the dark became, as he listened with engrossed
interest, more than ever a being of sentient spirit and less than ever a
thing of mere wood and leaf.

To Bas Rowlett it should have been an indictment, or perhaps an excuse,
with its testimony of blood strains stronger than himself--but from its
moral his mind was wandering to a more present and gripping interest.

Now he was sure he had heard the double whippoorwill call! In five
minutes more he would be saved--yet five minutes might be too long.

Dorothy paused. "Ye sees," she said with a deep gravity, "from ther
start, in this country, our folks hev been despitefully tricked an'
misused by ther offspring of thet Indian child thet our foreparents tuck
in an' befriended. From ther start, ther old tree hes held us safe with
hits charm erginst evil! Ever since----"

She broke off there and paused with astonished eyes that turned to the
door, upon which had sounded a commanding rap. Then she rose and went
over cautiously to open it an inch or two and look out.

But when she raised the latch a man, rendered uncognizable by a black
slicker that cloaked him to his ankles and a masked face, threw it wide,
so that the woman was forced, stumbling, back. Then through the opening
poured a half dozen others in like habiliments of disguise.

All held outthrust rifles, and that one who had entered first shouted:
"All right, boys, ther door's open."

Parish Thornton had not been able to shoot at the initial instant
because Dorothy stood in his way. After that it was useless--and he saw
Bas Rowlett step forward with a sudden change of expression on his pasty
face.

"Now, then," said Bas, exultantly, "hit's a gray hoss of another
colour!"

CHAPTER XXXIV

When Parish Thornton had brought his captive down the slope that
afternoon he had left his rifle in safe concealment, not wishing to
hamper himself with any weapon save the revolver, which had never left
his palm until this moment.

Now with the instant gone in which he might have used it to stem the
tide of invasion, he was not fool enough to fire. A silent and steady
current of black-clad humanity was still flowing inward across the
threshold, and every man was armed.

Yet at the ring of victorious elation in Bas Rowlett's voice the impulse
to strike down that master of deceit before his own moment came almost
overpowered him--almost but not quite.

He knew that the bark of his weapon would bring chorused retort