what the hell's the use!" exclaimed Jorth. "It's all--up with
us--Colter!"

"Wal, shut up, then," tersely returned Colter. "It ain't doin' y'u or
us any good to holler."

Tad Jorth did not reply to this. Ellen heard his breathing and it did
not seem natural. It rasped a little--came hurriedly--then caught in
his throat. Then he spat. Ellen shrunk back against the door. He was
breathing through blood.

"Uncle, are y'u in pain?" she asked.

"Yes, Ellen--it burns like hell," he said.

"Oh! I'm sorry.... Isn't there something I can do?"

"I reckon not. Queen did all anybody could do for me--now--unless it's
pray."

Colter laughed at this--the slow, easy, drawling laugh of a Texan. But
Ellen felt pity for this wounded uncle. She had always hated him. He
had been a drunkard, a gambler, a waster of her father's property; and
now he was a rustler and a fugitive, lying in pain, perhaps mortally
hurt.

"Yes, uncle--I will pray for y'u," she said, softly.

The change in his voice held a note of sadness that she had been quick
to catch.

"Ellen, y'u're the only good Jorth--in the whole damned lot," he said.
"God! I see it all now.... We've dragged y'u to hell!"

"Yes, Uncle Tad, I've shore been dragged some--but not yet--to hell,"
she responded, with a break in her voice.

"Y'u will be--Ellen--unless--"

"Aw, shut up that kind of gab, will y'u?" broke in Colter, harshly.

It amazed Ellen that Colter should dominate her uncle, even though he
was wounded. Tad Jorth had been the last man to take orders from
anyone, much less a rustler of the Hash Knife Gang. This Colter began
to loom up in Ellen's estimate as he loomed physically over her, a
lofty figure, dark motionless, somehow menacing.

"Ellen, has Colter told y'u yet--aboot--aboot Lee an' Jackson?"
inquired the wounded man.

The pitch-black darkness of the cabin seemed to help fortify Ellen to
bear further trouble.

"Colter told me dad an' Uncle Jackson would meet us heah," she
rejoined, hurriedly.

Jorth could be heard breathing in difficulty, and he coughed and spat
again, and seemed to hiss.

"Ellen, he lied to y'u. They'll never meet us--heah!"

"Why not?" whispered Ellen.

"Because--Ellen--" he replied, in husky pants, "your dad an'--uncle
Jackson--are daid--an' buried!"

If Ellen suffered a terrible shock it was a blankness, a deadness, and
a slow, creeping failure of sense in her knees. They gave way under
her and she sank on the