"A dastardly piece of work!" exclaimed Mr. Britton. "The death of that
young express clerk was in some ways even sadder than that of Harry
Whitcomb. I knew him well; the only child of a widowed mother; a poor
boy who, by indomitable energy and unswerving integrity, had just
succeeded in securing the position which cost him his life. Two such
brutal, cowardly murders ought to arouse the people to such systematic,
concerted action as would result in the final arrest and conviction of
the murderer."
"It is the general opinion that both were committed by one and the same
party," Darrell remarked, as his friend paused.
"Undoubtedly both were the work of the same hand, in all probability
that of the leader himself. He is a man capable of any crime, probably
guilty of nearly every crime that could be mentioned, and his men are
mere tools in his hands. He exerts a strange power over them and they
obey him, knowing that their lives would pay the forfeit for
disobedience. Human life is nothing to him, and any one who stood in the
way of the accomplishment of his purposes would simply go the way those
two poor fellows have gone."
"Why, do you know anything regarding this man?" Darrell asked in
surprise.
"Only so far as I have made a study of him and his methods, aided by
whatever information I could gather from time to time concerning him."
"Surely, you are not a detective!" Darrell exclaimed; "you spoke like
one just now."
"Not professionally," his friend answered, with a smile; "though I have
often assisted in running down criminals. I have enough of the hound
nature about me, however, that when a scent is given me I delight in
following the trail till I run my game to cover, as I hope some day to
run this man to cover," he added, with peculiar earnestness.
"But how did you ever gain so much knowledge of him? To every one else
he seems an utter mystery."
"Partly, as I said, through a study of him and his methods, and partly
from facts which I learned from one of the band who was fatally shot a
few years ago in a skirmish between the brigands and a posse of
officials. The man was deserted by his associates and was brought to
town and placed in a hospital. I did what I could to make the poor
fellow comfortable, with the result that he became quite communicative
with me, and, while in no way betraying his confederates, he gave me
much interesting information regarding the band and its leader. It is a
thoroughly organized body of men, bound together by the most fearful
oaths, possessing a perfect system of signals and passwords, and with a
retreat in the mountains, known as the 'Pocket,' so inaccessible to any
but themselves that no one as yet has been able even to definitely
locate it--a sort of basin walled about by perpendicular rocks. The
leader is a man of mixed blood, who has travelled in all countries and
knows many dark secrets, and whose power lies mainly in the mystery with
which he surrounds himself. No one knows who he is, but many of his men
believe him to be the very devil personified."