rembling before Harley, fully
dressed, although her long hair hung down her back and her eyes were red
with weeping.

She was handsome, but not with the broad face of the West. Hers was
another type, a type that Harley knew well. The cheek-bones were a
little high, the features delicate, the figure slender, and there was on
her cheeks a rosy bloom that never grew under the cutting winds of the
great plains.

Harley knew at once that she was the daughter of the old couple below
stairs.

"Do not be afraid of me," he said, gently. "I know that you are in great
trouble, but I will help you. I, too, am from Kentucky. I was born
there, and I used to live there, though not in the mountains, as you
did."

The appeal and terror in her eyes changed to momentary surprise. "What
do you know of me?" she exclaimed.

"Very little of you, but more of your father. Years ago I was at his
house in the Kentucky mountains. He was a leader in the Simpson-Eversley
feud. I knew him to-night, but I have said nothing. Now, tell me, what
is the matter?"

His voice was soothing--that of a strong man who would protect, and the
girl yielded to its influence. Brokenly she told the story. Many men had
been killed in the feud, and the few Eversleys who were left had been
scattered far in the mountains. Then old Daniel Simpson said that he
would come out on the Great Plains, more than a thousand miles, and they
had come.

"There was one of the Eversleys--Henry Eversley--he was young and
handsome. People said he was not bad. He, too, came to Nebraska. He
found out where we lived; he has been here."

"Ah!" said Harley. He felt that they were coming to the gist of the
matter.

The girl, with a sudden passionate cry, threw herself upon her knees.
"He is here now! He is here now!" she cried. "He is in the cellar, bound
and gagged, and my father is going to kill him! But I love him! He came
here to-night, and my father caught us together, and struck him down.
But we meant nothing wrong. I declare before God that we did not! We
were getting ready to run away together and to be married at Speedwell!"

Harley shuddered. The impending tragedy was more terrible than he had
feared.

"You can do nothing!" exclaimed the girl. "My father is armed. He will
have no interference! He cares nothing for what may come after! He
thinks--"

She could not say it all; but Harley knew well that what she would say
was, "He thinks that he has been robbed of his ho