When Scott entered the hotel he was still thinking what it could all mean. Why were the men of both factions quietly looking on while a big burly drunkard dragged a child around the street by the hair? If the girl was a Morgan why had the Morgans let such an act go unchallenged? If she was a Wait why had not the rest of the gang protected her? He started. Perhaps it was the man’s own child. No matter. No man had a right to drag his own child around by the hair. Well, when the station agent came to supper he could probably explain things.

But the station agent did not come to supper and Scott ate the atrocious food in lonely state still trying to solve this mystery. In any event he had shown the Waits just how much they could count on his friendship and that was worth something. It was also some satisfaction to know that they were probably as much troubled as he was.

Alone in his room he pondered the problem for an hour without coming any nearer to a solution. Finally the suspense became unbearable. He determined to go to old man Sanders and see if he could offer any explanation. It was growing dusk when he went out and objects seemed a little indistinct in the distance. He glanced toward the place where Hopwood had been waiting for him in the afternoon, but there was no trace of him now.

Both stores apparently were deserted. Scott had not seen a soul when he turned into the road which led up to Sanders’ little cabin. He thought that he had never known the woods to be so silent. It seemed as though every living thing must have left the country. But there was a light in Sanders’ cabin. The full moon peeped at him over the trees behind the house. He knocked on the door and heard the old man shuffling across the floor to open it.

Good evening, Scott said as the door swung wide. You see I have come back to you for advice pretty quick.

Come in, come in, the old man said cordially. Glad to see you. He motioned Scott to one of the old-fashioned chairs. When they were comfortably seated he spoke again.

You said you came here for advice. Let me give you a little before I forget it. It happens to be perfectly safe for any one to knock on my door at any time of the day or night, but don’t try it anywhere else. You would probably find yourself looking down the barrel of a gun if the dogs did not chew you up first. It is the custom in this country to stand outside the gate and shout.

Thanks, Scott replied gratefully. I am very anxious to learn the customs of this country. There seem to be some customs here I do not understand. That is what brought me up here to-night. What does it mean when a big bully of a man hauls a girl around the street by the hair while twenty others look on and do nothing?

The old man straightened up in his chair. What’s all this? he asked sharply.

Scott explained as fully as he could and the old man listened breathlessly to every word. When Scott had finished his story the old fellow sank back in his chair with wrinkled brow.

So that was how it happened, he muttered to himself. The girl has more sense than I thought she had. Then he spoke aloud to Scott. I heard a little something of this but I did not know that you had anything to do with it. It’s a wonder to me that you are here to tell it.

Scott misunderstood him. I admit it was a little hasty, he replied with dignity, but I am not ashamed of it.

The old man laughed aloud. No, no, you have nothing to be ashamed of. I am only surprised that Foster has not killed you before this. Be on your guard, for he will certainly try it.

Tell me about it, Scott said. What was going on? I could not make head or tail of it.

Mr. Sanders thought for a moment. Must have seemed queer to you. Would to anybody. You see Foster Wait, he was the big fellow, was drunk as he usually is when he has any excuse for it at all. He happened to see Vic Morgan there in the village and could not help poking some fun at her about the logging contract. They all love to tease her just to see her spit fire. She flew into a tantrum just as she always does, ran out to the middle of the street, which is the dividing line between Morgan and Wait territory, and told him what she thought of him and the whole Wait tribe. She said herself that she cursed Foster pretty bad.

You see she felt safe because the Waits never come past the middle of the street. But, as I said, Foster was drunk and he reached over the line and grabbed her. Probably just wanted to spank the kid for a joke. Vic could not see the joke and bit his thumb. Hurt him pretty bad, I reckon, and made him mad. He has a terrible temper like his father. He grabbed her by the hair for a safe hold and then you came along.

But how could those men there at the Morgan store see a Wait treat a member of their family in any such way as that? Scott protested.

Because Jim don’t believe in keeping up the feud, and it makes him mad every time Vic stirs things up that way. Probably thought it served her right.

So that child is Vic. And she is the only supporter old Jarred has. Who is she, anyway? Scott asked.

She is the daughter of Jim Morgan there at the store, but she spends most of her time up on the mountain with her grandfather. She and the old man are great chums.

Just one more question, Scott said, or rather two more and then I’ll let you go to bed. Why didn’t any of the Waits interfere when I knocked their leader down? I did not know who he was or I might have been scared.

Because they don’t like him. He is a regular bully, and they were probably glad to see somebody stand up to him. Besides, they are expecting a good deal from you.

Scott ignored the last remark. And my last question. How did you find out about it so quickly?

The old man hesitated an instant. That is the part that puzzled me. Vic stopped in here and told me about it herself. That would not have surprised me because she usually tells me everything, but she asked me not to let her grandfather hear about it if I could help it. That is what astonished me. Ordinarily she would have gone to her grandfather on the run and wanted him to kill the whole tribe. He’ll try to do it too if he ever hears about this and his own tribe, too, for letting it happen. I think Vic must have realized that. Didn’t know the kid had so much judgment. She did not say anything about your rescuing her, either, he mused.

Scott was thoughtful a minute. Well, I certainly appreciate your help, Mr. Sanders. I think I understand it a little better now, but, he added slowly, I don’t think I shall ever understand how a father could sit still and see a drunken man treat his daughter like that. And he arose to take his leave.

Old Jarred wouldn’t understand it, either, Mr. Sanders said, as he rose to show his guest to the door. I wish you would help me to keep him from finding it out. The kid does not want him to know, and I like her.

