He slipped Sonny from his lap with a low word and rolled clear. Quick as a cat he drew his body to the table, raised an arm above its edge and swept the lamp to the floor, extinguishing it instantly. Then he crawled back and the hands he laid upon the girl’s shoulders were shaking. “Tell me,” he gritted, “tell me it did not hit you!” “I—can’t,” whispered Nance, “my left arm—it feels all full of needles.” Fair slipped his fingers down along the firm young arm beneath its faded sleeve and found it warm and wet. Sonny was awake but still as a little quail hid in the grass at its mother’s warning whistle. There was the sound of a soft opening door beyond, and Mrs. Allison’s voice, low and terror-filled, said, “Nance—girl——” “Don’t fret, Mammy,” she whispered back, “I’m all right—just a scratch. Pin something on the window before you make a light.” Bud’s shuffle came round the table and he knelt beside her, feeling for her hands. “Mammy!” he cried with restrained passion, “I’ll have my Pappy’s gun now—or go with bare hands! You got to gimme it!” Nance got to her feet with Fair’s arm about her and pushed the door shut. Then the mother struck a light and restored the lamp to the table. In its yellow flare they peeled the sleeve from the girl’s arm and found a shallow wound straight across, about three inches above the elbow. For a long time Brand Fair looked at it. Then he raised sombre eyes to her face. “Eight inches to the right,” he said slowly, “and it would have been your heart.” She nodded. “Cattle Kate means business now,” she said, “but—I—don’t think she’ll get me.” “Not if I can get her first,” said Fair grimly. “Now let’s have some hot water strong with salt.” Mrs. Allison set about preparing this, while the bitter tears of one who had seen feud before, dripped down her weathered cheeks. The boy Bud stood by the table opening and closing his hands and muttering under his quick breath—“Pappy’s gun—it’s good and true-sighted. Not high-power—but I can hide and wait—close—close——” “If you’ll forgive a stranger, Mrs. Allison,” put in Fair, straightening up and looking at the mother, “I’d say—give him his father’s gun. And I’d say, Buddy—don’t go to pieces now after such a brave and conservative fight. Be a defender—not a murderer.” The boy turned his dilated eyes to him, wetting his dry lips. In the long look that passed between them something seemed to break down in Bud, the antagonism he had felt for Fair seemed to melt away. The mysterious comradery of honest manhood fell upon them both, and the man held out his hand. The boy took it and his eyes became sane. “We’ve got a big job cut out for us,” said Fair gravely, “and must be in the right—at every point. We’ll dig out the nest of vipers at Sky Line, but we’ll do the job cleanly. Now let’s get busy with our first-aid.” CHAPTER XIV LIGHT ON THE SHERIFF’S SHADOWS