"I can understand now. The enemy clan pretended it was a blood-feud only--and that it was fair war to kill the Rosses. Although my father knew their real aim was to obtain the land, he didn't think they would dare kill Matthew Folger to get it. He knew that he himself would fall, sooner or later, but he thought that to kill Folger would show their cards--and that would be too much, even for Simon's people. But he didn't know. He hadn't foreseen to what lengths they would go." Bruce leaned forward. "So they killed--Matthew Folger?" he asked. He didn't know that his face had gone suddenly stark white, and that a curious glitter had come to his eyes. He spoke breathlessly. For the name--Matthew Folger--called up vague memories that seemed to reveal great truths to him. The girl smiled grimly. "Let me go on. My father deeded Folger the land. The deed was to go on record so that all the world would know that Folger owned it, and if the clan killed him it was plainly for the purposes of greed alone. But there was also a secret agreement--drawn up in black and white and to be kept hidden for twenty-one years. In this agreement, Folger promised to return to me--the only living heir of the Rosses--the lands acquired by the deed. In reality, he was only holding them in trust for me, and was to return them when I was twenty-one. In case of my father's death, Folger was to be my guardian until that time. "Folger knew the risk he ran, but he was a brave man and he did not care. Besides, he was my father's friend--and friendship goes far in the mountains. And my father was shot down before a week was past. "The clan had acted quick, you see. When Folger heard of it, before the dawn, he came to my father's house and carried me away. Before another night was done he was killed too." The perspiration leaped out on Bruce's forehead. The red glow of the fire was in his eyes. "He fell almost where this fire is built, with a thirty-thirty bullet in his brain. Which one of the clan killed him I do not know--but in all probability it was Simon himself--at that time only eighteen years of age. And Folger's little boy--something past four years old--wandered out in the moonlight to find his father's body." The girl was speaking slowly now, evidently watching the effect of her words on her listener. He was bent forward, and his breath came in queer, whispering gusts. "Go on!" he ordered savagely. "Tell me the rest. Why do you keep me waiting?" The girl smiled again,--like a sorceress. "Folger's wife was from the plains' country," she told him slowly. "If she had been of the mountains she might have remained to do some killing on her own account. Like old Elmira herself remained to do--killing on her own account! But she was from cities, just as you are, but she--unlike you--had no mountain blood in her. She wasn't used to death, and perhaps she didn't know how to hate. She only knew how to be afraid.