wly creeping after, were the regulators. A
broad band of light streamed out across the clearing from the door,
while, on each side of this, all lay in shadow deepened by the contrast.
Through the shadows, cautiously and silently came the footsteps of the
avenger! There was no trepidation, no haste--the strange leader rather
lingered, with a deadly slowness, as if the movement was a pleasant one,
and he disliked to end it. But he never halted--not even for a
moment--he came, like fate, slowly, but surely!

"Come, boys," said Cutler, and his voice penetrated the stillness quite
across the clearing, "let us take another drink, and then lie down; we
shall have a long journey to-morrow."

They all advanced to the table and drained the bottle. Cutler drank
last, and then went back to the fire. He again stirred the smouldering
cinders with his foot, and, turning about, advanced to close the door.
But--he halted suddenly in the middle of the room--his face grew ashy
pale--his limbs trembled with terror! Stone stepped upon the threshold,
and, without speaking, brought his rifle to his shoulder! Cutler saw
that it pointed to his heart, but he had not the power to speak or move!

"Villain!" said Stone, in a low, suppressed voice, "your hour has come,
at last!"

Cutler was by no means a coward; by any one else he would not have been
overcome, even for an instant. As it was, he soon recovered himself and
sprang forward; but it was only to fall heavily to the floor; for at the
same moment Stone fired, and the ball passed directly through his heart!
A groan was the only sound he uttered--his arm moved, as in the act of
striking, and then fell to the ground--he was dead!

The regulators now rushed tumultuously into the house, and at once
seized and pinioned the three desperadoes; while Stone walked slowly to
the hearth, and resting the breech of his gun upon the floor, leaned
calmly upon its muzzle. He had heard a scream from above--a voice which
he knew too well. Margaret had been aroused from sleep by the report of
the gun; and now, in her night-dress, with her hair streaming in masses
over her shoulders, she rushed down the rude stairway. The first object
that met her wild gaze was the body of Cutler, stretched upon the floor
and already stiffening in death. With another loud scream, she threw
herself upon him--mingling lamentations for his death, with curses upon
his murderers.

Stone's features worked convulsively, and once