The cabin was left dark and deserted, the mine silent.

Westcott made no effort to follow, feeling assured that no important movement would be attempted that night.
It was late the next morning before he rode into Haskell and, stabling his horse, which bore all the marks of hard riding, proceeded toward the Timmons House.

He had utilised, as best he could, the hours since that cavalcade had departed from La Rosita to put his own affairs in order so that he might feel free to camp on the conspirators' trail and risk all in an effort to rescue Cavendish.

The night had been a hard one, but Westcott was still totally unconscious of fatigue--his whole thought centred on his purpose.
Alone he had explored the tunnels in Lacy's mine, creeping about in the darkness, guided only by the flash of an electric torch, until he thoroughly understood the nature of the work being accomplished.

As soon as dawn came he sought two reliable men in the valley below, and posted them as guards over his own property; but, before he finally rode away, the three brought forth the body of the murdered Mexican and reverently buried it on a secluded spot of the bleak hillside.
Then, convinced that every precaution had been taken, Westcott turned his horse's head toward Haskell.