“Good!” replied the parson, evidently relieved. “We can put her in the loft. The Lord sent you, Maybee; it’s inspiration to have some one to help out in an emergency.” “You’re really expectin’ trouble, then?” “Yes; but let’s get them in as quickly as possible. After that I’ll tell you all about it.” The storm had chilled the air, and the parson kindled a fire in the stove, throwing on a plentiful supply of wood. “I’m ready. Come to the door.” Maybee obeyed; the parson blew out the candle, leaving the room in darkness. “Now bring them in. I’ll stay here till you return. Be careful, and lose no time.” Maybee opened the door and the darkness instantly swallowed him. When he returned with the fugitives, Steward saw dimly, by the firelight shining among the shadows, the beautiful girl and the stalwart black. He regarded Winona with a look of vague wonder and admiration. In all his life he had seen no women to compare with her. He noted, too, the golden hair and fair complexion of the young Englishman. It was no common party that sought the shelter of his rude cabin on this stormy night. His familiar eye noted the signs of strength, too, in the youthful figures. “Good!” he told himself. “If we do have a call from the Rangers, we’ll die with our boots on; that’s some satisfaction.” He beckoned to Maybee, and speaking a few words to his wife who was awake, thrust his pistols into an inner pocket, and directing Warren to bolt the door after them and not to open save at a given signal, the two men went out into the storm to feed and stable the horses. This accomplished, they returned to the house, and after carefully fastening the door, Steward lighted the candle and began preparing supper for his unexpected guests. “Now, Maybee, where from and where bound? Tell me all about it.” In a few graphic sentences, in his peculiar mixed dialect, Mr. Maybee rehearsed the story with which we are so well acquainted. The parson listened intently with an occasional shake of the head or a sympathetic glance in the direction of Winona. “I caught up with ’em at the ferry, an’ I took the ol’ road so’s to lessen the chances of pur-suit or of meetin’ any on-welcome company on the way. I’ve sent word to Captaing Brown to look out for us. It was a bluff game with odds, but we’ve won,” he concluded. Steward laughed. “We have generally proved winners even with the odds against us.” Warren leaned back against the wall of the rude cabin wearied from the long nervous strain, but listening intently to all that passed. “Judah’s a lion, and Winona has the pluck of a man,” Maybee went on. “She doesn’t whimper, but jes’ saws wood an’ keeps to her in-structions.” Warren spoke now. “You have as many manœuvres to gain admittance to your house as some of the Indian fighters I used to read about when a boy. What are you expecting to-night, Mr. Steward?”