questioned, he strove
to find his father's hand, even as homeward now, with Inez and her
hellcat of a handmaid peeping trembling through the slats, the father
striding, the little fellow fairly running before, the two went hurrying
on, and Jimmy, looking back, found tongue, and his one thought found
words:

"Oh, daddy, indeed I wasn't--impudent to Captain Foster--to mamma, at
least, I didn't mean it! They _were_ there in the parlor when I ran in
from church, and he wanted me to promise----"

And then Marion Ray, far down the line, with one cry for Sandy, sprang
forward to the gate, for Oswald Dwight, with heavy hand, had struck his
little son across the face and stretched him on the turf.

CHAPTER XIII

WORST DEED OF HIS LIFE

There was no one near enough to reach them at the moment. Jimmy was on
his feet again in an instant, dazed, half-stunned, breathless, but still
unbelieving. Father could not have heard. Father would surely hear; but
now the father's hand had seized his arm, and, when the boy again began
to gasp his plea, it was almost dragging him across the _acequia_. Blood
was beginning to trickle from the corner of the piteous little mouth.
There was foam upon the set and livid lips of the man. "Silence! You've
lied enough!" was the savage order, as Dwight thrust the boy through the
gate. "Not there, sir!" as Jimmy, dumbly striving to show his loyalty,
his obedience, his unshaken trust, would have run on up the steps. "To
the cellar!" and in fury he pointed to the walk that circled the house,
and Jimmy hurried on. They had vanished from sight as Marion Ray, with
terror in her eyes, came almost running up the row, Priscilla and Mrs.
Thornton staring, speechless and miserable, after her. A lone trooper,
an humble private soldier, riding in from the westward gate, had sprung
from saddle, thrown the reins over a post and, with consternation in his
face, had started after them. It was young Hogan, faithful henchman of
the Rays, still borne on the rolls of Ray's old squadron. They were in
the cellar, under the rear of the quarters, when he reached them, and
Jimmy's jacket was lying on the floor, while the lad, with streaming,
pleading eyes, was looking up in his father's face.

"Your shirt, too, sir!" Dwight ordered, as Hogan came bounding in.

"For the love o' God, Major, don't bate the boy! Sure he never knew he
did it, sir. I saw----"

"Out of here, you!" was the furious answer. "Out or I'll----"