Greaves let out a strangled yell
that cleared, swelling wildly, with a hideous mortal note. He wrestled
free. The big knife came out. Supple and swift, he got to his, knees.
He had his gun out when Jean reached him again. Like a bear Jean
enveloped him. Greaves shot, but he could not raise the gun, nor twist
it far enough. Then Jean, letting go with his right arm, swung the
bowie. Greaves's strength went out in an awful, hoarse cry. His gun
boomed again, then dropped from his hand. He swayed. Jean let go.
And that enemy of the Isbels sank limply in the ditch. Jean's eyes
roved for his rifle and caught the starlit gleam of it. Snatching it
up, he leaped over the embankment and ran straight for the cabins.
From all around yells of the Jorth faction attested to their excitement
and fury.

A fence loomed up gray in the obscurity. Jean vaulted it, darted
across the lane into the shadow of the corral, and soon gained the
first cabin. Here he leaned to regain his breath. His heart pounded
high and seemed too large for his breast. The hot blood beat and
surged all over his body. Sweat poured off him. His teeth were
clenched tight as a vise, and it took effort on his part to open his
mouth so he could breathe more freely and deeply. But these physical
sensations were as nothing compared to the tumult of his mind. Then the
instinct, the spell, let go its grip and he could think. He had avenged
Guy, he had depleted the ranks of the Jorths, he had made good the brag
of his father, all of which afforded him satisfaction. But these
thoughts were not accountable for all that he felt, especially for the
bittersweet sting of the fact that death to the defiler of Ellen Jorth
could not efface the doubt, the regret which seemed to grow with the
hours.

Groping his way into the woodshed, he entered the kitchen and, calling
low, he went on into the main cabin.

"Jean! Jean!" came his father's shaking voice.

"Yes, I'm back," replied Jean.

"Are--you--all right?"

"Yes. I think I've got a bullet crease on my leg. I didn't know I had
it till now.... It's bleedin' a little. But it's nothin'."

Jean heard soft steps and some one reached shaking hands for him. They
belonged to his sister Ann. She embraced him. Jean felt the heave and
throb of her breast.

"Why, Ann, I'm not hurt," he said, and held her close. "Now you lie
down an' try to sleep."

In the black darkness of the cabin Jean led her back to the corner