f.a.gin struck the table with his fist.

"Of course it is, drink ter the bride after the ceremony. Bill, bring in the preacher."

It was growing daylight. I could perceive the glow of the sky out through the window, but the candles still sputtered on the table, casting grim lights and shadows on the faces of the three men. As Bill disappeared into the parlor, I stole silently back to the library door. What could be done was not entirely clear, but I proposed to defend Claire in every way possible.

"Tom," I whispered briefly, "find the boys, and bring them in here, through that broken window. They are in the orchard to the right, and there are no guards in front. Move lively, but be quiet."

"What is it, Major?" asked young Mortimer, eagerly.

"I can't explain now. I must get back where I can see and hear. But there is going to be a fight. Hold the men ready here until I call. See that their weapons are in good order."

I caught the glint of his eye, but could wait no longer. Indeed I was scarcely back, snuggled under the stairs, when Bill came forth, gripping the collar of his prisoner's coat, and urging him down the hall. I crouched lower, the morning light threatening to reveal my hiding place, yet with mind more at ease, now I knew the men were close at hand. Within five minutes the entire squad would be crowded into that room, eager for trouble to begin. Probably f.a.gin did not have a half-dozen fellows in the house. If we could strike swiftly enough we might overpower them all, without creating alarm outside, where the main body lay. Some carelessness had brought us good luck in having the front of the house left unguarded. These thoughts swept over me, and left me confident. The time had come when I was to serve her, to prove my own worthiness. I felt ready and eager for the trial.

I caught a glimpse of Jenks's face, as Bill jerked him forward. The man was gray with terror, his parchment-like skin seamed and contorted. He was a tall, loose-jointed creature, wearing a long black coat flapping about his knees. The guard fairly held him up in the doorway, and both f.a.gin and Jones laughed at the pitiful sight, the former ending his roar with an outburst of profanity.

"Go on back ter the front door, Bill," he ordered roughly. "This fellow'll never run away; his legs wouldn't carry him. Now, Mr.

Preacher," glowering savagely at the poor devil across the bottle-strewn table, "do yer know who I am?"

Jenks endeavored to answer, from the convulsive movement of his throat, but made no sound. f.a.gin cursed again.

"If it wasn't such a waste of good liquor I'd pour some of this down your gullet," he exclaimed, shaking a half-filled bottle in his fist. "Then maybe you could answer when I spoke to you. Now, see here, you canting old hypocrite, I'm Red f.a.gin, an' I guess you know what that means. I'm pisen, an' I don't like your style. Now you're goin' to do just what I tell you, or the boys will have a hangin' bee down in the ravine. Speak up, an' tell me what you propose to do."

Jenks wet his dry lips with his tongue, clinging to the sides of the door with both hands.

"I--I am the Lord's servant," he managed to articulate, "and have taken no part in this unholy war."

"You're a cheerful liar, but don't try snivelling on me. You are too big a coward to go out yourself, but you're hand in glove with Farrell. Oh, I know you, sneaking saint; I've had my eyes on you a long while. Now it's do as I say, or hang; that's all, Jenks, an' I'm cussed if I care very much which you choose."

"What--what is it you wish of me?" his uncertain gaze wandering over the three faces, but coming back to f.a.gin.

"You are to marry this officer here to a young lady."

"What--what young lady?"

"Mortimer's daughter--Claire is the name, isn't it, Grant? Yes, Claire; you know her, I reckon."

I could hear the unfortunate man breathe in the silence, but f.a.gin's eyes threatened.

"Is--is she here?" he faltered helplessly. "Does she desire the--the ceremony?"

"That doesn't happen to be any of your business," broke in f.a.gin bluntly.

"This is my affair, an' the fewer questions you ask the better. If we want some fun, what the h.e.l.l have you got to do with it, you snivelling spoil-sport! I haven't asked either of them about it. I just decided it was time they got married. Stand up, man, and let go that door," he drew a derringer from his belt and flung it onto the table. "There's my authority--that, an' fifty h.e.l.l-hounds outside wondering why I don't loot the house, an' be done. Do you want to be turned over to them? If you don't, then speak up. Will you tie them, or not?"

Jenk's eyes wandered toward Jones, who stared blankly back at him, yellow fangs showing beneath his beard.

"Why--of course--yes," he faltered weakly. "I--suppose I must."

"Don't seem much chance to get out, does there, parson? Well, I reckon it won't hurt your conscience particularly. Bill! Where's Bill?"

"You sent him to guard the front door," explained Jones.

"That's right, I did. You'll do just as well. Go up stairs, an' bring the girl down. She's with the old man, an' Culberson is guarding the door.

Better not say what she's wanted for. Just tell her Captain Grant wishes to speak to her a moment."

Jones straightened up, and pushed past the preacher, the stairs creaking under his weight as he went up over my head. Grant arose, and stood looking out the window into the glow of the sunshine, and Jenks dropped into the nearest chair, still staring across the table at f.a.gin. For the first time I seemed to entirely grasp the situation. I got to my feet, yet dare not move so much as a step, for f.a.gin was facing the hallway. It apparently would be better to wait until after the girl came down stairs, until those in the house were all together, before we struck. I wanted to know what she would say, how she would act, when she understood what was proposed. The time allowed me for decision was short, as it seemed scarcely a minute before I heard their footsteps above.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV

A THREATENED MARRIAGE

f.a.gin heard them coming and took his boots from the table, and sat up straight in his chair; the preacher pushed his back until half concealed behind the door; Grant never looked around. Jones came into view first, and behind him walked Claire, her cheeks flushed, her head held high. At the door she paused, refusing to enter, her eyes calmly surveying the occupants.

"You sent for me, sir," she said coldly. "May I ask for what purpose?"

Even f.a.gin's cool insolence was unable to withstand unmoved her beauty and her calmness of demeanor. Apparently he had never met her before, for, with face redder than ever, he got to his feet, half bowing, and stammering slightly.

"My name is f.a.gin, Mistress," he said, striving to retain his accustomed roughness. "I reckon you have heard of me."

"I have," proudly, her eyes meeting his, "and, therefore, wonder what your purpose may be in ordering me here. I wish to return to my father who requires my services."

The guerilla laughed, now angered by her manner.

"Well, I thought I'd tell you who I was so you wouldn't try any high and mighty business," he said coa.r.s.ely, and eying her fiercely. "That ain't the sort o' thing that goes with me, an' yer ain't the first one I've taken down a peg or two. However, I don't mean you no harm, only you'd better behave yourself. Yer know that man over there, don't yer?"

He indicated with a nod of the head, and Claire glanced in that direction, but without speaking.

"Well, can't you answer?"

"I recognize Captain Grant, if that is what you mean."

"I was speaking English, wasn't I? Yer ought ter know him--yer engaged ter him, ain't yer?"

"Certainly not," indignantly.

Grant turned about, his face twitching.

"This is not my fault, Claire," he exclaimed swiftly. "Don't blame me for it. I am also a prisoner, and helpless."

She never looked at him, never answered, her entire attention concentrated on f.a.gin, who was grinning with enjoyment.

"That's sure right, young lady," he said grimly. "The Captain is only obeyin' orders ter save his own neck. There's no love lost atween us, let me tell yer. But we're not so blame merciless after all, an', I reckon, we've got about all thar is in the house worth cartin' away. Now we're goin' to have some fun, an' leave two happy hearts behind. Ain't that it, Jones? Clinton's licked; Washington has his hands full up north; an' this hull blame country is ours. Somewhere, Mistress, I've heard tell that you an' this Captain was pretty thick--how is it?"

Her eyes exhibited indignant surprise, but, after an instant's hesitation, her lips answered.