The older man smiled to himself.  It all seemed to him so like a child’s game.  He had watched the mountaineer’s preparation with amused interest, and had followed the young woodsman’s directions, even to the loaded shotgun in his hand, as one would humor a boy in his play.  The scholar’s mind, trained to consider the problems of civilization, and to recognize the dangers of the city, refused to entertain seriously the thought that there, in the peaceful woods, in the dead of night, a company of ruffians was seeking to do him harm.

The voices had ceased, and the listeners heard only the sound of the horses’ feet, as the party passed the ruined cabin under the bluff.  A moment or two later the riders stopped in front of the ranch house.  Brave growled again, but was silenced by the hand on his neck.

Young Matt was at the window.  “I see them,” he whispered.  “They’re gettin’ off their horses, and tyin’ them to the corral fence.”  The smile on the shepherd’s face vanished, and he experienced a queer sensation; it was as though something gripped his heart.

The other continued his whispered report; “They’re bunchin’ up now under the old tree, talkin’ things over.  Don’t know what to make of the dog not bein’ around, I reckon.  Now they’re takin’ a drink.  It takes a lot of whiskey to help ten men jump onto one old man, and him a stranger in the Woods.  Now Wash is sendin’ two of them around to the back, so you can’t slip out into the brush.  Sh—­h—­ h, here comes a couple more to try the front door.”  He slipped quietly across the room to the shepherd’s side.  The visitors came softly up to the front door, and tried it gently.  A moment later the rear door was tried in the same way.

“Let Brave speak to them,” whispered Young Matt; and the dog, feeling the restraining hand removed, barked fiercely.

Mr. Howitt, following his companion’s whispered instructions, spoke aloud, “What’s the matter, Brave?”

A bold knock at the front door caused the dog to redouble his efforts, until his master commanded him to be still.  “Who is there?” called the shepherd.

“Young Matt’s took powerful bad,” answered a voice; “an’ they want you t’ come up t’ th’ house, an’ doctor him.”  A drunken laugh came from the old tree, followed by a smothered oath.

The giant at Mr. Howitt’s side growled under his breath, “Oh, I’m sick, am I?  There’s them that’ll be a heap sicker before mornin’.  Keep on a talkin’, Dad.  We’ve got to make all the time we can, so’s Jim can get here.”

The shepherd called again, “I do not recognize your voice.  You must tell me who you are.”

Outside there was a short consultation, followed by a still louder knock; “Open up.  Why don’t you open up an’ see who we are?” while from under the tree came a call, “Quit your foolin’ an’ bring him out o’ there, you fellers.”  This command was followed by a still more vigorous hammering at the door, and the threats, “Open up ol’ man.  Open up, or we’ll sure bust her in.”