A few minutes after she left him he fell asleep. She put a piece of
wood on the fire in the next room and sat down before it. She had left
the door of his room ajar, and a ray of light from his lamp fell across
the dark carpet and dimly illuminated the room. The hours passed
slowly. No one in the house was astir. No sound came from the outside
save the dismal barking of a dog down the road. She was fatigued and
almost asleep, when she was suddenly roused by a far-off shout.

"Whoopee! Whoopee!"

It seemed to come from the road leading down from the loftiest mountain
peak. She held her breath and listened.

"Whoopee! Whoopee!" It was nearer. Then she heard the steady tramp
of horses' hoofs. She rose and went to the window, moving softly, that
her ear might not lose any of the sounds. She raised the window
cautiously and looked out. The moon was shining brightly, and down the
street beyond the livery-stable she saw a body of horsemen.

"Great Heavens!" she exclaimed; "it's the 'Whitecaps'!"

She drew back behind the curtains as the horsemen rode up to the hotel
and stopped. There were twenty or more, and each wore a white cap, a
white mask, and a white sheet over the body.

"Thar's whar the scrimmage tuck place," explained some one in a muffled
voice, and a white figure pointed to the spot where Westerfelt and
Wambush had fought. "We must hurry an' take 'im out, an' have it over."