egun to see the cattle it will----"

"Somebody comin'," said Violet, running to the door to see, a plate of
hot biscuits in her hand.

"Seems to be in a hurry for this early in the day," Stilwell commented,
listening to the approach of a galloping horse. He was not much
interested; horsemen came and went past that door at all hours of the
day and night, generally in a gallop.

"It's Rhetta!" Violet announced from the door, turning hurriedly to put
the plate of biscuits on the table, where it stood before unheeding
eyes.

"Rhetta?" Mrs. Stilwell repeated, getting up in excitement. "I wonder
what----"

Rhetta was at the door, the dust of her arrival making her indistinct to
those who hurried from the unfinished breakfast to learn the cause of
this precipitous visit. Morgan saw her leaning from the saddle, her
loosely confined hair half falling down.

"Is Mr. Morgan here?" she inquired.

The girl's voice trembled, her breath came so hard Morgan could hear its
suspiration where he stood. It was evident that she labored under a
tremendous strain of anxiety, arising out of a trouble that Morgan was
at no loss to understand. Yet he remained in the background as Stilwell
and Fred crowded to the door.

"Why, Rhetty! what's happened?" Stilwell inquired, hurrying out,
followed by his wife and son. Violet was already beside her perturbed
visitor, looking up into her terror-blanched face.

"Oh, they've come, they've come!" Rhetta gasped.

"Who?" Stilwell asked, mystified, laying hold of her bridle, shaking it
as if to set her senses right. "Who's come, Rhetty?"

"I came for Mr. Morgan!" she panted, as weak, it seemed, as a wounded
bird. "I thought he came here--he had your horse."

"He's here, honey," Mrs. Stilwell told her, consoling her like a hurt
child.

Morgan did not come forward. He stood as he had risen from his chair at
the table, one hand on the cloth, his head bent as if in a travail of
deepest thought. The shaft of tender new sunlight reaching in through
the open door struck his shoulders and breast, leaving his face in the
shadow that well suited the mood darkening over his soul like a storm. A
thousand thoughts rose up and swirled within him, a thousand harsh
charges, a thousand seeds of bitterness. Rhetta, leaning to peer under
the lintel of the low door, could see him there, and she reached out her
hand, appealing without a word.

"He is here, honey," Mrs. Stilwell repeated, assuringly, comfortingly