He was simply informed that he would leave
New York on that train. He met this Cavendish on board, perhaps even
saw his signature on the ticket, and cultivated his acquaintance. The
fellow never doubted but what he had the right man."
The wounded man managed to lift himself upon one elbow.
"What's that?" he asked anxiously. "You think he knocked me overboard,
believing I was some one else? That all this has happened on account
of my name?"
"No doubt of it. You have been the victim of mistaken identity. So
have we, for the matter of that."
He paused suddenly, overwhelmed by a swift thought. "But what about
Fred?" he asked breathless.
Stella's hand touched his arm.
"He--he must have been the dead man in the Waldron Apartments," she
faltered. "There is no other theory possible now."
The marshal of Haskell came out of the bunk-house, and closed the door
carefully behind him. He was rather proud of his night's work, and
felt quite confident that the disarmed Mexicans locked within those
strong log walls, and guarded by Moore, with a loaded rifle across his
knee, would remain quiet until daylight.
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