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diff --git a/old/68896-0.txt b/old/68896-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 289f23a..0000000 --- a/old/68896-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9885 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Cat o' mountain, by Arthur O. Friel - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Cat o' mountain - -Author: Arthur O. Friel - -Illustrator: Donald S. Humphreys - -Release Date: September 15, 2022 [eBook #68896] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Tim Lindell, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAT O' MOUNTAIN *** - - -[Illustration: STEADILY SHE PROBED HIS FACE, AND SLOWLY SHE NODDED] - - - - - Cat O’ Mountain - - BY - ARTHUR O. FRIEL - - _Author of_ - “_King--of Kearsarge_” - - Illustrated by - DONALD S. HUMPHREYS - - THE PENN PUBLISHING - COMPANY PHILADELPHIA - - 1923 - - - - - COPYRIGHT - 1923 BY - THE PENN - PUBLISHING - COMPANY - - [Illustration] - - Cat o’ Mountain - - - Made in the U. S. A. - - - - - _To_ - - _JAMES and CAROLINE MACK_ - - _whose unfailing kindliness - to the mysterious prowler of - The Traps - will long be remembered by - “The Detective”_ - - - - -FOREWORD - - -At the northern end of the Shawangunk range lies a region where the -Maker of Mountains went mad. - -Into his new-laid rock the giant crashed his huge hammer, smashing -asunder his handiwork, gouging out chasms, splitting it into fissure -and cavern and abyss, slashing its eastern edge into a frowning -precipice. When he had gone, up into some of his hammer-scars welled -subterranean waters, forming crag-bound lakes hundreds of feet higher -than the rugged valley floor. Other chasms became gulfs of verdure, -crammed with a veritable jungle of hardwoods and evergreens. And there, -in the labyrinth of tree and bowlder, fierce brutes and venomous snakes -bred and fought and slew. It was the home of the wolf, the panther, and -the bear; of the rattlesnake and the copperhead. - -Then came men: savages who killed and ate the wild beasts and clothed -themselves in their furry hides. Through the gorges and down the slopes -they laid their trails, along which they roved for centuries in hunt -and tribal war. At length they paused, staring eastward at new fires -burning below them--the fires of white men. - -The inevitable followed. First by firewater, then by firearms, the -Dutch settlers crowded the tawny “duyvils” out of the forested -lowlands between the river of Hendrick Hudson and the mountain wall. -But behind that wall, in the natural stronghold created by the mad -Mountain-Maker, the red men long held their own. More, at times they -swooped out from the one small gap in the cliffs on bloody raids. And -when the vengeful whites retaliated with invasions of their fastness, -they ambushed those palefaces along their trails. - -Then the settlers ended it. Trapped again and again within that gulf, -they in turn became the trappers. Stealthily moving in force, they -garrisoned the heights of Mohonk and Minnewaska; they outwitted, -outmanœuvred, outambushed the Indians; they herded them back against -their own precipices, cornered them among their own bowlders, slew -them without mercy. Returning to their lowland farms, they left behind -them a silent, blood-spattered, death-strewn hole in the hills which -henceforth--because of its traps and countertraps--was to be known as -The Traps. - -Long afterward, men came in again; white men, and red men too, no -longer foes. They cleared little farms, brought in their women, -intermarried and interbred, led such primitive existences as might -have been expected. Dwelling in their own little world, they followed -their own inclinations in such matters as mating and hunting and -drinking--and thereby achieved a reputation somewhat dubious. The -tongue-wagging folk outside declared the Trapsmen were “wife-swappers” -and “moonshiners” and other things. And perhaps they were. - -Rumor has asserted, too, that these men first settled that craggy hole -not because they would but because they must; that the country outside -was “too hot” for them; that they even had to obtain their wives by -becoming squaw men or by the primeval custom of capture; and that -for many years their land was distinctly unsafe for any man not of -their clan. This also may be true. Be that as it may, they lived hard -lives, and many of them died hard deaths. Yet they lived as free men, -untrammeled by slavish subservience to the myriad laws manufactured in -the cities beyond them. - -But they, too, passed. As the bear and the wolf and the Indian faded -out of that country after the coming of the white man, so the Trapsmen -have almost vanished before the encroachments of commercialism. Beside -the upland lakes now rise those structures from which the pioneer -turns with loathing--summer hotels. Moreover, virtually all of the -intervening Traps has been bought in by the hotel barons. The little -homes of the vanished men are slowly rotting apart; their tiny fields -and their hard-grown orchards are going the way of the ancient Indian -trails--disappearing into wilderness where snakes thrive unmolested. -Few indeed are the people who now live in the mountain bowl; fewer -still those who are native-born. The others are from outside. - -Yet there are, in the region round about, two or three old -men--taciturn, abrupt, whole-souled old fellows--who were born in the -Traps and who will die not far from the Traps. From them, and from the -whispering ghosts which, by day and by dark, have drifted along beside -me on the silent trails and talked to me in weird crevasse and uncanny -old house, I have learned the tale which is here set down. It is a -tale of Yesterday, in a land of Yesterday, chronicled by one who was -there--yesterday. - - A. O. F. - - _New York, 1923._ - - - - -CONTENTS - - - I. THE PANTHER 13 - - II. NIGGER NAT’S GIRL 24 - - III. PIPE-SMOKE--AND POWDER-SMOKE 35 - - IV. THE FUGITIVE 45 - - V. CREEPING THINGS 56 - - VI. THE KNOCK-OUT 66 - - VII. A MAN MEETS A MAN 76 - - VIII. THE HA’NT 87 - - IX. DALTON’S DEATH 97 - - X. A SCRAP OF PAPER 108 - - XI. AT THE BRIDGE 119 - - XII. THE LAW COMES 129 - - XIII. THE CODE OF THE HILLS 139 - - XIV. COLD NERVE 150 - - XV. FIRE AND FROST 160 - - XVI. THE MOVING FINGER WRITES 172 - - XVII. A STAB IN THE NIGHT 184 - - XVIII. HUNTERS OF MEN 195 - - XIX. THE SUN BREAKS THROUGH 206 - - XX. LIBERTY OR DEATH 217 - - XXI. THE HAND OF THE GHOST 229 - - XXII. IN THE SHADOWS 240 - - XXIII. THE DEMON OF THE DARK 251 - - XXIV. CROSS TRAILS 262 - - XXV. NINETY-NINE’S MINE 272 - - XXVI. SNAKE STRIKES 284 - - XXVII. TRAPPED 293 - - XXVIII. AN ACCOUNT IS CLOSED 301 - - XXIX. OUT OF THE PAST 311 - - XXX. THE CALL OF THE SOUTH 322 - - - - -Cat o’ Mountain - - - - -CHAPTER I - -THE PANTHER - - -High on the crags a panther screamed. - -Savage, sinister, yet appallingly human--like the malevolent squall of -an infuriated hag--the cry tore through the night shadows whelming the -mountain-girt gulf of the Traps. Among the gigantic bowlders and the -uncanny crevasses of Dickie Barre it hurtled in a shattered wave of -sound. Out across the dense tangle of underbrush and the lazy-creeping -water of Coxing Hill it fled, freezing in their tracks the smaller -brethren of the wild--fox and raccoon and rabbit and mink--which moved -there in their furtive foraging. From the forested steeps of Mohonk and -Millbrook it reverberated, and among those trees it was swallowed up. - -Again the malignant wail broke out; and now the beast which voiced it -was not in the same spot as before. Somewhere on the very brink of -the precipice of Dickie Barre the huge cat had been, and somewhere on -that edge he still was. But he was moving, seeking a crack or crevice -through which he might steal swiftly downward without hurling himself -to death on the rubble of cliff-fragments below; and his failure to -find it at once exasperated his ugly nature to its ugliest. His eyes -told him something down there was moving. His nose said the thing was -human, was hurt, was harmless. His fierce brain knew it would be an -easy kill, and his ravening jaws slavered at the realization that after -one rending attack he could gorge himself--on the tender flesh of a -woman. - -Baffled, maddened, he screeched once more. Then he became silent. He -had found something promising: not a direct line of descent, but a -narrow shelf dipping diagonally down the face of the cliff. Along this -he proceeded with swift, sure stealth. - -Then, down in the density behind him, a light shot out from between two -towering bowlders. A clean, brilliant beam it was--the ray of a carbide -camp-lamp. Its white sheen played up, down, right, left; and as it -moved, the rock-masses and the trees and brush round about stood forth, -then vanished again into the gloom. But it did not advance. Between -those two colossal blocks it stayed, peering like a dazzling eye. - -All at once it jumped. From the chaos of chunks between silent cat and -silent light, a voice had cried out. - -“Help! Oh--help!” - -It was a high, clear, penetrating call, with an under-note of terror -and pain. - -Two voices answered: one, a ferine snarl from the merciless -cat-creature beyond; the other, a quick response in the tones of a man. - -“Right here! Where are you?” - -“Here into the--the rocks! Oh, hurry up, before that critter gits to -me!” - -“Coming!” - -The glaring white eye moved forward in haste. Behind it, boots scraped -and bumped on rock. It rose in a steep slant, slid suddenly down, -accompanied by more scraping of boot-heels; disappeared between two -blocks leaning together; emerged beyond, ascended again, wavering -erratically with the strain of climbing a treacherous slope; halted at -the peak of another bowlder and rapidly searched the surroundings. - -“Can’t see you!” the man panted. “Speak up!” - -“Hold stiddy a minute!” implored the other voice. “I’m a-comin’--up -this rock--if I don’t slip. Oh!” The last was a choked moan. - -“What’s the matter? Hurt?” - -“Ye-yes. But wait--I’m a-comin’----” - -The light quivered, as if the man behind it were impatient to leap -forward. But it remained poised on its own bowlder, shooting at the -upper edge of another mass of conglomerate beyond which the girlish -voice had spoken. A few seconds later, atop that rough stone, something -glinted red-gold in the white glare. Under it rose wide gray eyes, a -pale face--the eyes suddenly shut and the face shrank from the blinding -beam. Again the gas ray lit up the glowing glory of the red hair. - -“All right. Stick there,” commanded the man. A quick twist of the -light--then another grind of sliding heels, terminating in a solid bump -like the impact of a gun-butt against stone. The white eye now was -swinging about at the base of the bowlder, hunting a way around the -almost vertical block. A few seconds, and it began staggering over the -smaller debris toward one corner. - -“Oh--look out--here’s the critter now!” - -With the warning came a swift scramble overhead. The light wheeled -and revealed a girlish figure in a torn drab dress swinging itself -out--slipping rapidly down--hanging by its hands from the upper edge. - -“Hold hard!” snapped the man. “Don’t be silly--he’s a coward, like all -cats. He’ll run if you say ‘boo.’ Hang tight a minute. Don’t drop.” - -But the girl, dangling with face turned upward and heels a yard or more -above the jagged jumble below, sniffed scornfully at his assertion of -knowledge. Before he could make two steps toward her she let go. Down -she darted in a grayish streak, and on the stones beneath she crumpled. - -One sharp moan of pain broke from her. Then, looking upward, she -breathed: “Look!” - -The light switched up. From the edge above now protruded another head: -a flat-nosed, fang-toothed, tawny visage whose eyes flamed green with -ferocity and whose snarling jaws writhed in malignant menace. - -A startled grunt sounded behind the light. The white eye lifted, hung -poised as if held by a hand grown rigid. Beside it, twin tubes of steel -centered on that horrid head. - -_Boomboom!_ A double flash leaped thundering from the tubes. In a swirl -of blue smoke the face of the great cat vanished. - -The light pitched backward, fell clattering on the rocks. A muffled -impact and a sullen thwack of metal told that the man and his gun too -had been knocked down by the recoil. Over behind the bowlder something -else thudded softly and was still. - -But, though dropped, the lantern burned faithfully on. Its ray lit up -a pair of high-laced boots, tan corduroys, and a hammerless shotgun -sprawling on a slanting bowlder. A second later a broad hand swooped at -it and righted it. The gun was lifted, broken at the breech, swiftly -reloaded and snapped shut. Then the legs drew up and the light rose, -darting at the girl. - -She was huddled where she had dropped, but her pale face was alive and -her gray eyes wide open. As the glare fell on her she threw up an arm -to shield her dark-dilated pupils. Upon the tanned skin of that firm -young forearm showed a long red gash. - -“Good Lord! You’re badly hurt!” exclaimed the man. - -The lips under the shadowing arm curved in a strained smile. - -“’Tain’t much,” she deprecated. “I got a gouge when I tumbled. Guess -you kilt Mister Catamount, or scairt him off anyway. They take a mighty -lot of killin’ sometimes. Now can you git me down to where I can walk? -My ankle’s hurt.” - -A quiet laugh of admiration came from the invisible man. - -“You’re a plucky little lady,” he informed her. “Most girls in your -place would be fainting or going all to pieces. As for walking, I -don’t know. This is a tough hole to navigate in after dark. But we’ll -see.” - -The light moved toward her. As it advanced the man added in a chiding -tone: “You shouldn’t have dropped like that. No wonder your ankle’s -hurt.” - -“Is that so! What was I goin’ to do, Mister Smarty--let that critter -claw me? And I hurt my leg an hour ago, not jest now. And I wish you’d -look and see if the catamount’s alive yet. He’s been pesterin’ round -here ’most a month, and you better kill him good and dead.” - -“Oh, he’s dead enough----” - -“You go and look!” - -Again the quiet laugh sounded. - -“Just as you say, my lady. I think I heard him fall over back there.” - -Once more the light turned. It wavered around the base of the bowlder, -bobbed up and down among the jags and juts of the rock-heap, paused, -swung slowly, came to rest on a furry huddle hanging limp over a -misshapen stone. There dangled two powerful fore-legs, topped by -massive shoulders, terminated by big paws. Between them hung a red ruin -which had been a head. - -“Whew!” whistled the man, studying the size of the legs and the breadth -of the back. “What a brute! Never knew they grew so big. Lucky he was -close enough to take those charges before they could spread. Otherwise -that bird-shot would only have maddened him.” - -Turning, he picked his way back to the spot where the girl waited. He -found her sitting up on a stone and frowning down at her left foot. For -the first time he observed that her feet and the shapely ankles above -them were bare. The left one was much swollen. - -“He’s as dead as they make ’em,” he sang out cheerily. “We’re a -bunged-up lot, aren’t we? Cat lost his head, your arm and foot are -hurt, and my right shoulder’s kicked into the middle of my back from -letting both barrels go at once. And even my gun is all mauled from -falling on the rocks.” - -“Ain’t that too bad?” The tone was amusedly sarcastic. “But I guess I’m -the wust off--I’ve got more bad luck comin’.” - -“How so?” - -“I’ll catch hell when I git home,” was the naive explanation. - -For a minute the man was speechless. Then he chuckled. - -“So? Then why go home?” - -The mountain girl’s answer was as straightforward as before. - -“I don’t know any other place to go.” - -Her sober face told that she spoke the gaunt truth, and that she -dreaded the thought of returning to the house whence she had come. An -awkward pause followed. - -“Well, you may not get there to-night,” the man declared. “I doubt if -I can find my way out of this mess of rocks before daylight, and you -certainly can’t go scrambling around on that bad foot. You’ll have to -come to my camp now and get bandaged up.” - -The auburn brows drew together in another frown, and the eyes under -them peered toward him in open suspicion. - -“I ain’t so sure about that,” she asserted. “I can git home some way -alone, if I have to, and I don’t figger to stay up here all night. Who -are you?” - -“Oh, just a rambling camper. But don’t be silly. I’m not a skunk. I’ll -gladly take you home if it’s possible and sensible, but until you’re in -condition to travel it’s neither. Now you need a bandage on that arm, -some hot water on the ankle, and--are you hungry?” - -“I’m ’most starved,” she admitted. “I got mad and run away this -mornin’, and I ain’t et since breakfast.” - -“Oho! I’m afraid you’re a temperamental little redbird. Well, come on -down to camp and I’ll feed you bacon and beans--and hot coffee, lots of -it. How’s that?” - -“Sounds awful good. I guess you’re all right. You go ’long and show the -way.” - -She turned about on her stone. The movement disclosed a long rent in -the faded dress, running from arm to waist, through which glowed pink -flesh. Her skirt, too, was badly ripped. The man behind the light -switched it from her to the formidable mass of stones ahead. - -“If you can stub along on one foot,” he suggested, “we can make better -progress by hugging each other. I can stand it if you can.” - -A quick laugh answered him. The light veered back, revealing dancing -eyes, perfect teeth, and flushed cheeks under the glowing hair. - -“I can stand ’most anything--if I have to,” she flashed. “And it looks -like I’d have to.” - -“By George! Young lady, you’re a little beauty when you laugh! I think -I’m going to enjoy this trip. Wait a minute and I’ll let you put your -arm around my neck.” - -Followed the grind of boot-soles and the approach of the lamp. - -“You’re awful good.” She laughed again. “You’d ought to sell soft soap -for a livin’, you’ve got so much of it.” - -“Humph! That’ll do. Now let’s walk.” - -Slowly the white eye wobbled along among the tumbled blocks. The only -sounds behind it were those of labored breathing and curt directions -regarding the placing of feet. Not once did the girl whimper from the -pain of the injured ankle. - -Presently the pair of tall cliff-chunks took shape ahead, their bases -lost among smaller stones, their crests invisible in the upper gloom, -their irregular sides framing a narrow black cañon which seemed to -end in emptiness. But out from that gloomy slit drifted a tang of -smouldering wood-smoke; and beyond it, the girl knew, the hidden camp -of her unknown rescuer waited. - -At the entrance to the covert they paused. So narrow was the passage -that they could no longer advance side by side. But the carbide flame -showed that the footing ahead was smooth and almost level, offering no -obstacle to her progress alone; also, that the distance to the cavern -beyond was hardly more than a couple of rods. - -“Now if you’ll hop along by yourself for a few yards more you’ll be -there,” spoke the tall, vague form behind the metal lamp. “Sorry my -doorway’s so tight, but it was made before I came here.” - -The injured girl, drooping against a stone beside her, let the jest -pass without a smile. - -“You go ahead,” she prompted wearily. “You’ve got boots.” - -“What of it?” he puzzled. - -“Snakes.” - -“Ouch! Snakes around here?” - -“Why, sure. This country’s full of ’em--rattlers and copperheads. Guess -you ain’t been into here long, mister.” - -“Right. I haven’t. But--Lordy! You shouldn’t go around barefoot in -snake country.” - -“Mebbe. But folks can’t wear out their shoes into summer if they’re -goin’ to have ’em for winter, can they?” - -He made no reply. Into the gap he turned, and through it he passed to -the larger space beyond, his wide shoulders rubbing the rock as he -passed. Behind him she limped along, leaning against one wall. - -At the end of the little cañon he stepped downward, halted, and set gun -and lamp on a rock shelf. Some twenty feet away, under an overhang of -the cliff, an open blanket-roll and various small camp-tools showed -beside an Indian fire--short sticks laid like wagon-wheel spokes, with -the flame at the hub. - -“Now you can hug me for the last time--maybe,” he solemnly stated. “I’m -going to tote you over there. It’s rough going.” - -With which she was lifted and carried across a rubble of fragments to -the blankets. - -As he straightened up in the brilliant light thrown across by the -lamp, she saw him plainly for the first time: a lithe, firm-jawed man -whose face glowed red with new sunburn between a gray flannel shirt -and a head of silky blond hair; a clean-mouthed, clean-limbed chap -whose twinkling blue eyes might have brought an approving smile to the -lips of many a girl far more critical of men than this maiden of the -mountains. But no hint of liking for her new-found friend dawned in her -face. - -Into her eyes darted a light of mingled recognition, suspicion, -repulsion. She shrank from him as if he had suddenly become one of -those snakes against which she had just warned him. - -“Oh, Lord!” she breathed. “It’s you! The detective!” - - - - -CHAPTER II - -NIGGER NAT’S GIRL - - -Blank astonishment crept across the countenance of the blond man. -Motionless as the rocks around him he stood, staring down at the -hostile face upturned to his. - -“Detective? Me?” he muttered. - -“Yes, you!” she flared. “Think you’re smart, don’t you? Mebbe you think -us folks are a lot of numbskulls, but we ain’t. And seein’ you jest -helped me out of a fix, I’ll tell you somethin’, Mister Spy--you better -git out of the Traps right quick, while you’re able to travel!” - -The man threw back his head and laughed--a gurgling laugh of pure -enjoyment. - -“Well, if this isn’t rich!” he chuckled. “Old Cap Hampton, the famous -dee-teck-tiff! Say, little redbird, I’m glad you dropped in this -evening. I was thinking I’d go to-morrow, but now I reckon I’ll stay -awhile. Looks as if this place might prove interesting.” - -The gray eyes snapped. - -“Oh, it’ll be interestin’!” was the ominous prediction. “If you don’t -git right outside the Big Wall and stay out--some of the boys will be -sleepin’ into new blankets and totin’ a newfangled shotgun, I shouldn’t -wonder.” - -His gaze dropped to the blankets under her, which were obviously -new; then darted to his hammerless gun across the way. When his eyes -returned to hers the merriment was gone from them. They glinted like -cold blue steel. - -“So that’s the game, eh?” His voice was hard-edged. “To kill a stranger -for his gun and money. Well, your ‘boys’ are slow. They were snooping -around my camp down by the creek last night, but they didn’t have the -nerve to do anything but watch. Thanks for your tip. Hereafter I’ll -load my gun with buckshot. You can tell your friends that.” - -A flush of anger dyed the girl’s cheeks. - -“Oh, that ain’t it!” she denied. “Strangers are safe enough, long’s -they mind their own business. But we’ve got no use for sneakin’ spies -that den up into the rocks like copperheads. And if you think anybody’s -scairt of your buckshot, Mister Spy, jest remember this is old Injun -country, and folks was gittin’ kilt into the Traps before your grandpop -was borned. If all the dead men that’s been shot and tommyhawked round -here should git up all together they’d--they’d shake the hills with -their trompin’! You and your buckshot--ha, ha, ha!” - -Her scornful laugh stung like a whip-lash. Yet, though his sunburned -face grew still redder under its sting, he thought: “Lordy, what a -stunning little beauty she is with that color! There’s more than one -kind of wildcat in these hills, too. I like this place better every -minute.” - -Aloud