Old Enoch Cole had built his house on the hill in order to have a perfect view over all his domain, but the most powerful of his telescopes could not penetrate the darkness that settled down while his nephew was riding frantically from the outlaw hangout at the volcanic pot-hole beyond Soda River. So it was that the old man saw nothing of the silent night riders who circled the lower end of his fields and approached the ruins of the old fort on the river, where they dismounted to conceal their horses, and then crept furtively up toward the big house on the hill.
Strangely enough, the old invalid was less in a mood to keep a careful watch than he had been for many a day. For the first time in years, with the exception of the night Bert Cole had spent there, the big house had other occupant
