quietness of him as he sat with hands crossed on the pommel of his
saddle, face calm and set, eyes unwavering and fearless, had the
effect that nothing else he could have done would have brought
about--and they swerved on either side of him, while the rest
swerved, too, like sheep, one stirrup brushing his, as they swept
by. Hale rode slowly on. He could hear the mountaineers yelling on
top of the hill, but he did not look back. Several bullets sang
over his head. Most likely they were simply "bantering" him, but
no matter--he rode on.

The blacksmith, the storekeeper and one passing drummer were
coming in from the woods when he reached the hotel.

"A gang o' those Falins," said the storekeeper, "they come over
lookin' for young Dave Tolliver. They didn't find him, so they
thought they'd have some fun"; and he pointed to the hotel sign
which was punctuated with pistol-bullet periods. Hale's eyes
flashed once but he said nothing. He turned his horse over to a
stable boy and went across to the little frame cottage that served
as office and home for him. While he sat on the veranda that
almost hung over the mill-pond of the other stream three of the
Falins came riding back. One of them had left something at the
hotel, and while he was gone in for it, another put a bullet
through the sign, and seeing Hale rode over to him. Hale's blue
eye looked anything than friendly.

"Don't ye like it?" asked the horseman.

"I do not," said Hale calmly. The horseman seemed amused.