‘Lemme go,’ cried Billy.  ‘Quick, can’t yer!  I’m goin’ fer the troopers.’

‘Who for?’ asked Dick, hanging to his friend.

‘Find out.’

‘Oh, right you are; but you won’t go, that’s all.’

‘Well, I’m goin’ to tell ’em that Tinribs is up at his house.’

‘How d’yer know?’

‘I was sneakin’ round to get a shot at a cat, an’ I heard ’em.  Lemme go ‘r he’ll be gone, you fool.’

‘Won’t,’ said Dick, masterfully.  ‘You ain’t goin’.’

‘Who’ll stop me?’

‘I will.’

‘Tain’t in yer.’

A struggle commenced between the boys and rapidly merged into a stand-up fight.  When Harry Hardy appeared on the scene, attracted by their cries, he found the combatants locked in a fierce embrace, each clinging desperately to a handful of the other’s hair and hammering vigorously at his opponent’s ribs.  Harry pulled them apart as if they had been terriers.

‘Here, here, what’s all this about?’ he cried.

‘Dick stopped me goin’ fer the troopers,’ said Billy indignantly.

‘The troopers?’

‘Yes, fer Mr. Shine.  He’s up in his house.  I heard him—­he was talkin’ to Miss Chris in the dark.’

‘Stop!’ said Harry; but Billy, who had broken away, picked up his heels and ran.

Harry did not linger, but turned and sped off to wards Shine’s home, leaving Dick cowering against the fence.  The young man had no defined intention—­he did not know what he should do if he found Shine in the house.  His divided interests left his mind confused at the crucial moment, but he did not relax his speed until he was within a few yards of the searcher’s door.  Then, to his astonishment, he found lights burning in the house, and Christina confronted him in the doorway as he was about to enter.  He drew back a step and his eyes sought the ground.  He stood panting and speechless.

‘What do you want, Harry?’ she asked.

Had she been bitter or angry it might have been easier for him, but her voice was low and kindly, and he was abashed.  He was compelled to force himself to his purpose, as he might have pushed a backing horse at a stiff fence.

‘I want your father.  He is here.’  His voice was harsh and strained.

‘My father is not in here.’

‘He has been seen.  Let me pass.’

‘No, Harry, you have no right.’  She barred the way, tall and calm and strong.

’No right?  No right to take the man who has gaoled my brother—­who would have murdered me?’ His blood had mounted to his head; he had put aside his love as something that tempted him to evil, put it aside by an almost heroic effort of renunciation.  ‘I will have him,’ he cried; ’the would-be murderer, the thief.’

‘No,’ said Christina firmly facing him.

’Then he’s here—­he is here?

‘No.’

‘You lie thinking to save him, but the troopers are coming.’  He pointed back into the night.  From where he stood the back door was visible, and he watched it intently.