The entire party now dismounted, securing their animals to the rude rail fence, at this point being hidden from the house by the long hay-topped stables. After a few whispered instructions from Jasper Morton, Thompson linked his arm in that of Colton, and glided silently toward the house. As they crossed the stile-blocks, a furious barking broke the air, and half a dozen large hounds came rushing toward them. Thompson cocked his pistol, as he muttered in Colton’s ear: “Quiet ’em, Jack—still the brutes, or you’ll never live to make love to Hen’s widow!” “Should you harm me, those brutes would tear you to pieces before you could fire twice,” coolly replied Colton. “See—they know me.” The huge hounds had recognized the hand that had so often fed them in days gone by, and their angry greeting turned to one of joy. With difficulty Colton kept them from leaping upon his body in a swarm, licking his hands and face. Thompson uttered an oath. The baying of the hounds had aroused the inmates of the building, for a faint light shone through the heavily shuttered windows. “Wal, it don’t matter much, a’ter all. We won’t hev to knock so long. But now mind how ye act, Jack Colton. You see—I hev my shooter cocked an’ ready. The fust crooked step you make—down goes your apple-cart! Onderstand?” “Yes. But suppose he refuses to open the door?” “He won’t if you play it fine. You tell him to open; thet you’re hard hit—bin in a muss at the Corners. I’ll sw’ar to it. Thet’ll fetch him, sure. So—kinder lean on me. It’ll look better an’ ’ll hide your barker from him ontil he comes out. Keep cool now, and mind your eye, for your life depends on your doing this job slick an’ without any bunglin’.” “All right. You hail him. I’m hurt too bad to call so loud,” added Colton, with a sickly laugh. “Hellow—the house! You Hen Colton—I say—_durn_ it all, man be ye deef?” roared Thompson, supporting the young man upon one strong arm. “What’s wanting out there?” demanded a clear, strong voice from the interior. “You’re wanted—got a sick man here thet needs a little doctorin’. Some kin o’ your’n, I reckon. Says he’s your brother.” “What’s that?” and the heavy door was cautiously swung ajar a few inches. “It’s me, Henry,” and the young man’s voice trembled. “What’s the matter with you?” the settler demanded, a trace of suspicion in his tones. “Nothin’ much—only cut up a little. _Monte_ Pete an’ One-eyed Johnny doubled teams on him, down to the Corners. They’re subjects for a fust-class wake, an’ the lad here is hurt consid’able. He would hev me fetch him here—said he wanted to make it up ’th you, or somethin’ like that. But I reckon he’s wuth two dead critters yit,” hastily explained the tall outlaw. “It’s true, Henry. Give me shelter for one night, or until my hurts can be looked to. You will?” “Of course—you are my brother still, though you had acted twice as bad as you have done. Come—let me help you.”