Marcella was silent for a moment, regretting her display of feeling, but Clem, alarmed for the progress which he fancied he had made in her good graces, proceeded with the subject in which she so evidently felt an interest. “They—whoever they air—hain’t been ter the forge more ’n a few times, an’ that’s a fac’,—the night whenst I saw it lighted up, an’ the time when they tried ter git in, an’ Jube skeered ’em off; arter that the boys began ter set up reg’lar fur ’em.” “Whar?” she exclaimed, aghast; then recollecting herself, she asked more calmly, “Wharbouts, Clem?” “At my house. Night arter night ’bout ten of ’em hev kem thar with thar rifles, an’ watched that thar forge fur a glimge o’ light through the chinkin’, an’ listened fur the hammer an’ sledge. But them two hevn’t never lit up the forge but twict,—the time I seen it, an’ Gid Dake seen it wunst afore that. Though some say they b’lieve ’twar lighted that night o’ the big storm; the boys kem ter watch, but it ’peared so durned rainy they ’lowed ’twarn’t no use.” So the vigilantes had nodded while she made her perilous journey to the forge, that terrible night, and brought help thence. She trembled to think how slight a thing had saved the two intruders. “They hain’t done much harm,—jes’ three times sence the first of August, an’ this air deep in the fall o’ the year,” she commented. “Yes-sum,” assented Clem. “But nobody knows what harm they air doin’, an’ what mo’ they air goin’ ter do. Ef it’s good, ’tain’t apt ter be hid.” “I dunno who sets them Brumsaidge boys up ter jedge,” she said angrily, abandoning argument for more facile depreciation. “Yes-sum,” said Clem blandly. “But they ain’t the sort ter wait ter be set; they jes’ set tharse’fs up,—with thar rifles ter prop ’em,” he added, carrying out the figure. There was a troubled restlessness in her anxious bright eyes, a pathetic droop in her red lips. She looked deeply thoughtful, careful, plotting, as she said:— “I wonder at ye, Clem Sanders, knowin’ ez ye do ez sech ez that air agin the law, to capture them men; an’ ef thar ’count o’ tharselves don’t suit ye foolish Brumsaidge pates, a-shootin’ them two fellers, or stringin’ ’em up. An’ ye a-lettin’ them spies an’ lynchers ter meet at yer house ter watch an’ lie in wait!” “Yes-sum. Laws-a-massy, Marcelly,” exclaimed Clem, enlightened and precipitate, “ef ye don’t want ’em ter kem ter my house an’ spy, I’ll run ’em every one off from thar,—every mother’s son of ’em, ef I hev ter shoot a hole through every man’s head ter git him started. Say the word, Marcelly!” he cried, in the enthusiasm of his prospective obedience. “Say the word!” Marcella was mechanically tearing the herbs into bits in her trembling hands, as she sat and thought,—significant thoughts, since the lives of two men, perchance, hung upon them.