dear mother and my
sisters were tending her and Gwenny, for they both were utterly worn out
by their cruel privations.

_IV.--A Night of Fire and Blood_

It gave me no little pleasure to think how mad Carver Doone must be with
me for robbing him of the lovely bride whom he was trying to starve into
marriage. However, I was not pleased with the prospect of the
consequences; but set all hands to work to prepare for the attack on the
farm which I saw would follow when the paths were practicable. By the
time the rain fell and cleared the snow away, I had everything ready.
The outlaws waited till the moon was risen, as it was dangerous to cross
the flooded valley in the darkness, and then they rode into our farmyard
as coolly as if they had been invited. Jeremy Stickler and his troopers
were waiting in the shadow of the house, and I stood with a club and a
gun in the mow-yard, for I knew the Doones would begin by firing our
ricks.

"Two of you go"--it was the deep voice of Carver Doone--"and make us a
light to cut their throats by."

As he spoke I set my gun against his breast. Yet--will you believe
me?--I could not pull the trigger. Would to God I had done so! But I had
never taken human life. I dropped my carbine, and grasped my club, which
seemed a more straightforward implement. With this I struck down the
first man that put a torch to the rick, and broke the collar-bone of the
second. Then a blaze of light came from the house, and two of the Doones
fell under the fire of the troopers, and the rest hung back. They were
not used to this kind of reception from farmers; they thought it neither
kind nor courteous. Unable any longer to contain myself, I came across
the yard. But no one shot at me; and I went up to Carver Doone and took
him by the beard, and said: "Do you call yourself a man?"

He was so astonished that he could not speak. He saw he had met his
equal, or perhaps his master. He held a pistol at me; but I was too
quick for him, and I laid him flat upon his back.

"Now, Carver Doone, take warning," I said to him. "You have shown
yourself a fool by your contempt of me. I may not be your match in
craft; but I am in manhood. Lay low there in your native muck."

Seeing him down, the others broke and ran, but one had a shot at me. And
while I was feeling my wound--which was nothing much--Carver arose and
strode away with a train of curses.

But he had his revenge in a short time. Jeremy Stickler brought