d when it was Dave's turn she saw
him drop quickly asleep in his chair, and she was left alone with the
breathing of the wounded man and the beating of rain on the roof. And
through the long night June thought her brain weary over herself, her
life, her people, and Hale. They were not to blame--her people, they but
did as their fathers had done before them. They had their own code and
they lived up to it as best they could, and they had had no chance to
learn another. She felt the vindictive hatred that had prolonged the
feud. Had she been a man, she could not have rested until she had slain
the man who had ambushed her father. She expected Bub to do that now,
and if the spirit was so strong in her with the training she had had,
how helpless they must be against it. Even Dave was not to blame--not to
blame for loving her--he had always done that. For that reason he could
not help hating Hale, and how great a reason he had now, for he could
not understand as she could the absence of any personal motive that had
governed him in the prosecution of the law, no matter if he hurt friend
or foe. But for Hale, she would have loved Dave and now be married to
him and happier than she was. Dave saw that--no wonder he hated Hale.
And as she slowly realized all these things, she grew calm and gentle
and determined to stick to her people and do the best she could with her
life.

And now and then through the night old Judd would open his eyes and
stare at the ceiling, and at these times it was not the pain in his
face that distressed her as much as the drawn beaten look that she had
noticed growing in it for a long time. It was terrible--that helpless
look in the face of a man, so big in body, so strong of mind, so
iron-like in will; and whenever he did speak she knew what he was going
to say:

"It's all over, Juny. They've beat us on every turn. They've got us one
by one. Thar ain't but a few of us left now and when I git up, if I ever
do, I'm goin' to gether 'em all together, pull up stakes and take 'em
all West. You won't ever leave me, Juny?"

"No, Dad," she would say gently. He had asked the question at first
quite sanely, but as the night wore on and the fever grew and his mind
wandered, he would repeat the question over and over like a child, and
over and over, while Bub and Dave slept and the rain poured, June would
repeat her answer:

"I'll never leave you, Dad."

XXXI

Before dawn Hale and the doctor and the