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"No, we are not," replied Jean, quietly

"Wal, come down to the house," said the rancher, and led the ithout speaking until he halted by the door There he placed his finger on a sht of a ray hairs stuck to its edges The rancher stepped closer to the door-post, so that his head ithin an inch of the wood Then he looked at Jean with eyes in which there glinted dancing specks of fire, like wild sparks

"Son, this sneakin' shot at o I recollect movin' my haid just when I heard the crack of a rifle Shore was surprised But I got inside quick"

Jean scarcely heard the latter part of this speech He seeing emotion A terrible hold upon his consciousness was about to break and let go The first shot had been fired and he was an Isbel Indeed, his father had made him ten times an Isbel Blood was thick His father did not speak to dull ears This strife of rising tumult in him seemed the effect of years of cal for he knew not what It was the passionate primitive life in him that had awakened to the call of blood ties

"That's aboot all, son," concluded the rancher "You understand nohy I feel they're goin' to kill esture he placed his broad hand over his heart "An', Jean, strange whispers coht It seems like your mother was callin' or tryin' to warn me I cain't explain these queer whispers But I knohat I know"

"Jorth has his followers You must have yours," replied Jean, tensely

"Shore, son, an' I can take my choice of the best men heah," replied the rancher, with pride "But I'll not do that I'll lay the deal before the-winded fight It 'll be short an bloody, after the way of Texans I'm lookin' to you, Jean, to see that an Isbel is the last man!"

"My God--dad! is there no other way? Think of my sister Ann--of my brothers' wives--of--of other women! Dad, these damned Texas feuds are cruel, horrible!" burst out Jean, in passionate protest