eeting, but so many thoughts had crowded upon him that only when he
settled back against the high cantle of his saddle was he reminded, by
its angular hardness, of the pistol which bulged in his pocket.

He drew rein to take it back, then shook his head and rode on again.

"Goin' over an' comin' back," he told himself, "I'd jest as lieve be
armed, anyhow. Afore I gits thar I'll climb down an' hide ther thing in
some holler log."

* * * * *

Hump Doane's house was larger than many of those lying scattered about
it, but between its long walls hung that smoky air of the rudely
mediaeval that made a fit setting for so grim a conclave as that of
to-day. About the empty hearth of its main room men, uncouthly dressed
and unbarbered, sat, and the smoke from their pipes hung stale and
heavy. A door at the back and one at the front stood wide, but there
were no windows and along the blackened rafters went strings of peppers
and "hands" of home-grown tobacco. A dull glint here and there against
the walls proclaimed leaning rifles.

On the threshold of the back door sat Bas Rowlett gazing outward, and
his physical position, beyond the margin of the group proper, seemed to
typify a mental attitude of detachment from those mounting tides of
passion that held sway within.

"I'm ther feller thet got shot at, men," declared old Jim, rising
unsteadily from his chair and sweeping them all with his keen and
sagacious old eyes, "an' until terday ye've all stud willin' ter hearken
ter my counsel. Now ef ye disregards me an' casts loose afresh all them
old hates an' passions, I'd a heap ruther be dead then alive."

"Afore God, what fer do we waste good time hyar cavillin' an' backbitin'
like a passel of old granny-women?" demanded Sam Opdyke whose face was
already liquor-flushed, as he came tumultuously to his feet, overturning
his chair and lifting clenched fists above his head.

"When this hyar unknowed man come from Virginny ter start things up whar
old Burrell Thornton left 'em off at, he brung ther war with him. Thet
troublemaker's got ter die--an' when he's dead hit's time ter parley
erbout a new truce."

A low growl of approval ran in the throats of the hearers, but Hump
Doane rose and spoke with his great head and misshapen shoulders
reaching only a little way above the table top, and his thin voice
cutting sharp and stridently.

"I've always stood staunch by Jim Rowlett's counsel," he announc