climbed up the ladder to the loft. It was
like night up there. But he crawled on the rough-hewn rafters and,
turning with his head toward the opening, he stretched out and lay
still.

What seemed an interminable moment ended with a trample of hoofs
outside the cabin. It ceased. Jean's vibrating ears caught the jingle
of spurs and a thud of boots striking the ground.

"Wal, sweetheart, heah we are home again," drawled a slow, cool,
mocking Texas voice.

"Home! I wonder, Colter--did y'u ever have a home--a mother--a
sister--much less a sweetheart?" was the reply, bitter and caustic.

Jean's palpitating, hot body suddenly stretched still and cold with
intensity of shock. His very bones seemed to quiver and stiffen into
ice. During the instant of realization his heart stopped. And a slow,
contracting pressure enveloped his breast and moved up to constrict his
throat. That woman's voice belonged to Ellen Jorth. The sound of it
had lingered in his dreams. He had stumbled upon the rendezvous of the
Jorth faction. Hard indeed had been the fates meted out to those of
the Isbels and Jorths who had passed to their deaths. But, no ordeal,
not even Queen's, could compare with this desperate one Jean must
endure. He had loved Ellen Jorth, strangely, wonderfully, and he had
scorned repute to believe her good. He had spared her father and her
uncle. He had weakened or lost the cause of the Isbels. He loved her
now, desperately, deathlessly, knowing from her own lips that she was
worthless--loved her the more because he had felt her terrible shame.
And to him--the last of the Isbels--had come the cruelest of dooms--to
be caught like a crippled rat in a trap; to be compelled to lie
helpless, wounded, without a gun; to listen, and perhaps to see Ellen
Jorth enact the very truth of her mocking insinuation. His will, his
promise, his creed, his blood must hold him to the stem decree that he
should be the last man of the Jorth-Isbel war. But could he lie there
to hear--to see--when he had a knife and an arm?

CHAPTER XIV

Then followed the leathery flop of saddles to the soft turf and the
stamp, of loosened horses.

Jean heard a noise at the cabin door, a rustle, and then a knock of
something hard against wood. Silently he moved his head to look down
through a crack between the rafters. He saw the glint of a rifle
leaning against the sill. Then the doorstep was darkened. Ellen Jorth
sat down with a long, tir