credit the announcement.

Oman, taking his cue from him, showed incredulity, too. With his habitual, leering smile he shook his head, and muttered something about making things unpleasant, later on for Incadede for her audacity in daring to try to deceive her masters.

But when Axmara, striding in with scowling brow and impatient haste, saw what awaited him, he stopped suddenly. Then after a bewildered stare, he bowed his head, and advanced slowly, almost reverently, towards the couch on which the Princess reclined.

There she lay, white and death-like, white as the bridal array in which they had decked her, motionless and still with closed eyes, and hands folded across her breast.

One by one, in twos and threes and little groups, others came, and looked and fell upon their knees. None spoke save in a whisper. But outside, as the news spread, there rose a wail of grief, a weird dirge, a cry of bitter grief and sorrow.

Yes! That was the feeling with these strange people. They, urged on by their inherited beliefs, their ancient superstitions, and their crafty priests, had intended to sacrifice her by fire; had actually looked forward to the "ceremony" as a great and desirable event.

But now that Death had stepped in uninvited, and carried out, suddenly and unexpectedly, what they themselves had planned, there was a great revulsion of feeling. They felt ashamed and sorry and angry with themselves for what they had planned, and became stricken with remorse.

Many there had pleasing memories of their lost Princess. Following the intentions and ideas she had discussed with her father, Carter, and others, she had done many little kindly acts among them, sufficient to show that she was taking a real and kindly interest in those she considered to be her people.

It was not so with them all, of course. Oman and some of his myrmidons felt themselves cheated out of what they had expected would be a great occasion. And in their anger and disappointment they were inclined to make some unseemly demonstrations; when Prince Pampas intervened.

He waved them away, and would not let them approach what had now become the bier.

"No hand but mine shall touch her!" he declared, with unexpected sternness. "She shall be laid to rest in the tomb with her Inca mother!"

Oman and his coterie held a conference, in which Axmara joined, and the result was announced by Oman:

"Very well; be it so. But her body must lie here in state until the Message from Heaven which we are expecting arrives."

* * * * *

The decree sent forth by Prince Pampas, that all prisoners were to be released, had one very unexpected result.

"Two-Gun" Carter was among those who benefited by it. He had been captured and kept prisoner; and now came, wonderingly and sadly to look upon the one he had protected and fought for. There he found a very pretty, charming, white girl he had never seen before, who knelt down in silent sorrow and respect. He followed her out and ventured to address her, asking her name, and if she had known Echo.

"I never knew her," she said. "I hardly understand why. I was to have gone to stay with her; for she is my cousin. But I've been kept a prisoner here by these people instead."

"Susie Strange," was the astounding reply. "I never knew my cousin. This is the first time I have seen her—and now—to see her like this!" "Two-Gun" Carter knew not what to make of this astonishing statement. If it were true, then the girl who had come to the ranch as Echo's cousin must be an imposter!

She was, then, in all probability, a spy sent in this girl's place to keep watch on the people at the ranch, and betray their plans to their enemies!

Carter reflected a minute or two before he spoke again. He glanced back mentally and reviewed quickly the various events that had occurred since the girl called Susie Strange had arrived at the ranch. And he was not a little surprised and angered as he perceived how this view of matters explained much that had puzzled him.

It had seemed to him, more than once, that their enemies had exhibited an almost uncanny knowledge and foresight in regard to things that had happened, or were about to happen. Again and again he had wondered how this had come about. Now it had been revealed to him in a flash.

He himself scarcely needed any confirmation of this stranger's story; but he knew that others would ask for it; so he put the question:

The girl had started suddenly, and was staring, with flashing eyes, past him. She pointed an accusing finger, and in a voice ringing with indignant anger, cried disdainfully:

"You want proof? Ask that girl! Ask her if she will dare declare, before me, that she is Susie Strange. She is an impostor! Her name is Stella—a niece of Sheriff Flynt!"

Carter swung round and saw the one he had known as Susie Strange. She had evidently been taken by surprise; and the fear in her face told its own tale.

"It was not my fault, Mr. Carter! I was forced into it by Killman and the Sheriff. I would never have thought of such a thing—!"

Carter looked at her in perplexity. He was deeply disgusted at the mean fraud that had been played on them all, and more especially on the trusting, unsuspicious Echo. But could he, at such a time, decide to punish her? Besides—he knew she had had a liking for himself, and to be now exposed thus, was, in itself, no small punishment.

Then he turned to the real Susie, and together they went to look once more at the form upon the bier, lying there so still, decked out in all the bridal finery in which the Incas had dressed her.

The High Priest, Oman, was holding counsel meanwhile with the Regent and some others. They were placed in a serious difficulty by what had happened, and were discussing what their future course ought to be.

"It is strange," said the subtle old priest, "that the oracle gave us no warning that we were to lose the princess in this way. How are we to explain it to the people?"

