Yet, Henry Falkins was conscious of missing something that should go with the night, for there was no calling of whippoorwills from the overhead thickets of timber and no dark shadow-walls of mountains closing in about him. * * * * * Early on the morning of Saturday, the Fourth of July, Newt Spooner left the door of the cabin on Troublesome, and went across to the stable, carrying his rifle. Under his coat was strapped Clem's revolver, and again his pockets were "strutty with ca'tridges." He vouchsafed no explanation, and Clem, though heavy-hearted with anxiety, asked no questions and attempted no dissuasion. He merely stood looking on stupidly, as the boy led out and saddled the one nag in the stable, and swung the beast's head toward Jackson, riding away in the morning mists. Over these roads, climbing, dropping, crossing water-courses sometimes by a dozen fords to the mile, he did not hurry. He would not reach Jackson by the north road until about ten o'clock, and then he would drift quietly and unostentatiously about for a while, watching the gathering of the two clans. There might be general trouble or there might not; but until noon quiet would prevail. The Deacon had certain plans and would be in command. The boy was learning the lesson of craft. He meant to see the Deacon and assure him that he had given up his plan of private revenge. He would even volunteer for such service to the clan as Black Pete should suggest. Having so disarmed suspicion, he could have a free hand, and, when his chance came, could employ it. Once avenged, he was ready to answer for his treachery. The usually deserted roads were no longer empty. From every trail men were riding townward. The rumor had gone broadcast that to-day would be eventful, and from both sides of the line the clans were gathering. Many of them arrived early, and instinctively Spooners grouped themselves on one side of the street and Falkinses on the other. Rifles were much in evidence, but with this exception there was as yet no sign of trouble. * * * * * As Newt had ridden out of the stable-lot, Minerva had come to the door of the cabin. On the Fourth of July there were no classes at the college, and the girl was back. She saw her father gaze after the departing horseman and then turn with a sagging jaw and an expression of genuine alarm in his eyes. She heard him shout a summons to his younger step-son, and a premonition of danger arose in her heart. She ran over to the stable, and caught Clem Rawlins by the arm. "What is it, pappy?" she demanded. He turned a frightened face toward her, and licked his bearded lips. For a moment he was silent, then he blurted out with no preface or preparation: "Newty's done sot out fer Jackson ter git Henry Falkins."