ilma's
attention, two men, deputies, no doubt, on the porch of the ranch house.
They held possession there, and the evidence of the presence of the
enemy in this raid upon Quien Sabe had daunted him.

"No, SIR," he declared, getting out of the carry-all, "I ain't going to
take you anywhere where you're liable to get hurt. Besides, the road's
blocked by all this stuff. You can't get the team by."

Hilma sprang from the carry-all.

"Come," she said to Mrs. Derrick.

The older woman, trembling, hesitating, faint with dread, obeyed, and
Hilma, picking her way through and around the wreck of her home, set off
by the trail towards the Long Trestle and Hooven's.

When she arrived, she found the road in front of the German's house,
and, indeed, all the surrounding yard, crowded with people. An
overturned buggy lay on the side of the road in the distance, its horses
in a tangle of harness, held by two or three men. She saw Caraher's
buckboard under the live oak and near it a second buggy which she
recognised as belonging to a doctor in Guadalajara.

"Oh, what has happened; oh, what has happened?" moaned Mrs. Derrick.

"Come," repeated Hilma. The young girl took her by the hand and together
they pushed their way through the crowd of men and women and entered the
yard.

The throng gave way before the two women, parting to right and left
without a word.

"Presley," cried Mrs. Derrick, as she caught sight of him in the doorway
of the house, "oh, Presley, what has happened? Is Harran safe? Is Magnus
safe? Where are they?"

"Don't go in, Mrs. Derrick," said Presley, coming forward, "don't go
in."

"Where is my husband?" demanded Hilma.

Presley turned away and steadied himself against the jamb of the door.

Hilma, leaving Mrs. Derrick, entered the house. The front room was full
of men. She was dimly conscious of Cyrus Ruggles and S. Behrman, both
deadly pale, talking earnestly and in whispers to Cutter and Phelps.
There was a strange, acrid odour of an unfamiliar drug in the air.
On the table before her was a satchel, surgical instruments, rolls of
bandages, and a blue, oblong paper box full of cotton. But above the
hushed noises of voices and footsteps, one terrible sound made itself
heard--the prolonged, rasping sound of breathing, half choked, laboured,
agonised.

"Where is my husband?" she cried. She pushed the men aside. She saw
Magnus, bareheaded, three or four men lying on the floor, one half
naked, his body