remained staringly intent as they saw standing there the
broad-shouldered figure of Asa Gregory, who should be in jail, who for
seven years had not been free to ride or walk the highways.

"I was pardoned out, this morning," he said briefly, "and I met up with
some of our boys while'st I was ridin' home. I was right interested in
what them boys told me."

"Ye've done come in good season, Asa," shouted an impulsive spokesman.
"We're settin' out ter settle old scores, an' Boone Wellver's done laid
down on us."

But Asa turned a cool eye on the informant, and into the sonorous
quality of his voice came an acid bite.

"Who's got the best license here to talk about score-settling? Who's
been sulterin' in jail for seven years?"

"You have, Asa," came the chorused response. "We're hearkenin' ter ye,
Asa."

"All right," snapped back the new arrival. "What I have need to say I
kin say right speedily. Quit it! Go home and leave me to pay off my own
scores!" He crossed to Boone and laid a hand on his shoulder, and
standing that way, he added: "The man that says this boy lays down is a
liar. As for me, I stands by what _he_ says! Ef our own folks don't know
who their strong men are, our enemies know--an' seek to hire 'em kilt.
Go home an' wait till we calls on ye!"

An hour later Boone stood alone with Anne in the room where he had been
overthrown and rehabilitated.

"I ought to take you across to Aunt Judy's house," he told her in a
weary voice. "I don't suppose you should be left here--with me--like
this--for what's left of the night. Until now there's been company
enough."

The girl shook her head wearily. "I'd fall off of a horse," she said.
"I'm too tired to ride. I'm going back up those stairs--"

The man moved a step forward.

"Joe Gregory is coming back," he explained, "but it will probably be
near to dawn before he gets here."

As she reached the stairway she halted impulsively with her hand on the
latch, and stood poised there with an expression of baffling, half-eager
expectancy. The sensitive beauty of her face and the slender grace of
her body seemed for a moment to cast aside their fatigue and to invite
him, but Boone stood resolutely the width of the room away.

Had he known it, that was a moment in which he might have grasped a more
vital rehabilitation. Had he then offered again the explanation for
which he had once been denied opportunity, her readiness to hear him
would have been eager. At that m