For a week and more the Bassetts had kept close, sensing the mischief in the air, but as the days wore by and the Scarboroughs did not strike, their vigilance at last relaxed. None of the Scarboroughs had been killed, it was not a blood-feud yet, but only some sheep-herders on the side of the Bassetts and some cowboys employed by the Scarboroughs. The old enmity remained and the Scarboroughs were implacable, but the Bassetts were still for peace. They had proved their worth as fighting men par excellence and were content to let sleeping dogs lie. So, as all remained quiet, Winchester rode out across the range; and the next day was Sharps' turn to go. There had been a rain in the night and the morning was crystal clear, all the hills stood out clean against the sky, and as the sun rose up higher without revealing any ambush the men took their ropes and stepped out. It was Sharps who went first, heading straight across the flat to where his night-horse was circling its stake; and Winchester and Bill had started after him when something called them back. Hall ventured forth last of all, for Allifair had delayed him, and halfway to his horse she called him again. He turned, but too late--there was a volley from the hills and he and Sharps went down. There was a silence, an aching moment when even the horses stood still; and then, as Allifair sprang out to run to Hall, a strong hand hurled her back. The door slammed behind her and as the bar fell in place she heard Winchester's voice in the darkness. "It's them Scarboroughs!" he cursed. "Don't you step outside the door or they'll shoot you down like a dog. Bill, take that far loop-hole--they're up on this first hill--and Dad, you watch the door." He fumbled for his gun and hurried off to guard a port-hole, and Old Henry took his post by the door. Within the darkened house there was silence again, except for the wailing of Susie and the muttering of the startled men. They were taken by surprise, and as they scanned the empty landscape they imagined enemies springing up everywhere. Bill watched the creek bed and Winchester the south hill; and Old Henry, his voice plaintive, gave way to senile laments as he gazed at the body of Sharps. "He's--he's alive, boys!" he quavered, as he saw the huge bulk move; and before they could stop him he had unbarred the door and dashed out into the open. The assassins on the hilltop seemed to hesitate from shame, or perhaps they were waiting to make sure; but as he passed out the gate a heavy rifle roared and the old man tottered and fell.