"What?"

"Shore."

Thompson was off again in a dead run before more questions could be
asked. These cabineers had heard the call from the same voice before,
and in the same manner, therefore did not hesitate to prepare. Thompson
reached another cabin, and went through the same maneuver, and a third,
the resultant effect being the same in every instance. He was quite
satisfied. His lying tongue had done its work and the outcome did not
worry him in the least. His heart and soul joined in crying for revenge,
and it should come at any cost to others.

When the appointed hour of the night had come on, he, waiting until the
last moment, would ride up, driving right through the waiting crowd,
yell like a Comanche, and they would follow willingly. His plans were
working well, his lying heart was satisfied. He snarled like a wolf
which had found a piece of fresh meat.

The night was dark. Heavy black clouds obscured the vision of the stars.
A clouded canopy overhung the entire world, the fierce lightning flashed
and shook its fiery tints over the sleeping mountain. The thunder peals
burst forth in loud report, the echo resounding down deep into the quiet
valley below. Save for the flashing lightning and the pealing thunder
all else was quiet. What a fearful night for a fearful deed! What a
night for the use of a black-hearted scoundrel! What a time for deeds
born of a charred heart!

Jack Wade made no effort to sleep; he did not retire to the bunk in the
little room with Tom Judson. Old Peter did not wish to retire. It was in
his nature to see the alpha and omega of such deeds, he wanted to see it
all. Nora could not close her eyes in sleep, although prevailed upon to
do so. No, Jack Wade's own burdened heart pervaded the quiet atmosphere
about Peter Judson's home, and no one cared to seek rest. Even good old
dog Rover discovered in the funeral-like few about him that something
was about to go wrong, and went about from one to the other whining,
looking questioningly into their faces. Wade walked up and down, to and
fro, like a lion in a cage or a madman in confinement, so intense was
his anger because he couldn't prevent that which Judson had predicted
was sure to follow. He believed now that Peter Judson spoke the truth,
there was no reason, as he could figure, for his speaking anything else.
He believed Judson had warned him from his heart, because he wished to
save his life. Why should this old reprobate of a murderer