Anne's posture, as she listened to the fluttering of her own heart, was one of terror in its most abject and helpless form. She had persuaded him, not only with argument but the taunt of cowardice, to interpose himself between this tidal wave of human savagery and its object. Now the wave had seized him up and tossed him from his precarious foothold. His career had ended: his influence, crumbled under too severe a strain, and his life itself probably hung on a hair balance while he stood among wolves. She told herself that the responsibility lay with her, and her reason grew palpitant and dizzy. Only a miracle could quench the conflagration now, and a miracle five minutes hence would be too late. This deadly pause was unendurable. A door had opened and clamour had been breathlessly stilled. What did it mean? Some one had entered--Who was it? The man who had just made his entrance had boldly pushed his way to the threshold before he called out, and had as boldly thrown wide the door without awaiting a reply. Faces turning with a single impulse toward the invader remained staringly intent as they saw standing there the broad-shouldered figure of Asa Gregory, who should be in jail, who for seven years had not been free to ride or walk the highways. "I was pardoned out, this morning," he said briefly, "and I met up with some of our boys while'st I was ridin' home. I was right interested in what them boys told me." "Ye've done come in good season, Asa," shouted an impulsive spokesman. "We're settin' out ter settle old scores, an' Boone Wellver's done laid down on us." But Asa turned a cool eye on the informant, and into the sonorous quality of his voice came an acid bite. "Who's got the best license here to talk about score-settling? Who's been sulterin' in jail for seven years?" "You have, Asa," came the chorused response. "We're hearkenin' ter ye, Asa." "All right," snapped back the new arrival. "What I have need to say I kin say right speedily. Quit it! Go home and leave me to pay off my own scores!" He crossed to Boone and laid a hand on his shoulder, and standing that way, he added: "The man that says this boy lays down is a liar. As for me, I stands by what _he_ says! Ef our own folks don't know who their strong men are, our enemies know--an' seek to hire 'em kilt. Go home an' wait till we calls on ye!" An hour later Boone stood alone with Anne in the room where he had been overthrown and rehabilitated. "I ought to take you across to Aunt Judy's house," he told her in a weary voice. "I don't suppose you should be left here--with me--like this--for what's left of the night. Until now there's been company enough." The girl shook her head wearily. "I'd fall off of a horse," she said. "I'm too tired to ride. I'm going back up those stairs--" The man moved a step forward. "Joe Gregory is coming back," he explained, "but it will probably be near to dawn before he gets here."