Tad Jorth had been the last man to take orders from anyone, much less a rustler of the Hash Knife Gang.

This Colter began to loom up in Ellen's estimate as he loomed physically over her, a lofty figure, dark motionless, somehow menacing.
"Ellen, has Colter told y'u yet--aboot--aboot Lee an' Jackson ?" inquired the wounded man.
The pitch-black darkness of the cabin seemed to help fortify Ellen to bear further trouble.
"Colter told me dad an' Uncle Jackson would meet us heah," she rejoined, hurriedly.
Jorth could be heard breathing in difficulty, and he coughed and spat again, and seemed to hiss.
"Ellen, he lied to y'u.

They'll never meet us--heah!" "Why not ?" whispered Ellen.
"Because--Ellen--" he replied, in husky pants, "your dad an'-- uncle Jackson--are daid--an' buried!" If Ellen suffered a terrible shock it was a blankness, a deadness, and a slow, creeping failure of sense in her knees.

They gave way under her and she sank on the grass against the cabin wall.

She did not faint nor grow dizzy nor lose her sight, but for a while there was no process of thought in her mind.