ny busy people that day he was
the busiest, and it was not until near sunset that he came for her,
leading a saddled horse. Riding along the steep and twisting ways, a
sense of sinister forces oppressed her.

It seemed to her that the dirge through the brown-gray forests and the
shriek of blasts along the gorges were blended into an untamable litany.
"We are the ancient hills that stand unaltered! We and our sons refuse
to pass under the rod. Wild is our breath and fierce our heritage. Let
the plains be tamed and the valleys serve! Here we uphold the law of the
lawless, the nihilism of ragged freedom!"

Once Joe halted her with a raised band. "Stay hyar," he ordered, "twell
I ride on ahead. Folks hain't licensed ter pass hyar terday ontil they
gives ther right signal."

He went forward a few rods, and had Anne not been watching his lips she
would have sworn that it was only the caw of a crow she heard; but soon
from a cliff overhead and then from a thicket at the left came the
response of other cawing. Then with a nod to her to follow, her guide
flapped his reins on the neck of his mule, and again they moved forward.

It was dark when they came to the road that passed in front of Victor
McCalloway's house, and there Joe drew rein.

"I've still got some sev'ral things ter see to," he informed the girl,
"so I won't stop hyar now. Boone's inside thar, an' like as not hit'll
be better fer ther two of ye ter talk by yoreselves. I'll give ther call
afore I rides on, so thet ther door'll open for ye. Hit hain't openin'
ter everybody ternight."

Then for the first time Anne faltered.

"Must I go in there--alone?" she demanded, and Gregory looked swiftly
up.

"Ye hain't affrighted of him, be ye? Thar hain't no need ter be."

Anne stiffened, then laughed nervously. "No," she said, "I'll go in."

The deputy sitting sidewise in his saddle, watched her dismount, and
when she reached the doorstep he sung out: "Boone, hit's Joe Gregory
talkin'. Open up!"

Anne's knees were none too steady, nor was her breath quite even as the
door swung outward and Boone stood against its rectangle of light
peering out with eyes unaccommodated to the dark. He was flannel shirted
and corduroy breeched, and since yesterday he had not shaved. But his
face, drawn and strained as he looked out, not seeing her because he was
studying the stile from which the voice had come, was the face of one
who has been in purgatory and who has not yet seen