With skilful twist of his foot he sent a dismounted road-agent spinning over backward, and managed to wrench a revolver from his hand.

There was a blaze of red flame, a cloud of smoke, six sharp reports, and a wild stampede of frantic horsemen.
Then the Reverend Howard Wynkoop flung the empty gun disdainfully down into the dirt, stepped directly across the motionless outstretched body, and knelt humbly beside a slender, white-robed figure lying close against the fringe of bushes.

Tenderly he lifted the fair head to his throbbing bosom, and gazed directly down into the white, unconscious face.

Even as he looked her eyes unclosed, her body trembling within his arms.
"Have no fear," he implored, reading terror in the expression of her face.

"Miss Spencer--Phoebe--it is only I, Mr.Wynkoop." "You! Have those awful creatures gone ?" "Yes, yes; be calm, I beg you.