le say if they knew that Mrs. Y Bar Endicott was afraid to go a
quarter of a mile through a perfectly peaceful patch of woods just
because it was after sundown?" Resolutely curbing the desire to dart
fearful glances to the right, and to the left, and behind her, she kept
her face to the front, and plunged into the woods following the little
creek. A few minutes later she gained the trail, and untying the
buckskin, mounted and headed him toward the scattering lights of Timber
City.

At the edge of the town she drew up abruptly. A volley of shots rang
out, and she could see the thin streaks of flame that leaped out from
the crowd of men that were collected in front of the saloon. Her first
thought was to skirt the town and arrive at the rectory as she had left
it. But once more she upbraided herself for her foolish fear. "Mr.
Cameron said when they came in volleys they were harmless," she
reassured herself, "and I may as well get used to it now as later." She
urged her horse forward and as she reached the edge of the crowd a man
raised his gun and sent a shot crashing through the window of the Red
Front. Other shots followed, and Alice saw that the building was in
darkness. Something in the attitude of the men caused her to draw up and
regard them closely. Very few of them were cowboys, and they were not
shooting into the air. Also, there was nothing in their demeanour that
savoured of any spirit of jollification. They seemed in deadly earnest.
More shots--streaks of thin red flame, and a tinkling of glass. This
time the shots were answered from within the building, the crowd surged
to one side, and those who were unable to get out of the line of fire
dropped swiftly to the ground and wriggled away on their bellies. A tall
man with a huge drooping moustache came toward her: "Better git along.
This here ain't no place fer women folks."

"What's the matter?" asked Alice.

"You better pull there in front of the livery barn. You might git hit.
They's a ring-tailed desperado in the Red Front, an' he's mighty
permiscuous about his shootin'."

"Why don't they arrest him?" asked the girl. The man had walked beside
her, and seating himself upon the edge of the horse trough, began
deliberately to reload his pistol.

"Arrest him," he drawled, "that's jest what we aim to do. But first we
got to git him in shape to arrest. He's imbibed to the point which he
won't listen to no reason whatever--an' shoot! He's a two-handed gunman