came from a rich man, a city journalist, 

 offering to multiply the reward by ten 

 if, instead of killing the Monarch, he 

 would bring him in alive. 



Kellyan sent for his old partner, and 

 when word came that the previous 

 night three cows were killed in the 

 familiar way near the Bell-Dash pas- 

 ture, they spared neither horse nor 

 man to reach the spot. A ten-hour 

 ride by night meant worn-out horses, 

 but the men were iron, and new horses 

 with scarcely a minute's delay were 

 brought them. Here were the newly 

 killed beeves, there the mighty foot- 

 prints with the scars that spelled his 

 name. No hound could have tracked 

 him better than Kellyan did. Five 

 miles away from the foot of the hills 

 was an impenetrable thicket of cha- 

 parral. The great tracks went in, did 

 not come out, so Bonamy sat sentinel 



