"Boys," called Creed in that clear, ringing voice of his that held
neither fear nor great excitement, "I'm coming out to talk to you. Aunt
Nancy, take the children away. You've got it to do."

"Well, come on," replied the voice without. "Talk--that's all we want.
You'll be as safe outside as in--and a damn' sight safer."

Nancy gathered up her youngsters, flung them in a heap into their
father's lap, and, overturning and putting out the candle as she went,
sprang to the hearth to quench a small flame which had risen among the
embers there.

"Ye might have some sense!" she panted angrily. "The idea of walkin'
yo'se'f into a lighted doorway for them fellers to shoot at! For God's
sake don't open that do' till I get the lights out!"

But Creed was not listening. He had pulled the big pine bar that held the
battened door in place, and now flung it wide, stepping to the threshold
and beginning again,

"Boys----"

He uttered no further word. A rifle spoke, a bullet sang, passed through
the cabin and buried itself in the old-fashioned chimneypiece. Creed fell
where he stood. As he went down across the threshold, Nancy whirling
around to the door, bent over his prostrate form.

Outside, the ruddy, shaken shine from a couple of lightwood torches which
stood alone, where they had been thrust deep into the garden mould made
strange gouts and blotches of colour on Nancy's flower beds. A group of
men halted, drawn together, muttering, just beyond the palings. Each had
a handkerchief tied across the lower part of his face, a simple but
effectual disguise.

Her groping hand came away from the prostrate man, red with blood; she
dashed it across her brow to clear her eyes of blowing hair. At the
moment a figure burst through the grove of saplings by the roadside, a
tall old man whose long black beard blew across his mighty chest that
laboured as he ran. His hat was off in his hand, his face raised; he had
no weapon. With a gasp of relief Nancy recognised him, yet rage mounted
in her, too.

"Yes--come a-runnin'," she muttered fiercely. "Come look at what you and
yo'rn have done!"

As he leaped into the clearing the old man's great black eyes, full of
sombre fire, swept the scene. They took in the prone figure across the
threshold, the blood upon the doorstone, and on Nancy's brow and hair.

"Air ye hurt? Nancy, air ye hurt?" he cried, in such a tone as none there
had ever heard from him.

"Am I hurt?--No!" choked the old