until she half started
from her bed to go to his succor. And this went on until a pale opal
glow came into the sky, followed by a still paler pink on the summit of
the white Sierras, when she rose and hurriedly began to dress. Still so
sanguine was her hope of meeting him, that she lingered yet a moment to
select the brown holland skirt and yellow sunbonnet she had worn when
she first saw him. And she had only seen him twice! Only TWICE! It would
be cruel, too cruel, not to see him again!

She crept softly down the stairs, listening to the long-drawn breathing
of her father in his bedroom, and then, by the light of a guttering
candle, scrawled a note to him, begging him not to trust himself out of
the house until she returned from her search, and leaving the note open
on the table, swiftly ran out into the growing day.

Three hours afterwards Mr. Madison Clay awoke to the sound of loud
knocking. At first this forced itself upon his consciousness as his
daughter's regular morning summons, and was responded to by a grunt of
recognition and a nestling closer in the blankets. Then he awoke with a
start and a muttered oath, remembering the events of last night, and his
intention to get up early, and rolled out of bed. Becoming aware by this
time that the knocking was at the outer door, and hearing the shout of
a familiar voice, he hastily pulled on his boots, his jean trousers,
and fastening a single suspender over his shoulder as he clattered
downstairs, stood in the lower room. The door was open, and waiting
upon the threshold was his kinsman, an old ally in many a
blood-feud--Breckenridge Clay!

"You ARE a cool one, Mad!" said the latter in half-admiring indignation.

"What's up?" said the bewildered Madison.

"YOU ought to be, and scootin' out o' this," said Breckenridge grimly.
"It's all very well to 'know nothin';' but here Phil Larrabee's friends
hev just picked him up, drilled through with slugs and deader nor a
crow, and now they're lettin' loose Larrabee's two half-brothers on you.
And you must go like a derned fool and leave these yer things behind you
in the bresh," he went on querulously, lifting Madison Clay's dust-coat,
hat, and shotgun from his horse, which stood saddled at the door.
"Luckily I picked them up in the woods comin' here. Ye ain't got more
than time to get over the state line and among your folks thar afore
they'll be down on you. Hustle, old man! What are you gawkin' and
starin' at?"

Ma