oin' ter be named Ken," said the young
woman in a low voice.

"But be hit boy or gal, one thing's shore. Hits middle name's a-goin'
ter be T-R-E-E, tree. Dorothy Tree Thornton," mused Parish as his laugh
rang low and clear and she echoed after him with amendment, "Kenneth
Tree Thornton."

They sat silent together for a while seeing pictures in flame and coals.
Then Dorothy broke the revery:

"Ye've done wore a face of brown study hyar of late, Cal," she said as
her hand stole out and closed over his, "an' I knows full well what
sober things ye've got ter ponder over--but air hit anything partic'lar
or new?"

Parish Thornton shook his head with gravity and answered with candour:

"Hump and old Jim an' me've been spendin' a heap of thought on this
matter of ther riders," he told her. "Hit's got ter be broke up afore
hit gits too strong a holt--an' hit hain't no facile matter ter trace
down a secret thing like thet."

After a little he went on: "An' we hain't made no master progress yit
to'rds diskiverin' who shot at old Jim, nuther. Thet's been frettin' me
consid'rable, too."

"War thet why ye rid over ter Jim's house yestidday?" she inquired, and
Parish nodded his head.

"Me an' Sim Squires an' old Jim hisself war a-seekin' ter figger hit
out--but we didn't git no light on ther matter." He paused so long after
that and sat with so sober a face that Dorothy pressed him for the
inwardness of his thoughts and the man spoke with embarrassment and
haltingly.

"I lowed when we was married, honey, that all ther world I keered fer
war made up of you an' me an' what hopes we've got. I was right sensibly
affronted when men sought ter fo'ce me inter other matters then my own
private business, but now----"

"Yes," she prompted softly. "An' now what?"

"Hit hain't thet ye're any less dear ter me, Dorothy. Hit's ruther thet
ye're dearer ... but I kain't stand aside no more.... I kain't think of
myself no more es a man thet jist b'longs ter hisself." Again he fell
silent then laughed self-deprecatingly. "I sometimes 'lows thet what ye
read me outen ther old book kinderly kindled some fret inside me....
Hit's es ef ther blood of ther old-timers was callin' out an' warnin' me
thet I kain't suffer myself ter shirk ... or mebby hit's ther way old
Hump and old Aaron talked."

"What is hit ye feels?" she urged, still softly, and the man came to his
feet on the hearth.

"Hit's like es ef I b'longs ter these people. Not jist