ly, on going round the cabins, saw
a bright fire. One man stood beside it gazing at Colter's party, which
evidently he had heard approaching.

"Hullo, Queen!" said Colter. "How's Tad?"

"He's holdin' on fine," replied Queen, bending over the fire, where he
turned pieces of meat.

"Where's father?" suddenly asked Ellen, addressing Colter.

As if he had not heard her, he went on wearily loosening a pack.

Queen looked at her. The light of the fire only partially shone on his
face. Ellen could not see its expression. But from the fact that
Queen did not answer her question she got further intimation of an
impending catastrophe. The long, wild ride had helped prepare her for
the secrecy and taciturnity of men who had resorted to flight. Perhaps
her father had been delayed or was still off on the deadly mission that
had obsessed him; or there might, and probably was, darker reason for
his absence. Ellen shut her teeth and turned to the needs of her
horse. And presently, returning to the fire, she thought of her uncle.

"Queen, is my uncle Tad heah?" she asked.

"Shore. He's in there," replied Queen, pointing at the nearer cabin.

Ellen hurried toward the dark doorway. She could see how the logs of
the cabin had moved awry and what a big, dilapidated hovel it was. As
she looked in, Colter loomed over her--placed a familiar and somehow
masterful hand upon her. Ellen let it rest on her shoulder a moment.
Must she forever be repulsing these rude men among whom her lot was
cast? Did Colter mean what Daggs had always meant? Ellen felt herself
weary, weak in body, and her spent spirit had not rallied. Yet,
whatever Colter meant by his familiarity, she could not bear it. So
she slipped out from under his hand.

"Uncle Tad, are y'u heah?" she called into the blackness. She heard
the mice scamper and rustle and she smelled the musty, old, woody odor
of a long-unused cabin.

"Hello, Ellen!" came a voice she recognized as her uncle's, yet it was
strange. "Yes. I'm heah--bad luck to me! ... How 're y'u buckin' up,
girl?"

"I'm all right, Uncle Tad--only tired an' worried. I--"

"Tad, how's your hurt?" interrupted Colter.

"Reckon I'm easier," replied Jorth, wearily, "but shore I'm in bad
shape. I'm still spittin' blood. I keep tellin' Queen that bullet
lodged in my lungs-but he says it went through."

"Wal, hang on, Tad!" replied Colter, with a cheerfulness Ellen sensed
was really indifferent.

"Oh,