It was his father, and the boy's answer was a loud laugh. Several
men stepped from the bushes--they had heard firing and, fearing
that young Dave was the cause of it, they had run to his help.

"What the hell you mean, boy, kickin' up such a racket?"

"Oh, I knowed somethin'd happened an' I wanted to skeer 'em a
leetle."

"Yes, an' you never thought o' the trouble you might be causin'
us."

"Don't you bother about me. I can take keer o' myself."

Old Dave Tolliver grunted--though at heart he was deeply pleased.

"Well, you come on home!"

All went silently--the boy getting meagre monosyllabic answers to
his eager questions but, by the time they reached home, he had
gathered the story of what had happened in town that day. There
were more men in the porch of the house and all were armed. The
women of the house moved about noiselessly and with drawn faces.
There were no lights lit, and nobody stood long even in the light
of the fire where he could be seen through a window; and doors
were opened and passed through quickly. The Falins had opened the
feud that day, for the boy's foster-uncle, Bad Rufe Tolliver,
contrary to the terms of the last truce, had come home from the
West, and one of his kinsmen had been wounded. The boy told what