PART II.  The Country of the Saints.
4. CHAPTER IV.  A FLIGHT FOR LIFE.
 (continued)
Still more shaken was he next morning.  They had sat down to 
 their breakfast when Lucy with a cry of surprise pointed 
 upwards.  In the centre of the ceiling was scrawled, with a 
 burned stick apparently, the number 28.  To his daughter it 
 was unintelligible, and he did not enlighten her.  That night 
 he sat up with his gun and kept watch and ward.  He saw and 
 he heard nothing, and yet in the morning a great 27 had been 
 painted upon the outside of his door. 
Thus day followed day; and as sure as morning came he found 
 that his unseen enemies had kept their register, and had 
 marked up in some conspicuous position how many days were 
 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. 
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