He expected that he would receive some message orremonstrance from Young as to his conduct， and he was notmistaken， though it came in an unlooked-for manner. Upon risingnext morning he found， to his surprise， a small square of paperpinned on to the coverlet of his bed just over his chest. On it wasprinted， in bold straggling letters：—
“Twenty-nine days are given you for amendment， and then——”
The dash was more fear-inspiring than any threat could havebeen. How this warning came into his room puzzled John Ferriersorely， for his servants slept in an outhouse， and the doors andwindows had all been secured. He crumpled the paper up andsaid nothing to his daughter， but the incident struck a chill intohis heart. The twenty-nine days were evidently the balance of themonth which Young had promised. What strength or couragecould avail against an enemy armed with such mysterious powers？
The hand which fastened that pin might have struck him to theheart， and he could never have known who had slain him.
Still more shaken was he next morning. They had sat down totheir breakfast when Lucy with a cry of surprise pointed upwards.
In the centre of the ceiling was scrawled， with a burned stickapparently， the number 28. To his daughter it was unintelligible，and he did not enlighten her. That night he sat up with his gunand kept watch and ward. He saw and he heard nothing， and yetin the morning a great 27 had been painted upon the outside of hisdoor.
Thus day followed day； and as sure as morning came he foundthat his unseen enemies had kept their register， and had markedup in some conspicuous position how many days were still leftto him out of the month of grace. Sometimes the fatal numbersappeared upon the walls， sometimes upon the floors， occasionallythey were on small placards stuck upon the garden gate or therailings. With all his vigilance John Ferrier could not discoverwhence these daily warnings proceeded. A horror which wasalmost superstitious came upon him at the sight of them. Hebecame haggard and restless， and his eyes had the troubled look ofsome hunted creature. He had but one hope in life now， and thatwas for the arrival of the young hunter from Nevada.
Twenty had changed to fifteen， and fifteen to ten， but therewas no news of the absentee. One by one the numbers dwindleddown， and still there came no sign of him. Whenever a horsemanclattered down the road， or a driver shouted at his team， theold farmer hurried to the gate， thinking that help had arrived atlast. At last， when he saw five give way to four and that again tothree， he lost heart， and abandoned all hope of escape. Singlehanded，and with his limited knowledge of the mountains whichsurrounded the settlement， he knew that he was powerless. Themore frequented roads were strictly watched and guarded， andnone could pass along them without an order from the Council.
Turn which way he would， there appeared to be no avoiding theblow which hung over him. Yet the old man never wavered in hisresolution to part with life itself before he consented to what heregarded as his daughter’s dishonour.
He was sitting alone one evening pondering deeply over histroubles， and searching vainly for some way out of them. Thatmorning had shown the figure 2 upon the wall of his house， andthe next day would be the last of the allotted time. What was tohappen then？ All manner of vague and terrible fancies filled hisimagination. And his daughter—what was to become of her afterhe was gone？ Was there no escape from the invisible networkwhich was drawn all round them？ He sank his head upon the tableand sobbed at the thought of his own impotence.
What was that？ In the silence he heard a gentle scratchingsound—low， but very distinct in the quiet of the night. It camefrom the door of the house. Ferrier crept into the hall and listenedintently. There was a pause for a few moments， and then the low，insidious sound was repeated. Someone was evidently tapping verygently upon one of the panels of the door. Was it some midnightassassin who had come to carry out the murderous orders of thesecret tribunal？ Or was it some agent who was marking up thatthe last day of grace had arrived. John Ferrier felt that instantdeath would be better than the suspense which shook his nervesand chilled his heart. Springing forward， he drew the bolt andthrew the door open.
Outside all was calm and quiet. The night was fine， and thestars were twinkling brightly overhead. The little front gardenlay before the farmer’s eyes bounded by the fence and gate， butneither there nor on the road was any human being to be seen.
With a sigh of relief， Ferrier looked to right and to left， untilhappening to glance straight down at his own feet he saw to hisastonishment a man lying flat upon his face upon the ground， witharms and legs all asprawl.
So unnerved was he at the sight that he leaned up against thewall with his hand to his throat to stifle his inclination to call out.
His first thought was that the prostrate figure was that of somewounded or dying man， but as he watched it he saw it writhe alongthe ground and into the hall with the rapidity and noiselessnessof a serpent. Once within the house the man sprang to his feet，closed the door， and revealed to the astonished farmer the fierceface and resolute expression of Jefferson Hope.
“Good God！” gasped John Ferrier. “How you scared me！
Whatever made you come in like that？”
“Give me food，” the other said， hoarsely. “I have had no time forbite or sup for eight-and-forty hours.” He flung himself upon thecold meat and bread which were still lying upon the table fromhis host’s supper， and devoured it voraciously. “Does Lucy bear upwell？” he asked， when he had satisfied his hunger.
“Yes. She does not know the danger，” her father answered.
“That is well. The house is watched on every side. That is whyI crawled my way up to it. They may be darned sharp， but they’renot quite sharp enough to catch a Washoe hunter.”
