face. She knew that ahead of him was a little army of hostile men,
and already that day two men had been killed. So, tremulously, she held
on to his sleeve, until she stopped him.

"What are you going to do? You can't do anything alone against so many.
They may kill you."

Her sympathy was very sweet to him and he warmly squeezed the little
hand which had held him back.

"Don't you be afraid, little girl," he said tenderly. "I shall not get
hurt if I can help it."

"Wait until the others come, won't you?"

"Surely," he answered readily, touched by the anxiety in her voice. "I'm
going to look around--just as you did--on the quiet. You wouldn't hold
me back, where you went in, now would you?"

"No--!" She smiled a little into his face.

"That's the stuff! Then I'm coming back to the big pine, and you'll send
the boys there. They'll not put Santry in jail if we can prevent them.
They've played their last card to-night. It's war from now on."

"All right, Gordon, I'll go." Her voice was full of courage again; the
moment of weakness had passed. "Remember now, take good care of
yourself."

"You bet," he retorted cheerily, and as her mare moved ahead, he caught
her arm as she had caught his. She went quite limp in her saddle and
swayed toward him, but he merely added: "You're a wonder, Dorothy."

He released her then, and with a wave of her hand she disappeared into
the night. Not until she was beyond recall did he realize that he might
have kissed her; that she had wanted him to kiss her, for the first time
since they had known each other. He sat in abstraction for several
moments before he shook the reins in his hand and his horse sprang
forward.

"I've kissed one girl to-day," he muttered aloud, "and I reckon that's
enough."

CHAPTER VII

THE OLD TRAIL

For another mile Wade followed the main road and then diverged sharply
to the left into what was known as the old, or upper, trail. This had
formerly been the valley road until made dangerous by a wash-out a year
or two previous. In the following spring the wash-out had been partially
repaired, but the going was still so rough that the new road was
widened, and had been used by preference ever since. The old trail,
however, was nearly four miles the shorter of the two, and was still
traveled in cases of emergency, although to do so at speed and in the
dark was hazardous.

Wade's promise to Dorothy to take good care of himself had been made
with m