Wade stood like one transfixed to the spot, looking after the fleeing horses of the enemy, not once turning to see who touched him, until the last fleeing form had passed from view and the firing had ceased altogether; then he turned and stood face to face with Nora Judson. A flush, unseen through the darkness, covered his hitherto pale face. For one brief moment they stood facing each other. "How came you here?" he asked. "Our mutual friend told me that you was about to fall into an error." She looked toward Rover, who stood at one side wagging his tail. "Jack," she said, tenderly yet sorrowfully, "you were about to commit murder." "I _might_ have killed one of those fellows, but I cannot see that it would have been murder in a real sense; we are enemies, and this has been a small war." "But you were about to take the life of someone in a manner that I would not call bravery. You were not in front of the battle as an open enemy. The fellow you would have killed knew nothing of your presence here, and that would have been cold-blooded murder." "What is the difference in this country, where all is murder?" Wade was evidently trying to relieve his conscience. "The difference is not with the other fellow, but with you. I am glad, however, that you did not kill him." "I am also glad of that, Nora, thanks to you." They were now walking toward the cabin. "Was anyone inside hurt?" asked Wade. "I heard someone cry painfully." "That was Dad's ruse to draw them to a closer range, but it was the accidental discharge of your rifle that put a stop to the fight." Peter Judson was cautiously peering about, when he espied Wade and Nora. "Hi, thar!" he said. "Be ye enemies or friends?" "Friends," replied Wade. "Ye jest missed some fun, shore. Reckon we give them fellers 'bout as good a scare as ever they had, don't you think?" "From the way they retreated," said Wade, "I believe they were frightened; but we must be very careful, Judson,--one horse went up the hill riderless." Old man Peter scratched his head. "The dickens ye say. Reckon what that means, Wade?" "That someone is lurking around in the dark to pick us off when we least expect it." "Wade, ye don't know these fellers yet, long's ye've been here. Somebody's lyin' out yonder dead, as shore as you live. Tom, git the lantern an' come on; let's take a look." Followed by Tom and Wade, Peter went out the gate toward the spot where the enemy were located while the fighting was going on. Old Peter, that old time scout of the mountains, stopped and stood in a listening attitude. Now he heard the faint groan from someone to the left of them; his trained ear carried him to the fallen man. "Hi, thar, friend!" he called out; "whar air ye?" "I'm dyin'," came back the groaning reply, "I'm dyin', shore; this time." Peter went on and bent over the fallen form. Throwing the glare of his lantern in the face of the man, he gasped, "My God! it's Al Thompson."