"Perhaps the message you are expecting to-night will inform us," Axmara suggested. "At all events it will not be difficult, to explain. If the princess is dead, there is an end of it. You cannot sacrifice a dead person."

"Aye—if she is dead," muttered Oman, with one of his cunning smiles. "But is she really dead—or is she shamming?"

Axmara started. "Do you say that there is any doubt?" he exclaimed. "The Prince himself has declared it! He is with her now, watching beside her to see that no one goes too near to her. He will allow no one to touch her but himself!"

"That is why I have my doubts," the priest persisted, with a crafty grin. "He was not so affectionate, or so solicitous concerning her, when it was a question of marrying her. What if there were a conspiracy—?"

"Yours are strange words, Oman! I will myself see into this, and test the matter," Axmara decided. And he strode off with a look on his face that bode ill for all and sundry if he should discover that the priest had been right in his suspicions.

As he neared the chamber where Echo was lying, he softened his heavy tread, and approached quietly. He paused before the curtained doorway and listened. He heard the murmur of voices, and he thought he could recognise that of the Princess among them.

Pushing the curtains suddenly aside, he entered the apartment, and there saw the Prince and Incadede. He felt certain they had been talking with the supposed dead girl, and that she had abruptly ceased and closed her eyes.

He swung across the floor to her side, and bending over her, gazed steadily at her eyes. And he distinctly saw that she was watching him through half-closed lids.

"Enough of this deception!" he cried roughly. "I know now that this is all a plot. You had better end the farce before the crowd get to know of it, or they will tear you to pieces in their rage at being fooled!"

* * * * *

Once more Prince Pampas and Echo stood before the altar listening despairingly to the marriage service—the ceremonial that was to wed them.

All the chants and songs had been sung, the rations preliminary rites had been duly observed, and the old priest, triumphant at last, was about to pronounce them man and wife, when a tremendous peal of thunder shook the whole temple.

So loud, so deafening, so earth-shaking was it, that every one present took alarm, and glanced around in vague fear of what was to follow.

In the silence that followed, a clamour arose without. There was a sound of many voices, cries, shouts, yells. Then came shots, and sounds of fighting.

Several people came running in crying out that the place was being attacked by the ranch cowboys and the sheriff's posse, led by the mysterious Phantom Rider. And, in effect, in another moment or so his tall form was seen at the head of the attacking party, storming their way towards the altar.

Echo uttered a glad cry, ran to the "Phantom" and embraced him, with every mark of affection and gladness.

"He is my enemy!" he exclaimed. "He it was that abducted me, and he has been holding me prisoner all this time!"

"Because," said the Rider, "your people took my father and held him prisoner and tortured him! They kept him for more than two years—and he was killed at last through their plottings!

"Why, he's my brother!" Echo declared. "At least—my half-brother! And I can guess now that he has at last found something he has long been seeking for! Is it not so, Roy?"

For Roy it was—Roy Strange! He had removed his mask, and now all could recognise him.

"Listen to me, O people!" he cried, in ringing tones. "These men whom you have trusted, and who have been ruling you with cruelty and oppression, have been deceiving you for a long time!"

He pointed more particularly to Oman and his fellow priests, and also to Axmara.

"Your King, before he died, issued his commands that if the Princess Divina were found, she was to reign over you in his place, for she is nearer in kin to him than Prince Pampas or any other. He made a will bequeathing to her all his treasure, to use and employ as she may think best. And finally, he commended all of you to her care, and stated that his last wishes were that you should follow and obey her in all things; for she is the direct descendant of the long line of your rulers in the past, and she is, therefore, your lawful sovereign to-day!

"Now, this has been known all along, to Oman, your high priest. He had the State documents, and the Patents and Decrees and the various papers, signed by your dying King, and he has suppressed and hidden them.

"But I have discovered where they were hidden, and I have them for all to see and examine—and I charge that priest, before you all, with plotting against the wishes and the written commands of your dead King, and against the life of his own sovereign, the Princess Divina.

"All this rigmarole about a command to marry her to Prince Pampas, and about the law demanding her sacrifice afterwards, all this was but an infamous plot to get rid of her by bringing about her murder for a pretended religious reason!

"There he stands! The traitor to his King, to your lawful ruler the Princess Divina, and to you all! It is for you to say, Princess," here Roy turned to Echo, "what his punishment shall be!"

Roy held aloft a bundle of documents, and was about to hand them to Echo, when Oman, drawing his long, murderous-looking knife, made a rush at him.

At that moment there came a terrible flash of lightning followed by the booming roar of a mighty thunder clap. The temple was shaken to its foundations, and then crash followed crash, as columns and great masses of stonework were hurled to the ground.

But other ominous sounds mingled with their words—shouts of wild terror, shrieks, groans, rent the air, as men and women were struck down; while others fled, panic-stricken, as from a place accursed.

The sight of the soaring flames increased the panic, and the people fought with one another in their maddened flight.

