Bar-20 Days

he knew, or thought he knew about the ghost of San Miguel Canyon. Their fellow-countryman, new to the locality, seemed properly impressed. That it was the ghost of Carlos Martinez, murdered nearly

d to: Did this not prove that the murder had been committed

every vibration along the Rio Grande, were not as well known-except to those who had seen the inside of Government penitentiaries-and they were quite satisfied to be so eclipsed. But the Service knew of the ghost, as it knew everything pertaining to the border, and gave it no serious thought; if it took interest in all the ghosts and superstitio

have seen 'em, all right. A Greaser can see anything scary if he makes up his mind to. If I ever see one an' he keeps on being one after I

d the strange Mexican to be Juan Alvarez, who was so clever that the Government had never been able to convict him. Alvarez was fea

d excitement. He took a keen delight in analyzing the expressions on the f

for it-the tone of his voice, the caressing purr of his words, and his unnatural languor were signs well known to them. Not a criminal sneaking back from voluntary banishment in Mexico who had seen those signs ever forgot them, if he lived. Martin watche

provoked it. The strange Mexican was standing proudly and looking into the squinti

anyon after dark on Fr

Friday night. Eef I do, th

remark to all b

e Beeg Ben', for you to fin' in daylight," he said, tapping one of M

," Martin replied, hiding his elation

bowed and left the room, his

ollars he flunks!" breathed t

smiled at him. "I'll take

e o'clock at night as he rode through San Felippe without pausing and struck east for the canyon. The dropping trail down the canyon was serious enough in broad daylight, but at night to attempt

ch lived a senorita of remarkable beauty and rebellious eyes; and Johnny tarried in the town most of the day, riding up and down the streets, practising the nice things he would say if he met her. She watched him from the heavily draped window, and sighed as she wondered if her

d to pick a quarrel with him and thus rid the border of a man entirely too clever for the good of customs receipts; and failing in that, had hoped the treacherous canyon trail would gain that end in another manner. Old Jim Lane's fingers touched wires not one whit more sensitive than th

ing. When he opened his eyes he lay quietly, trying to figure it out with a head throbbing with pain from his fall. The cougar must have been desperate for food to attack a man. He moved his f

le every hair in his head stood up curiously. A wild, haunting, feminine scream arose to a quavering soprano and sobbed away into silence. No words can adequately describe the unearthly wail in that cry and it took a f

right here an' now-I don't want no cougar trailing me through that ink-black canyon on a two-foot ledge-" he thought he saw a shadow glide across a dim patch of moonlight, but when his smoke r

he horse could get along better by itself in the dark, and it was more than possible that one or two lithe cougars might be slinking behind him on velvet paws. The horse

hills ran up and down his spine. An unearthly, piercing shriek suddenly rang out and filled the canyon with ear-splitting uproar and a glowing, sheeted half-figure of a man floated and danced twenty feet from him and over the chasm. He jerked his gun and fired, but only once, for his mount had its own ideas about some things and this particular one easily headed the list. The startled rider grabbed reins and pommel, his blood congealed with fear of the precipice less than a foot from his side, and he gave all his attention to the horse. But