he said: “All right, fair damosel. I don’t know----” - -Abruptly she started up--winced and paled as her sprained ankle stabbed -with pain--but caught the wall and faced him in righteous wrath. - -“Don’t you cuss me!” she blazed. - -“Huh? I didn’t!” - -“You did! You called me a dam-somethin’----” - -“Oho! Fair damosel? Why, that’s an old-fashioned compliment--means -‘beautiful girl,’ or something like that. Would you rather be called a -cross-eyed old maid?” - -“No!” The word snapped. But she smiled in spite of herself. - -“You must be a furriner to talk like that,” she added. “Why don’t you -say what you mean? Dam-o-sell--that ain’t a name to call folks by. It’s -’most the same as what mom calls me.” - -“What’s that?” - -“Dambrat.” - -He regarded her a moment in silence. - -“Your mother calls you a brat?” he slowly asked then. - -“Brat--and lots of other things,” she nodded. “And now I’ve got to git -home. I’ll git a good hidin’, I shouldn’t wonder, but I won’t stay -here----” - -“You will!” came his incisive contradiction. “You’ll stay here until -that foot is doctored and you’ve had some food. Sit down!” - -At the crisp crackle of his command she eyed him in surprised defiance. -Her chin lifted, and she took a combative step on the hurt foot. Pallor -and pain swept again across her face, and she staggered. He promptly -picked her up, squirming and resisting; set her down on the blankets, -and inexorably held her there. Then, his eyes boring into hers, he -spoke in cool determination. - -“Behave yourself. Listen to me. - -“You’re not going away until I say so. I’ll not say so until you’re -better able to travel. You won’t be able to travel until that ankle is -reduced. It won’t be reduced until I’ve worked on it. That’s all there -is to that. - -“Now about me. I’m no detective. I am Douglas Hampton, a rover, a -drifter, with no home and no folks. I’ve been in quite a few places, -done quite a few things; but I’ve never been a detective and I don’t -intend to be one. My last job was as reporter on a New York newspaper, -and I lasted almost a year. Got fired last week because the city editor -rode me too hard and I sat him down in his own waste-basket. Now I’m in -here because I feel like roughing it awhile and somebody told me it was -rough up here in the Shawangunks. - -“I intended to stay here only a day or two and then ramble along, -stopping again wherever I found something that hit my fancy. But now -that people around here think they’re going to kick me out--I’ll stay -longer. I’m one of those cantankerous chaps who can be coaxed a mile -but can’t be kicked an inch. I always kick back. - -“As I started to say awhile ago, I don’t know the history of this hole -in the hills, but I’m right willing to learn all about it--past and -present. And if people around here want to consider me a detective, -let ’em. I don’t care what they think. The only reason why I’m telling -_you_ who I am is--well, because I feel like it.” - -With that he took his hands from her shoulders and straightened up. She -made no move to rise again. Steadily she probed his face, and slowly -she nodded. - -“You talk straight,” she admitted. “But if you ain’t here to spy, what -are you doin’ up here, hid into the ledge? Folks said you went out -through the Gap this mornin’ with your pack and all. So to-night I -thought you must be some new feller.” - -“I did go. I moved because I want to sleep at night instead of watching -men sneak around in the bushes. Then I decided to come back, and I -came. Didn’t try to hide myself, either--tramped right along the road. -You people ought to keep sharper watch on desperate dee-teck-tiffs who -wander in and out of here; you never know when they’ll come back.” - -His cheerful grin brought an answering smile this time. But it did not -last long. At his next question it vanished. - -“By the way, what am I supposed to detect in here? Detectives have to -detect something, you know.” - -“You be careful, mister, or you’ll detect a rock fallin’ off onto your -head from up top, or a load of buckshot scatterin’ out of the brush. -Some of the boys are awful careless. If you figger to stay round here -you better stay away from these ledges--and keep out of caves--and -don’t ask too many questions.” - -“M-hm. I take it that this is a good place to keep _still_.” - -Her tongue made no answer; but her eyes narrowed at the emphasis on the -word “still.” He laughed again and bent to freshen the fire. - -When he had moved the sticks inward upon their common focus and the -flame was growing brighter and hotter, he frowned at a canvas water-bag -pendent from a splinter of rock; thoughtfully eyed the girl’s inflamed -ankle and gashed arm; glanced at a small coffee-pot at the edge of the -blaze, and ran a hand through his light hair. Then his face brightened. -Rising, he rummaged in a small bag of waterproof fabric, from which he -produced two flat tins of tobacco. - -“Have to economize on water,” he said. “All I own is in that cloth -bucket, and the spring’s a deuce of a distance down. Between bathing -your arm and making coffee and fixing your ankle--well, I just can’t -cook that ankle as it should be done. But I can draw out most of the -soreness with a tobacco poultice. That’s what we’ll have to do.” - -She eyed the two tins in his hand. - -“Is that all the tobacco you’ve got?” - -“Why, yes. But it’s enough to do the trick.” - -“Then what’ll you smoke? There ain’t any stores here.” - -“Then I don’t smoke for awhile,” was the matter-of-fact reply. - -Dropping the cans beside her, he strode over to the lantern and brought -it and the gun to the overhanging wall. Swiftly then he put coffee to -boil, dipped a cupful of water from the canvas bag, flipped a clean -white handkerchief from the ditty-bag, and returned to her. Without a -word she let him inspect the lacerated arm. - -“You got a nasty rip,” he stated, scowling. “Right along the bone. How -did you do it? Fall?” - -“Yes.” Her tone was more gentle now than it had yet been, and her eyes -dwelt on the sober face bending over the injury. “I’ve--I’ve got a -little secret up here--a hole into the rocks that’s been my playhouse -since I was little, and when mom’s awful mean or pop’s ugly drunk -or--or I can’t stand it down there, I come up here and stay all by my -own self. This time I got to dreamin’, I guess, and I went to sleep -there. And when I woke up it was night. Mebbe I’d ought to have stayed -there till mornin’, but I was awful hungry, and I tried to git down the -rocks and took a fall.” - -He nodded sympathetically, bathing the wound with gentle touch. - -“And then that mis’rable catamount had to smell me. They’re awful bad -when they’re hungry and smell blood. I thought I was a goner till your -light showed. Who ever told you a catamount would run if you said boo?” - -“Somebody who didn’t know as much as he thought he did, I guess.” - -“I guess so too. They’ll run from a dog ’most every time--even a little -yippin’ yappin’ tarrier--and mostly they’ll run from a man, but not -always. If they’ve kilt somethin’ or are jest goin’ to kill somethin’, -look out. And they’re ready to tear up a young ’un, or a hurt woman, -any time. If you shoot ’em you’ve got to kill ’em stone dead or they’ll -rip you. Jonah Hay, he kilt one last winter--shot it four times and -blew its jaw off and everything--and it lived long enough to git to him -and claw his legs terrible. Its hide was longer than Jonah is himself, -and Jonah stands six foot.” - -He nodded again, absorbed in his work but marveling at her new -friendliness. Now that she was talking, she chattered as easily as if -to an old friend. - -“And there was Sam Codd--he went to chop wood and run onto a little -bobcat, nowheres near as big’s a catamount. The critter had kilt a -rabbit, and it come at Sam, ready to jump right onto him. Sam, he -backed more’n a quarter of a mile through the snow, holdin’ his axe -ready to bust the critter, till he got to his cabin. Then he jumped in -and got his gun. But by the time he come out the cat was gone back to -the rabbit, and when he got there the rabbit was et and nothin’ left -but blood and tracks.” - -He desisted from his cleaning of the arm, which had remained as -stoically steady as if it were not in the least tender. Tearing the -edges of the big handkerchief, he bound it around the injury and -carefully knotted the edge-strips. Then he turned to the coffee, which -now was steaming. In a moment he put a cupful of the hot liquid in her -hands and dumped the grounds from the pot. - -“Only one good cupful to a pot, but it’s strong enough to knock you -over,” he explained. “And I need the pot now for your ankle. After the -tobacco gets to drawing I’ll cook some grub and make more coffee----” - -He paused suddenly, staring at one of the tobacco-tins he had picked -up. Its blue revenue-paper seal was broken. - -“Now when did I open that can?” he puzzled, turning up the lid. “I was -sure these were fresh. Confound it, it’s only half full!” - -She made no answer. She blew on the coffee and took a tentative sip. - -“Ooh! It’s scaldin’ hot!” - -“Uh-huh. Well, this other can’s full, anyhow. Guess I can make out.” - -While the fresh water came to a boil he squinted repeatedly at the -opened can, half rifled of its fragrant brown slices. He did not see -the impish glances she threw at him. Nor, when he brought the hot -water, the tobacco, and more handkerchiefs, did he spy the laughing -light in the demurely downcast eyes. - -With utmost care, though with necessary firmness, he bound the -hot-water-soaked slices around the swollen ankle. Then he poured more -hot water on the bandages until, despite herself, she flinched and drew -up the foot. - -“That’ll do, I reckon,” he said. “Lucky I have plenty of handkerchiefs. -That’s one thing I’m a crank about--plenty of clean handkerchiefs and -socks. Now I’ll warm up some beans _a la_ can.” - -“Don’t you want a smoke?” she teased. - -“Well, since the tobacco’s all gone, I do,” he frankly admitted. -“However----” - -“Then fill your pipe!” And from under the blanket-edge she produced the -missing slices. - -“Well, you--you----” he stuttered. - -“Now don’t you call me a dam-sell again, mister! You stuff your pipe -and have a good smoke.” - -He scowled, grinned, laughed, produced a stubby briar, and obeyed -orders. - -“I’ve a large mind to spank you,” he threatened, between puffs. “But I -never like to pick on a cripple. So instead I’ll condemn you to stay -here all night.” - -“That’s all right,” she countered serenely. “I’ve made up my mind to -stay anyway.” - -He missed two puffs while he stared at her. - -“Glad to see you’re showing sense,” he blurted. “But what’s the reason -for the sudden change of heart?” - -“You’re smokin’ the reason. ’Most any man round here would have kilt -that catamount. That’d be fun. But none of ’em would use up his last -smokin’ on a woman--not if both her legs were busted. A feller that -would do that is worth trustin’.” - -He threw up his hands. - -“Talk about feminine logic! That beats ’em all,” he laughed. “Well, -fair dam--I beg pardon--young woman, just who are you, if I may ask?” - -The answer staggered him. - -“Me? Oh, I’m only Nigger Nat’s girl.” - -Over his pipe he blinked at her. - -“My name’s Marry,” she went on. “Marry Oaks. My whole name is Marryin’, -but it’s Marry for short.” - -“Marion,” he repeated absently. “But who’s Nigger Nat? Not a colored -man!” - -The frank eyes looked steadily back at him. - -“Why, yes he is. He’s yeller--half nigger. He’s my pop. And mom’s part -Injun.” - - - - -CHAPTER III - -PIPE-SMOKE--AND POWDER-SMOKE - - -Dawn swept across the Shawangunks. - -From the far-off crests of the Berkshires light leaped athwart the -silvery Hudson and smote the frowning cliffs of the Great Wall of the -Wallkill Valley: a grim gray precipice stretching mile after mile to -the northeast, towering eight hundred feet upward from the lower lands; -unscalable, impenetrable save at one small high gap--the Jaws of the -Traps, whence in other days the redskin had slipped forth in bloody -foray on the settlers below, and where in turn the white man had lurked -in retaliatory ambush. Through that gap now wormed the sandy road of -the descendants of those pioneers, and along that road at this early -hour passed nothing more sinister than dawn-sheen and morning breeze. - -At the top of the crag-wall the light sped across the forested gulf -of the Traps itself, with its tiny scattered farmhouses and its rocky -clearings and mysterious by-paths, to strike against more cliffs--the -glacier-gouged wall of Minnewaska, holding in its stony setting a -tiny jewel of an upland lake; and the fissured butte of Dickie Barre, -father of gigantic bowlders and guardian of unknown caverns. And as the -dayshine flung itself against those forbidding ledges and then fled -on westward, the following breeze also threw against them a wave of -sound--the dry quacking chorus of myriads of katydids. - -All through the moonless September night those queer insects had ground -out their tuneless song, so monotonous and so steady that the ears of -other living things had long since become dulled to it. But now, swept -by the dawn-wind in among the echoing crevices and cañons, it seemed -suddenly redoubled in volume. Upon the senses of native bird and beast -it made slight impact, for they were well used to it; but on the nerves -of a long, blanketed figure lying in a narrow passage between towering -stone walls it struck like the clatter of an alarm-clock. His towsled -blond head moved, his long-lashed lids lifted, and his blue eyes darted -about in inspection of his surroundings. - -Beside his head lay a shotgun, its muzzle pointing outward, its -safety-catch off, ready for instant use. Beyond the slit of an entrance -showed nothing but more rocks and a labyrinthine tangle of trees and -brush. Behind, the sheer wall of Dickie Barre alone was visible across -a roomy space open to the sky. The only sounds were the everlasting -quack of the insects and the subdued _yarrup_ of some invisible -yellowhammer flitting about in search for a breakfast. - -He yawned, stretched, and sat up. The blanket dropped from his chest, -and he stared blankly at it. Then his gaze shot toward the cliff beyond. - -“Well, you ought to be spanked hard, you little bunch of wilfulness!” -he muttered. “Sneaked in here after I was asleep and spread this -blanket over me, didn’t you? And you needed both of ’em yourself--it’s -clammy up here at night. And walking on that bad foot, too!” - -But his eyes belied his growling tone as he arose and tiptoed to the -end of the passage. As they swept the farther wall and dwelt on the -little huddle of gray blanket beside the charred embers of the fire -they softened still more. Obviously the girl muffled under that stout -sheet of wool was sleeping as peacefully on her mattress of fragrant -hemlock tips as if at home in her own bed. - -“These mountain girls are as tough as rawhide,” he thought. “Imagine a -city girl going through what she did last night without a whine! And -sleeping like that under a rock. And----” - -His hand strayed to a shirt pocket and fingered some crumbled shreds of -tobacco. - -“And saving some smokes for me and stubbing over here on a sprained -ankle to give me half the bedding. Would any of those flossy dolls in -New York--or Chi or San Fran or N’Orleans--do that? Humph!” - -Softly he stepped along the little shelf where last night he had set -lamp and gun; sank to a comfortable squat, his back against the wall; -filled and lit his pipe. Thereafter he squatted a few minutes smoking -and musing. - -“‘Nigger Nat’s girl,’” he thought. “Daddy a drunken yellow mongrel, -mother a hard-tongued half-breed. How in thunder can a pair like that -produce such a witching wildcat as Marion Oaks? Her skin’s brown, but -the brown is only sun-tan, or my eyes are liars. And that hair and -those eyes! How come?” - -A flirt of active wings drew his gaze away for a moment. On a limb of a -plucky young pine growing from the face of the cliff above, a pair of -inquisitive yellowhammers had paused to spy and gossip. Their bright -eyes peered knowingly downward, and as they bobbed and bowed their -restless heads the black crescents under their creamy throats vied for -notice with the brilliant red splashes behind their crowns. Up and down -the branch they hopped, murmuring fussily over this most scandalous -event--a man and a girl shamelessly occupying an outdoor boudoir, just -as if they were as free of convention as the birds themselves. The man -smiled up at them and waved a hand in acknowledgment of their sharp -scrutiny. Instantly they winnowed away on whispering wings, to perch -again farther on and renew their eager watch. Douglas resumed his -puffing and puzzling. - -“Must be a throwback of heredity,” he decided. “There are such things -as red-headed niggers. Saw one in Detroit once. The white strain in -her folks cropped out strong when she was born. Must be tough for -a girl to be white and yet have the tainted blood in her veins. No -self-respecting white man could marry her, of course. But it’s a dirty -shame that you have to be cursed by your ancestors, little Miss Marion. -You haven’t a chance. You’ll become the ‘woman’ of some ignorant brute -down below, and before you’re thirty you’ll be old and gaunt and -broken-spirited.” - -He flipped the ash from the top of his pipe-bowl and puffed on. - -“And yet your mind is that of a white girl--and a thoroughbred, too,” -he silently asserted. “The tobacco and the blanket prove that. And -you despise your mongrel people. You run away up here to your little -secret ‘playhouse,’ and there you dream yourself to sleep, as you did -yesterday. And there’s poetry in you, too. Let’s see, what was that you -said--‘If all the dead men here should rise they’d shake the hills with -their tramping!’” - -His gaze grew absent, as through the smoke he visioned an army of -musket-bearing pioneers, shaggy-haired and deerskin-clad, and of -fierce-faced Indians carrying bow and tomahawk, marching along the -ancient trails. They passed, those long-dead fighting men, and in their -wake strode whiskered mountaineers of a later day, gripping shotgun -and rifle, watching one another in distrust--the victims of bullet and -buckshot hurled from the masking thickets of rhododendron, the men who -had died at the hands of their neighbors. Crag and crevasse echoed to -the tread of their ghostly feet, and the cliffs quivered in unison. Out -through the Jaws of the Traps they swung into the eye of the rising -sun. The caverns ceased to echo. The man found himself staring at a -gray blanket and listening to the rasping clack of the katydids. - -With a long sigh he arose and knocked out his pipe against his thigh. - -“Oh, well,” he muttered. “The past is past, the present is here, and -the future is rolling closer every minute. Poor little kid, with your -dreams and your picture-words! I’m sorry for you. But all I can do is -to cook some more grub for you and take you home. Then we’ll each have -to gang our ain gait.” - -He moved toward the dead fire, still stepping softly. But half-way -across the rocky rubble he halted short, struck by a sudden memory. - -“By thunder!” he exclaimed. “I wonder if----” - -Back into his mind had come a fragment of a tale told months ago in New -York by a chance acquaintance--a man from up-State. - -“Yessir,” he heard the voice saying, “there’s queer things back in the -hills--stories that’s never been told much. These fellers I’m thinkin’ -about, now: they were the hardest crowd you’d ever want to meet. They -were bad whites and bad Indians and bad niggers, all in this one gang -and livin’ in back of a long mountain wall with only one way into it. -Outlaws? Yessir, and worse’n that. Land pirates, I’d call ’em. Cut your -throat and never even wipe off the knife afterward. - -“Well, sir, they’d come out of this here hole-in-the-wall I’m tellin’ -about, and they’d waylay folks drivin’ along the roads, the rich folks -in coaches and so on. And they’d kill the men travelers and strip ’em -clean. And they’d carry off the women and hold ’em for ransom. And if -the ransom wasn’t paid the women never got out. They had to stay there -and be the women of that gang. If they were extry good-lookin’ maybe -they never got a chance to be ransomed. More’n one fine lady went into -that hole in the hills and never was heard of again. Yessir. That’s -right. - -“Oh, yes, it was a long while ago. Good many years before our time. -After the Revolution, maybe--it was pretty rough in lots of places -round here then, and these fellers could fight off a whole army by -guardin’ that gap of theirs. What ever become of ’em I don’t know. -But the descendants of that gang and the women prisoners are livin’ -there yet--outlaw white blood and high-toned white blood and nigger -and Indian blood all mixed up together--and I’ve heard tell that some -of ’em are handsome, especially the women. No, I never was in there -myself----” - -The memory-voice died and was lost. Vainly he racked his brain for -more of the tale. Where did that man say the place was? In these -Shawangunks? Farther south in the Ramapos? Up north in the Catskills, -or far beyond in the Adirondacks? No answer came. The rest of the -story, its beginning and end, were lost in the fog of many such chance -conversations at odd moments and in odd places. - -But he was sure that the locale of that legend was somewhere in the -mountains of New York State. And out there across the Traps was a long -mountain wall with but one way of entrance. And this girl’s father and -mother were of mongrel blood, and---- - -“By the Lord Harry, it fits!” he exclaimed aloud. “If this isn’t the -place it ought to be. And there’s been a lady--a real, high-bred -lady--in your family not many generations ago, Miss Marion, or I’m a -Chinaman!” - -The surrounding rocks reverberated with his words. The blanket before -him moved quickly. Out from it rose dancing gray eyes, glowing cheeks, -and laughing red lips. - -“Mornin’, Mister Detective!” she caroled. “Are you talkin’ into your -sleep, or did you find a drink somewheres? You’re foolish, sounds like.” - -Somewhat sheepish, he stood a moment without reply. His eyes dwelt on -the wealth of tumbled hair, now glowing like forest-fire in the clean -light of the new day: no pale sandy tresses, but rich, vivid, Titian -red. Nowhere in it showed dark streak or telltale kink. - -“Listen,” he countered. “Did you ever hear of a crowd of men--white and -red and black--who went out through the Gap over yonder and brought in -women and made slaves of them?” - -At once her friendly face turned cold. - -“You’re huntin’ into the wrong place,” she told him, lifting her chin. -“Our fellers don’t do that. You better look somewheres else.” - -“Oh, shucks! Can’t you get rid of that idea that I’m hunting somebody? -These desperadoes were all dead long before we were born. But haven’t -you heard some such story from the old folks?” - -After watching his frank face a moment she shook her head. - -“No, never heard tell of such a thing. If they’re all dead, what’s the -good of worryin’ about ’em anyway?” - -He shrugged and moved on toward the charred sticks, meanwhile turning -the conversation into another channel. - -“How’s the ankle?” - -She probed under the blanket, threw the covering aside, pushed herself -up, and took a tentative step. - -“Why, by mighty, mister! You’re a reg’lar doctor! It’s sore, but it -ain’t half as bad as ’twas. It hurt terrible last night when I----” - -She stopped abruptly, but her eyes went to the entrance. - -“When you came and covered me up? Serves you right. That was the most -foolish thing--but I thank you, just the same.” - -Her lips opened, but for a moment no word came. Her eyes still were -fixed on the narrow slit, and a little frown of concentration furrowed -her brow. He pivoted and squinted against the