gently:

"Watch the rear, there," and then gently he turned to Devil Judd.

"Judd, your brother shot a man at the Gap--without excuse or warning. He
was an officer and a friend of mine, but if he were a stranger--we want
him just the same. Is he here?"

Judd looked at the red-headed man behind Hale.

"So you're turned on the Falin side now, have ye?" he said
contemptuously.

"Is he here?" repeated Hale.

"Yes, an' you can't have him." Without a move toward his pistol Hale
stepped forward, and June saw her father's big right hand tighten on his
huge pistol, and with a low cry she sprang to her feet.

"I'm an officer of the law," Hale said, "stand aside, Judd!" Bub leaped
to the door with a Winchester--his eyes wild and his face white.

"Watch out, men!" Hale called, and as the men raised their guns there
was a shriek inside the cabin and June stood at Bub's side, barefooted,
her hair tumbled about her shoulders, and her hand clutching the little
cross at her throat.

"Stop!" she shrieked. "He isn't here. He's--he's gone!" For a moment a
sudden sickness smote Hale's face, then Devil Judd's ruse flashed to him
and, wheeling, he sprang to the ground.

"Quick!" he shouted, with a sweep of his hand right and left. "Up those
hollows! Lead those horses up to the Pine and wait. Quick!"

Already the men were running as he directed and Hale, followed by
Bob and the Falin, rushed around the corner of the house. Old Judd's
nostrils were quivering, and with his pistols dangling in his hands he
walked to the gate, listening to the sounds of the pursuit.

"They'll never ketch him," he said, coming back, and then he dropped
into a chair and sat in silence a long time. June reappeared, her face
still white and her temples throbbing, for the sun was rising on days of
darkness for her. Devil Judd did not even look at her.

"I reckon you ain't goin' to marry John Hale."

"No, Dad," said June.

XXV

Thus Fate did not wait until Election Day for the thing Hale most
dreaded--a clash that would involve the guard in the Tolliver-Falin
troubles over the hills. There had been simply a preliminary political
gathering at the Gap the day before, but it had been a crucial day for
the guard from a cloudy sunrise to a tragic sunset. Early that morning,
Mockaby, the town-sergeant, had stepped into the street freshly shaven,
with polished boots, and in his best clothes for the eyes of his
sweetheart, who was to come up that da