ld hit be? Did ye reckon hit war love for ther man thet
hed done stole everything I counted dear--ther traitor thet betrayed my
roof-tree? Did ye 'low thet hit war fer yore own sake I war openin' up
ther war ergin, deespite ther fact that I knows hit'll make these hills
run red with ther blood of my kith an' kin?"

Abruptly Bear Cat came to his feet and shouted into the darkness.
Henderson saw two figures detach themselves from the inky void and come
forward.

Then as they lifted him he swooned with pain.

CHAPTER XVI

Dog Tate had left his mash kettle unguarded that night, putting clan
loyalty above individual interest as he hastened off to stir into
action the dwellers of the Stacy cabins, and to dispatch other
night-riders upon the same mission. But he sent Joe Sanders, his
assistant, to convoy the wounded men along their road. They went at a
labored and snail-like pace, Sanders walking on one side of the horse,
supporting the swooning figure it bore, while Turner Stacy trudged at
the other saddle skirt. Sometimes Bear Cat plodded on with fair
erectness, setting his teeth against weariness and pain, but at other
times the intermittent waves of fever rose scaldingly until, in a blind
fog, he dragged shuffling feet, clinging grimly the while to pommel and
stirrup-leather as his head sagged forward between his shoulders.
Sometimes, too, he mumbled incomprehensible things in a voice that was
weirdly unnatural. From time to time there was a halt to make sure that
the life spark still flickered, though tenuously and gutteringly, in
the breast of the inert thing lashed to the saddle.

When they had been on the road for three hours Bear Cat and Sanders, by
a common impulse, strained their ears through what had been silence,
except for the wail of the high-riding breeze among the pine crests.

Now faint, and far away, hardly more than a hint of sound, they could
hear something else, and it lifted Turner out of his reek of nightmare
and semi-delirium so that his eyes cleared and his head came up. It was
as though a bugle had sounded a note of martial encouragement through
the mists of despair.

Joe Sanders spoke shortly, half to his companion and half to himself.

"Hit kinderly seems like Dog Tate's rousin' em up. I reckon ther war's
on now all right an' it's liable ter be unshirted hell."

* * * * *

Blossom had been sitting until late that evening with her hands lyi