still left to him out of the month of grace. Sometimes the
fatal numbers appeared upon the walls, sometimes upon the
floors, occasionally they were on small placards stuck upon
the garden gate or the railings. With all his vigilance John
Ferrier could not discover whence these daily warnings
proceeded. A horror which was almost superstitious came upon
him at the sight of them. He became haggard and restless,
and his eyes had the troubled look of some hunted creature.
He had but one hope in life now, and that was for the arrival
of the young hunter from Nevada.

Twenty had changed to fifteen and fifteen to ten, but there
was no news of the absentee. One by one the numbers dwindled
down, and still there came no sign of him. Whenever a
horseman clattered down the road, or a driver shouted at his
team, the old farmer hurried to the gate thinking that help
had arrived at last. At last, when he saw five give way to
four and that again to three, he lost heart, and abandoned
all hope of escape. Single-handed, and with his limited
knowledge of the mountains which surrounded the settlement,
he knew that he was powerless. The more-frequented roads
were strictly watched and guarded, and none could pass along
them without an order from the Council. Turn which way he
would, there appeared to be no avoiding the blow which hung
over him. Yet the old man never wavered in his resolution to
part with life itself before he consented to what he regarded
as his daughter's dishonour.

He was sitting alone one evening pondering deeply over his
troubles, and searching vainly for some way out of them.