"Did the rain strike any of your range?" Morgan inquired, eager to turn them away from this gloomy matter of loss and revenge. "Yes, we got a good soakin' over the biggest part of it. Plenty of water now, grass jumpin' up like spring. It's the purtiest country, Cal, a man ever set eyes on after a rain." "And in the spring," said Mrs. Stilwell, wistfully. "And when the wild roses bloom along in May," said Violet. "There's no place in the world as pretty as this country then." "I believe you," Morgan told them, nodding his head in undivided assent. "Even dry as it is around Ascalon and that country north, it gets hold of a man." "You buy along on the river here somewhere, Cal, and put in a nice little herd. It won't take you long to make a start, and a good start. This country ain't begun to see the cattle it will----" "Somebody comin'," said Violet, running to the door to see, a plate of hot biscuits in her hand. "Seems to be in a hurry for this early in the day," Stilwell commented, listening to the approach of a galloping horse. He was not much interested; horsemen came and went past that door at all hours of the day and night, generally in a gallop. "It's Rhetta!" Violet announced from the door, turning hurriedly to put the plate of biscuits on the table, where it stood before unheeding eyes. "Rhetta?" Mrs. Stilwell repeated, getting up in excitement. "I wonder what----" Rhetta was at the door, the dust of her arrival making her indistinct to those who hurried from the unfinished breakfast to learn the cause of this precipitous visit. Morgan saw her leaning from the saddle, her loosely confined hair half falling down. "Is Mr. Morgan here?" she inquired. The girl's voice trembled, her breath came so hard Morgan could hear its suspiration where he stood. It was evident that she labored under a tremendous strain of anxiety, arising out of a trouble that Morgan was at no loss to understand. Yet he remained in the background as Stilwell and Fred crowded to the door. "Why, Rhetty! what's happened?" Stilwell inquired, hurrying out, followed by his wife and son. Violet was already beside her perturbed visitor, looking up into her terror-blanched face. "Oh, they've come, they've come!" Rhetta gasped. "Who?" Stilwell asked, mystified, laying hold of her bridle, shaking it as if to set her senses right. "Who's come, Rhetty?" "I came for Mr. Morgan!" she panted, as weak, it seemed, as a wounded bird. "I thought he came here--he had your horse." "He's here, honey," Mrs. Stilwell told her, consoling her like a hurt child.