gh
momentary was very direct.

Murray turned away as the sound of voices followed in the wake of the
dogs.

"Hello!" he cried, in a startled fashion. "Here's Father Jose,
and--Keewin!"

"Keewin?"

It was Jessie who echoed the name. But her mother had ceased caressing
the dogs. She stood very erect, and quite silent.

Three men turned the corner of the house. Alec came first. He was
tall, a fair edition of his mother, but without any of the strength of
character so plainly written on her handsome features. Only just
behind him came Father Jose and an Indian.

The Padre of the Mission was a white-haired, white-browed man of many
years and few enough inches. His weather-stained face, creased like
parchment, was lit by a pair of piercing eyes, which were full of fire
and mental energy. But, for the moment, no one had eyes for anything
but the stoic placidity of the expressionless features of the Indian.
The man's forehead was bound with a blood-stained bandage of dirty
cloth.

Ailsa Mowbray's gentle eyes widened. Her firm lips perceptibly
tightened. Direct as a shot came her inquiry.

"What's amiss?" she demanded.

She was addressing the white man, but her eyes were steadily regarding
the Indian.

A moment later a second inquiry came.

"Why is Keewin here? Why is he wounded?"

The Padre replied. It was characteristic of the country in which they
lived, the lives they lived, that he resorted to no subterfuge,
although he knew his tidings were bad.

"Keewin's got through from Bell River. It's a letter to you
from--Allan."

The woman had perfect command of herself. She paled slightly, but her
lips were even firmer set. Jessie hurried to her side. It was as
though the child had instinctively sought the mother's support in face
of a blow which she knew was about to fall.

Ailsa held out one hand.

"Give it to me," she said authoritatively. Then, as the Padre handed
the letter across to her, she added: "But first tell me what's amiss
with him."

The Padre cleared his throat.

"He's held up," he said firmly. "The Bell River neches have got him
surrounded. Keewin got through with great difficulty, and has been
wounded. You best read the letter, and--tell us."

CHAPTER III

THE LETTER

Ailsa Mowbray tore off the fastening which secured the outer cover of
discolored buckskin. Inside was a small sheet of folded paper. She
opened it, and glanced at the handwriting. Then, with