.

Across the hearth from him, with bare feet spread to the blaze, sat the
well-trusted Tom Carmichael--sunk deep in meditation, though his eyes
were not entirely serene--nor cloudless of apprehension.

"'Pears like ther show ought ter be startin' up," complained Towers
restively. "Ye seed 'em go inter ther Quarterhouse, ye said?"

Tom nodded.

"I watched 'em from ther shadders of ther roadside. They went in all
right. They're inside now."

After a brief pause the lieutenant demanded querulously, "Ye've done
tuck inter account thet ther killin' of this feller from Looeyville's
goin' ter stir up them furriners down below, hain't ye, Kinnard? I
wouldn't be none astonished ef they sent them damn' milishy soldiers up
hyar ergin."

"Ease yore mind, Tom." Towers spoke with the confidence of the
strategist who has, in advance, balanced the odds of campaign. "Ther
railroad will kick up hit's heels--an' snort like all hell--but ther
Co'te sets _hyar_--an' I carries ther Co'te in my breeches pocket."

After a moment he added, "The only people I'm a-fear'd of air ther
Stacys--an' I've done arranged _thet_."

At last across the frosty, sound-carrying distance, came the spiteful
crack of pistols, and Kinnard Towers leaned attentively forward in his
chair.

"Them damn' fools air bunglin' hit, some fashion," he broke out
wrathfully. "Thar hain't no sort of sense in a-stringin' hit out so
long."

A momentary diminuendo of the racket was followed by the sharp,
repeated bark of a rifle, which brought the intriguer violently to his
feet.

"Hell's fiddle!" he ejaculated in sudden alarm. "They hain't finished
hit up yit! I cautioned 'em special not ter use no rifle-guns--jest
pistols, accidental like."

Hatless and coatless, he rushed out and made for the Quarterhouse,
disquieted and alarmed by the din of a howling chorus which sounded
more like uncertain battle than orderly and definite assassination.

Before his panting, galloping haste brought him to the stockade he
caught, above the confused pandemonium, a yell of: "Bear Cat Stacy!
_Git_ him! Git 'em both!"

"Good God!" he muttered between grinding teeth. "Good God, them fools
air startin' ther war ergin! I've got ter stop hit!"

If Bear Cat fell within the four walls of that house to-morrow would
dawn upon a country-side disrupted in open warfare. So Kinnard appeared
in the door, his face distorted with an ashen fury and sought, too
late, to assume again the role o