Late one night Larry came home to Fremont, wet with rain and splashed with
mire, for it was thawing fast and he had ridden far. He sloughed off his
outer garments, and turned to Breckenridge, who had been waiting him, with
a little, weary smile.
"The dollars are safe, any way, and that is a big load off my mind," he
said. "Gillot has them in his safe, and nobody can touch them without a
countersigned order from the executive."
Breckenridge heaved a sigh of relief, for he knew that Gillot, who had a
store in the railroad town, was a determined man, and quite capable of
taking care of what had been entrusted him. The dollars in question, which
had been raised by levy and sent by sympathizers, had been placed in
Larry's hands to further the homesteaders' objects in that district as he
deemed advisable. He had, however, for reasons Breckenridge was acquainted
with, just relinquished the responsibility.
"I think you were wise," said the lad. "It roused a good deal of feeling
when you wouldn't let Harper and his friends have what they asked for, and
the boys were very bitter at the meeting while you were away!"
"Well," said Grant drily, "I knew what they wanted those dollars for, and
if I'd had twice as many I would not have given them one."
"They could not have done much harm with the few they wanted, and it would
have saved you a good deal of unpleasantness. I didn't like the way the
boys were talking, and it was quite plain the men who kept their heads
were anxious. In fact, two or three of them offered to come over and sleep
here until the dissatisfaction had simmered down."
"You did not accept their offer?"
"No, but I wish you would."
Grant shook his head. "It wouldn't suit me to own up that I was afraid of
my friends--and I don't want to believe there are any of them who would
injure me. If there were, I could not draw trigger on them in defence of
my own property."
"Then we will hope for the best," said Breckenridge, somewhat doubtfully.
Grant, who had had supper somewhere else, presently retired, and
Breckenridge, who found the big room dreary without him, followed a little
later. It was long before he slept, for he had seen the temper of the more
reckless spirits at the meeting he had attended, and he could not shake
off the memory of his comrade's face. Larry had made no protest, but
Breckenridge could understand what he was feeling. The ranch was very
quiet, but he did not think his comrade slept; in this, however, he was
wrong, for, worn out by physical effort and mental strain, Larry had sunk
into heavy slumber.
Two or three hours later Breckenridge awakened suddenly. He sat up
listening, still a little dazed with sleep, but nothing disturbed the
silence of the wooden building, and it was a moment or two before the moan
of the wind forced itself on his perceptions. Then, he thought he heard
the trampling of a horse and stealthy footsteps in the mire below, and,
springing from his bed, ran to the window. The night was dark, but he
could dimly see a few shadowy figures moving towards the house. In another
minute he slipped into part of his clothing and hastening into Grant's
room shook him roughly.
"Get up! There are men outside."
Larry was on his feet in a few seconds and struggling into his garments.
"Light the lamps downstairs," he ordered.
Breckenridge stood still, astonished. "That would give them an advantage.
They might be the Sheriff's boys."
"No," said Larry, with a laugh that sounded very bitter, "I don't think
they are! Go down, and do what I tell you."
Breckenridge went, but his fingers shook so that he broke several sulphur
matches in his haste before he had lighted one big lamp in the log-built
hall. Then, as he turned towards the living room, there was a pounding on
the door, and while he stood irresolute Grant, partly dressed, came
running down the stairway. Two other men showed dimly behind him, but
Breckenridge scarcely saw them, for he sprang through the doorway into the
unlighted room, and the next moment fell over a table. Picking himself up
with an objurgation, he groped along the wall for the rack where the
rifles stood, and was making his way back towards the blink of light with
two of them in his hands, when a hoarse voice demanded admission and the
door rattled under the blows showered upon it. Then, as he came out into
the hall, Grant turned to him.
"Put those rifles down," he said quietly.