u to be very careful with that horse pistol," said
his wife nervously. "It ain't been shot off sence the war, an' like as
not it'll kill you from behind."

"Gosh blast it, Eva!" roared Anderson, "don't you suppose I know which
end to shoot with?" And away he rushed in great dudgeon.

Edna Crow sat at the front window, keeping watch for hours. She reported
to the other members of the household as each scurrying band of
searchers passed the place. Bonner commanded Rosalie to keep away from
the windows, fearing a shot from the outside. From time to time Roscoe
replenished the big blaze in the fireplace. It was cosey in the
old-fashioned sitting-room, even though the strain upon its occupants
was trying in the extreme.

Great excitement came to them when the figure of a man was seen to drop
to the walk near the front gate. At first it was feared that one of the
bandits, injured by pursuers, had fallen to die, but the mournful calls
for help that soon came from the sidewalk were more or less reassuring.
The prostrate figure had a queer habit from time to time of raising
itself high enough to peer between the pickets of the fence, and each
succeeding shout seemed more vigorous than the others. Finally they
became impatient, and then full of wrath. It was evident that the
stranger resented the inhospitality of the house.

"Who are you?" called Edna, opening the window ever so slightly.
Whereupon the man at the gate sank to the ground and groaned with
splendid misery.

"It's me," he replied.

"Who's me?"

"'Rast--'Rast Little. I think I'm dyin'."

There was a hurried consultation indoors, and then Roscoe bravely
ventured out to the sidewalk.

"Are you shot, 'Rast?" he asked in trembling tones.

"No; I'm just wounded. Is Rosalie in there?"

"Yep. She's--"

"I guess I'll go in, then. Dern it! It's a long walk from our house over
here. I guess I'll stay all night. If I don't get better to-morrow I'll
have to stay longer. I ought to be nursed, too."

"Rosalie's playin' nurse fer Mr. Bonner," volunteered Roscoe, still
blocking the gate through which 'Rast was trying to wedge himself.

"Mr. who?"

"Bonner."

"Well," said 'Rast after a moment's consideration, "he ought to be moved
to a hospital. Lemme lean on you, Roscoe. I can't hardly walk, my arm
hurts so."

Mr. Little, with his bandages and his hobble, had joined in the
expedition, and was not to be deterred until faintness overcame him and
he dropped by th