But this could not be proved, so a current belief remained extant in police circles that he was still alive and at large.
But all efforts of the detectives were baffled, and the case was dropped long since.
Now, however, this letter from Clifton Brown meant the reopening of the case beyond a doubt.
Old and Young King Brady exchanged glances.
The chief watched them closely.
"Well, what do you think of if?" he asked.
"It is all right," said Old King Brady. "There is no doubt but that Clifton Brown is right."
"You think so?"
"We do."
The chief was interested.
"Have you any reason other than this assertion of Brown's for believing that Captain Vail, the road-rider, is identical with Jack Mosely?"
Old King Brady nodded.
"I do!" he said. "I am positive that they are the same!"
The chief looked surprised.
"Then you know something about this case already?" he asked.
"It is not new to us," replied Old King Brady. "We run across a thread of it while looking up quite another affair."
"Ah! May I ask what?"
"The May disappearance case."
"Oh, I remember," said the chief, turning to his note book. "On my word, the locality is the same. Colonel May and his daughter Helen about three months ago were on their way to their ranch in the Black Kiver Hills when the party was set upon by bandits. Colonel May was wounded, a number of his party killed, and his daughter
Helen abducted. No trace of her has since been found."
Old King Brady nodded.
"The same case," he said.
"You have been working on it?"
"Yes."
The chief closed his note book.
"Well," he said slowly, "that is all right. Go ahead and combine the two cases. I'll wager you will come out all right."
The two detectives arose and gripped the chief's hand in parting.
"You shall hear from us soon," said Old King Brady. "As soon, at least, as we have gained the case."
In the street a moment later Old King Brady bit off a chew of tobacco from a big plug and said:
"Well, Harry, I told you that woman was here for money. Now what do you think of it?"
The young detective whistled.
"I think we'd better keep close on her track," he said.
"First we had better see Colonel May."
"Yes."
"If he pays the ransom, as he may be foolishly tempted to do, the case is lost."
"Correct.'
The two detectives crossed Broadway.
They entered an office building.
They ascended to an upper floor by the elevator.
Then they stood before the door of an office on the glas of which was printed: "Alston May, Banker and Broker.
Old King Brady entered.
A number of clerks and typewriters were busily at work. At a desk sat a man of fine soldierly appearance, with side whiskers and handsome features.
He looked up as the detectives entered.
"Is this Colonel May?" asked Old King Brady.
"It is, sir."
"My name is Brady. I am a detective."
The Colonel gave a start.
"I have heard of you," he said. "Do you bring me good news?"
"Neither," replied Old King Brady. "I have dropped in to ask you a few questions."
The Colonel indicated a chair.
"Sit down," he said. "I am ready to answer them."
"First," said Old King Brady brusquely, "have you had a lady visitor to-day?"
Colonel May looked startled.
"Why — I— -yes," he stammered. "A lady did call this morning."
Old King Brady smiled.
"I thought so," he said. "Did she give this name?"
He tossed a card on the table.
"Beatrice Vail."
The banker glanced at it.
"That is the woman," he said. "Do you know her?"
"I know about her," replied the detective evasively.
Well, I think she is a detective," said May with conviction. "She intimated that she knew where my lost daughter Helen is and with a certain sum of money could procure her ransom."
The two Bradys exchanged glances.
"Just as I thought," said Old King Brady.
"This is all a mystery to me," said Colonel May anxiously. "If you know the woman, tell me who she is."
"You did not give her the money?"
"No."
"Well, don't do it."
"I shall not."
"She is Beatrice Vail, the wife of the bandit Vail, who has your daughter in his mountain retreat in Wyoming."
Banker May nearly leaped from his chair.
"The deuce!" he gasped. "If I had only known that, she would not have gone from here. I will arrest her on sight."
"I fear that you will not see her again.'"
"What do you mean?"
"She will not come here again. She has left the city."
"Ah!" said the Colonel with a deep breath. "Then you fancy that was really her purpose in coming to New York?"
"I know it was," replied Old King Brady. "But she has taken the alarm and has undoubtedly left for Wyoming before this."
