Yet protection he must have, if he was to remain near her at all, and he sought it under the roof-tree of the Bassetts. They lived in a log house set on the edge of the riverbottom, but with its single, narrow door facing away from the creek bed and out upon the level plain. Its timbers were square-hewn, with loop-holes in place of windows, and the fireplace at one end was as massive as the Scarboroughs', with holes near the top for a lookout. A barn and round corral, for breaking horses, stood further along on the bench; and beyond and to the south rose the high, wooded hill which Meshackatee had predicted would be an ambush. A pack of hounds rushed out to greet them, hogs and chickens strayed about the yard; and as Hall rode up to the gate an old white-haired man hobbled out. "Eh--what was the name?" he quavered anxiously, staring up at him with his farsighted eyes. "Oh, Hall, eh? Well, git down; git down, Mr. Hall. We ain't got much, but what we have you're shorely welcome to--our latch-string is always hung out. What's the news, boys?" he demanded, "did you rout them biggoty Scarboroughs? Well, good, and good again. Them and their no-count Texas gunmen--one Bassett could whip a hundred of 'm!" "Well, we whipped 'em, Pap!" returned Winchester, "and this gentleman here slapped Isham's face and called him a dirty coward!" "He did!" exulted Old Henry, turning to take Hall by the arm, "wall now, don't that beat all! And him a stranger, too--but he looks like a fighting man! What did Isham say to that?" "He didn't say nothing," laughed Winchester, "jest mounted his _caballo_ and flew!" Henry Bassett stopped short to join in with silent laughter and then he led the way to the house. He was shriveled and bent, with a long, white beard and hands that clutched and clawed it when he talked; but his high, hawklike nose and resolute eyes told of a courage that never had waned. Of all his boys, the swarthy Winchester was most like him, though Bill was whiter by far. But Bill had the heavy jaw and fat-cheeked face that came from his Digger Indian mother; and Sharps would pass for a fullblood anywhere, except for his chilled-steel nerve. Not a word had he said since his challenge to Isham, and his beady black eyes still glinted with anger as he slouched along out to the corrals. His rage, or so it seemed, now included the whole white race, and he stared at McIvor evilly. The interior of the Bassett fort was dark and smoky and as they moved over towards the fireplace an Indian woman rose up and padded silently away. She was Old Henry's wife, or woman as he called her; but none of the men spoke to her, and when she came back her presence was studiously ignored.