again, but no Fanny. Then he went in and tramped around the
stalls but couldn't find her. So Mitch went back to the house for a
lantern and we looked all through the barn and finally all around the
barn. And pretty soon he saw her lyin' by the barn. She was dead--all
over blood. Somebody had run a great knife like a scythe or a
corn-cutter through her. And I never see a boy cry like Mitch did. He
ran back and told Zueline and she and all the children came out and most
of us cried. Then Mr. Miller came out, and Mrs. Miller, and Mr. Miller
said he believed Doc Lyon had done it--that he had seen him in the alley
in the afternoon. And Mitch said he'd kill Doc Lyon. And that scared
Mrs. Miller, and she said, "Keep away from him, Mitchie, he's gone crazy
over religion and he'll kill you." "It's a good day," said Mitch, "Skeet
loses his treasure, and my dog's killed--it's a good day." Then Zueline
took Mitch's hand and said, "Never mind, my pa's goin' to get me an
Ayrdale and I'll make him get two, one for you." So we threw a blanket
over Fanny and Mitch took Zueline home, and I went home and waited for
Mitch to come.

[Illustration: Crying for Fanny]

When he did come he was in better spirits. Zueline had cheered him up.
He said he worshiped her--that he'd kill any one who spoke a bad word
about her, and that he intended to protect her as long as he lived.

Then Mitch and me went to my house. It was now about ten o'clock, and pa
hadn't come home. There seemed to be a lot stirrin' someway, and ma
said, "Your father is very busy, and we'll all go to bed and not wait
for him. He has a key of his own." So pretty soon we were all in bed
with the lights out. And in about a minute we heard the latch in the
stairway door begin to rattle, and ma says, "What's that?" and called
down and said, "Is that you, pa?" No answer, just the rattlin'. Well, ma
had bolted the door on the inside, and whoever it was couldn't open the
door at once, but kept up the rattlin'. Then ma turned white and said,
"One of you boys must go for George Montgomery. I'll let one of you out
of the window and the other must stay here and help to fight." Mitch
said, "You go, Skeet, you're a faster runner than me, and maybe he'll
hop after you, whoever he is. I'll stay here and take a bed-slat and
brain him as he comes up the stairway." "No," says I, "I think it's more
dangerous to stay than to go--let's draw straws to see who goes."
Meantime ma took a sheet off the