" she asked anxiously.

"From what I can pick up," declared John, dropping calmly into the
inelegant expression, "he told 'em to go to hell.

"That's what I'm worrying about now. Not about their going, but about
what Jim will do. What do you think, Belle?"

Belle shook her head; she offered no comment.

"And," John added, looking at Kate, "that was hatched mostly, right at
your place. And they rode away from there about two o'clock this
morning. That's why I was pumping you a little, till I see you didn't
know a thing about it."

Why Kate had not asked before, she could not tell; but the possibility
never crossed her mind--until Lefever told her of their starting from
the ranch that morning--that her father might have gone. She
recollected now she had not seen him, as she usually saw him, the first
thing when she came from her room. Her heart leaped into her throat:
"Was my father with them?" she asked.

She must have shown her excitement and fear in her manner, as well as
in her words, for Lefever looked at her considerately: "According to my
reports," he answered carefully, "your father was with them."

"Godfrey!" muttered Belle. Kate could say nothing.

CHAPTER XV

THE RAID OF THE FALLING WALL

Against the alert, the effective blow is a sudden blow. Secrecy, and a
surprise, were the only hope of success in what the cattlemen were now
attempting in the Falling Wall. Of the men on whom they could count to
organize and carry through such a raid, they had just one capable of
energizing every detail--Harry Van Horn. Laramie, the man Doubleday
and Pettigrew would have chosen, they had failed to enlist, and what
was more serious--though this, perhaps, Doubleday did not realize--they
had likewise failed to rid themselves of; Tom Stone had bungled.

But Doubleday in especial was not a man to lose time over a failure.
He knew that Van Horn had "go" enough in him to clean out a whole
county if he were given the men and backing, and that he stood high in
the councils of the range. When Van Horn spoke, men listened. His eye
flashed with his words and his long, straight hair shook defiance at
opposition. He swore with a staccato that really meant things and cut
like a knife. When once started, mercy was not in him.

In the Falling Wall park there lived a mere handful of men, and these
widely scattered; but Van Horn was the last man to underestimate the
handful he was after. He knew them every one