glare of the rising sun -now darting in at that crack. Then she spoke--low and tense. - -“Where’s your gun? Layin’ there?” - -“Yes.” - -“Go git it!” - -He sprang for the passage, where the weapon still lay beside his -discarded blanket. As he moved he heard a badly balanced stone outside -grate under the weight of a moving body. - -In a bounding rush he was across the open cavern and between the -bowlders. With a swoop he snatched up his gun. His clutching hand -closed with one finger inside the trigger-guard. - -Before he realized that he was pressing the little curved lever, -the gun jumped violently backward. A thundering report smashed out. -Powder-gas stung his throat. The firearm fell with a sullen _clack_ on -the stones beside his feet. - -Vaguely his deafened ears received the echo of the shot roaring along -the farther wall of the Traps, a mile away. He felt, rather than heard, -something fall among the rocks outside. - -Grabbing the gun again, he slipped forward to the entrance. At the -corners of the upstanding bowlders he halted short, staring at a -huddled form which had collapsed among the prone blocks beyond. - -Only the head and upper torso of the stranger were visible, his lower -body and legs lying behind a slanting stone. But clear in the sunlight -showed a wan, pinched young face, swarthy-skinned, with close-cropped -black hair. Along the stone under the head crept a red trickle. - -Suddenly Douglas was thrown aside. From behind him Marion darted, -wild-eyed. From her pale lips broke a sharp cry: “Steve!” - -Across the stones she struggled. Beside the youth she dropped. Then she -turned to Douglas a face startling in its white wrath. - -“You--murderin’--hound!” she choked. “You’ve kilt him!” - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -THE FUGITIVE - - -Dumb, Douglas leaned his gun against the wall and moved outward. - -“Don’t you touch him!” blazed Marion. “Don’t you put a hand onto him or -I’ll--I’ll use that gun onto you! I might have knowed you was lyin’--if -I’d knowed Steve was out I’d never trusted a word you said. Now you’ve -got him, leave him to be buried where he was borned. Oh, Steve, Stevie -lad! And I--I give this feller the word to git his gun and do for you! -If I’d only knowed you was out! Oh, Stevie boy!” - -In a storm of grief she dropped her head on the thin chest, hugging the -limp lad to her with convulsive strength. A few feet away the blond -man halted, dazed by the unintentional tragedy and the violence of the -girl’s outburst. For minutes he stood there motionless, hardly grasping -the significance of her denunciation. - -Then his brain began to work. Her words, repeating themselves, became -appallingly plain. This young Steve was “out”--and his swarthy pallor -was not merely that of unconsciousness or death: it was that of long -confinement in some place whence he had just escaped--a place where -hair was kept cropped. And he, Douglas Hampton, who had been half -accepted by this girl as the chance camper he claimed to be, now had -become in her mind a far blacker monster than a mere “detective”--a -merciless bloodhound who killed poor fugitives on sight. Gazing -miserably on the mountain maid mourning her luckless boy lover, he -found the sight unendurable. His head drooped, and his eyes rested -unseeing on the stones between him and the pathetic pair. - -Up overhead fluttered the yellowhammers, scared by the shot but -emboldened by the ensuing silence to wheel about and whet their -curiosity in scrutiny of the tragic group on the stones. High on the -cliff behind, an unseen squirrel fussed and fumed; and from crack and -cranny along the wall and from crevices among the fallen fragments -more than one furtive little eye peered out. Steadily the sun slipped -upward in the clean blue sky, lighting up in pitiless nakedness one -more spectacle such as it had seen all too often in the long stretch -of time since men first penetrated into this grim gulf. The wretched -man neither heard nor saw any of these things. Stone-still he stood, -staring down at a spattered splotch of white on a gray rock. - -All at once his blank gaze focused sharply on that white spot. He -started. In one stride he was beside the rock. As he stooped and -squinted, a light flamed in his face. With a bound he was up and -leaping toward the limp form beyond. - -“Git away!” shrilled Marion, lifting a tear-swollen face and turning -on him like a tigress. “Keep your bloody hands off him--he’s mine! My -onliest----” - -“Listen to me!” he commanded. “I never hit him! The shot struck that -stone yonder--the whole charge! It was an accident anyway--and he was -out of line--the shot couldn’t hit him from where I stood. Let me see -that wound.” - -For an instant she sat rigid, unable to believe, yet thrilled with -hope. Quickly, but gently, he raised the head of the youth and probed -the injury he found. Then he nodded vehemently. - -“This is no gunshot wound,” he asserted. “It’s a cut and a bump. He -tumbled and knocked his head against a stone. Got a hard crack, but -nothing dangerous. Poor kid, he looks half starved, and that smash he -took just finished him--for awhile. All he needs is water, food, rest, -and safety. I’ll give him all of them.” - -After one stare at the split scalp now turned toward her, she sprang -up, her cheeks aglow with joy. But then she paused and shot a glance at -the gun near by. - -“And you’ll take him back! No you won’t--I’ll----” - -In the nick of time he caught her wrist as she started toward the -weapon. - -“Take him back where?” he snapped. “I’ll take him nowhere, except back -among the rocks. After he’s able to walk he can go where he likes. He’s -nothing to me. If he’s anything to you, don’t stand in his way. I’m -trying to help him. Now behave!” - -She was tugging furiously away, but as he released her she stood where -she was, fighting now against her distrust of him. He lifted the -sagging body, got a firm grip, and lurched back toward the cliff. -As he passed the shot-scarred stone he grunted and jerked his head -downward toward it. Following, she paused an instant and studied the -white patch, glanced at the little cañon, then moved on with clearer -face. She knew well how shot-marks looked; saw, too, that the tall -stranger had spoken truth when he said Steve was out of his line of -fire from the walled passage. Though she had not seen the gun fired, -she realized now that hardly any man would have made so poor a shot if -he had actually been trying to hit the hunted youth. - -Yet, when Douglas edged into the slit and bore his burden through, she -halted behind him and put a tentative hand on the gun, still loaded in -one barrel. Narrowly she inspected the “newfangled” weapon--so unlike -the ancient muzzle-loaders common in the Traps--wavering between a -desire to draw its remaining charge and fear lest it might disastrously -explode again. After a dubious moment she shook her head and went on. -She must trust this man, whether she would or not. - -Down on the tumbled blanket and the bough-tip bed Douglas laid the -youth. Then he reached for the canvas water-pail. Its lightness brought -a frown to his brow. Hardly a cupful remained in it. - -“I’ll git somethin’,” she volunteered, reading his thought. Before he -could fathom her purpose she was leaving through the passage, limping -a little but moving as if sure of herself. Presently she returned, -carefully bearing a jug. - -“Well, you witch! Where did you dig up that?” - -“That’s one of the questions you better not ask round here,” she -parried. “Jest hold up his head while I give him a good snort.” - -Smiling grimly, he raised the lad’s head and opened his lax mouth -while she pulled the corn-cob plug. Deftly she put the nozzle to that -mouth and poured the “snort.” The aptness of the word was speedily -demonstrated by the uncouth noise which erupted from Steve. - -His eyes flew open, rolled, blinked. He coughed, sprayed a mouthful of -the colorless but powerful liquor on his helpers, gasped, and struggled -up as if kicked out of sleep. Wildly he stared at the two faces so near -his. Then, as the girl put the jug again to his mouth, he grabbed it -with both hands and gulped thirstily. When he lowered the vessel he -licked his lips, and across them flitted a faint grin. - -“Gawd, am I dead or dreamin’?” he breathed hoarsely. “Marry! Be ye -there? An’ this here licker--I’m a dunkey if ’tain’t real! Who--who’s -this feller?” - -His brown eyes glared into the cool blue ones. Involuntarily his right -hand gripped the jug-handle as if it were a gun-stock. His gaunt face -tightened into a menacing mask. He wavered like a mortally wounded -wildcat gathering its last strength to spring. - -“I’m all right, Steve,” soothed Douglas. “I’m not after you. You’re -safe, and this is Marry, and that’s real stuff in the jug. Calm down.” - -Under the steadying influence of the quiet tone the youth relaxed a -little. Yet his lined mouth remained set as he demanded: “Who shot at -me?” - -“Nobody,” Douglas told him. “My gun exploded accidentally. I didn’t -even see you. You fell and cracked your head.” - -The boy still glowered suspiciously, but when Marion spoke his gaze -shifted to her. - -“That’s right, Steve. You’re all right, ’cept a little cut and a bump. -Tell me quick--how long you been out? Are they after you?” - -A savage smile twisted the thin mouth. - -“I dunno if they’re trackin’ me--I reckon so. I ain’t seen ’em. I got -’way Monday night, an’ I ain’t goin’ back till I git Snake Sanders. -Cuss him, he put me away--an’ I never done it, Marry, I never! It was -Snake done it! An’ I got the blame. Three years I been doin’ time--but -I’ll take them three years outen him quick’s I git to a gun! Yas, an’ -all the rest of his life too! I’ll----” - -“Don’t you! He’ll git you, not you git him. You might’s well try to -git a copperhead by grabbin’ onto him with your bare hands. And you’ve -got to keep out till the officers quit huntin’--they’ll be into here, -if they ain’t here now. Don’t you go near the house or a gun--don’t -move or make a noise till I tell you, or you’re a goner! Now gimme -that jug and I’ll put it back. We’ve got to go quick to some other -hide-out--there’s been shootin’ up here and we don’t know who’ll -come--gimme that jug!” - -“Not till I git ’nother big snort under my shirt,” refused Steve, -lifting the jug in unsteady hands. “I ain’t et much for four days, -an’----” - -“Gimme that jug!” she stormed. “Know whose it is? Snake’s!” - -The boy started as if stung. His grip relaxed, and she yanked the jug -from him and grabbed up the corn-cob. Douglas noticed, in an absent -way, that the clay was smeared with a streak of green paint. - -“Snake’s? I been drinkin’ that varmint’s licker?” raged Steve. “I’d -ruther lap up p’ison! Gimme that jug back! I’ll bust it!” - -“No you won’t!” She backed off. “He’s right round here now somewheres, -I shouldn’t wonder, a-sneakin’ and a-slidin’ along, and you’ve got to -lay low awhile--you ain’t even got a gun. I’m goin’ to put this right -back where ’twas. You keep quiet.” - -She hobbled away. Steve struggled to rise and overtake her, but found -himself powerless in the grip of Douglas. - -“Cool off, Steve,” advised the blond man. “Think what a joke this is on -Snake--you drinking up his licker. Wouldn’t it make him mad?” - -A sudden hard grin split the pallid face. Steve sank back. - -“That’s right, too--uh--what’s yer name?” - -“Call me Hamp.” - -“Hamp. Good ’nough. I dunno ye, an’ ye don’t b’long round here, but ye -act right. Got anything to eat, Hamp? I been goin’ a long time, an’ -it’s ’most took the tuck outen me.” - -He began to blink a little uncertainly. The “licker” was fast getting -in its work on his woefully empty stomach. - -“Got a can of beans and some water, and they’re yours.” - -“Gimme ’em!” - -The demand crackled like an electric spark. The hard-set visage turned -ravenous, and the wiry frame lifted itself and set its back against -the wall. When Douglas tendered the opened can it was snatched and a -quarter of its contents dumped into a grimy hand. An instant later the -whole handful had been wolfed down and another was being stuffed into a -fast-working mouth. When Marion came limping back from her mysterious -pilgrimage only an empty tin and greasy lips remained to tell what had -happened. - -Unspeaking, the blond man opened another bean-can, put in a tin spoon, -and handed it to the girl. She sank on a stone and began eating -eagerly, but far more daintily than the boy. Douglas watched silently, -but he nodded as he noted the instinctive difference in her way of -feeding herself. Steve also watched, but with a different thought. - -“Marry, ye’re gittin’ awful purty,” he vouchsafed. “When I went ’way ye -was thin’s a rail, but now ye’re han’some as a little red wagon. Ain’t -ye got a kiss for me?” - -“Not till you wash your face, you dirty thing,” she composedly -answered. He grinned and wiped his mouth on a tattered sleeve much too -big for him. “Where’d you git the clothes?” she demanded. - -“Them?” He glanced down at threadbare coat, thin shirt, and ragged -overalls. “Found ’em into fellers’ barns down yender. Hid my pen-clo’es -into one feller’s hay. Purty smart, hey?” - -“Smart! Don’t you know the officers’ll track you that way? They will, -sure’s you’re livin’.” - -“They’ll have a job findin’ me now I’ve got here,” he muttered, though -plainly disconcerted. “’Less’n somebody blabs.” - -Brown eyes and gray eyes switched to the quiet man who sat taking it -all in. - -“Don’t worry,” said he. “I haven’t seen you folks at all--either of -you.” - -After a narrow stare Steve nodded slightly. Not another word was spoken -until the meagre meal was finished and the water-bag was totally empty. -Then Marion took command of the situation. - -“We’ll be goin’ now,” she stated, rising. “No, don’t come with us. -Steve and me, we’ll go ’long by our own selves, and then you won’t know -what’s ’come of us if anybody should ask you. We’re awful obliged to -you, stranger, and we wish you good luck. G’by.” - -“I’m not saying good-bye. I’m staying here, as I told you before. Maybe -we’ll meet again.” - -She took several halting steps outward before responding, Steve -trailing silently behind her. At the edge of the cañon she paused and -spoke over one shoulder. - -“If you’re stayin’, don’t stay _here_. It’s no place for you. You’ll be -better off down below. There’s Jake Dalton’s place, down towards the -Clove, where nobody lives any more, and you could go into there and -live pretty safe and comf’table if you mind your own business--and if -the ha’nt don’t git you.” - -“Oho! A haunted house!” - -“So folks say. Jake, he got kilt last spring by somethin’--nobody -knows what. They found him after he’d been dead a week or so, and -they couldn’t look at him right close. But he wasn’t shot or cut or -clawed--he was jest swelled up terrible. Two or three fellers stayed -into his house since, and they got drove out--somethin’ was there that -they didn’t see, but they could hear it and _feel_ it. Some say it’s -Jake’s ha’nt. Others say it ain’t Jake but the thing that kilt him. If -you want to try livin’ there nobody’s likely to bother you much. It -sets on the left of the Clove road, down yonder, with two big pines -back of it. - -“Now we’re goin’. Oh, and one other thing--you better not come round -Nigger Nat’s house. He ain’t sociable. G’by.” - -Out through the crack they passed. For a minute or two the blond man -sat looking moodily at the exit. Then he arose and followed. - -The rocks outside were vacant. The trees and undergrowth showed no sign -of life. Even the curious yellowhammers were gone. Nowhere, except on -two stones--one scarred by shot, one stained with blood--was anything -to show that since the last sunset two young hill-folk had come -suddenly into the life of Douglas Hampton and as swiftly vanished from -it. - -“Well,” he muttered, picking up his gun and turning back, “Steve, you -tough young wolf, you don’t know how lucky you are. I only hope you’ll -treat her right in the years to come.” - - - - -CHAPTER V - -CREEPING THINGS - - -Up on the brink of Dickie Barre, on a triangular outcrop of stone bare -of brush but topped by whispering pines, Douglas lounged in luxurious -content, basking in the mellow warmth of September sun. - -Behind him his pack leaned against the base of a pine. Beside him lay -his gun. Before him stretched the long panorama of the Traps. - -From the half-naked rock of Millbrook Mountain, where the rim of the -great bowl curved westward to merge into the Minnewaska steeps, to the -castle-like peak of Sky Top, beneath which the strange lake of Mohonk -nestled out of sight in a cup of sheer stone, rambled the top of the -Great Wall. Northward from Sky Top it dipped downward in a long sweep, -and there the east-swinging wall of Dickie Barre seemed to close in and -complete the unbroken ring of uplands surrounding the forested chasm. -But the man loafing up on the breezy point knew that such was not the -case. - -Though he had not yet traveled in that direction, he had been studying -a couple of squares of Government topographic map, of which several -were in his ditty-bag; and he knew that the walls did not close. They -pinched together into a narrow ravine, then veered apart again, each -pursuing its own way into the north until it became only a series -of rounded knolls sinking into the other low hills beyond. And that -ravine, or perhaps the wider valley floor beyond, must be the Clove of -which Marion Oaks had spoken. - -Through that ravine and on into the north, the map said, ran a -road--the inside road of the Traps; and along that road-line, at wide -intervals, were the little square symbols which, to the topographer, -signify “houses.” One of those dots must be the house where Jake Dalton -had lived before he was found “swelled up terrible”; where now even the -hard sons of the craggy hills dared not sleep because of the fearful -thing which could not be seen but could be felt. Before sundown, the -lone blond man intended, he would find that house and see whether it -was fit for habitation. If so, he meant to inhabit it, ha’nt or no -ha’nt. - -Everything impelled him toward that house. To live continuously among -the bowlders where he had stayed last night was neither comfortable -nor sensible: the place was too far from water, from food, from -human associates; and when the drenching fall rains should come, as -they might at any time, he would be almost unprotected. For sinister -purposes, for the concealment of nameless activities and of wanted men, -the maze of cliff-blocks was ideal; but for the steady residence of a -man who dodged neither lawmakers nor lawbreakers it was the reverse. -And to a red-blooded, two-handed fellow like Douglas Hampton the story -of the uncanny house was enough. Had it been an even poorer place than -his rocky lair, he would have journeyed thither to seek the solution -of its mystery. - -But the day was far from old, and there was time to loaf and look and -bask and think, unworried by necessity. Here was none of the rush and -drive of the city, the scurry to fill assignments, the fret and fume -of the hordes of business-slaves hurtling over-ground and underground -in ant-like activity. Here was nothing to do but relax, absorbing the -golden sunlight and the green beauty of nature and the clinking music -of unseen hammers far below and far away on the Mohonk slope, where -millstone-makers were rifting rock in their little quarries. What -though one had no habitation? What though his food was almost gone -and the pipe dangling from the corner of his mouth was empty? Time -enough to seek shelter when night approached; time enough to rustle -for food when the last crumb had vanished. Now was the hour to let his -city-starved soul feast on freedom. - -So he leaned there on an elbow, blinking outward and downward at the -varying verdure of the hardwood forests, the red spots of sumach and -the orange tips of goldenrod brightening the little fields, the tiny -houses dotting the openings, the little ribbons of smoke drifting away -from their chimneys. His thoughts moved in a slow circle--from Marion -to Steve, from Steve to the haunted house, from the haunted house to -the legend of the long-dead outlaw gang, from the gang to its women -prisoners, and so back again to Marion. Where was she now? Down in one -of those houses, beaten and sworn at for running away? Much nearer, -still talking with her escaped-convict lover in the “hide-out” to -which she had taken him? Limping along somewhere in the masking brush, -forgetful of pain, thinking only of bringing food to the worn-out -fugitive? Only the labyrinth below could tell; and it was not in the -habit of telling tales about its children. - -And this Snake Sanders, who had wriggled out of the way of officers and -let a boy suffer the penalty of some unknown crime--who and what was -he? The thinker, accustomed to studying faces and voices, felt that -Steve’s denial of guilt and denunciation of Snake were genuine. His -virulent hatred, his vicious threat against that man, were those of the -bitterly wronged. Yet Marion, herself swift-tempered and courageous, -had shown that she feared this Snake, who might be a-sneakin’ and -a-slidin’ along near at hand---- - -The blond man grew tense. Something _was_ sneaking along, though not -very near. Something was creeping stealthily toward him from the thick -growth behind; something which made no footfall, but which caused a -slight difference in the rustling of the breeze-kissed leaves. - -He started to turn his head, then checked the movement. He felt that he -would see nothing: that the creature was traveling with Indian stealth, -keeping itself masked; that his look behind would only warn the -sinister thing that its approach was known. He was lying dangerously -close to the edge, and his nerves shouted to him to get back while -there was time. But he held himself where he was. - -His eyes flicked downward at his gun. Then he carelessly raised -himself to a sitting position, took his pipe from his mouth and glanced -at it, put it back, and let his hand stray down to his shirt pocket. It -hovered there a moment, then sank loosely as if empty. But cupped in -his palm now was a little round mirror. - -Casual though his movements had been, the soft rustle of progress -had ceased. Only the little flutterings caused by wandering -air-currents came to him. As he sat still, however, apparently -absorbed in contemplation of the scene below, it recommenced. Slowly, -imperceptibly, he turned his hand, slanting the mirror up and down by -degrees, watching it from the corner of his eye. It was a schoolboy -trick which he had used more than once in later years when desirous of -seeing something behind without turning his head. And now, listening -keenly and moving the telltale glass with practised hand, he soon -located the advancing thing behind the pine, some ten feet away, where -his pack lay. - -It was creeping now on the ground, free from the brush beyond but still -unseen; keeping itself concealed behind pack and pine, making only a -slight slither as it came. The sound died. For a long minute all was -quiet. Then, slowly, above the edge of the pack rose a hat. - -Shapeless, dingy felt it was, with a ragged hole below its crown. Under -its brim glimmered black eyes, beady and cold as those of a reptile. -Little by little the nose came up into view--a flat, wide nose with -something of the triangularity of a snake’s head. There it poised, -mouth and jaw hidden behind the bulk of the pack. - -The opaque eyes fixed greedily on the new shotgun lying beside the -watcher’s leg. Then they returned to the back and shoulders of the -blond man, and the lids narrowed into wicked slits. The nose drew -downward, the eyes followed, the hat faded. Above the pack nothing -showed except the low branches of the pine. - -Little sounds of