The settler, unsuspecting treachery, stepped out upon the porch, his countenance expressing his anxiety. Then Thompson nudged Jack Colton with his elbow, as he loosened his hold. What followed was quick as thought. A bright flash—a sharp report—a death-cry of intense agony—a heavy fall upon the broad stone steps. Then Colton, still clutching the smoking pistol, sprung forward and seizing his brother pushed him forcibly back into the building, in a moment closing the heavy oaken door and dropping the stout bars into place. Inside the brothers—outside, what? A writhing, bleeding body from which the life was rapidly ebbing. Thompson the outlaw had been outwitted, and paid the penalty with his life! As he gave Colton the signal that the time had come for his bloody deed, the young man turned his pistol against his breast and fired. With bullet-pierced breast, the outlaw fell, dying. Henry Colton was thunderstruck. At first he believed that the assault was upon him, but when his brother closed and barred the door, with that horrible groaning outside, an inkling of the truth flashed upon his mind. “What is this—what do you mean, Jack?” he gasped, bewildered. “It means that I have saved your life, Henry, for the present. But come—is the house well secured? We’ll have a desperate fight on our hands before many minutes.” “Yes—all is secure. But explain—I don’t understand. You are not hurt—that man lied?” “No, I am well. That was part of a plot. But first—out with the light, then go and tell your wife that you are safe. Tell her that there is no real danger, for we can easily beat them off until day, and they’ll not dare stay longer, for fear of the neighbors. Go now—then hasten back here.” Henry Colton followed his brother’s advice, for he heard his affrighted wife calling his name in anxious tones from the upper half-story, that answered for sleeping apartments. A true woman of the border, she felt safe on seeing him unhurt, and stilling the child, she hastily dressed and followed her husband to the lower floor. “Mary, this is no place for you,” murmured Henry as she glided to his side. “Go and stay with Tommy. There may be danger here.” “No more to me than to you, Henry. I can load your weapons for you, if you have not time. No—I will not go. Tommy is safe up stairs, and my place is here beside you.” “Let her stay, Henry. It will show me what I have to make amends for. Mary,” added Jack, his voice sounding husky, “while I have time, let me pray your forgiveness. I was drunk and half crazy, or I would have known better than to have insulted you. You will try and forget my words?” “Yes—and we will be true brother and sister after this. You can not guess how deeply it hurt me, knowing that I had caused hard feelings between you and Henry.” “He was right—it was my fault. But I’ll make amends, if my life is spared.”