ling was louder. And now Jas' had transferred his attention
to the broken windows and what might be beyond them. There was a
creaking above. Drew tried to deduce from those sounds whether one man
or two moved overhead. The fire was dying fast. Should he try to urge it
into new life with the last of the wood, or would the dark be more to
his benefit?

Shots again, but not crashing through the windows now; these were
outside. A man screamed shrilly. Then a horse cried in pain. Drew heard
the pounding of hoofs, and in the loft a quick shuffling. More shots....

Boyd laughed hysterically, and then coughed, until he bent over the Colt
he still grasped, gasping. Drew steadied him against his shoulder,
trying to picture for himself what was happening outside. It sounded
very much as if Kirby's relief force had arrived and that the "cap'n"
and his gang were in retreat.

"Drew! Everythin' all right?" There was no mistaking Kirby's voice.

He had brought not only four other scouts from the camp, but also
Lieutenant Traggart and the doctor. And as the major portion of that
relief force crowded into the room Drew leaned back against the wall,
very glad to let other authority take over.

"Guerrilla scum," was the lieutenant's verdict on their prisoners. "They
say they're Union ... or ours, whichever works best at the time. There's
another one dead out there, and he's wearing one of _our_ cavalry
jackets!"

"Officer's?" Drew wondered if they had picked off the "cap'n."

"No, you thinkin' he was this renegade officer Kirby was talkin' about?
I don't think this is the one. He's a pretty nasty-lookin' specimen,
though. Four of 'em at least got away. We'll take these two into camp
and see what they can tell us. The General will be interested. I'd say
this one's a Yankee deserter." He studied Jas'.

The young man in the blue jacket spat, and one of the scouts hooked his
fingers in the other's collar, jerking him roughly to his feet.

"Mount and start back with them!" Traggart ordered. "How's the boy,
suh?"

Boyd had wilted back into his blankets when the stimulation of the fight
was gone. He was still conscious, but his coughing shook his whole body.

"Lung fever, unless he gets the right care." The surgeon was going about
his business with dispatch. "I hate to move him, but there's no sense in
remaining here as a target for more of this trash." He glanced at Jas'
and Hatch impersonally. "Lucky we brought the wagon. Tell Hende