burn the town!" Rhetta moaned. "Oh, isn't anybody going to help
me--won't you call him, Violet?"

"No," said Violet. "He can hear you--he'll come if he wants to--if he's
fool enough to do it again!"

"Violet!" her mother cautioned.

"How many are with him?" Fred inquired.

"Seven or eight--I didn't see them all. Pa's collecting a posse to guard
the bank--they're going to rob it!"

"They're welcome to all I've got in it," Stilwell said. "You better come
in and have a cup of coffee, Rhetty, before----"

"The one they call the Dutchman's there, and Drumm----"

"Drumm?" Fred and his father spoke like a chorus, both of them jumping
to alertness.

"And some others of that gang Mr. Morgan drove out of town. They were
setting the hotel afire when I left!"

Stilwell did not wait for all of it. He was in the house at a jump,
reaching down his guns which hung beside the door. Close after him Fred
came rushing in, snatching his weapons from the buffalo horns on the
wall.

"I'm goin' to git service on that man!" Stilwell said. "Are you goin'
with us, Cal?"

But Cal Morgan did not reply. He went to the bedroom where he had slept,
took up his gun, stood looking at it a moment as if considering
something, snatched his hat from the bedpost and turned back, buckling
his belt. Mrs. Stilwell and Violet were struggling with husband and
brother to restrain them from rushing off to this battle, raising a
turmoil of pleading and protesting at the door.

As Morgan passed Stilwell, who was greatly impeded in his efforts to
buckle on his guns by his wife's clinging arms and passionate pleadings
to remain at home, Fred broke away from his sister and ran for the
kitchen door.

"Let Drumm go--let all of them go--let the cattle go, let everything go!
none of it's worth riskin' your life for!" Stilwell's affectionate good
wife pleaded with him.

"Now, Mother, I'm not goin' to git killed," Morgan heard Stilwell say,
his very assurance calming. But the poor woman, who perhaps had
recollections of past battles and perils which he had gone through,
burst out again, weeping, and clung to him as if she could not let him
go.

Morgan paused a moment at the threshold, as if reconsidering something.
Violet, who had stood leaning her head on her bent arm, weeping that
Fred was rushing to throw his life away, lifted her tearful face,
reached out and touched his arm.

"Must you go?" she asked.

For reply Morgan put out his hand as if to sa