Jack and Sarie rose to meet them. Dusk was falling and Jack couldn’t see the faces of the two men. They got down slowly from their saddles. McAllister walked over to the burning embers and stared at them for a moment. “I don’t have to ask if that was Markham,” he said when he turned back to the others. “I reckon I misjudged the man. I didn’t think he’d go this far. He’s more Injun than I thought.” McShannon said! “He ain’t the on’y one ’at can be Injun.” He said it quietly as if some of the go had gone out of him. Jack said: “It was my fault. I should of stopped ’em. Blame me.” “How many were there?” McAllister asked. “A hull lot,” Sarie told him. “Maybe fifteen or twenty.” “An’ what do you reckon you could do against that number, boy?” McAllister asked. “If it’d been you or McShannon,” Jack said, “you’d of shot it out with ’em.” McAllister laughed dryly. “I never thought a house was worth a man’s life, Jack. You did right to sit still.