movement came--of movement but not of advance. Douglas -moved the mirror to right and left of the lump of blankets. His fingers -grew rigid. Something had appeared beside the pack--a light but strong -box, from which a dirty black-haired hand was lifting a lid. As that -lid arose the box was tilted so that its top became an open side, -facing toward the man on the brink. And out from it crawled a big -copperhead. - -Head raised, it glided forward a foot or two and stopped, its tail -still in the box, which lay motionless. Its venomous eyes focused on -the still figure of the man beyond, who remained as rigid as the rock -on which he sat. Its tongue ran out and vibrated in menace. Slowly it -slipped forward a little farther, then paused again. Douglas braced -himself to snatch up his gun, whirl, and fire the instant its approach -was resumed. But it was not resumed. - -Instead, the repulsive creature lay quiet, absorbing the warmth of rock -and sun. Minutes passed, and it made no move. Then from beyond the -pack came a faint sibilant sound--an almost inaudible noise which was -not hiss nor breath nor whistle, but something of all three, and which -seemed to arouse the reptile. It turned, and crept sluggishly toward -the spot whence the sound had come. - -Twice that indescribable sibilance was repeated, and the snake moved -on in its deliberate, fat-bodied way. Just then a sudden gust of wind -swooped playfully along the brink, startling the leaves into a flapping -chorus like the beating wings of trapped birds. The hideous thing on -the ground slid around the pack, paused, was gone. - -Douglas drew a long breath and became aware that his shirt was clammy -with cold perspiration. A chill shivered down his back. Moving the -glass, he scanned all around and above that pack. Nothing showed. The -gust of wind fled along on its frolicsome way, and all grew quiet. No -sound came from behind the pine. - -Still controlling his movements, he looked casually around, then arose -as if tired of sitting. As he stood up, however, his gun was in one -hand, and he loosely swung its twin muzzles to cover the pack. Feigning -a yawn, he stepped lazily toward the pine, dropping the mirror into a -trousers pocket as he moved. With a quiet click his safety-catch slid, -and two solid charges--of buckshot--were ready for instant use. - -A good stride away from the blankets he turned aside and drifted around -the butt of the pine. Then he halted, sorely puzzled. The man who -should have been lurking there was not. The box, too, had vanished. Not -even the snake---- - -But yes, the snake was there. It was curled just below and behind the -pack, hidden from any eye except one searching for it; three feet of -silent death, ready to strike its fangs into the hands of the man -stooping to lift his back-burden before slinging it on his shoulders. -Even now, with that man’s eye on it, it was poising in venomous -alertness, its tongue vibrating again like a blur. - -Douglas stepped onward a little, lifted his gun, and fired. The snake -rolled writhing away, blown apart. Instantly he wheeled, the other -barrel ready to meet any menace. But still nothing showed itself. The -growth beyond seemed empty. - -Warily watching, he stepped to his pack, swung it up one-handed, and -stood a minute longer scanning his surroundings. Seeing nothing new, -he got into the straps and strode away. Only a few rods to his left, -he knew, ran a faint trail--the path by which he had come here after -finding a steep slope which had enabled him to climb Dickie Barre. The -trail would be empty, of course; the skulking assassin in the felt hat -would be so cunningly hidden in the encompassing tangle that no mere -stranger could find him. No use hunting him. - -But as he emerged into that path he stopped, startled. There, only a -few feet away, stood the man. - -So astounded by the other’s audacity was Douglas that he stood gaping. -The sinister hillman grinned guilelessly. - -“Howdy, stranger!” he greeted. “Scairt ye, did I? Was that ye -a-shootin’ jest now?” - -Douglas swallowed an impulse to leap at him. Still amazed, he glanced -rapidly over him. Below the ophidian eyes and flat nose which he had -seen before, he now noted a coarse mouth, tobacco-yellowed teeth, -scraggly black beard about a week old, long lean frame, and nondescript -garments. His curving hands were empty. His snake-box was not with him -now. Nor had he any gun. - -The man moved slightly, shifting a foot. In the movement was something -reptilian--a sinuous smoothness that was serpentine. And in the short -sentences which he had just spoken was a repellent hiss. - -“Howdy yourself!” growled Douglas. “What are you doing here?” - -“Jest a-ramblin’ round, stranger. Might ast ye the same. What was ye -shootin’?” - -“Snake.” Douglas gave him a hard look. - -“Yeh? Huh! Awful waste o’ powder. Us fellers use sticks onto them -things. Thought mebbe ye got what ye’re into here for.” - -A cunning wink followed his last utterance. - -“Meaning?” - -The yellow teeth bared themselves in a wide, silent laugh. But the -beady eyes held no mirth. - -“Think I dunno ye? Huh! I ain’t no fool. Ye ain’t here jest to look at -rocks an’ things. Trouble is, ye dunno this kentry an’ how to work it. -None o’ ye do. Everybody into the place knowed days ago ye was here, -an’ ye’ll never git yer man ’less’n ye do business. I’m the feller to -do business with.” - -Again the cunning wink. - -“Meaning?” repeated Douglas. - -“Huh! Ye know. We’ll work shares. I’ll toll yer man to ye for half the -reward. Who d’ye want? How much’s he wuth?” - -The blond man bit back a sudden desire to grin. - -“Who are you?” he countered. - -“Me? Snake Sanders.” - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -THE KNOCK-OUT - - -Douglas deliberately swung the pack from his back and dropped it. -Against it he leaned his gun, making sure, as he did so, that he had -restored the safety-lock. As he faced Snake Sanders he caught the black -eyes fixed again on the weapon, and in them glinted the same light of -cupidity which had been there before. - -“Right purty gun ye’ve got, stranger,” Snake admired. “Don’t look -sensible, though, without no hammers onto it. What’s one o’ them guns -cost?” - -“Oh, several dollars. But what about this business of yours?” - -“It’s like I tell ye.” Snake dragged his gaze away from the shotgun. -“Do business with me an’ ye’ll git what ye want. Otherways ye git -nothin’--but trouble.” - -“So? And who’ll make the trouble? You?” - -“Me? Huh! I don’t have to. Ye’ll jest fall into it.” - -“Fall into it. Sure it won’t come crawling up on me from behind?” - -The black lashes flickered. - -“What ye mean by that?” - -“Your name’s Snake.” - -Sanders’ beady stare beat into his inscrutable face. Presently the -serpentine man grinned and subtly relaxed. - -“Names don’t hurt. Think I’d try to do ye after I got my money, mebbe? -That ain’t my way, stranger. Folks calls me Snake ’cause I can handle -snakes. They don’t never bite me. I can tromp right round ’em into my -bare feet, an’ pick ’em up into my bare hands, an’ they lemme alone. I -can talk to ’em--snake talk--an’ they mind. If I’d of been over yender -’fore ye kilt that snake o’ yourn, now, I could have sent him away jest -by talkin’ to him.” - -His gaze never wavered as he talked. He gave no sign of guilt. Unaware -that he had been observed in the little round mirror, he was sure there -was nothing to connect him in this man’s mind with the fact that a -copperhead had lurked beside the pack, and he was bold enough to make -capital of the presence of that reptile. Evidently he was proud both of -his name and his diabolical gift. - -“Ye must have hearn o’ me,” he went on. “I’ve done business before. -Nobody round here knows it, o’ course. I keep my tracks covered. But -they must have told ye outside ’bout Snake Sanders. I’m him.” - -Douglas kept the disgust out of his face. He wanted to know just how -deep was this man’s duplicity. He had not yet learned that it was -absolutely bottomless. - -“I’ve heard the name. People around here don’t monkey with you much, do -they?” - -A hissing laugh came through the yellow teeth, and for once the eyes -showed a glint of amusement. - -“No they don’t. I’ve got this hull place right into my hand, mister. -Folks step wide o’ me. Some fellers has got brash an’ throwed buckshot -at me, but they don’t no more. They’re dead. Others has learnt.” - -“I see. Those fellows stepped on snakes, maybe?” - -“Mebbe. I ain’t sayin’. But come on, stranger, we can’t talk here all -day. Who d’ye want? How much?” - -“I think,” was the slow answer, “that the party I’m interested in just -now is out of reach.” - -Snake looked blank. Reaching smoothly into a pocket, he drew out a plug -of tobacco, bit off a chunk, and chewed. - -“Got away clean, ye mean. Ain’t into here nowheres? Huh! Don’t be -too sure. There’s lots o’ hide-outs into here that ye dunno ’bout. I -know ’em. I can git anybody--man, woman, or chile. An’ there’s more’n -one way to skin a skunk. If yer man ain’t too well knowed, why won’t -’nother man do?” - -Again the insinuating wink. - -“Meaning?” - -“Aw, come off! Ye know. Fix it onto some feller we can git. Take him -out, fix up yer case, railroad him an’ git yer money. Think I dunno -how you detectives work? Ye must think I’m simple. It’s done right -’long--grab a feller that ain’t got no friends an’ send him up. What -chance has a feller here got when he gits drug into the courts outside? -Puh!” He expectorated profusely and waited. - -Douglas laughed out in contempt. He took a couple of slow strides -forward. Snake shifted again, and his eyes narrowed once more. - -“You’re barking up the wrong tree,” the blond man derided. “I’m no -detective. I’m hunting nobody. I’m in here for--my health. See?” - -Snake saw--or thought he did. Instantly he changed front. - -“I knowed it. Ye needn’t jump onto me, now. I was jest a-tryin’ ye out. -If ye was a real detective ye’d be down snoopin’ round houses, not -a-hidin’ out up here. Wal, ye come to the right place, stranger. Where -ye from? What’d ye do? Go on, tell a feller. I’ll keep it dark. Got -money, o’ course. Gimme some an’ I’ll fetch ye all the feed ye want.” - -“And fetch the officers along too, when they come.” - -“Aw no. That talk I jest give ye was all moonshine--not a true word -into it. I was jest makin’ sure o’ ye, I tell ye. Now I know ye -I’ll----” - -“Shut up!” Hampton’s anger broke out. “I’ve been making sure of you, -too. You’re a liar. You’re a treacherous sneak. You’d sell a hunted -man to me--you’d sell an innocent man to me--you’d sell me, too. You -think I’m after somebody, eh? Well, you’re right. I’m after the man who -thought he was going to get my gun and money, the man who didn’t get -them and is trying to trap me now, the man who sneaked up and let that -copperhead out of the box! I’m after Snake Sanders! And I’ve got him!” - -So rapid had been his words, so swift was his following leap, that -Snake stood flat-footed as a big fist smacked into his face. He was -knocked headlong backward. - -Into the bushes he sprawled with a crash of breaking branch and twig. -Into the bushes Douglas jumped after him. But Sanders, though dazed by -the impact of the blow and the shock of finding himself caught, was -neither senseless nor helpless. He wriggled over and seemed to curve -upward. Head-first, like a striking reptile, he threw himself at the -legs of the man above. His punisher lurched over him and fell. - -Snake’s lean frame wriggled forward again and started up. But he was -not quite free. Without waiting to rise, Douglas darted a hand backward -and clamped it around one bare ankle. Holding his grip, he rolled over, -twisting and yanking the trapped leg. - -The hillman tottered and lost his footing. But even before he hit the -ground for the second time he lashed out in air with his free foot. His -heel thumped into the blond man’s face, snapping his head back like a -fist-blow. Hissing furiously, Snake jerked up his leg and let drive -again. The fierce foot-punch missed this time, for its mark had ducked -aside and the leg shot over Douglas’ shoulder. Promptly it was seized, -held, forced down. - -Both men now were in a grotesque posture for fighting. Snake’s legs -were spread, with his antagonist sitting between them and clutching a -foot on each side, while Snake himself sat on one booted ankle, pinning -it down. But the advantage was decidedly with Sanders, for both his -hands were free. He shot them straight for the other’s throat. - -His arms were struck up and his savage clutch failed. His feet were -freed, but the hands which had gripped them now were fists, shooting -short-arm jolts into his jaw. And, short though those blows were, they -crunched his teeth together with a force that made him blink groggily -and throw himself aside. - -An instant later he found himself grappled. Douglas was clinching -him, shoving him down, striving for a leg-hold with his knees and -relentlessly forcing one of his arms up behind his back. Douglas’ eyes -were ablaze with wrath and his jaw set like a rock. Now he had this -treacherous reptile in a real grip, and he meant to smash it. And -Snake, reading the grim purpose in the face of the man against whose -back he had loosed creeping death, felt fear stab through him. - -Heretofore the sinister hillman had fought only in a flurry of surprise -and rage--though he would not have neglected to make his work complete -if once he got the upper hand. Now the fury of desperation fired him. -He snaked himself over sidewise, wriggled a leg loose, twined it around -the booted leg beside it, and, by a curling twist, eased the strain -on his pinioned arm. His yellow fangs fixed themselves in his enemy’s -shoulder. His free hand clawed for the blue eyes. - -Douglas released his arm-hold, evaded the gouging nails by a backward -jerk of the head, got both hands to his foe’s throat, tore him loose. -Both scrambled to their knees and up on their feet. Both struck with -savage fists at the same instant. Both blows landed. - -Squarely between the eyes Snake’s knotty fist cracked. Douglas saw -a red flash, followed by floating rings of flame. His own knuckles -tingled from their impact with a bristly chin. Vaguely he saw the face -beyond the wavering fire-spots fade backward. His other fist, swinging -for it, hit nothing. - -For an instant he dug his knuckles into his eyes, trying to clear his -sight. Then he squinted around. Snake was down again, clawing at the -ground, trying to rise. He jumped for him--stubbed a toe against an -unnoticed rock--stumbled and sprawled. - -As he pushed himself up, raging, Snake got to his haunches and lurched -at him in a clinch. Douglas threw himself into the wiry arms and -grappled for a hold of his own. And then for a few minutes it was a -straining, kicking, punching rough-and-tumble, each fighting with all -he had. - -Again and again each secured a throat-hold but lost it. Over they -rolled, kicking whenever a foot came free, slugging with either fist -or both, striving to dash each other’s head against stone or root, -heaving and wrenching until they had tumbled out of the brush and -into the trail where they had first stood. In Douglas grew amazement -at the strength and endurance of his antagonist. In Snake’s brain -gnawed a keener fear of the man on whom he had exhausted in vain every -foul trick he knew. Neither could quite overcome the other. Both were -gasping and growing dizzy from the violence of their combat. And they -fought on. - -Suddenly, in a final squirming spasm, Snake twisted himself free. -Before Douglas could clutch him again he had rolled away and was -shoving himself up. The blond man got his feet under him and pitched -to a stand. Then, too short of breath to renew the duel at once, they -balanced themselves and glowered. - -Snake was a hard sight, and Douglas was not much better. The -hillman’s face was gashed by cuts and smeared with mingled blood and -tobacco-juice, his right eye was shut, his mouth was a blubbery pulp, -his clothes hung in rags. The other’s bloodshot eyes gleamed between -puffy lids, his nose leaked a red drizzle, his light hair was stained -from a cut scalp and full of dirt, his shirt was ripped to the waist -and crimsoned at the shoulder where Snake’s teeth had sunk. But neither -saw anything except the menace in the other’s eyes. - -The same thought came to both--probably born in the vindictive brain of -Snake and involuntarily transmitted by his look: the thought of the gun -leaning against the pack. True, it was “newfangled,” and Douglas knew -it was locked against discharge; but in a fight a gun is not only a gun -but a steel bar and a club. It was behind its owner, and a swift dash -past him might make Snake its master. He attempted the dash. - -Without the slightest preliminary movement he was speeding past -Douglas. But the latter was not asleep. Pivoting on a heel, he swung a -round-arm blow flush under the passing jaw. - -The shock was terrific. Between the impetus of Snake’s plunge and the -body-drive of the punch, the impact was more than doubled. The slugging -arm dropped, numb to the shoulder. Snake also dropped--numb all over. - -His feet left the ground, and he straightened backward in the air. Flat -on his back he struck, arms at his sides, legs stretched nerveless, -head a little to the right, blank face turned to the brush. There he -lay without a quiver of life. - -Douglas stood peering down, slowly swinging his numbed arm at his side. -Minutes passed. His breathing grew normal; his arm lost its wooden -feeling. Somewhere a bird chirped noisily. Up from the unseen chasm -of the Traps idled a new breeze, bearing the music of the far-off -hammers. The warm sun beat down on the two men. Still Snake Sanders lay -motionless. - -The swollen-eyed man above him trod tentatively on a grimy hand. It -gave no answering twitch. He stooped, studied the face, put a thumb on -the left lid, pushed it up, and peered at the eyeball. Then he stood -up, unconsciously rubbing his thumb against his shirt. - -“Well, Mister Snake Sanders,” he said grimly, “if I were you and you -were I, you’d drag me over to the edge and pitch me off to smash on -the rocks, most likely. That’s what I ought to do to you. But I don’t -happen to be built along those lines. Just what can a white man do with -a reptile like you under such circumstances?” - -The problem remained unanswered, though he ran a hand repeatedly -through his thick hair and frowned down at the body. - -“If I could only have hit you harder, maybe you’d die of a broken -neck,” he mused. “I’ve known such things to happen. But I did the best -I could, and you’ll live just the same. The devil takes care of his -own, anyway.” - -Slowly he turned and walked to his pack. Deliberately he got into the -straps, wincing as the injured shoulder came under pressure. - -“Must wash that place well when I reach the creek,” he muttered, -“or I’ll get blood-poisoning. Guess a complete bath wouldn’t be -inappropriate.” - -He settled the pack, gripped his gun, stepped to the edge of the brush, -and picked up his hat. Then he looked again at the silent Snake. - -“On the whole, I think I have a good deal the best of it,” he declared. -“Your little copperhead trick did me no harm, and I know a lot more now -than if you hadn’t tried it. Yes, a whole lot. As for damages to our -respective complexions and temperaments, I’m no worse off than you; and -in the matter of general condition you’re certainly much worse than I. -So we’ll call it quits--for the present.” - -He plodded away. But after a few steps he looked back with a hard smile. - -“Besides,” he concluded, “I was forgetting. Our young friend Steve has -some business to settle with you. His account is three years old--maybe -more--and mine has only just begun. So you’re Steve’s meat, Snake. -Steve’s meat.” - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -A MAN MEETS A MAN - - -Along the Clove road plodded a man with a battered face and a torn -shirt, toting a pack and a gun. The face was not so much disfigured -as it had been awhile ago, for it had just been laved in the cold, -clear water of Coxing Kill; but it still bore obvious marks of -conflict, chief of which was a pair of puffy eyes ringed by darkening -discolorations. The rent shirt gaped at every stride, disregarded by -its wearer, who swung along as if careless of the opinions of others. -Judging from his gait, he knew where he was going and purposed to reach -his destination before early sundown should cut off the light from his -ridge-flanked road. - -Behind him, perhaps a quarter-mile back, another man was riding in the -same direction on the same road. A big-framed, eagle-nosed, long-jawed -old man he was, with white mustache drooping around his mouth and -ragged wisps of snowy hair sticking out from under his nondescript felt -hat. His shoulders, though humped up as he lounged forward on the reins -lying loosely along the back of a white horse, were wide and bulky; and -the gnarled hands holding those reins were corded with sinew. Seventy -if a day, he still looked powerful enough to handle many a man of -half his years; and the direct gaze of his steely blue eyes betokened -fearlessness of heart, simplicity of nature, and honesty of soul. - -Neither of the two men saw the other. Between them intervened windings -of the tree-lined road; the tramping man cast no glance behind, and the -one following was not looking for him. Each in his own little cloud of -dust, the pair ambled on and drew steadily nearer to a dingy house, -behind which a man and a woman were harvesting corn. - -At the swinging approach of the pack-bearer the couple halted their -toil and squinted at him. He waved a jaunty hand. Neither of the -harvesters answered the friendly gesture. In slouching attitudes they -stood, wooden-faced, watching him pass. With a careless smile he looked -them over, then turned his gaze forward and ignored them. - -Had he been let alone, he would have passed without a word and speedily -forgotten them. But, though the couple made no threatening move, they -had animals which did. With a sudden bound three dogs appeared from -nowhere and silently rushed at him. - -They were treacherous-looking mongrel beasts, and their teeth gleamed -wickedly as they came. The man halted--took one comprehensive -look--stepped back and lifted his gun. - -“Call ’em off!” he barked. “Call ’em or bury ’em!” - -A shrill shriek of command burst from the woman. A sour snarl broke -from the man. At the sound of the shrewish voice and the menace of the -gun the dogs slowed abruptly. But they growled, and they did not turn -back. - -“Call ’em off, I said!” commanded the man behind the gun. “When I say -off I mean off! Drive them back and tie them up!” - -Instead, the man advanced, muttering. His brown face, of distinctly -negro cast, was ugly; and he still gripped his corn-knife--an -abbreviated scythe, short-handled, which would be a fearful weapon at -close quarters. The dogs, emboldened by his approach, began slipping -forward again. - -“You can keep back too,” the stranger warned. “This gun is likely to -scatter right at you. Take those beasts away quick if you want them to -live. I won’t say it again.” - -“Shoot them dawgs an’ ye won’t git fur from here,” the other snarled -throatily. But he paused, and at the cessation of his steps the brutes -also stopped. The woman still stood in the corn. - -Just then the white horse and its white-haired driver came jogging -around a bushy turn. The old man sat up with sudden energy, -involuntarily jerking at the reins. The horse stopped. - -One swift survey the old man took. Then his right hand shot to the -whip-socket, and with awkward speed he clambered out into the road. - -“Nat!” he yelled explosively. “Git them dawgs in or I’ll give the hull -pack o’ ye a-hidin’! Shoot ’em if ye want, stranger--they ain’t none of -’em no