house from whom they took their orders.

His life hung on the correctness of that assumption, but the hazard was
a part of the game. He thrust his pistol into a broken oak where a
woodpecker had nested, then flapped his reins and clucked to his mule.
For the sake of a bold appearance he raised his voice in a spirited and
cheerful ballad, but from time to time he broke off since he had stern
need for acute listening.

The mule carried him into--and through--a gorge where day-long a shadowy
gloom hung among the fern-fringed rocks, and where the austere wildness
of dripping cliffs and forbidding woods seemed a stage set for dark and
tragic happenings.

He passed not one but several rifles as he went--he even caught the
glint of one muzzle among the waxen rhododendron leaves but pretended
not to see it, and though on him every barrel was trained, not a trigger
was pressed.

The coming of a Harper clansman whom some men called a leader to the
conclave of the Doane chieftains was so astounding a phenomenon that it
would be a pity to cut it short until its intent was made manifest. So
the sentinels along the way held their breath--and their fire.

But Thornton came at last to the place where the forest ran out into
more open woods and the "trace" widened to a sledge-trail. He drew his
horse to a standstill and hallooed loudly, for he knew that at this
point all policy of experiment must end. The showdown could no longer be
delayed. From near by in the laurel came a prompt voice of response
though the speaker remained unseen.

"Halt whar ye're at," it commanded, gruffly. "What does ye want over
hyar?"

"I aimed ter hev speech with Hump Doane," answered Thornton, unruffled,
counterfeiting a tranquil ease, and from the thicket drifted the
unintelligible mingling of two low voices in consultation. Then a second
voice spoke:

"Wait right whar ye stands at an' don't aim ter move till I tells ye ye
kin."

Punctiliously, Parish Thornton obeyed that injunction, sitting quietly
in his saddle with a meditative gaze fixed on the twitching of his
mule's ears, until after so long a time a stir in the thicket announced
the return of the messenger and a command came succinctly from an
invisible speaker.

"Hitch yore critter an' light down. Hump 'lows he'll see ye."

The door at the front of the house was closed now but when Thornton had
dismounted and knocked, it opened, and straining his eyes at the
darkness of the interior h