The Colonel looked disappointed.
"That is too bad!" he declared. "If we could capture her "
"It would amount to nothing."
"You think so?"
"Certainly."
"But— why not?"
"That is very easy to see," said Old King Brady. "The clanger of your daughter's position would be only increased."
Colonel May arose and paced the room in great agitation.
Finally he cried:
"Is there not some way to secure my child? I think the horror of this thing will drive me mad! I am not even sure that she is alive!"
Old King Brady chuckled.
"The mere fact that Beatrice Vail has visited you for a ransom is sufficient proof that she is."
"Oh, if I could only be sure! Take my fortune — take all I have, but give me back my daughter."
"We do not want your fortune, nor any part of it," said Old King Brady, rising. "But we will get your daughter back for you safe and well. Keep up your courage, and
above all, keep dark. That is important."
CHAPTER II.
THE HOLD-UP.
The scene of our story now will change.
From New York to the mountain passes and canyons of the Great West is a great transition.
But thither we must follow the two Bradys.
One warm evening a six-horse coach toiled over the high divide beyond which was the little town of Red Cliff.
The coach had six passengers besides the driver.
The latter was alternately coaxing and swearing at his horses as they struggled up the steep road.
The six passengers consisted of five men and a woman.
The woman was deeply veiled and sat on the rear seat of the coach.
All were on the outside of the coach, for it was hot and stuffy inside.
Two of the men were dressed in Quaker gray, with broad-brimmed hats and spectacles.
Of the other three, one was a miner with his kit, the sec- ond was a young student, and the third a commercial traveler.
The young student was much inclined to be talkative and at odd intervals shot inquiring glances at the woman with the veil.
"Phew!" he exclaimed for the hundredth time. "This is hot enough to bake a salamander!"
"Humph!" said the miner. "If yon think this is hot you ought to travel in Mexico a while."
"Yerp!" said the driver. "Chuck! G'long there! Yew bet Mexico is a warm ken try!"
"That's all right," declared the commercial traveler; "but I know a hotter place."
"Whar?" asked the miner.
"Cuba in the month of August."
"You're right!"- cried the student eagerly. "I remember being held up in Cuba one hot summer day by the insur- gents. I was studying the flora of the country with Professor Wiseman of our university."
"Sho!" exclaimed the commercial traveler. "They didn't hang you, then?"
"You can see for yourself," replied the student. "But they might as well, for they nearly scared us to death."
"Speaking of being held up," said the miner carelessly, "we are likely to be held up before we get to Red Cliff."
"Eh?" exclaimed the student.
"Jupiter!" gasped the commercial traveler. The driver chuckled, but said nothing.
The two Quakers were immovable, though one was seen to cross his hands as if in prayer.
"What do you mean?" asked the student. "Are you joking?"
The miner lit his pipe.
"You may find out," he said. "I hope you brought no valuables with you. If you have, then Captain Vail will have 'em in no time."
The student instinctively gripped his bag; the commercial traveler drew his sample case nearer.
But the Quakers never moved.
The woman bent forward a little, as if interested.
The woman swept a cursory glance over her shoulder at the Quakers, and said:
"I hope you gentlemen will take no alarm. It is hardly likely Vail will put men of your cloth to trouble."
"Yea, verily," said the older of the Quakers, "we are in the hands of the Lord."
Silence reigned for a time.
The coach had topped the divide.
Below was a steep descent, with dark groves of mountain cedars on either hand.
The driver gave his horses free Tein now, and they went fleeting down the trail like frightened sheep.
An angle in the mountain wall was turned.
Suddenly the driver set back on the dashboard with all his weight on the lines.
His face was ashen pale.
His voice rattled huskily as he shouted:
"Whoa! Whoa, thar!"
But the frightened horses at first did not seem to heed the startled voice of command.
A gasping cry of horror escaped the lips of every person on the coach.
There was reason for this.
Squarely across the mountain trail were drawn a body of mounted, masked and armed men.
Seated on their horses, their rifles were aimed at the coach.
The driver knew well what all this meant.
He must stop.
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