r passing line that we might almost have touched
them from our saddles as we rode down the declivity.

There was instantly a confused, snorting, splashing stampede for the
cover of the opposite shore. I, who chanced to be riding third in line,
followed my two leaders and made the timber in safety. I slid from my
saddle and found refuge in a tangle of drift at the roots of a sycamore
which overhung the water. My armament was limited to an automatic
pistol, small enough for the pocket, and it hardly warranted intrusion
into a debate with repeating rifles. As chance would have it, just as
our cavalcade had halted, and the instant before the volley was fired, I
had half-turned in my saddle to gaze back, at the two-color effect of
the slate-gray hills and lemon sky. Every other face was looking
forward, and I alone saw a figure standing above, in the brief
illumination of a rifle flash. It was the figure of Curt Dawson. Those
of our party who found themselves in the rear and hampered, in their
escape, by the confusion ahead, dismounted in the stream and began
maneuvering to the opposite shore at an angle which gave them protection
behind the bodies of their mounts. As they came they fired with random
aim at the points from which had spurted the ambuscading fire. But over
the hill had settled a sudden and profound quiet. The darkness had
spoiled markmanship which was presumably selected for its efficiency.

It appeared that every one had made the crossing unharmed, though for a
few minutes each man held to such concealment as he had attained and
there was no effort to reunite.

At last, like disorganized partridges coming back to the covey, we
crawled out of our individual hiding-places and began collecting on the
trail-like path which went twisting up to the house. Some led their
horses and some, who like myself had been separated from their beasts,
came on foot.

As we gathered without a sound the mountaineers were searching the
timber with wide eyes that contended against the darkness.

Then came the startling outburst of a fresh volley. It was fired into
the group and fired from cover on the attorney's own property. I felt a
sensation not unlike a hornet sting in my left shoulder and clapped my
right hand against the spot. I did not fall. I even had a sense of
surprise at the comparative mildness and painlessness of the pang. I
heard some one fall heavily, but in the darkness it was impossible to
distinguish individu