So do I, Scott replied. She fought like a wildcat. I admire nerve in anybody. I admire the old man, too, for holding out alone against that big gang, and I am going to protect him all I can.

He was out on the porch now, and the old man was standing in the doorway. Good night, and thank you again.

Good night, and be careful, the old man warned him. Foster Wait is a dangerous man and he’ll never be satisfied till he gets his revenge for this insult. He won’t stop at anything and you must be on your guard all the time.

I’ll try to watch him, Scott replied simply.

Do that, the old man called. I’ve taken a fancy to you and I don’t want to see you shot for nothing.

The door closed before Scott could reply and left him alone in the moonlight. He felt his loneliness then in that unfriendly country and was grateful to the old man for his help and his friendship. With a sigh he turned down the mountain road pondering on the strange story he had heard. He could see how the news of this encounter might mean the disruption of the whole Morgan faction if it were ever revealed to old Jarred, and the girl must have seen it too.

He was walking along slowly in this thoughtful mood when he was startled by the sight of an old white horse standing in a patch of moonlight in the middle of the road. He wore a bridle but no saddle, and his head was hanging low as though he were exhausted from hard riding.

Scott’s mind flashed to the old man’s warning against Foster Wait and he jumped behind a point in the bank beside the road. He was not a coward but he did not mean to be shot down by a madman without a struggle. He peeped cautiously through the bushes. At first he could see nothing, but as his eyes became more accustomed to the uncertain light he thought he recognized the body of a person lying under the horse’s muzzle. He watched it carefully for a moment. There was no sign of motion. Surely any one lying in wait for him would not have chosen such a peculiar form of strategy. He threw his caution to the winds and stepped out into the road.

The old horse raised his head and nickered. The raising of the horse’s head let the moonlight fall on the figure in the road and Scott clearly recognized it as a woman. He ran forward and there was Vic Morgan lying unconscious in the road. A small bundle of clothes lay beside her. Evidently she had fallen from the horse, but Scott could not tell how it happened. The faithful old horse was standing guard over her unconscious form; it would hardly have been his fault.

Scott felt her pulse. She wasn’t dead. One leg was twisted under her in an unnatural position. He straightened it out and the bone did not seem to be broken. He was uncertain whether to take her back to Sanders’ cabin or home to her father. It was not much farther to the village and he decided to take her there. He tied the bundle of clothes on his belt and led the horse over to the bank where he could get on.

When he started to pick the girl up she groaned and moved uneasily. He gathered the slight form in his arms and carried her over to the bank. Just as he slipped on to the back of the docile old horse with his clumsy burden the girl opened her eyes. She looked at him sleepily at first, but as consciousness came to her she started up with a violent jerk and stared at him wildly. She evidently did not realize what had happened or just where she was.

Let go of me, she commanded sternly, and before Scott realized what she was doing she had boxed his ears till they rang.

He held the wildly struggling little figure as best he could and tried to explain. Listen, I found you unconscious in the road and I’m only trying to take you home.

Don’t you dare hold me, she snapped angrily, and redoubled her struggles. I don’t want you to take me home. I’d rather die here than have you touch me.

Scott was so taken back and so indignant that he felt like dropping her in the road and leaving her, but he could not do that. He gritted his teeth and held her the more firmly. Well, I am going to take you home, young lady, whether you like it or not, so you might as well stop struggling. You can go back in the road and die afterwards if you want to.

After an even more violent struggle than before the child’s form suddenly collapsed, and she began to cry. This worried Scott far more than her struggles.

Don’t cry, he begged her. Where are you hurt and how did it happen?

For a while she was silent save for her sobbing and when she spoke it was not to answer his question. If you’ve got to take me somewhere, she said in an uncertain voice, take me to grandpa.

Scott stopped the horse and looked at her doubtfully. Why? he asked.

Because I ran away from home and never want to see my father again, she retorted defiantly. And it’s none of your business, she added promptly.

Scott hesitated but he remembered what Mr. Sanders had said about her spending most of her time with her grandfather, and after the events of the afternoon he did not blame her for wanting to run away from her father. Where does your grandfather live? he asked.

Up the mountain, she replied.

Scott turned the old horse around and he plodded slowly upward. The light was already out when they passed Mr. Sanders’ cabin and all was still. The girl did not deign to speak and Scott maintained a dignified silence. They had traveled almost a mile when the girl spoke suddenly.

If you say anything to granddad about that fight this afternoon, I’ll kill you.

Scott had already promised Mr. Sanders not to tell but there was something he wanted to know. How were you hurt this evening? he asked again.

None of your business, the child snapped.

Then it may not be my business to keep your secret, he retorted.

She was silent for a moment as though thinking it over. The horse shied at a hound on the bank and I fell off, she replied reluctantly.

How did it hurt you? Scott insisted.

Again there was a pause as though she was struggling with herself. I have a knot on my head and my leg hurts, she answered grudgingly.

Scott had found out what he wanted to know. I promise not to tell, he said.

She did not thank him. A hound barked on the left-hand side of the road. The horse stopped. She called to the hound and he stopped barking instantly.

Let me down from here, she commanded.

Scott could see no reason for holding her longer. He balanced her on the horse’s withers and slipped to the ground. He reached up to help her. She tried to avoid him but he caught her and it was well that he did, for when her foot touched the ground she uttered a sharp gasp and sank limply. He thought for a second that she had fainted.

Call granddad, she commanded in a voice pinched with pain.

Hello, there, Scott called.

There was a noise as of some one cautiously opening a door.

Grandpa, the child called weakly.

The door swung wide and the old man strode hurriedly across the yard. Scott was about to meet old Jarred Morgan.