"That's easy. I'll go to see George and soon have the truth."

"Won't do," said the borderman decisively. "Go back to the barn, an'
look after the hosses."

When Colonel Zane had obeyed Jonathan dropped to his hands and knees,
and swiftly, with the agile movements of an Indian, gained a corner of
the Sheppard yard. He crouched in the shade of a big plum tree. Then,
at a favorable opportunity, vaulted the fence and disappeared under a
clump of lilac bushes.

The evening wore away no more tediously to the borderman, than to
those young frontiersmen who were whispering tender or playful words
to their partners. Time and patience were the same to Jonathan Zane.
He lay hidden under the fragrant lilacs, his eyes, accustomed to the
dark from long practice, losing no movement of the guests. Finally it
became evident that the party was at an end. One couple took the
initiative, and said good night to their hostess.

"Tom Bennet, I hope it's not you," whispered the borderman to himself,
as he recognized the young fellow.

A general movement followed, until the merry party were assembled
about Helen near the front gate.

"Jim Morrison, I'll bet it's not you," was Jonathan's comment. "That
soldier Williams is doubtful; Hart an' Johnson being strangers, are
unknown quantities around here, an' then comes Brandt."

All departed except Brandt, who remained talking to Helen in low,