She ran past Anthony and paused in the habitable room, spying through a crack in the wall. And Anthony stood with his eyes tightly closed, his head bowed. The image of the leashed hound came more vividly to her when she glanced back at him. "He's walkin' right up the path. There he stops." "Where?" "Right beside the old grave." "Anthony!" called a deep voice. "Anthony, come out to me!" He started, and then groaned and stopped himself. "Is the sign of the truce still over his head, Sally?" "Yes." "I daren't go out to him--I'd jump at his throat." She came beside him. "It means something besides war. I can see it in his face. Pain--sorrow, Anthony, but not a wish for fightin'." From the left side of his cartridge belt a stout-handled, long-bladed hunting-knife was suspended. He disengaged the belt and tossed it to the floor. Still he paused. "If I go, I'll break the truce, Sally." "You won't; you're a man, Anthony; and remember that you're on the range, and the law of the range holds you." "Anthony!" called the deep voice without. He shuddered violently. "What is it?" "It sounds--like the voice of my father calling me! I must go!" She clung to him. "Not till you're calmer." "My father died in my arms," he answered; "let me go." He thrust her aside and strode out through the door. On the farther side of the grave stood Drew, his grey head bare, and looking past him Anthony saw the snow-clad tops of the Little Brother, grey also in the light of the evening. And the trees whose branches interwove above the grave--grey also with moss. The trees, the mountain, the old headstone, the man--they blended into a whole. "Anthony!" said the man, "I have waited half my life for this!" "And I," said Bard, "have waited a few weeks that seem longer than all my life, for this!" His own eager panting stopped him, but he stumbled on: "I have you here in reach at last, Drew, and I'm going to tear your heart out, as you tore the heart out of John Bard." "Ah, Anthony," said the other, "my heart was torn out when you were born; it was torn out and buried here." And to the wild eyes of Anthony it seemed as if the great body of Drew, so feared through the mountain-desert, was now enveloped with weakness, humbled by some incredible burden. After that a mist obscured his eyes; he could not see more than an outline of the great shape before him; his throat contracted as if a hand gripped him there, and an odd tingling came at the tips of his fingers. He moved forward. "It is more than I dreamed," he said hoarsely, as his foot planted firmly on the top of the grave, and he poised himself an instant before flinging himself on the grey giant. "It is more than I dreamed for--to face you--alone!" And a solemn, even voice answered him, "We are not alone." "Not alone, but the others are too far off to stop me." "Not alone, Anthony, for your mother is here between us."