good!” - -Douglas, his finger already tightening on one trigger, held his fire -and flicked a glance sidewise to see what sort of man was coming. He -found the old fellow running nimbly toward him, reversing his whip so -that its heavy butt was foremost. At that instant the man Nat, his eyes -glinting viciously, hissed at the dogs. - -“Look ou-u-ut!” yelled the oncoming driver. - -In the nick of time Douglas turned his eyes back--just as a dog left -the ground in a fang-grinning leap. The other two were crouching. The -blond man jerked his gun a little downward to meet the rising body. -The dog’s breast struck against the muzzles. Teeth clashed in a fierce -snap. From the gun burst a muffled roar. The dog was blown backward. - -Under the impact of dog and powder-recoil Douglas staggered. But he -gave no ground and lost no time. His second finger released the other -hidden hammer at an upshooting shape. In a crashing flare another hairy -form whirled over and flopped to earth. - -At the same instant teeth stung his left side. A sudden weight on his -shirt yanked him almost off balance. Under his arm he found the wicked -face of the third hound. Then a black streak appeared on that dog’s -head, a resounding thwack hit Douglas’ ears, and the beast dangled -limp, held up only by its teeth, which were caught in the cloth. - -“I told ye, Nat--I told ye!” panted the old man, whose whip-butt had -knocked out that third dog. “I been tellin’ ye right ’long---- Git -back, ye yeller hound!” - -Mouthing an inarticulate oath, the owner of the dogs himself was now -jumping forward, face convulsed and corn-hook lifted. Whether he was -attacking Douglas or his aged rescuer neither stopped to ascertain. -Both acted. The empty shotgun jabbed for the assailant’s face, the -barrels crunching solidly against his forehead. The whip-butt swung -down with the force of a blackjack on his crown. His eyes rolled, his -legs caved, and he fell. - -The young man and the old one swept their surroundings. Two dogs were -fairly blown apart. The third still hung limp from Douglas’ shirt. The -man lay in a queer huddle, his corn-hook sticking in the ground beside -him, where it had fallen on its point. The woman, shrieking with rage, -now was running at them with a similar blade. - -“I told ye, Nat,” the old man said harshly, as if the fallen man -could hear him, “if ye didn’t learn them dogs manners or tie ’em up -somebody’d fix ’em. I told ye I’d do it myself the next time they come -for me. Ye can say g’by to this here one too.” - -Wherewith he clutched the dangling hound by the scruff of the neck and, -in one wrench, tore it away from Douglas’ shirt. He flung it down, -hopped up, and landed with all his weight on the brute’s neck. Under -his heavy brogans sounded a crack of bones. - -“’Lizy, ye better hold yer hosses,” he coolly cautioned the woman, now -close at hand. “I don’t want to handle ye rough, but sure’s God made -little apples I’ll crack ye one ’less’n ye drop that ’ere cawn-hook. -I’m a-warnin’ ye.” - -The thin-faced female, whose coarse hair and high cheek-bones hinted -strongly at Indian blood, screamed out again. She burst into a torrent -of vituperation that brought a red wave across the face of the -younger man and a corresponding flush into the leathery cheeks of his -fighting-mate. But she made no attack with the ugly blade in her hand. -Standing over the huddled Nat, her bony bare toes digging at the turf -like the claws of a cat, she vented her fury in language which would -have brought swift physical retaliation if she had been a man. And the -pair stood silent and took it. - -“Ye’ll pay for them pups, Eb Wilham--ye’ll pay dear!” she foamed at -the last. “Nat’ll take it outen ye! Him an’ Snake’ll fix ye--an’ ye -too, ye sneakin’ ’tective! Ye mizzable pair o’ sneakers, ye better live -together an’ sleep together an’ watch out fer each other now!” - -She bent and squinted at her mate. The two men looked suddenly at each -other. The hillman stared as if seeing the other for the first time. -The newcomer stared straight back, taking his first comprehensive view -of the two-handed old fellow and realizing what the woman’s threat -signified. For a minute old blue eye and young blue eye held straight -and steady. Then on each mouth quirked a smile. - -“If you’ve run out of words, I’ll say a few myself,” clipped Douglas, -turning to the woman. “If there’s any more trouble coming from this it -comes to me, not to him. I never saw him before, and he doesn’t know -me. So you can tell your nigger man to take it out on me. As for Snake, -I knocked him cold awhile ago and I can do it again. I’ll be around -here for some time, and anybody wanting the same dose Snake got can -come and get it. That’s all.” - -He nodded to the old man and turned away. He took three steps before Eb -Wilham stopped him. - -“Hol’ on!” the latter exploded in the abrupt way that seemed habitual. -“I’m a-travelin’ your way. If ye want a ride, set in. ’Lizy, git some -sense. This feller’s right--I dunno him. But I’m a-goin’ to know him -if he’s willin’. An’ as fur’s Nat an’ Snake’s concerned, I been takin’ -care o’ myself seventy-three year an’ I figger to keep on doin’ it. -What say, stranger? Walk or ride?” - -“Ride, if it doesn’t get you into trouble,” Douglas acquiesced. - -“No trouble. Snakes an’ yeller dawgs has bit at me before an’ I ain’t -dead. Chk! Hoss, g’yapalong! G’yap, I tell ye!” - -The white horse, sedately cropping grass, took a few last bites, and -came obediently. His master climbed spryly into the weather-beaten -wagon and rolled an equally weather-beaten thumb at the rear. Douglas -heaved his pack in behind and swung himself to the seat beside the -driver. - -The sharp-faced female screamed out with a fresh burst of abuse. Old -Eb’s mouth tightened, and he lightly touched the horse with his whip. -The animal jumped in an astonished way and began slowly, heavily -pounding along the road. Woman, man, dogs and house disappeared behind -in a drifting cloud of dust. - -“Ain’t no use listenin’ or talkin’ to a mad woman,” Eb barked -conversationally. “Ain’t no use into it at all. Uh--right fine weather -we’re a-havin’, stranger.” - -“Right fine,” agreed Douglas. “Aren’t you worried about riding with a -detective, Mr. Wilham?” - -The keen eyes shot at him and returned to the horse. - -“Not a mite. I ride with who I want to. Folks that’s scairt o’ -detectives mostly has some reason to be. I ain’t got no reason.” - -“Found--one honest man in the Traps,” laughed Douglas. - -“That ain’t nothin’,” Eb retorted. “Folks is mostly honest round here. -Good hard-workin’ fellers. Don’t jedge the rest of us by them Oakses. -Or Snake Sanders. Did ye say ye licked Snake?” - -Getting no answer at once, he took another survey of his passenger. -Douglas was staring at the road. So the hard pair behind were “them -Oakses”--the parents of the catamount girl! - -“Er--oh, yes. Laid him out on top of that ledge back yonder. Ought to -have thrown him off. But I didn’t.” - -The horse thumped out a dozen steps while Eb digested this. - -“Ye’re right, stranger. Snake’s a bad ’un. Ye must o’ had a hard -tussle--Snake ain’t easy to handle.” The shrewd eyes took in the -battered face. “Up top o’ Dickabar, hey? Hum!” - -He became abstracted. The horse jogged on, steadily eating up distance. -The silence grew strained. - -“Mr. Wilham, I’m no detective,” Douglas asserted. “I’m just a rambler -who blundered in here. My name’s Douglas Hampton. I’m not after -anybody, and I’m staying awhile just because I like this country. -I don’t know who started this fool story that I’m a detective, and -I don’t care much. But now I’m here, I’ll stay until I’m ready to -go--unless I get starved out; I haven’t much left to eat. That’s all -there is to it. Believe it or not. It’s true.” - -The heavy hoofs beat another measure. - -“I believe ye,” aggressively. “I know how ye feel. I’m full o’ that -same kind o’ cussedness myself. There’s some folks round here that’s -ignorant and scairt of any new feller, and there’s some that’s got -reasons besides bein’ ignorant. I ain’t sayin’ who they be; I ain’t -talkin’ ’bout my neighbors even if I don’t like some of ’em. But seein’ -it’s gone round that ye’re a detective, ’most everybody’ll believe -it, an’ ye better act accordin’--kind o’ go careful, I mean. Where ye -stayin’? Anywheres special?” - -“Up in the rocks last night. Thought I might find a house I could live -in down here. Know of any?” - -“Hum. Wal, we’re a-comin’ to a house, but I don’t think ye’d want it. -It’s--uh--kind o’ lonesome. Folks says there’s some funny things into -it. There ’tis now.” - -They emerged from a tunnel of trees, and Douglas looked at a house -which he knew must be that of Jake Dalton. It was at the left of the -road, in a clearing rank with uncut grass, behind which rose forest -headed by two giant pines. It was a little box of a place, not more -than twenty feet square; weather-worn, with patched roof and tiny -sagging porch. The small bare windows gaped black and blank at the -forest cordon. The door stood ajar, as if the latest occupant had -left in haste. About it hung an air of abandonment, of desolation, of -forbidding loneliness. - -“Looks all right to me,” declared Douglas. “Not very cheerful, but I’ll -try it one night, anyway. Whoa!” - -Eb drew the reins. The horse stopped. Douglas got out and lifted his -pack. The old man sat soberly staring at the house. - -“I dunno,” he muttered. “I dunno. Stranger, ye better ride on a piece.” - -“Where to?” - -“Um--I dunno. Mebbe somebody’d sleep ye. I’d do it myself, but I’m -a-goin’ to High Falls an’ I ain’t comin’ back to-night.” - -“Thanks. I appreciate it just the same. But I reckon I’ll stop here for -the night. Much obliged to you, Mr. Wilham, for the ride, and more for -helping me against those dogs.” - -“’Tain’t nothin’,” was the hasty disclaimer. “Them dawgs ought to -been kilt long ago--I give Nat warnin’ more’n once. An’ don’t call me -Mister. I ain’t used to it. ’Most everybody calls me Uncle Eb.” - -“All right, Uncle Eb,” smiled the other. - -The bright old eyes dwelt on him, and an answering smile lifted the -white mustache. - -“Gorry, ye look funny with them eyes all bunged up,” chuckled Eb. -“Snake’s got a hard fist, ain’t he? I wisht I could been a peewee bird -up into a tree an’ seen that fight. It must of been good. Wal, son, if -ye can lick Snake mebbe ye can handle whatever ye see round this house. -I’ll stop here an’ visit with ye to-morrer, mebbe, when I come back. -Shall I fetch ye some food from High Falls?” - -“I wish you would. Lots of it. And some tobacco.” - -“Smokin’ or chawin’?” - -“Smoking. And for food get whatever comes handy. I’m not fussy.” - -He drew out a small wallet. Uncle Eb waved it aside. - -“Pay me when ye git yer stuff, boy. I dunno yit what it’ll cost. I’ll -git jest what I’d buy for myself. Then if--if ye ain’t here to-morrer I -can use it to home. G’by. G’yapalong!” - -The hoofs hammered again into the sand. In a fresh cloud of dust the -rickety wagon rolled away and was gone among the trees beyond. - -Douglas shoved his wallet back into its pocket and stood a minute -eyeing the little house glooming under the solemn pines. Then, reaching -to his pack, he pulled from under its straps his coat. From that -garment he drew two buckshot shells. Coolly he reloaded his gun. - -“I reckon I’ll be here to-morrow when you come back, Uncle Eb,” he -muttered. “Now, Mister Ha’nt, let’s get acquainted.” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -THE HA’NT - - -Sunset stretched its long shadows again across the Traps. - -Up on the heights, the light of day still was bright and clear. But -down in the bluff-bulwarked valley of the Coxing Kill, a thousand feet -lower than the Minnewaska table-land behind which the sun was rolling -down in the southwest, the dusk was slowly shading into dark. Already -the air vibrated with the swelling chorus of the katydids, scraping out -their insistent warning of frost which had not yet come; and from every -grassy space cheeped the lonesome dirge of the crickets. Night was -drawing on. - -Down on the diminutive stoop of a little house beside the Clove road, -a man stirred and glanced around him with a frown. The steadily -increasing clack of the big green bush-bugs and the growing chill of -eventide had routed the thoughts which he had been drawing through -the stem of a blackened but empty pipe--thoughts which, to judge from -his absent gaze and the half-smile on his lips, were more pleasant -than those now obtruding themselves. He shook his shoulders as if to -dislodge the night chill settling there. Abruptly he stood up. - -His swift survey swept the little fallow field at his right, where the -black choristers of the grass were chirping away among the unseen -roots; the narrow sand-track of road, empty of all but thickening -shadows; the darkling mass of trees and brush at his left. Then he -pivoted and peered into the darkness lying beyond a door which had been -standing open at his back. - -Nothing showed in the room beyond--nothing, that is, which should hold -the fixed attention of a man; nothing alive. Vaguely, in the wan light -still entering through the cracked panes of a curtainless side window, -he could see a rickety table with one leg broken, a chair minus a back, -a little rusty stove, and, in one corner, a jumble of small things -recently dumped from his pack. Along a wall which started beside the -open doorway showed the faint outlines of three more doors, all in a -row. And that was all. - -Nothing, surely, in such a scene need make this man listen keenly -and half lift the shotgun in one fist. Yet he stood there for a long -minute, searching the room repeatedly, then centering his gaze on the -first of those three doors in the wall. That door stood open. And the -queer chill between his shoulder-blades was not all due to the coolness -following the sinking of the sun: it was that clammy feeling inherited -by mankind through countless generations--the subconscious warning that -a hidden menace lurks behind the back. And his ears subtly corroborated -the caution of his nerves. Despite the clamor of the insects, he could -have sworn that in the first room there at the right he had heard a -slight rustle. - -That room was the bedroom. It was a mere cubby-hole, not more than -seven feet square, containing only a crude bed and a lamp-shelf, both -fixed. The bedstead, which the new tenant had inspected and decided to -use, apparently had been built in the room by the former owner; a solid -contrivance of boards and hardwood posts, with interlaced ropes serving -as a spring, and a noisy mattress of corn-husks. Head, foot, and one -side were snug against three of the walls, leaving only a yard-wide -space between bed and door. At the foot was the one tiny window of the -room. - -To enter that sleeping-closet, anything must go through the door or -the window. The window now stood open, for Douglas had forced up its -cobwebby frame after sweeping the floor as best he could with a stubby -old broom found in the grass; but that opening was within ten feet -of his left hand as he sat on the steps, and nothing could possibly -have gone in there without his knowledge. Still less could anything -have gone past him through the door. Yet he felt in his marrow that -something was there. - -With slow, careful shifting of his balance he stole across the meagre -stoop. Not a board creaked, not a sound did his descending soles make. -With the same stealth he leaned against the door-jamb and inched his -head inside. At length, braced by hands against the wall, he was -leaning far in and peering through that right-hand door. In the dimness -beyond stood no living thing. - -Until his arm-muscles began to ache he hung there; and never a sound -came to him from within. Yet his nerves continued to deliver their -warning. In that room where Jake Dalton had slept was _something_; -something besides the bed and the bare lamp-shelf; invisible, -intangible, but--_something_! - -He drew back and glanced around once more. The dusk was drawing around -the little clearing a closer cordon of gloom; an eerie whisper came -from the pines, swept by a gusty wind; the throb of insects resounded -as before. Nothing moved. He felt for a match. When he had it, he -stepped heavily into the house and tramped over to his gas-lamp, -hanging on a nail; turned its valve, shook it up, and waited for the -water and carbide to mingle and form the gas. In the brief interval of -waiting he watched all around and rapidly reviewed his movements since -opening that window. - -He had explored the place, finding at the second door a stairway -leading into a dusty loft littered with dead wasps; at the third, a -room even smaller than the bedroom, partly filled with stove-wood. -Outside he had found a well, in which the water seemed good, and a -little shed holding only a broken barrel or two, burlap bags, an empty -jug, and similar trash. Both door and window had been open while he -made his inspection; but he had returned to the bedroom and tossed his -blankets on the mattress, and nothing new was there then. And since -that time he had not been more than ten feet from it. - -The fumes of gas struck his nostrils. He lit the match and touched it -to the little nozzle. White and bright, the flame lit up the place. He -strode into the bedroom. - -Absolutely nothing new was there. With a self-derisive grin, he stooped -and glanced under the bed. The floor was bare. - -“Now are you satisfied, you timid old woman?” he jeered. “What’s the -matter with you, anyhow? Getting nerves?” - -His words hollowly mocked him from the outer room. With a disgusted -snort he turned away. Boots thumping defiantly, he clattered back to -the three-legged table, shoved its crippled side against the wall, -kicked the backless chair up to it, and set the lamp on it. To the -little pile in the corner he went, and from it he extracted the dry -remainder of a bread-loaf and a paper-wrapped chunk of cheese. Then he -returned and sat down, hitching around in the chair to get his back -toward a windowless wall. - -“All the same,” he meditated, sawing off a slice of bread with his -jack-knife, “if I stay here long I’ll have to make some improvements. -For one thing, that bedroom is too darned handy. Window opens right on -the road. So does the front door. No curtains on any of these windows, -no key for that door. With Snake Sanders and Nat Oaks both thirsting -for my gore and undoubtedly acquainted with the position of that -bed--yes, I reckon I’d better move up-stairs or something. No use in -lying meekly down and inviting a fistful of shot to come in and mess me -up. No sense in sitting here in the light now, either.” - -He turned off the gas-flow, set the lamp under the table, and fell to -munching his meagre provender. - -“However, I’m safe enough in that room to-night,” he told himself. -“Nobody knows I’m here except Uncle Eb, who isn’t coming back until -to-morrow--and maybe little Miss Marion, who isn’t likely to tell. -There’s nothing in that room but imagination, and imagination won’t -keep me very wide awake. Ho-hum! I’m going to sleep like a log this -night.” - -He arose, dipped a cup of well-water from his canvas pail dangling -from a nail in a low ceiling-beam, washed down his food, and reseated -himself. - -“Yes, sir,” he informed the loneliness, carving another chunk of -cheese, “this is my night to sleep. Last night I sprawled between two -rocks, and the night before I lost a lot of repose watching those -backwoods detectives prowl around and spy on me from the bushes down -beside the creek. Things have been coming right fast in the last three -days. Before that I’d never been inside that wall of cliffs over -yonder. And now I’ve killed a catamount, assisted at the demise of -three dogs, knocked one eminent citizen stiff and helped send another -to sleep; made two able-bodied enemies and one potential friend--Uncle -Eb--and given love’s young dream a boost along the rocks to a new -hide-out. Oh, yes, and assisted an escaped conv----” - -He bit off the last word, suddenly aware that he was talking aloud -and recalling the ancient proverb to the effect that walls sometimes -listen. Gloom now surrounded him, for the slow-dying gas flame had sunk -to a little blue button on its nozzle. Rising again, he tiptoed to the -door and spied around. No lurking form was near. - -“Guess that will be about enough talking,” he concluded. - -He drew back and shut the door. Stepping across the room, he found -the table, brought it over, and set it against the door so that the -slightest push from outside would tip it over with a warning clatter. -Then he went along the walls, tested the windows and a rear door--all -of which were warped into immovability--and, carrying his gun and the -chair, retired to the gloomy bedroom. There he placed gun and chair -beside the bed, and on the chair he laid matches. After frowning -thoughtfully at the open window he sighed and closed it. - -Deliberately he undressed and rolled up in his blankets. For a minute -or two he lay reveling in his freedom from clothing and the yielding -embrace of the crackling but comfortable old mattress. Then the first -grateful feeling of physical comfort passed. He lifted his head from -the rolled-up coat forming his pillow, and turned his dilating eyes -around. Over him was creeping a feeling of oppression, of inability to -obtain air; and, worse yet, a panicky sensation that he was in a trap. - -The blankets were snug and warm; yet that queer chill was crawling over -him again. The air was fresh and clean; yet he opened his mouth as if -stifled. Around him lay silence and blackness, intensified rather than -relieved by the deadened chorus of insects outside and the lighter -shade of the window. He turned suddenly on a side. At the loud rustle -of the husks under him he jumped half erect. - -A moment he poised; then he flung himself angrily back. - -“You idiot!” he muttered. “You miss the stars overhead and the little -night breezes around; that’s all. You’re in a house, and you’ll have to -get used to it. Go to sleep, you fool!” - -He shut his eyes and forced himself to breathe regularly. But through -his brain streaked the thought: - -“_You’re in a dead man’s bed! You don’t know what killed him! You----_” - -“Oh, shut up!” he growled aloud, bouncing over on the other side. -“What’s that to me? I’m going to sleep!” - -For a few minutes he stubbornly held his position. But he was lying -now with his back to the open door into the main room, and the creepy -feeling at his shoulder-blades became intolerable. He turned again. -But this time he made the movement deliberately, and at the repeated -crackle of the mattress he grinned. After blinking at the dark a minute -he relaxed, warm once more at the back, his eyes closing naturally. - -Rapidly his fatigue asserted itself. With the muffled lullaby of the -crickets swinging rhythmically on, he lost himself. - -Hours passed. He slept peacefully on, changing his position a little at -intervals, unconscious of his movements or of anything else. Then, all -at once, he found himself up on an elbow, staring wide-eyed into the -dark. - -Something had moved. It seemed that the bed itself was quivering -slightly. Yet there was no sound near him--no new sound anywhere---- - -What was that? There was a sound now--but not in the room. It was -up overhead--up in the empty attic; a sound of muffled footfalls, -deliberately crossing the floor; a sound like that of bare heels going -quietly across the boards. It traveled to and fro, as if an undressed -man were wandering aimlessly. Then it began to come down-stairs. - -A bump, and it stopped. Another bump; another pause. Then two soft -bumps telling of a couple more stairs descended. It was the sound of -a man stealing quietly down, halting to listen for any noise below; a -man not deft enough to put his weight on his toes and avoid the bump of -heels. Yet the stairs did not creak as they would under the weight of a -man. - -Very quietly, Douglas moved over and found a match. With the same -stealth he opened the gas-valve of his lamp. While he waited for the -acetylene flow he heard the heels reach the lowest step. He listened -for the stealthy turning of the knob and the creak of door-hinges. They -did not come. - -Cracking the match on his thumb-nail, he lit the gas and shot its -ray outward. Nothing met his gaze--nothing but the table against the -outer door. Softly he lowered his feet, gripped his gun, and arose. -Reason told him no man could be in that attic; but his ears positively -asserted that a man had come down those stairs. - -On his toes he drifted outward. In the main room he saw no living -thing. Quietly he set the lamp on the floor, its beam glaring at the -stair door. With a swift grab he turned the knob and tore the door open. - -Then, gun leveled, he stood and gaped. - -The stairway was utterly empty. