Within an hour there came to Peg up in her bedroom the sound again of hoof beats, hard driven as by dread of impending death. Nearer they came and nearer and with no slackening speed. She sprang to the window. She heard her father go to the door. She could make out the piebald coat of the pinto coming down the lane. Clearing the bars in his stride the pinto came with unchecked speed to the very door. From the saddle Paul hurled himself and fell breathless in the Colonel’s arms. “Oh! Uncle Colonel!” he gasped. “She’s—done it!” “Steady, boy. Steady, Paul. Wait! Not a word,” commanded the Colonel, holding the boy with steady hands. “Wait! Not a word! Take your time! Sixty of a count!” The Colonel proceeded quietly counting while Paul, to whom this law of the Colonel was well known to be inexorable, got his breath and quieted his nerves. “Now then, quietly, Paul! Go on!” said the Colonel in a voice peremptory and calm. “Uncle Colonel, you see that light beyond the hill? That’s Sleeman’s house. She—Onawata has killed him with her knife and then set fire to the house. I found her all ready to go, with horses saddled and packs made up. They have gone.” “Who?” said the Colonel sharply. “Onawata and Peter and—and Tanna. And I——” “Where have they gone?” “Colonel, I don’t think I ought to tell you. You see, the police will be after them. And I am going too.” “You, Paul? Nonsense! You must not think of such a thing.” “Uncle Colonel, I must go with them. I see that to be right. I promised Daddy to care for them. And there’s Tanna——” “Nonsense, Paul! Let them go! They don’t need you. You can’t throw away your life like that. Anyway they will be caught. You must not mix up yourself with this thing.” “I must go, Uncle Colonel. I could not go without seeing you. I must go! Oh! I must go! I promised Daddy! And Tanna will need me. Good-bye—good-bye!” He caught his reins preparatory to mounting. “But, good God, Paul! You see what this means? Don’t you see that——” “Colonel Pelham,” said Paul quietly, “I see it clearly. That’s why I must go. God wants me to.” The Colonel knew the boy well enough to realise the utter finality of his resolve. “Well, Paul, God keep you, boy, if you must go. God keep you, my dear boy.” “He will, Uncle Colonel. I know He will. And some day I’ll come back. Say good-bye to Peg. Tell her I’ll never forget.” The boy was speaking in the voice and manner of a full grown man, and like a man the Colonel treated him. He would fain have taken the lad in his arms, for he loved him as if he had been his own son, but somehow the grave, firm tones, the steady voice, checked any demonstration. They shook hands in farewell and Paul swung himself onto the pinto. But before he could turn his pony round a little white figure appeared at the door, and with a faint cry ran toward him with hands outstretched. “Paul! Paul! You are going away! I know! I heard!”