But Echo did not flee. Instead, she was the first to rush forward to try to allay the alarm, to render aid to the fallen, and to direct the work of rescue.

She and Roy called upon their followers, and while some, with their help, gathered the women and children together in a place of safety, others brought out the injured from the burning building.

Amongst the latter were the priest Oman, and Axmara, both mortally hurt. The former died quickly, cursing to the last, even those who had tried to save him; but the Regent lived some time longer, and showed a different spirit.

Echo and Incadede kneeled beside him, wishing to tend him, as they had once before when he had been sorely wounded, but he would have none of it; and, with his old, imperious gesture, he waved them aside.

"You can do no good," he declared, speaking with difficulty. "It is but waste of valuable time! I am hurt even unto death, but there is something I must say ere I die!"

"What he," pointing to Roy Strange, "has said is true! It was the priest Oman who suggested that we should disobey our dead King's decrees; but I was of his mind and agreed to his plan—"

"But why, Axmara?" exclaimed Echo. "Why should you turn against me and wish to kill me? What had I done to you?"

"Nothing, Princess. But never have we had a woman for ruler, and never would I submit to be ruled by one!" the dying Chieftain cried, all his fierce, fiery nature seeming to blaze out afresh.

Then suddenly his mood altered, his eyes grew softer, and he gazed at her almost with admiration.

"But our gods have decided against us, and since it is to be, I would rather it were you than any other!"

"Hear, O my People," he cried. "All that has been said is true! Divina is now your lawful Queen! Render to her the same obedience and respect you have given to your dead King, and to me as his Regent!"

* * * * *

When Robert Rushe, otherwise "Hands Up," returned from the war wounded, but decorated with many medals, he seemed to have stepped into a new world, so different was the state of affairs at the ranch and the Inca Castle from that he had left.

Roy Strange was living at the ranch with Incadede, his Inca bride; while Echo had taken up her abode at the Castle, that she might be better able to look after the welfare of "her people."

Wealthy was she now, "beyond the dreams of avarice," for all the Inca treasure was hers; or so the law declared. But she herself only regarded it as held in trust by her for the benefit of those who called her their Queen.

In this view Robert Rushe heartily agreed; and after their marriage, he joined her in her self-appointed task.

Later on, they led their people in a pilgrimage to the land of their ancestors. And if you want to find them to-day, you must hunt for them amongst the remote fastnesses of what was once a part of the mighty Inca Empire.

FRANCIS HENRY ATKINS WRITING AS FENTON ASH

HANDS UP!

A STORY OF THE INCAS AND HIDDEN TREASURE

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS FROM THE PEOPLE AND A GALLERY OF FILM POSTERS AND STILLS

Serialised in The People, 27 Jul-8 Nov 1919 First ebook edition: Roy Glashan's Library, 2024 Version Date: 2024-09-25 Produced by Keith Emmett and Roy Glashan Click here for more books by this author

ABOUT THIS BOOK

TABLE OF CONTENTS

EPISODE I. [Untitled].

* * * * *

EPISODE II. The Missing Prince.

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

EPISODE III. The Phantom And The Girl.

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

EPISODE IV. The Phantom's Trail.

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

EPISODE V. The Runaway Bride.

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

EPISODE VI. Flames Of Vengeance.

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

EPISODE VII. Tossed Into The Torrent.

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

EPISODE VIII. The Fatal Jewels.

* * * * *

* * * * *

EPISODE IX. A Leap Through Space.

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

EPISODE X. The Sun Message.

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

EPISODE XI. The Stranger From The Sea.

* * * * *

* * * * *

EPISODE XII. The Silver Book.

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

EPISODE XIII. The Last Warning.

* * * * *

* * * * *

EPISODE XIV. The Oracle's Decree.

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

EPISODE XV. "The Celestial Messenger."

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

FILM POSTERS AND STILLS

THE END

FRANCIS HENRY ATKINS
WRITING AS
FENTON ASH

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS FROM THE PEOPLE
AND A GALLERY OF FILM POSTERS AND STILLS

Serialised in The People, 27 Jul-8 Nov 1919

First ebook edition: Roy Glashan's Library, 2024
Version Date: 2024-09-25

Produced by Keith Emmett and Roy Glashan

Click here for more books by this author

EPISODE I.
[Untitled].

EPISODE II.
The Missing Prince.

EPISODE III.
The Phantom And The Girl.

EPISODE IV.
The Phantom's Trail.

EPISODE V.
The Runaway Bride.

EPISODE VI.
Flames Of Vengeance.

EPISODE VII.
Tossed Into The Torrent.

EPISODE VIII.
The Fatal Jewels.

EPISODE IX.
A Leap Through Space.

EPISODE X.
The Sun Message.

EPISODE XI.
The Stranger From The Sea.

EPISODE XII.
The Silver Book.

EPISODE XIII.
The Last Warning.

EPISODE XIV.
The Oracle's Decree.

EPISODE XV.
"The Celestial Messenger."