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -DALTON’S DEATH - - -A long minute dragged by while Douglas stood there, the drone of the -crickets gnawing at his nerves. Then he pounced at the lamp and bounded -up the stairs. At the top he halted and glared around the attic. - -Nothing was there. - -The tiny windows at either end, heavily coated with spider-webs, were -shut as usual. Not a web was broken. Nowhere, except where one little -pane had long been missing, could he see any opening into the barren -room. He moved about, and the boards groaned loudly under him. They had -not groaned under that ghostly unknown. - -He returned down the stairs, and the steps creaked and squeaked as he -passed. He slammed the door and went about the room, inspecting every -door and window. All was as he had left it on retiring. He even glanced -into the little wood-room. That, too, was unchanged. - -“H’m!” he muttered. Pausing at the water-bag, he gulped a drink. After -once more staring around, he returned to the bedroom. - -Back into his tumbled blankets he got. As the strangled flame of his -lamp slowly died he reached to his trousers, dug out his watch, and -glanced at it. It was now eight minutes after midnight. - -“H’m!” he repeated as he lay back. - -For some time after the light had expired he lay wide-eyed. No further -sound came from stairs or attic. In the solid blackness he discerned -nothing. At length he grinned. - -“Guess I’ve laid you for the night, Mister Ha’nt,” he whispered. - -As if in answer, the bed quivered again. The feeling was as if some -man standing beside him had rested a hand on the headboard--a barely -perceptible tremor. He had not moved a muscle. Nor, suddenly frozen, -did he move one now. He lay absolutely still, only his eyes moving. - -Another quiver came. With it came a faint dry rustle. Nerves and -straining ears alike flashed the same message: it was the corn-husk -mattress now! The movement, the sound, were beside him, almost under -him--as if a bodiless man were laying himself down to rest side by side -with the live one! - -With lightning speed Douglas turned and struck at the Thing. His -knuckles crashed against the old cloth and its content of husks. Again -he struck, this time into the air. With a dive he launched himself at -the chair--clutched matches--scratched them. The yellow blaze showed -that the room was empty of all life but his own. - -Scrambling out, he lit fresh matches and scanned the floor under the -bed. Then he wheeled and looked all about the outer room. All was as -before. - -The matches burned his fingers, and he dropped them. Again blackness -and vacancy engulfed him. Groping, he found the bed and lay down. Then -he reached out, found his gun, and laid it beside him. And this time -he did not roll up in his blankets. He only draped one of them loosely -over him, and kept a hand on the gun. - -“Come again, Mister Ha’nt,” he muttered. - -Only the monotonous chorus outside answered. For a long time he lay -waiting, his nerves gradually relaxing. At length, still loosely -holding the weapon, he dozed away into slumber. - -He awoke as if struck by a blow. A heavy thump had shocked him awake. -Instantly he knew what caused it. The table against the outer door had -been pushed over. The damp night air was sweeping in. - -His gun leaped up. Its muzzles licked toward the entrance. One barrel -vomited flame and lead. - -The flare of the explosion lit up the portal. It stood ajar, but not -wide enough to admit a man. Nor was any man standing there. Outside was -only black, cavernous night. - -His ears numbed by the concussion of the shell, he squatted there in -the blankets, the other barrel ready for instantaneous use. Presently -his stunned auditory nerves regained their acuteness. They told him -something that brought a new chill crawling down his back. The song of -the insects no longer swung through the night. And out there on the -steps sounded a dull, slow _drip_--_drip_--_drip_. - -With measured beat that dread sound hammered at his brain. It slowed, -as if the first flow of falling fluid were becoming choked--or clotted. -Then it ceased. - -Shuddering, he moved once more to the edge, groped about until he found -his boots, and slipped his legs into them. Feeling again through the -dark, he located his matches. But he did not light one. With half a -dozen of the little light-sticks in his hand, he stepped stealthily to -the front door. - -Long he listened, hearing nothing but a weird whisper of night wind -among leaves. The air was clammy, and in it was a wet smell. He began -to shiver again; but this time the cold was natural--the dank cold of -dampness. Feeling about, he found a leg of the overturned table. On it -he scratched a match, and out into the uncanny gloom beyond the door he -darted the burning sliver. - -The stoop was empty. The thing he had dreaded to find slumped against -the wall was not there. Nor were the old boards disfigured by any fresh -red stain. - -Sorely perplexed, he ignited a new match from the expiring stub. As he -did so a new thought struck his mind. Perhaps the dead thing was in the -room, huddled beside him. He yanked the match inward--and found nothing -but the capsized table, its legs wedging the door. - -As the light died down a sudden soft sound made him jump. It was a -single drop falling on the steps outside. - -With a new match flaring he yanked the door open and strode out, -angrily determined to find the source of those soul-sickening drops. -He had not far to go. After one straight look at the steps he flung -down the match and laughed out in savage scorn of himself. - -The narrow steps were wet, but with nothing more sinister than rain. -The dampness of the air, the utter blackness around, the silence of -the insects--all told of a recent shower. Even now the crickets were -beginning to chirp again. Somehow their sturdy notes, which previously -had seemed doleful, now sounded cheerful. - -“You doddering imbecile!” he jeered. “It’s as simple as daylight. A -little shower just before you woke up--a gust of wind shoving the door -open--the drip of the eaves for a minute or so. And you, you hysterical -half-wit--you shoot a harmless door and turn into a knot of goose-flesh -because of that! Who ever told you you were a grown-up man? You’re -nothing but a scared-of-the-dark baby!” - -He drank in a deep breath of the sweet air and nodded unseen -encouragement to some lusty cricket in the grass near the stoop. -But, as he turned again toward the door, he hesitated. Wind and rain -could not be blamed for the footsteps on the stairs or the sounds and -movements of his bed. Something urged him to take his blankets and lie -down outdoors, even though the ground was wet: to sleep surrounded by -the honest-voiced crickets, unconfined by walls within which stalked -bodiless things. - -“No!” he growled. “Back to bed you go, and there you stay. This is a -fight to a finish, Mister Ha’nt, and I’ve taken one round out of three, -with the other two drawn. I think I’ve got you on the run. Now let’s -see if you can come back.” - -With that he felt his way in, shut the door, kicked the table -negligently against it, and returned to bed. - -As he rearranged his blankets, heavy drops thudded overhead. Rapidly -the spattering impacts swelled into a drumming roar of new rain. - -“Aha,” he nodded. “You’d look sweet out in the grass now, wouldn’t you? -By the time you got back in here you’d be well soaked, and it would -serve you right. The Lord hates a quitter. Come on, Ha’nt. I’m waiting.” - -He continued to wait. Steadily the rain pounded on, varied only by -slashing swoops at the window. His eyes closed. His breathing slowed. -The tumult of the storm faded out of his consciousness. - -By and by he found himself drifting over a murky waste of waters -which swashed and hissed and gurgled in sullen enmity. Above was no -sun or moon or star--nothing but a dreary void. Around was no life; -he was utterly alone in the desolation of plunging waves, a derelict -at the mercy of wind and tide. But presently weird shapes took form -among the billows--ghastly, gigantic wraiths which mouthed hideous -grimaces down at him and reached for him with shadowy fingers. They -veered away before they touched him, and a great wind blew them apart -into fragments of mist and spume. But they formed again, making more -frightful spectres than before, and stalked athwart the waste, half -seen through a roaring deluge of rain. They began to yell his name, and -with the shouts blended a thunder of hollow blows. He tried to yell -back at them---- - -He was in his bed again. Wan daylight was in his opening eyes. The -noise of falling rain was real. So were the loud knocking and the -calling of his name. The pounding came from the outer door, and the -voice was that of Uncle Eb. - -“Hey, Hampton! Hampton! Speak up if ye’re livin’!” - -He jumped from bed, shoved the table away from the entrance, and pulled -the door open. Uncle Eb, his mustache drooping in a bedraggled wisp and -his body gleaming dully in a wet rubber coat, took a sudden backward -step. - -“Gorry, boy! Ye scairt me, a-snakin’ the door open so sudden. I was -about gittin’ ready to go ’long. How be ye?” - -“All right, thanks. Come in. Wet morning.” - -“Mornin’? It’s ’most noon, son. Ye been sleepin’ all this time? -Mebbe--mebbe ye was broke of yer rest, though. That it?” - -“That’s it. You were right--there are some funny things around this -place.” - -The old man nodded quickly, and his eyes swerved to the door. Following -his gaze, Douglas saw that the panels were furrowed across by shot, and -in the casing beyond was a splintery hole. - -“I ain’t a mite s’prised,” was the guarded admission. “But git yer -pants on an’ don’t stand here with yer shirt-tail a-flappin’. I got -some tobacker an’ so on into the wagon--whoa, Bob! a little more rain -won’t hurt ye after what ye come through--I’ll git it right out. Snake -on yer clo’es before ye git cold.” - -Yawning, Douglas snaked them on. By the time he emerged from his -bedroom Uncle Eb had returned with a bulky box which seemed almost dry. -Without ceremony he tramped in and dropped the box with a thud. - -“Thar she is, right side up with care an’ dry as Nigger Nat--been -ridin’ under a rubber blankit all the way. Gorry, ain’t this a rain! -It’s the line storm. What say? Oh, four dollars an’ thutty-five cents. -Thank ye.” - -“Don’t thank me. Peel off your coat and light your pipe while I get -breakfast--or luncheon, or whatever you want to call it. Why do you say -‘dry as Nigger Nat’?” - -“Wal----” Uncle Eb hesitated, looking toward the stove. “No, I can’t -stop. I got to git ’long, or the folks’ll think somebody waylaid -me--I’d oughter be to home now. Nat? Oh, that’s jest a sayin’ we’ve -got round here--‘dry as Nigger Nat.’ He’s one o’ them misfortunit -critters that can’t never drownd his thirst, if ye know what I mean. He -warn’t round to visit with ye last night, was he?” He turned toward the -shot-scored door. - -“Not to my knowledge. Sit down a minute, and I’ll tell you about my -visitors. Yes, I had some.” - -Duty and curiosity struggled a few seconds in Uncle Eb. Curiosity, -of course, won. He accepted the chair and some new tobacco, loaded -a disreputable old pipe, puffed as Douglas held a blazing match for -him, and looked expectant. Douglas, his own pipe aglow, forthwith -enlightened him as to the happenings of the night. He made merry over -his various scares; but the older man, his eyes soberly traveling from -door to door, did not echo his mirth. - -“By mighty, boy, I take off my hat to ye,” he barked. “I ain’t scairt -o’ nothin’ that walks or crawls or swims or flies, an’ I ain’t -soop’stitious nuther, but I don’t want to live into no house where -things walks without no feet an’ jiggles a bed without no hands. No -sirree! I guess mebbe ’twas the wind that blowed yer door open--must of -been. But them other things----” - -He shook his head and spat noisily on the floor. - -“I want to tell ye sumpthin’,” he went on. “I thought I wouldn’t tell -ye yesterday, so’s ye wouldn’t git scairt beforehand; but after I went -’long I wished I had, so’s ye’d be ready. I been worried ever sence. -Thinks I, if anything comes to ye into the night an’ catches ye asleep -it’ll be my fault for not tellin’ ye. - -“Wal, now, this house was Jake Dalton’s. He warn’t a sociable critter, -lived all by hisself, kind o’ growled if ye spoke to him; an’ he used -to go ’way for days to a time--had sumpthin’ to do up back, mebbe--I -never ast no questions. But I drive up an’ down ’tween here an’ High -Falls pretty reg’lar--I git my mail thar an’ so on--an’ I know how -everything looks ’long the way. An’ Jake’s door was always shut, -whether he was to home or not--’less’n he jest happened to be comin’ -out when I went by. - -“But one day I see this door a-standin’ a little ways open an’ Jake -nowheres round. I didn’t say nothin’--I went ’long an’ come back, an’ -’twas jest the same. I kind o’ figgered about it, but then I thought -mebbe Jake was drinkin’ up a new jug inside here an’ didn’t know -’nough to shut his door--he used to git that way. So I went ’long. But -about three-four days later on somebody said Jake’s door was open yit, -an’--wal, some of us come down here to see what was what. - -“Jake was out back. He was the deadest man I ever see. He’d been -thar--I dunno how long, but too long anyway. I ain’t a-goin’ to tell ye -how he looked--I don’t want to remember it too plain. But we couldn’t -see a mark onto him, an’ we dunno yit what kilt him. But he got kilt -sometime into the night. - -“We know that much, ’cause Jake was undressed--nothin’ onto him but his -shirt--an’ we found the rest o’ his clo’es hangin’ on nails beside the -bed, an’ his shoes layin’ onto the floor jest where he dropped ’em. -He had got up an’ tore open this front door an’ run out back an’ fell -down an’ died. He was dyin’ when he run out o’ here, too--he only went -a little ways. But what he was runnin’ away from--what had got holt o’ -him before he run--nobody knows. Nobody but Jake, an’ he can’t tell. - -“That’s all there is to it, ’cept this: two-three fellers tried livin’ -here an’ they couldn’t. They heard them same things that was round ye -last night, an’ other things too, ’cordin’ to what I’ve heard tell; -an’ they _felt_ sumpthin’ that was worse’n what they heard. They jest -couldn’t stand it. So they took everything wuth carryin’ an’ got out, -an’ sence then nobody’s been here but Dalton’s Death--that’s what -folks calls the thing that walks here nights: Dalton’s Death. I dunno -if---- Whoa thar, Bob, _whoa_! Back up!” - -He clattered to the door and plunged out. Douglas followed, to find him -grabbing the reins and halting the white horse. - -“Got to go ’long, boy,” he shouted from the edge of the road. “Bob’s -a-gittin’ cranky, an’ mebbe he’s got a right to. ’Tain’t fitten weather -for hoss or man. Come on up an’ visit with me any time.” - -He clambered in and turned to yell an afterthought. - -“Don’t leave yer gun here when ye go out. Ye might lose it. Some folks -ain’t scairt o’ Dalton’s Death ’ceptin’ at night. G’by. G’yapalong!” - -Blurred by the rain, he rolled away and was gone. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -A SCRAP OF PAPER - - -Singing a sleepy little song, the waters of Coxing Kill flowed lazily -down their stony channel into a deep green pool. - -A week ago, swollen by the deluge of the equinox, the Kill had ramped -and roared through this glen, overwhelming both the shallows and the -depths in brawling, swirling flood. But now the tumult and violence -were past, the raw chill had fled from the air, and under the soft -sun of new October the pool had again become its serene self: rimmed -by vertical gray-white rock, shadowed by shaggy hemlocks, reflecting -on its placid bosom the snowy clouds floating across the high blue -above--an exquisite little gem of sylvan beauty which would have held -an artist enthralled. Yet it knew few visitors except the birds and the -squirrels, whose practical eyes saw nothing of its charm; for it was -well away from the Clove road, and few of the denizens of the Traps -ever wasted their time seeking scenery. - -To-day, however, the little nook was not empty of human life. At the -upper end of the small chasm a figure sat against the base of one of -the hemlocks, its bare feet tucked under the hem of a faded dress, its -tumbled hair glowing red in the sunlight filtering down through the -eastern tree-tangle. The little birds and the wood-mice, moving about -in their unceasing search for food, paused at times to cock their -round eyes at that unwonted gleam of red against the bark. But soon -they resumed their activities, unafraid; for, though they could not -understand what the girl sitting so quietly there was doing, they felt -that she was a friend. - -On her updrawn knees rested a slanting piece of thin board, and on the -board a scrap of paper. Her pensive gray eyes studied the short vista -down-stream, and from time to time she moved a stubby pencil lightly -along the sheet, transferring to it new lines. Then, with a frown, she -would wet a finger-tip at her mouth and rub out a line or two. - -It seemed to be an absorbing task, this marking and erasing and -studying, upon which she was concentrating her whole soul. Yet it was -not so engrossing as to rob her of the senses which she possessed in -common with the tiny wild things around her. All at once she and a -king-bird which had silently settled near by and a mouse under a bush -and a chipmunk on a bowlder-top did exactly the same thing--froze in -the intuitive immobility of the wilderness, looking northward. A few -yards beyond, a stick had cracked dully under foot. - -Among the tree-trunks a moving form presently became visible, advancing -with no particular stealth but with the quiet step of a man acquainted -with woods travel. The king-bird launched himself on soundless wings -and was gone. The mouse faded into a hole. The chipmunk whisked about -on his tail and poised for a lightning jump. The girl made no movement -whatever. - -The man swung nonchalantly along the brink of the rock rim, plumbing -with casual gaze the clear water below. Then he halted, his lifting -gaze caught and held by the red glint under the hemlock. A smile lit up -his lightly bronzed face. - -“Howdy, Miss Marion,” he bowed. “Are you ‘waylaying’ me?” - -“If I was, you’d be all shot ’fore now,” she retorted. “I could ’most -stick a gun right into your mouth from here. Are you near-sighted or -somethin’?” - -“Blind as a bat, I reckon. I can’t see a thing beyond you, so I’m going -to stop and visit until my sight clears up.” - -She flushed and sat up straighter. - -“Are you makin’ fun of my hair?” she demanded. - -“Why, no. Certainly not. What made you think that?” - -“Oh, everybody does. They say Nigger Nat don’t need a lamp with my -red-head there into the house, and anybody that meets me onto the road -says he thought ’twas a forest-fire comin’, and--oh, I’m sick of it! -I thought mebbe you wanted to be funny the same way when you said you -couldn’t see past me.” - -“No, no. It was a poor joke, but I didn’t mean it that way.” He dropped -beside her, laying his gun beside his right leg. “Don’t let folks -bother you. Chances are that they’d give anything to have hair like -yours--the women, anyway--but because they can’t have it they make fun -of it. It’s the way of the world. What’s this?” - -His hand lifted the forgotten paper and board from her lap. She -snatched at it. - -“Gimme that!” - -“Not yet.” He jerked it aside and held it out of reach. “Why, it’s a -sketch! Let’s see--here’s the creek, and----” - -She threw herself at him, her cheeks burning, her hands struggling to -seize the paper. - -“You gimme that!” she blazed. “’Tain’t no good--don’t you look at it!” - -But he laughed and stretched his long right arm to its longest, holding -the paper a yard from her. - -“Now don’t get excited. I won’t hurt it. I like to look at pictures----” - -She tore at his left arm, which blocked her like a steel bar. - -“You--you--gimme that--paper!” she panted. “If you don’t I’ll--I’ll -scratch!” - -He shot a shrewd glance at her furious face and at the slender, -long-nailed fingers now poising in curving menace. The restraining -arm gave way suddenly--so suddenly that she pitched forward. In one -flashing instant that arm had looped around her and pinned her against -him, her own arms blocked by his body. - -“You little wildcat, I believe you would,” he nodded. “But I really -haven’t finished looking at the picture. So behave yourself. Now let’s -see--there’s a hemlock--good, too! And the rock edge along--no, that’s -not so good. But still, I can easily see what it’s meant for, and---- -Behave, I say!” - -Writhing, wrenching, heaving, she was fighting like a mad thing to -break his hold and free her hands. His arm only crushed her tighter. -Tears of helpless anger welled into her eyes. All at once her head -dropped on his shoulder. - -“There, don’t cry.” He loosened his hold. “I’ll give it right---- Ouch!” - -Instead of weeping on his shoulder she was biting it. He dropped the -board and lurched upward, drawing her with him. She lifted her head and -laughed out wildly. - -“Guess you’ll let me go now, won’t you?” she taunted. - -His jaw set. His right arm, too, swept around her, holding her loosely, -yet close. - -“Think so?” he challenged. “Go on and bite! Bite hard!” - -The blazing gray eyes burned up into the steely blue ones. Breast to -breast, body to body, they stood, their eyes welded together. She made -to move her head, but the motion died. Still their eyes clung. And then -something happened. - -How, why, what it was neither knew--perhaps a subtle opening of some -hitherto unknown chamber of the heart. But the fire died from the gray -eyes, the chill melted from the blue ones; and something else crept -into their unswerving gaze. For unmeasured minutes the man and the girl -stood in silence. - -Then his arms slowly loosened. Swaying a little, she stepped away. - -“I--you--nobody never hugged me like that before,” she whispered, as if -unconscious of her words. “I’m--I’m dizzy, seems like.” - -“I’m sorry,” he muttered. - -“I ain’t,” she breathed. Wide-eyed, she stared up as if seeing a man -for the first time in her life: as if some fairy wand had swept from -before her a veil through which she had regarded men as creatures -little more interesting than any other common animals. “Why--why are -_you_ sorry?” - -He made no answer. His gaze dropped and rested absently on the -pencil-lined paper which had brought it all about. - -“Why did you--let me go?” she asked. - -“I was thinking of--Steve,” was his slow reply. - -Her face clouded. Her head drooped, and her fingers intertwined. - -“Steve,” she repeated. “I see. I--I was forgittin’ about Steve.” - -She sank down and sat with her chin in her hands, soberly contemplating -the passing water. He bent, picked up the paper, and forced his mind -to concentrate on it. After a studious interval he nodded and looked -thoughtfully at the tapering fingers which so recently had threatened -his face. - -“Er--ahem! Do you know, Miss Marion, that you have the rudiments of -art? I’m no artist myself, but I know a little about it. How did you -ever come to draw like this? And why didn’t you want me to see it?” - -She looked up, but in a detached way. Then her eyes returned to the -creek. - -“’Most everybody makes fun of my pictures,” she said, as if only part -of her mind were talking. “I dunno what you mean by rood--roody--what -you said about art. But I like to draw; it comes natural. I git spells -when I jest _have_ to draw things. That’s what got me throwed out of -school. I’d draw pictures and teacher would catch me and tear ’em -up--and one day I ’most tore him up too: I flew and scratched his -face, and I got put out, and that was the end of my schoolin’. I don’t -care. I don’t want to go to school and work onto figgers and have ’em -make fun of me ’cause my hair’s red and my pop’s a nigger and all. I’d -ruther go off by my own self and make pictures into the woods and rocks. - -“There was an artist feller in here two-three years back--they come -round sometimes--and I watched how he worked and tried to do like it, -and when he see what I was up to he laughed and laughed and--I can’t -stand to be laughed at! I thought you’d laugh too, soon as you see what -I made onto that paper.” - -He said nothing for a time. He pondered on her work, studied her again, -and sighed. - -“Too bad,” he thought. “She has real ability, if it could be developed. -And to think that she’s the offspring of such animals as ‘them Oakses’!” - -Marion spoke again. - -“Down in the city do men say ‘Miss Marryin,’ like you do? I thought -’twas jest ‘Miss Oaks,’ or ‘Marry.’” - -“It all depends. If you don’t know her well, or if you don’t want to, -you say ‘Miss Oaks.’ If you’re pretty well acquainted, so that you feel -sort of friendly, it’s ‘Miss Marion.’ You have to be real good friends -to drop the ‘Miss’ part of it. Unless, of course, she’s only a little -girl.” - -“I see. I dunno if I like ‘Miss Marryin,’ but mebbe I do, too. -It’s--it’s kind of respectful, ain’t it? Nobody never spoke respectful -to me in my life. It makes me feel kind of growed-up. But I notice you -keep on sayin’ ‘Miss Marryin’ even after you--after you hugged me jest -now. And that’s only sort of friendly, you say.” - -He opened his mouth to answer, but closed it again. He did not know -just what to say. He felt, too, that no answer was needed--that she was -musing aloud rather than talking to him. A long pause followed. Then -she spoke, not of herself, but of him. - -“I hear you’re livin’ right ’long into Jake’s house. Ain’t the ha’nt -there now?” - -“Oh, yes. He’s there. But I’m used to him now. He never does anything -but tramp around and shake the bed once in awhile, and I sleep pretty -well. How’s Steve? And your pop?” - -“Steve--he’s all right. He’s into a good place, and I see him every -day. Pop’s same as usual--drunk most of the time. But you want to watch -out if he gits sober. He’s p’ison mad at you, ’count of the dogs. I’m -awful glad you kilt them critters. They were always ugly and I was -scairt of ’em. One of ’em bit you, didn’t he?” - -“Not to amount to anything--nipped my side a little, but the worst -damage was to my shirt.” - -She nodded, and went on. - -“Pop keeps a-stewin’ ’bout it. And Snake Sanders is out now, too. -Snake, he was all lamed up awhile, ’specially his neck--couldn’t hardly -move it for more’n a week. He says he fell down into the rocks.” - -She paused. He said nothing. Then she added: “But some folks say he got -licked by a detective.” - -With that she faced about, her eyes twinkling now. At sight of his wide -grin she laughed out. - -“Folks sometimes tell the truth,” he admitted. “But what about Snake -and your pop?” - -“Well----” She hesitated. “Snake’s got some kind of a hold onto pop, -and they’ve been together a lot lately, and pop seems to be soberin’ up -some. That sometimes means trouble for somebody. I dunno what’s up--I -keep out of the way when Snake comes to the house, ’cause I don’t want -him pesterin’ round me. But you better be careful.” - -“H’m! Pestering around you? How?” - -“Oh, he wants me to go and live with him. And he’s got a woman -already--Lou Brackett. She’s been his woman ’most a year. But I ain’t -a-goin’. Pop, he’d try to make me go, but mom won’t let him. She hates -Snake ’most as bad as I do.” - -Douglas gave a soundless whistle. Her matter-of-fact statement jolted -him. Then his face hardened. - -“Is he at your house now?” he demanded. “I didn’t come along the -road--rambled along the creek--so I didn’t go past there.” - -“What you want to know for?” She swiftly arose. “You keep away from -Nigger Nat’s!” - -For answer, he picked up his gun and turned toward the road. She sprang -at him, grasping his arm. - -“What you goin’ to do? Tell me!” - -“Teach that snake to keep away from your place.” - -“No! Listen to me. That’s jest what they’d like. You go trompin’ into -there with a gun and makin’ a row, and you’d git it--into the back! You -keep out. Let ’em come to you if they want, but you keep out of Nigger -Nat’s. You’ll only make it worse for me if you go there--me and Steve -too.” - -The last words stopped him. Frowning, he rubbed his chin and considered. - -“Nobody knows I know you--I ain’t told,” she went on. “Mebbe I might -want a friend all to once, and so might Steve. A friend that nobody -knowed about might be worth a lot. And till then, I’d git ’long a lot -easier if pop and Snake didn’t s’picion things.” - -Slowly he nodded. Again their eyes met and held, and the frank pleading -in the gray ones softened the chilled-steel glimmer of the blue. - -“All right, Marion. I’ll mind--this time. But only if you promise to -come to me any time you need help.” - -The tapering fingers gave his arm a quick pressure. Then she stood back. - -“I promise you. Now you better go ’long--I’ve got to go home pretty -quick, and I’ll have to go by my own self. Go on up the crick, as if I -wasn’t here.” - -He nodded and turned away. But he turned back. - -“Keep right on doing that,” he urged, pointing at the sketch on the -ground. “It’s worth while. You’re doing fine.” - -With that he trudged away. The bushes quietly closed behind him. The -little mouse came out, the chipmunk whisked in a yellow streak from -somewhere back to his bowlder, the creek sang placidly on. Still the -girl stood looking at the spot where the man had disappeared. - -“He minded me!” she murmured, a soft glow coming and going in her -cheeks. “He minded me--and I bet he’d sooner fight than eat. And he -said ‘Marryin,’ too, not ‘Miss.’ But--but Steve----” - -All at once she leaned against the hemlock tree. And the mouse and the -chipmunk stood still and stared about, seeking a sound which blended -into the gurgle of the creek but was not of it; a new, sad sound which -they never had heard before. It was the sobbing of a girl. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -AT THE BRIDGE - - -At the edge of the water, beside a little bridge spanning the Kill, -Douglas sat on a stone and leisurely chewed at a sandwich. It was an -hour since he had bidden Marion good-bye and resumed his wandering way -up the stream; and now, though noon was not quite at hand, he felt -that this was the time and the place to eat. The flat-topped stone -was a comfortable seat, the sun poured its welcome warmth around him, -the pure water flowing past furnished both drink and finger-bath, and -somewhere among the leaves a phœbe-bird sang to him its sweetly simple -little plaint. - -So, healthily hungry and pleasantly tired by his morning ramble to this -point, he basked and ruminated as if it made no difference whether he -continued his upward course along the brook or stayed where he was -until dark. For that matter, it made none. He was his own man and -master, free to come or go or start or stop as fancy decided; and if he -should change his careless purpose of the morning--to follow the stream -upward to its birthplace in high Lake Minnewaska--no consequences would -follow. What he did not do to-day he could do to-morrow, or leave -forever undone. It mattered not, so long as one more care-free day was -added to his life. - -He knew, of course, that soon these golden days must end. Just as the -gray chill of November and the ensuing cold of winter would presently -terminate this dreamy season of the harvest-time, so the necessity of -doing his share of the work of the world must eventually drive him -forth from the Traps and back to the hurly-burly of the towns. But the -bleak time of the snows still was weeks away; and so, he hoped, was -the day when he must desert this wild corner of the hills. Meanwhile, -like the squirrels which roved about in search of supplies to tide them -through the bitter time approaching, he rambled and gathered into the -storehouse of Memory many a mind-picture to feed his nature-loving soul -when he should again be walled within the clanking city. - -Every day since the ending of the “line storm” he had traveled the -Traps. Time and again he had spent an entire day threading his way -over, under, and around the myriad bowlders lying at the foot of Dickie -Barre’s precipice: some towering on end to the height of their parent -rock itself, bearing mute witness to the terrific power of the ice of -the glacial age, hiding among them masked chasms seldom seen by human -eyes; some leaning together as if placed by the hands of some Indian -giant whimsically building a rock wigwam; and countless blocks of every -size and shape, overlying one another at every angle, as if battered -from the face of the butte by the hammer of a mad Thor. - -In the long cliff itself he had found gloomy caverns and crevices which -he did not enter, but which, he suspected, were by no means unknown -to certain men of the Traps. The days were too short and his progress -through the chaos too slow and arduous to devote time to an extended -exploration of those holes. So he had viewed their exteriors with a -shrewd smile and passed on. And, though no sound from within those -gloomy portals ever floated to him, perhaps it was as well that he did -pass on. - -But he had not spent all his time in that labyrinth, nor had he passed -southward in it beyond the point where his “catamount girl” had first -cried to him in the night for help. Then she had been coming toward -him from the south, and he felt that in that direction was her little -secret dream-cave, and that not far from it the fugitive Steve now -was hiding. Her secret should remain her own; he did not wish even to -blunder into it by chance. Instead, he turned his errant steps in other -directions. - -Down the Clove road he had gone, visiting the Clove itself--a -flat-bottomed valley through which the Kill meandered, and where old -stone houses hinted at the Indian days when every settler’s home -must be his fortress. Along the way, and in the Clove, he had met -men who stared with unmasked interest, answered slowly and briefly -when addressed, showed neither friendliness nor hostility, but seemed -relieved when he moved on. Only one had asked him a question, and that -query was direct and personal. - -“Ye’re Hammerless Hampton, ain’t ye?” - -“My name’s Hampton,” he had answered. “Why the Hammerless?” - -A slow nod toward his hammerless gun had revealed the reason for his -new name. When he in turn began asking questions the man had moved away. - -Now, ending his meal and dipping up a measure of water in his tin cup, -Hammerless Hampton smiled at the memory. - -“I’m getting to be a sort of desperado,” he mused. “That nickname -sounds like Bowie Bill, or Derringer Dick, or Six-gun Sam--h’m! or like -Snake Sanders. Hope the citizenry hereabouts doesn’t classify me along -with that reptile. I let him think, before I punched him, that I was -dodging the law, and maybe he’s spread the idea around. I’d give a big -shiny quarter to know just what I’m supposed to be. I know I’m a goat, -but am I a black one or a white one or a spotted one?” - -Downing the drink, he refilled his cup and set it beside him on the -stone while he loaded his pipe. Then he looked at his watch. - -“Guess I’ll move in a few minutes,” he decided. “I believe the -schoolhouse is up yonder at the corner, and the youngsters will be out -soon and chasing down here, maybe. But I’ve time for a smoke first.” - -He glanced along up-stream, under the bridge, as he lit his pipe. Up -that way led an unkempt road debouching from the sandy track leading -across the bridge, and he decided to follow it part of the way. Then -his eyes lifted, and as they rested on the railing above him they -widened. - -Leaning on that rail, watching him, stood a woman. - -He had not heard her approach, but she was there, and seemed to -have been there several minutes. She was slatternly, frowsy-haired, -olive-skinned, with Indian cheek-bones and black eyes; garbed in a -shapeless, faded dress, and barefoot. Yet she was quite young and not -without a sensuous comeliness. Now, meeting his surprised gaze, she -slowly smiled as if she had found her survey of him rather pleasing. - -“Howdy,” he said coolly. “Where did you spring from?” - -Her smile widened, revealing the fact that two of her front teeth had -been knocked out. - -“Kind o’ caught ye nappin’, hey?” she drawled. “Was ye waitin’ for -somebody?” - -He puffed a couple of times before replying, meanwhile observing that -her gaze went a little beyond him to the gun-barrels glistening in the -sun. - -“Nope. If I were, I wouldn’t be sitting here in plain sight.” - -She nodded with a bovine air of wisdom. - -“Tha’s right,” she agreed. “But what ye lookin’ for? Ther’ ain’t -nawthin’ along o’ here.” - -“Well, now, let’s see. If I’m looking for anything, it’s for the place -where this brook starts.” - -She regarded him with increasing amusement. Then she laughed outright, -her sleek shoulders quivering as she rocked on her dusty toes. - -“I guess so. Yas, I guess so! A lot o’ good that’d do ye, wouldn’t it -now? Ha ha! Be ye findin’ any cold tea up into the rawcks, mister?” - -“Up in the rocks? What makes you think I’ve been up there?” - -She looked up the road; down the road; at the bushy track leading away -behind her, up-stream. Reassured, she laughed down at him. - -“Oh, I hearn ’bout ye,” she declared. “Some o’ them rawcks has got eyes -into ’em, mister. Ye’ve been up ther’ a-noseyin’ all around. Was ye -lookin’ ther’ for the place wher’ this crick starts?” - -Again she shook with laughter. Coupled with the oddity of the missing -teeth, her mirth was contagious. Douglas grinned in answer. - -“Nope. Hunting a gold-mine. What did you think?” - -To his surprise, she took the jest seriously. Her black brows lifted -and her wide smile faded. Presently she nodded in that wise way of hers. - -“Ninety-Nine’s Mine!” she said. “But ’tain’t a gold-mine, mister--it’s -silver. An’ it’s fu’ther down than the place wher’ ye been -lookin’--leastways that’s what folks say. But ye’ll be a long time -a-huntin’, I shouldn’t wonder. Why didn’t ye say so before, ’stead -o’ gittin’ folks all riled up ’cause they didn’t know what ye was -pesterin’ round after?” - -He stared, wondering whether she was making game of him, and decided -that she was not. A lost mine! His blood quickened at the thought. But -he kept control of his face and smiled again casually. - -“You’re the first one to ask me what I was doing,” he told her. “The -rest of them decided I was a detective without asking me, so I let them -think what they liked.” - -“Ye’re simple!” she scoffed. “If folks knowed ye was a-huntin’ the -mine they’d jest laff an’ let ye go it, but seein’ ye a-slidin’ round -so quiet an’ not knowin’--wal, ye can’t blame folks for s’picionin’ -things. An’ all to once ye might fall into trouble so hard ye’d never -git outen it.” - -“Maybe you’re right. But aren’t you wrong about the silver? I thought -it was gold.” - -She swallowed the bait whole. - -“Nah! Silver, I tell ye. I’d oughter know--I lived into this place all -my life, an’ I hearn the story many’s the time. - -“Ol’ Ninety-Nine--everybody’s forgot what his real name was, ’twas so -long ago--he worked the mine all by hisself an’ wouldn’t let nobody -else know wher’ ’twas. Bimeby he turned up missin’, an’ he never come -back. But a long time afterward one o’ the Injuns round here come to -’Lias Fox an’ ast him to help him onto somethin’ he couldn’t do alone. -’Lias he was pretty old, but he was strong an’ willin’, an’ him an’ -this Injun went up into the woods down yender, toward the ledges. An’ -when they got up into the rawcks the Injun blindfolded him ’fore he’d -go any fu’ther ’long.” - -She paused suddenly and again looked up and down the road. - -“An’ then he took ’Lias a-stubblin’ round into them rawcks,” she -resumed, “an’ pretty quick ’Lias lost track o’ wher’ he was. But bimeby -the Injun took the hankercher offen his eyes, an’ he was a-standin’ -beside a big flat rawck like a trap-door, with another rawck a-stickin’ -up beside of it like a marker. Then the Injun got a good stout pry, -an’ they got one end under the flat rawck an’ bore down, an’ the two of -’em hefted up that rawck an’ wedged it. An’ under it was a hole with -some rawck steps a-runnin’ down an’ into the ledge. - -“The Injun he went down into the hole, but he made ’Lias stay out an’ -see the pry didn’t slip. Pretty quick he come up an’ tied ’Lias’s eyes -ag’in, an’ ’Lias had to let him ’cause he was old an’ the Injun looked -pretty bad. Then the Injun walked him out a ways an’ left him an’ went -back, an’ ’Lias hearn the rawck go _bang_ down wher’ ’twas before, an’ -then the Injun come back, an’ they went ’long out, with the Injun ahead. - -“’Lias, he got so curious he nigh busted, an’ he slipped the cloth up -an’ peeked. An’ the Injun was a-carryin’ two big heavy bars o’ silver. -’Lias, he knowed then he’d been to Ninety-Nine’s Mine. But he didn’t -dast say nawthin’, an’ he pulled down the hankercher an’ never let -on. Bimeby the Injun stopped an’ took off the cloth, an’ they was out -o’ the rawcks an’ the Injun didn’t have no silver--he’d laid it down -somewheres. He told ’Lias to go home an’ keep his mouth shet, an’ he’d -come back sometime an’ show ’Lias somethin’ that’d make him rich. An’ -then he went back into the rawcks an’ ’Lias went home. - -“’Lias, he waited years an’ years, but the Injun never come back. -’Lias got too old to go huntin’ that place, but he told his boy Tom -’bout it ’fore he died, an’ Tom he hunted till he died, but he never -did git to it. An’ Tom’s boys, Will an’ Abner, they hunted too--till -Will got kilt. A piece o’ rawck fell offen the ledge an’ mashed him all -up. Then Abner, he got scairt an’ never looked no more--he says old -Ninety-Nine’s cuss is onto the place an’ no white man will ever git -that silver. Sence then ’most every man into the Traps has looked, but -nobody found it.” - -Her drawl was gone and her tongue flying fast in the joy of retelling a -well-worn tale. Now she suddenly moved off the bridge and came slipping -down the slope toward him. He arose. - -“But ther’s somethin’ that everybody don’t know,” she added -mysteriously. “An’ that’s this--the place wher’ the sun hits the wall -fust into the mornin’, that’s wher’ Ninety-Nine’s Mine is! Mebbe ye can -find it, mister--don’t tell nobody--but if ye find it ’member I told -ye. Will ye gimme some o’ the silver if ye find it? I--I wanter git -outen this place!” - -In the black eyes upturned to his were appeal, revolt, wistfulness--and, -as they continued to look at him, something else. Unabashed, -unmistakable, they gave him the message that she found him very good to -look on; that he had but to reach for her and take her. He stepped back -a little. - -“I’ll do that--if I find it,” he assured her, repressing a smile. “If -ever I stumble into Ninety-Nine’s Mine I’ll give you a full share of -whatever is in it. Now I think I’ll move----” - -He paused. She had started and thrown a scared glance behind. From up -on the hill sounded shouts and the thud of running feet. School was out. - -“Oh, my Gawd--git in under the bridge quick!” she gasped. “I dasn’t be -seen with ye--quick--let ’em git by!” - -She tugged at his arm, then jumped for cover under the bridge. He -hesitated, scorning to hide. But she beckoned imploringly. - -“Ye’ll git me into misery!” she quavered. “Don’t let ’em see -ye--they’ll stop an’----” - -He yielded to her importunity. Seizing his gun, he bounded under the -planks. - -The spatting feet and the childish voices rocketed down upon them. The -boards thumped roaringly, and into the little tunnel drizzled sand from -the cracks. They were passing by---- - -Then a boy’s voice shouted: - -“Lookit! There’s a tin cup!” - -Douglas glowered at the forgotten cup gleaming on the stone outside. He -started to move toward it, intending to drive or lure the children away -without letting them peer under the bridge and find the woman. But he -was too late. - -Down the slope ran two skinny children, boy and girl, to grab the -prize. Their quick eyes darted under the bridge. They stopped, and, for -a second, stood open-mouthed. Then across their faces shot a cunning -look. Upward they jumped again at top speed, and into the road their -twinkling legs vanished. And out pealed their voices in malicious glee, -screaming at the other youngsters: - -“Hey! Oo-ee! Lookit! That ’ere ’tective feller has got Snake Sanders’s -woman under the bridge!” - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -THE LAW COMES - - -Douglas stopped, wheeled, stared at the woman. In her face now burned -dull anger. - -“Ther’ now, ye went an’ done it,” she droned. “Wha’d ye go an’ leave -that cup ther’ for? Ye fool!” - -“Are you----” He hesitated. “Is that true--what they’re saying?” - -“Oh, yas, it’s true ’nough. I’m Lou Brackett,” she admitted sullenly. -“An’ jest ’cause I stop to say ‘howdy’ ye go an’ git me into this! I’m -in for it now. Cuss the luck!” - -“You mean Snake will----” - -“Ah, he wunt kill me--I’m too handy. He’ll only haff kill me. But -ther’”--a spark of spirit began to gleam under the black brows--“I can -git the jump onto him, knowin’ what’s a-comin’. I’ll keep the sadiron -by me, an’ when he comes I’ll----” - -She paused abruptly, a new and shrewd look flitting over her face. All -at once she smiled wide and rolled her eyes at him. - -“I know what we can do,” she gurgled. “Don’t ye want a good -housekeeper, mister? I hearn ye live all by yerself, an’ that ain’t no -way for no man to live. I can cook an’ sew an’ take good care o’ ye, -an’--wal, ye got me into this; now ye’d oughter look out for me.” - -So taken aback was he that he stood wordless. She moved toward him. He -stepped away. A lucky thought came to him. - -“I’m living with Dalton’s Death,” he solemnly stated. “You couldn’t -live there. The ha’nt walks every night, knocking on the walls and----” - -“Don’t say no more!” she quavered. “I was forgittin’. Ye’re crazy, -livin’ into that house! I’d ruther stay to Snake’s.” - -Inwardly congratulating himself, he sought a line of escape for -her--and found it. Up-stream the bank was thickly bushed for some -distance, and, though the voices of the children were not far off, they -sounded at a respectable distance. He pointed. - -“Go up there,” he directed tersely. “Get well away and then hide in the -brush. I’ll go talk to the kids--tell them they’re cross-eyed. Oh, and -listen--if Snake acts mean ask him what he’s hanging around Nat Oaks’ -so much for. If you jump on him quick enough maybe he’ll forget what he -hears about this.” - -A vindictive glint crept into her eyes. - -“So he’s a-pesterin’ ’round ther’, hey? I’ll fix him! I’ll----” - -“Get