hing?" he asked.

"No," replied Hare.

"The roar of the river is heavy here. Maybe I was mistaken. I thought
I heard shots." Then he went on spading clay into the break, but he
stopped every moment or so, uneasily, as if he could not get rid of some
disturbing thought. Suddenly he dropped the spade and his eyes flashed.

"Judith! Judith! Here!" he called. Wheeling with a sudden premonition of
evil Hare saw the girl running along the wall toward them. Her face was
white as death; she wrung her hands and her cries rose above the sound
of the river. Naab sprang toward her and Hare ran at his heels.

"Father!-- Father!" she panted. "Come--quick--the rustlers!--the
rustlers! Snap!--Dene--Oh--hurry! They've killed Dave--they've got
Mescal!"

Death itself shuddered through Hare's veins and then a raging flood of
fire. He bounded forward to be flung back by Naab's arm.

"Fool! Would you throw away your life? Go slowly. We'll slip through the
fields, under the trees."

Sick and cold Hare hurried by Naab's side round the wall and into the
alfalfa. There were moments when he was weak and trembling; others when
he could have leaped like a tiger to rend and kill.

They left the fields and went on more cautiously into the grove. The
screaming and wailing of women added certainty to their doubt and dread.

"I see only the women--the children--no--there's a man--Zeke," said
Hare, bending low to gaze under the branches.

"Go slow," muttered Naab.

"The rustlers rode off--after Mescal--she's gone!" panted Judith.

Hare, spurred by the possibilities in the half-crazed girl's speech,
cast caution to the winds and dashed forward into the glade. Naab's
heavy steps thudded behind him.

In the corner of the porch scared and stupefied children huddled in a
heap. George and Billy bent over Dave, who sat white-faced against the
steps. Blood oozed through the fingers pressed to his breast. Zeke was
trying to calm the women.

"My God! Dave!" cried Hare. "You're not hard hit? Don't say it!"

"Hard hit--Jack--old fellow," replied Dave, with a pale smile. His face
was white and clammy.

August Naab looked once at him and groaned, "My son! My son!"

"Dad--I got Chance and Culver--there they lie in the road--not bungled,
either!"

Hare saw the inert forms of two men lying near the gate; one rested on
his face, arm outstretched with a Colt gripped in the stiff hand; the
other lay on his back, his spurs deep in the ground, as if driv