resentment at her father's harsh treatment of her. Her starved heart
craved love. She was daughter of that Clanton who led the feud against
the Roush family and its adherents. Dave took his life in his hands every
time he crossed the river to meet her. Once he had swum the stream in the
night to keep an appointment. He knew that his wildness, his reckless
courage and contempt of danger, argued potently for him. She was coming
to him as reluctantly and surely as a wild turkey answers the call of the
hunter.

The sound of a shot, not distant, startled them. He crouched, wary as a
rattlesnake about to strike. The rifle seemed almost to leap forward.

"Hit's Bud--my brother Jimmie." She pushed him back toward the pawpaws.
"Quick! Burn the wind!"

"What about to-night? Will you come?"

"Hurry. I tell you hit's Bud. Are you lookin' for trouble?"

He stopped stubbornly at the edge of the thicket. "I ain't runnin' away
from it. I put a question to ye. When I git my answer mebbe I'll go. But
I don't 'low to leave till then."

"I'll meet ye there if I kin git out. Now go," she begged.

The man vanished in the pawpaws. He moved as silently as one of his
Indian ancestors.

'Lindy waited, breathless lest her brother should catch sight of him. She
knew that if Jimmie saw Roush there would be shooting and one or the