In fifteen minutes the traveler train on the Union Pacific railroad was to leave the stop at Omaha, going west. Two men, obviously hanging tight for the train, may have been seen pacing back and forth upon the station stage in the close discussion. The oldest of the two was forty years old. He was of medium height and work, with steel-dark eyes, sharp and splendid. His hair, which was trimmed near a well-molded head, was of a dull dark-colored, as was additionally his overwhelming mustache and stubbles. He was wearing light dim garments, after the overall design of the day (1869). The other individual was a man of exactly thirty years. He was a lot taller than his friend, yet not all that minimally fabricated. His hair was dark as the raven's wing and hung about his shoulders long and straight. His eyes were dark, however little and abhorrence like. His face was easily shaven and bore the obvious proof of a disseminated character. He was wearing a suit of dim garments that fitted him solidly and caused him to seem anxious. Nobody in Omaha knew these two people, yet their names were spoken day by day regarding their wrongdoings, for the previous was Duval Dungarvon, the famous looter skipper of the Black Hills, and the last Blufe Brandon, the maverick Cheyenne boss known as Black Bear. Having looked about them to see that nobody was close to, the burglar boss asked, in a low tone: "Indeed, Brandon, have you decided on that issue?". "Not actually," included Brandon. "for, since I have thought about that you have seas of gold stowed away in the 'Slopes, ' I figure you can stand to state ten thousand dollars." "Ten thousand wraths!" answered the burglar skipper; "what might such a famous merciless as you are done with ten thousand dollars? You couldn't spend it among your loathsome Indians, and you dare not endeavor to spend it among white individuals. Be that as it may, in any case, I guess I should submit, as the game is in your own hands. Be that as it may, mind you, the young lady must be set in my grasp at the Devil's Tarn, forty miles south of Cheyenne, and if one hair of her head is harmed I won't give you one penny!" and the eyes of the burglar chief gleamed like living coals of flame. "How before long will Sanford-I accept that is what you called him-begin for San Francisco?" "Inside the following ten days, I see. in any case, I will transmit you at Julesburg on the morning they begin, utilizing, obviously, our inn aliases. Presently recollect." At this crossroads the conductor's call of, "All onboard" finished the two scoundrels' discussion, and saying farewell to his buddy, Blufe Brandon entered the vehicles, and in another minute he was moving toward the mountains. Duval Dungarvon entered an omnibus and requested the driver to drive him to the Wyoming inn. What's more, therefore in almost no time two reprobates-one a burglar and the other a rebel-both from the fastnesses of the Black Hills-had arranged and plotted a dull and maybe ridiculous wrongdoing. After five days and Duval Dungarvon was again pacing the terminal stage. He was distant from everyone else, except, from the anxious view his face and the infrequent look up the road, it was apparent that he was anticipating somebody. By and by his face lit up as he saw a carriage, drawn by four steeds, moving down toward the stop, and as it drove up nearby the stage he strolled to the contrary side and blended with certain men gathered there, however at the same time kept a nearby watch upon the carriage