woman, trying to get a hold on Creed's
broad shoulders and drag him back into the room. "I ain't hurt, but it's
no credit to them wolves that you call sons of yo'rn. They've got Pone
out thar, ef they hain't shot him yit. And they've killed the best man
that ever come on this here mountain. Oh, Creed--my pore boy! You Doss
Provine! Come here an' he'p me lift him." She reared herself on her knees
and glared at the group by the gate. "He had no better sense than to take
ye for men--to trust the word ye give, that he was safe when he opened
the do'. Don't you come a step nearer, Jep Turrentine," she railed out at
him suddenly, as the old man drew toward the gate. "I've had a plenty o'
you an' yo' sons this night. They're jest about good enough to shoot me
while I'm a-tryin' to git this po' dead boy drug in the house, an' then
burn the roof down over me an' my baby chil'en. You Doss Provine, walk
yo'se'f here an' he'p me."

Doss, who found the presence of Jephthah Turrentine reassuring, whatever
his mother-in-law might say, slouched forward, and between them they
lifted the limp figure.

"God knows I don't blame ye, Nancy," muttered the old man in his beard,
as the heavy door was dragged shut, and the bar dropped into place. Then
he advanced upon the men at the palings.

At Jephthah's first appearance the tallest of these had dropped swiftly
back into the shadows on the other side of the road and was gone.
Unsupported, the four or five who were left shuffled uneasily, beneath
the old man's fierce eye.

"Where's Pone Cyard?" he demanded.

"We hain't tetched him, pap. We never seed him. We said that to draw
'em."

"Huh!" ejaculated Jephthah, as though further comment were beyond him.
"Git yo' ridin' critters," he gave the short, sharp order. "Fetch Pete to
me." And he whirled his back, and stalked out into the main road.

A hundred yards or so up, there was a sound of hoofs and tearing bushes,
as the boys came through the greenery with their mules. Pete was led up
and the bridle-rein presented in meek silence. By the dim, presaging
light of the little waning moon, delaying somewhere down below the
shoulder of Big Turkey Track, old Jephthah took it, set foot in stirrup,
and made ready to swing to saddle. Then he slowly withdrew the foot and
turned back.

"Take them cussed rags off o' yo' faces!" he burst out in a fury of
contempt. "Now. Who laid out this night's work? Well, speak up--how come
it?"

Dead silence ans