The old lady paid no heed. Her hands were now clasped before her. There
was sad thinking in her eyes.

"You are the last of my six boys," said she, "and you are going away
from me too."

"Now, now, mother," said he, "you must not make so much of a holiday.
You would not have me always at Dare? You know that no good comes of a
stay-at-home."

She knew the proverb. Her other sons had not been stay-at-homes. What
had come to them!

Of Sholto, the eldest, the traveller, the dare-devil, the grave is
unknown; but the story of how he met his death, in far Arizona, came
years after to England and to Castle Dare. He sold his life dearly, as
became one of his race and name. When his cowardly attendants found a
band of twenty Apaches riding down on them, they unhitched the mules and
galloped off, leaving him to confront the savages by himself. One of
these, more courageous than his fellows, advanced and drew his arrow to
the barb; the next second he uttered a yell, and rolled from his saddle
to the ground, shot through the heart. Macleod seized this instant, when
the savages were terror-stricken by the precision of the white man's
weapons, to retreat a few yards and get behind a mesquit-tree. Here he
was pretty well sheltered from the arrows that they sent in clouds about
him, while he succeeded in killing other two of his enemies who had
ventured to approach. At last they rode off: and it seemed as though he
would be permitted to rejoin his dastardly comrades. But the Indians had
only gone to windward to set the tall grass on fire; and presently he