going!” - -With that he stepped out and strode up the bank. As he expected, the -children were grouped several yards away, eager to spy but afraid -to venture too near the lurking “detective.” At sight of him they -retreated, ready to flee at the slightest threatening movement. He made -none. He had a better plan. - -“Well, what are you young folks jabbering about?” he chaffed them. -“Can’t a fellow take a smoke under a bridge without your getting all -excited about it?” - -They dug their toes into the dust, warily watching him. He took a -lazy stride, and they gave back instantly--though they did not run. -Pausing, he ostentatiously puffed at the pipe still smouldering between -his teeth. The ensuing blue haze bore out his claim that he had been -smoking. - -“What’s this I heard about Snake Sanders?” he pursued. “Snake isn’t -there.” - -Behind he heard a slight splash. The woman was obeying his command. - -“’Tain’t Snake!” yelped the boy who had seen them. “Snake’s woman! Lou -Brackett!” - -A mocking chorus swelled out, started by those farthest back. - -“Under the bridge with Loo-ou! Under the bridge with Loo-ou!” - -Another boy, growing bolder, added a further taunt. - -“Wait till Snake hears ’bout it! He’ll hop onto ye! Yah!” - -“Yah! Under the bridge with Loo-ou!” piped the chorus. - -The man’s teeth clenched on the pipe-stem, but he kept smiling. - -“Hadn’t you better be sure you’re right before you start tattling -tales? What do you think Snake’ll do to you when he finds out you lied -to him? And what do you think _I’ll_ do?” - -The sudden hush and scared glances around showed that the shot struck -home. None wanted to incur the wrath of Snake Sanders. But the girl -who had spied the hidden pair--a gangling creature with eyes too close -together--snapped back at him. - -“’Tain’t no lie! We seen ye--me and Billy!” - -“Saw me, yes. But there’s no woman under that bridge. Why do you yell -out that there is? First thing you know you’ll get yourself into -trouble.” - -Another hush. The youngsters began scowling at the pair who had -screamed the news. - -“She is so!” stubbornly disputed the girl. “I seen her!” - -“Now be careful! Want to bet on it?” He drew a bright quarter-dollar -from a pocket and held it up. “Want to bet five cents against this -quarter that a woman’s there? Any woman at all. If you bet and lose, -though, I’ll make your teacher get the money from you or give you a -good hiding. Want to bet?” - -The half-score pairs of eyes fastened wolfishly on the gleaming coin. -The boy and the girl wavered and remained silent. There might be some -trick, and the thought of a thrashing was unpleasant. As Douglas -intended, their failure to accept his dare increased the doubt in the -minds of the others. - -“You don’t dare to bet,” he laughed sneeringly. “I thought not. Well, -now, just to show you you’re cross-eyed and didn’t see any woman at -all, I’ll let you look for yourselves. Come on, girls and boys. I won’t -touch you.” - -Still they hung back. He drifted slowly toward the bridge, giving -Lou Brackett every possible second of time while seeming to urge the -children on. On the bridge itself he darted a side-glance up-stream. -Nobody was in sight. - -“Come on!” he snapped. “I can’t stand here all day.” - -A bolder spirit among the boys edged forward. In a minute all were -coming. Douglas leaned carelessly on the rail and grinned. - -“Look under, everybody! I want you all to see that I’m telling it -straight. Use your own eyes.” - -They tumbled down the bank, spied all around, and came up laughing -loudly at the pair of informers. - -“She’s gone!” yelled the boy. “She was here but she run somewheres!” - -“Where?” instantly countered Douglas. “You’ve all been watching this -bridge every minute. How could anybody come out without your seeing -him--or her? Now, you two had better go and get some glasses. Then -maybe you can tell the difference between a rock under the bridge and a -woman. If you really saw a woman, why didn’t you bet a nickel against -my quarter? Because you didn’t see any. Isn’t that right, youngsters?” - -His confident argument, poor as it was, clinched the matter in the -simple minds of those who had not seen the woman there. They jeered at -the spies, who were sullenly silent just when they should have fought -back. - -“All right, go on,” Douglas waved them away. “Only remember, if I hear -any more about this I’ll know who told it around, and--you may be -sorry.” This time he gave the sulky pair a hard look. “Now run along. -I want to finish my smoke without being yelled at.” - -They went, still poking fun at their discredited companions. For awhile -Douglas leaned there, knowing he was watched, and that while he was the -focus of attention the woman could move farther away unobserved. Then -he knocked out his pipe and sauntered away, directing his steps up the -open road toward the schoolhouse. - -“H’m! That was a sweet mess, wasn’t it?” he reflected. “Maybe that pair -of little scandal-mongers will keep their mouths shut, but I doubt it. -However, the rest of them didn’t see her, and she’s out of it with a -whole skin--if she has wit enough to get in the first word when Snake -shows up. Mister Ha’nt, up to the present you’ve been a pest, but now -you’re a friend in need; you got me out of an embarrassing corner quite -gracefully. Consider yourself thanked.” - -Chuckling, he swung smoothly along between the walls of verdure -bordering the road, soon reaching a sharp turn where the road angled -off to the westward. There stood the little dun schoolhouse, now -temporarily deserted. Along both sides of the steep roadway beyond -stood small houses quite close together. At the nearest of these was a -workshop, and before it toiled an active little man surrounded by new -barrels. - -Somewhat surprised by the sight of industry at this lazy noon-hour, -Douglas slowed his steps as he approached. The man was obviously a -cooper; and around one stand of staves he was deftly looping a withe -hoop and locking it tight by notches in the withe. As Douglas halted -he rapidly tapped the hoop down into position, gave the barrel a roll, -and stopped, foxily watching the stranger. - -“Howdy, stranger,” he gurgled, shifting a lumpy quid in one cheek. - -“Howdy. You look busy.” - -“Allus busy to this time o’ year--folks needs barrels for the -apples--keeps me a-hustlin’, yessir. But lawsy, what’s the use o’ -livin’ if ye don’t keep a-movin’, says I. Might’s well be a stump or a -rock, yessir. Some folks’d ruther set and spit tobacker to a rat-hole, -but not me. I’d ruther wear out than rust out--I can lay quiet a long -time when I’m dead. Ain’t that so?” - -“Right as a trivet,” the blond man heartily approved, noting the keen -features and the sandy gray hair. “I’ll bet you’re a Scotch-Irishman. -Am I right?” - -“Wal! Ye hit ’er right into the eye, stranger--David McCafferty--that’s -me. No slow Injun blood or Dutch into me, like some folks round -here--I’m awake, I am, yessir! Ye’re Hammerless Hampton, o’ course. -Hearn all ’bout ye, oh, yes.” - -His shrewd look dwelt a minute on the gun. Then he shot a wary glance -around. His next remark came in a hoarse whisper. - -“Uncle Eb told me ’bout ye. Fine old feller, Uncle Eb. Been to see him -yit?” - -“No. Haven’t seen him since the line storm. I’ve been rambling around. -Why?” - -“Wal, go an’ see him now, if ye ain’t got nothin’ else onto yer hands. -He’d oughter be to home pretty quick--he went out bee-huntin’ to-day -early. Soon’s ye see him tell him Davy says this: there’s two strangers -a-snoopin’ round--come in from the Gap this mornin’--I seen ’em slide -into the brush down yender by the schoolhouse, an’ they ain’t come -back. Jest tell him that. He’ll know what I mean.” - -Douglas turned, looked at the road behind, let his eyes rove in the -direction the strangers must have taken, and found himself looking at -the wall of Dickie Barre--where Steve probably was hiding. He scowled -and unconsciously shifted his gun. A subdued chuckle brought his glance -back to David, who now was agrin. - -“Guess ye think like I do, Hammerless,” he added with a swift wink. -“Anyways, if ye see Uncle Eb ’fore I do, tell him. I been hopin’ he -might come back along o’ here, but nobody knows where he’ll travel to -when he gits a-goin’.” - -“Which is his house?” - -“’Bout haff a mile ’long--on the left, beyend the second turn--yeller -house facin’ Dickabar--the onliest yeller house on the _left_ side o’ -the road. G’by.” - -He dived at his work again, with a back jerk of the head to urge his -messenger on. Douglas swung away with long strides. - -At the other houses along his way faces looked out from windows as -he passed and heads jutted from doorways when he had gone by, but he -did not see them. His gaze ranged ahead, seeking a yellow house on -the left. His thoughts were a complex of puzzlement over McCafferty’s -cryptic last utterances and of worriment for Steve. He did not reflect -on the fact that Steve was an escaped convict: he thought of him only -as a hunted victim of the machinations of Snake Sanders and as the -wild young sweetheart of Marion, and he resented the coming of men who -might be human bloodhounds trailing the unlucky youth. And, though he -wondered why honest Uncle Eb should need a warning of the presence of -those newcomers, he dismissed the enigma with the guess that this was -only a part of the “underground telegraph” system of the Traps, whereby -its citizens, good or bad, learned news which might or might not -concern them vitally. - -Though he did not realize it, he was responding to his environment. The -mysterious undercurrent of things unseen, half-guessed--of whispers -and winks and silences--of secret movements in the jungly brush and -the labyrinth of stones--was eddying around his straightforward nature -and deflecting him into the channel where, in time, he might become -an integral part of the walled-in stream of life revolving about the -bowl. Whether he should ride on the surface of that stream, whether he -should float below it like a submerged snag, whether he should suddenly -drop to the bottom and be forever lost, only time could tell. But the -current was working, and he was drifting with it unawares. - -Less than a month ago, as Douglas Hampton, newspaperman, he had had a -friendly nod and a smile for every blue-coated patrolman he happened -to meet. In his own neighborhood he had known personally every “cop,” -and some of the plain-clothes “dicks” as well; and many a time in -the dead hours of night, when his own work was done and policemen had -little to do but patrol vacant beats, he had stood long in some shadowy -corner and yarned with a lonesome guardian of the law. “A fine bunch -of fellows,” had been his opinion of them then. Yet now, as Hammerless -Hampton, his mental reaction to the hint of the arrival of man-trackers -was instinctively hostile; hostile, though he himself still was almost -universally regarded as a detective. Yes, he was drifting. - -But he was not to drift long. The time was close at hand when, in his -own mind at least, he must align himself with or against the forces -of the law. In fact, every stride he took was narrowing the distance -between him and that decision. When he turned into the little dooryard -of the only yellow house on the left, he was within ear-shot of the -growling voice of the Law. And when he tramped noisily up the steps and -looked through the open door at the top he looked squarely into the -eyes of the Law itself. - -Beyond that door stood three men. One, his hat askew on his silvery -hair, was Uncle Eb. The other two, beefy, red-faced, regarding the -newcomer with cold eyes, were obviously outsiders. The civilian -clothing and blunt-toed shoes, the chilled-steel stare, the untanned -hands hovering on a level with the lowest buttons of their vests, the -significant bump bulging the coat of the nearer man--over the right -rear pocket--all told the same tale to Hampton’s quick survey. - -There was no guesswork about it this time. The Law was in the Traps. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -THE CODE OF THE HILLS - - -Standing there in the doorway, Douglas watched the eyes of the two -strangers shift rapidly over him, taking him in from clean-shaven face -to laced boots, then returning to the shotgun under his arm. With a -cool nod to them, he turned to Uncle Eb--and surprised in the old man’s -countenance a look of mingled anxiety and hope. - -“Howdy, Uncle Eb,” he said casually. “Thought I’d drop in a minute and -smoke a pipe. Didn’t know you had company.” - -“Come in! Come right in, son!” The explosive voice was even more -abrupt than usual. “Where ye been all the time? I been by yer house -twice--stopped to see ye--but ’twas all empty like. I was scairt the -ha’nt might o’ got ye. These fellers--I dunno ’em--they ain’t no -comp’ny o’ mine. I jest got home--been bee-huntin’--found a good tree, -too--bet ther’s a good fifty pound o’ honey into it--these fellers was -jest a-comin’ into the yard when I come.” - -The jerky sentences, the strained look, told Douglas that Uncle -Eb--Uncle Eb, who had previously asserted that he had no reason to fear -detectives--was nervous. Now he thought he caught a meaning flutter of -one white-lashed lid and a sidewise flicker of the eyes. But he could -not interpret the signal--was not even sure it was so intended. So he -only nodded carelessly. - -“Uh-huh. I’ve been rambling around, or I’d have seen you sooner. Did -you get that tobacco for me at High Falls?” - -The question was a blind for the benefit of the listening pair. He had -given Uncle Eb no commission to bring him more tobacco, and his present -stock was more than ample. But the old man snatched instantly at the -hint. - -“Yas--yas, I did, boy. It’s into my bedroom--I’ll git it. But I dunno -if I got what ye want. Ye didn’t tell me what kind, so I got two. Come -pick what ye want, an’ I’ll keep t’other for myself.” - -He lumbered into another room, Douglas lounging after. The two -strangers made slight movements as if to follow, then remained where -they were. Uncle Eb had left the door wide open, and the watchers saw -that he was taking tobacco cans from the top of an old-fashioned chest -of drawers: yellow cans and blue ones. - -“They’re both slice-cuts,” rattled the old man. “Some likes one, some -wants t’other. Take yer pick.” - -Douglas, holding a can in each hand as if considering, knew by their -lightness that no tobacco remained in them. They were old tins, saved -by the thrifty hillman for any use that might occur to him. He slid a -cornerwise glance at Eb. - -“Or take both kinds if ye want--I’ve got some more.” Then, hardly -moving his lips, the old man breathed: “Steve in barn--go tell him hide -in hay!” - -Douglas repressed a start. So that was it! Uncle Eb, loyal to his -people though honest in his own life, was sheltering the refugee. And -he, Hampton, who previously had had only a passive hand in aiding the -fugitive, now must act either to help or to outwit the heavy-handed Law -standing beyond the doorway. - -According to the smug dictum of all self-righteous society, his duty -was plain: to inform the waiting police that an escaped convict lurked -within a stone’s throw. What matter if he thereby involved Uncle Eb -as an accomplice? What though he tore the heart of a girl and threw a -boy back into a living tomb? A convict was a convict, duly sentenced -by judicial authority, and those who connived to defeat that authority -must suffer the consequences. And the girl--what is a girl’s grief to -the Law? - -Such was the code of Respectability. Confronting it was the code of -the hills, which this old man was instinctively obeying; the code of -natural justice, far more ancient and human than the chain-clanking -machinery of legislature and court and prison: _Stand by your own!_ -On either side of Douglas Hampton they towered, stark and hard as the -two great walls of the Traps; and he must either swing on in the Traps -current or turn and fight against it. - -To a worshipper of codes, the choice might have come hard. To this man -it was hardly even a matter for choice. He had his own instinctive -code, and backbone enough to follow it through. And now he gave no -thought to the beliefs and traditions of either the great world without -or the little world within the mountain bowl. He saw only the desperate -face of Steve, heard only the lad’s vehement denial of guilt. And he -spent no time in pondering over his course. - -Not more than five seconds passed between Uncle Eb’s whisper and his -first move. He nodded, slid the empty cans into separate pockets, and -turned doorward. - -“Thanks. I’ll try ’em both out,” he said. “Pay you the next time I see -you. That all right?” - -“Sure, sure, that’s all right--any time, son, any time. Mebbe I’ll be -drivin’ down your way to-morrer, or anyways the next day--I might go -after the honey to-morrer. Want to set in an’ eat ’fore ye go? I ain’t -much good of a cook, an’ Marthy an’ Becky ain’t to home to-day--they -went a-visitin’--but I got to fix up sumpthin’ for myself, an’----” - -“No, I’ll be going. Had my lunch just a little while ago.” - -“Wal, g’by. Which way ye goin’--up back? Wal, say, do sumpthin’ for me. -Throw down a jag o’ hay to the hoss when ye go ’long. Much ’bliged.” - -Douglas nearly grinned at the old man’s adroitness in thus openly -turning him toward the barn. But he kept his face expressionless and, -with a nod both to Uncle Eb and to the silent man-hunters, loafed -toward the exit. Then one of the sinister pair moved and spoke. - -“Wait a minute,” he commanded bruskly. “What you carryin’ that gun for? -This ain’t huntin’ season.” - -“No?” was the careless retort. “It’s always hunting season--for foxes -and other vermin.” - -The second bristled. - -“Whatcha mean by voimin?” he growled. - -Douglas turned an amused face to him. - -“Hello, Brooklyn!” he laughed. “This is the foist time I’ve hoid that -Sands-Street accent since I came up here. How’s your thoist?” - -The first grinned at the mimicry of his mate. The second, though he -still looked truculent, blinked. - -“Takes an oily boid to catch a woim up here,” gibed the blond man. “But -who’s the woim? I haven’t hoid of any squoiming around on this toif.” - -Whereat the first man chuckled and the second turned brick-color. - -“Whatcha mean by that stuff?” he rasped. “How’d ya git the idear I was -lookin’ for anybody? You know too much, you do. Come on, now, I guess -me and you’ll have a little talk. And you can lay that gun down on the -floor, see?” - -Douglas laughed derisively. - -“I know I can--but I won’t. Just go easy, Mister Bull, and don’t monkey -with the works. You’re talking to a big-town boy now, and that stuff -doesn’t go. And if you think you’re disguised so that I can’t spot you, -think again. Those flatfoot shoes are a dead give-away, not to mention -your hip-bump and your cop face.” - -“Yeah? Guess you’re in the habit of watchin’ for them things, hey? -And whatcha doin’ up here, my fine boid? Kind of a funny place for a -big-town boy to hang out, ain’t it, huh? What was the last name you -went by?” - -He was moving, almost imperceptibly, to get Douglas between him and -his companion. The blond man foiled the attempt by taking one swift -side-step and getting his back to the open doorway. - -“Don’t make a fool of yourself,” he advised wearily. “You can’t scare -me that way in a year of Sundays. Just to satisfy you--though it’s none -of your business--I’m Hampton, of the New York _Whirl_, up here on a -vacation. If you get too obstreperous, Mister Man, I can give you a -lovely write-up when I get back to town--that kind that may let you out -of your job. Go easy.” - -The other halted where he was. The name of the _Whirl_ and the thinly -veiled threat coupled with it stopped him dead; for it conjured up the -vision dreaded by every officer, even though he may affect to scoff at -it--the possibility of being held up to scorn in the public prints. He -understood now why this fellow refused to be bulldozed, why he laughed -in his face--he was “one o’ them newspaper guys,” than whom there -is no more nervy and disrespectful tribe on earth; whose friendship -is worth much to any police officer, and whose enmity is not to be -lightly incurred. Naturally, he did not know that Hampton was no longer -connected with newspaperdom. - -“You on the _Whoil_?” he growled, a crafty light in his eyes. “Who’s -city editor there now?” - -“Chapman, of course. Same old grouch he always was, too.” - -The other nodded grudgingly. City Editor Chapman was known far and -wide in both newspaper and police circles for his uncanny news ability -and his vitriolic temper. This fellow’s knowledge of Chapman and his -impudent assurance carried conviction. - -“All right, Hampton. Guess you’re O. K. Know this fella?” He nodded -toward Uncle Eb. - -“Sure. He’s as honest as they make ’em. What are you fellows in here -for? Got anything good?” - -“Nope--nothin’ you’d want,” was the hasty cover-up. “I ain’t woikin’ in -the big town now--this is a little up-river stuff. Me and my pal’s jest -lookin’ round for some small-fry. Don’t let us keep ya. So long.” - -Douglas laughed openly. The burly man now was even more anxious to be -rid of him than he was to go to the barn. - -“Oh, all right. Let’s see, who did you say you were? And from where?” - -“Didn’t say. So long, fella. So long.” - -He turned his back squarely on his questioner. The other man, who had -been searchingly watching Douglas, now directed his gaze elsewhere and -also turned an aloof shoulder to him. Douglas shot a wink at Uncle Eb -and strolled out. - -“G’by, son,” called the old man. “Don’t forgit the hoss.” - -“Oh, sure. I’ll fix him up. See you later.” - -With lazy step he sauntered up to the little yellow barn, whose sliding -door stood open a few inches. Once inside, he dropped his languid air -in a flash. - -“Steve!” he called softly, peering around. “Steve!” - -No answer came. In a dark stall a horse moved and stamped. Somewhere -down below sounded the grunts of hogs which had heard his steps. But of -human movement, of human voice, there was no sign. - -“Steve!” he whispered loudly. “Where are you? Get into the hay! Quick!” - -Again there was no sound. But movement came. Under a stair-flight -leading aloft in the dimmest corner, something slipped cautiously into -sight--first an ear, then a cheek, then a peeping eye. It hung there, -waist-high, watching the man go squinting into the stalls and around -him. - -“Steve! This is Hamp! Uncle Eb says----” - -“Awright!” - -The whispered reply, hoarse and penetrating, cut short his speech and -turned him stairward. The eye became two, and the face rose as if the -concealed youth were getting up from his knees. - -“What’s he say?” demanded Steve. - -“Get into the hay! Two bulls are here--in the house--may come here any -minute--get under cover quick.” - -“Uh-huh.” Steve darted forth. “I seen ’em. Figgered I better hide into -this ’ere hole an’ mebbe duck out if they went up ’bove. Would of -skipped outen here, but the side house-winder looks right to the barn -an’ I ’spicioned they’d see me.” - -He was already on his way upward. Douglas followed close behind. They -emerged into a small hay-loft, crammed with the season’s crop of -horse-fodder. At each end, high up in the peak but now level with the -piled hay, a small window let in light. In that light the two stood an -instant looking at each other. - -Though the desperate look of the hunted still was on the fugitive’s -face, he looked far better than when Douglas had carried him into -the den among the bowlders. Then he had been wan, pinched, utterly -exhausted. Now his cheeks were more round, his eyes unrimmed by blue -crescents, his swarthy skin tinged by healthy color. Food and sleep -in plenty had transformed him from a hatchet-faced wreck to a not -unhandsome young man. But the hard set of the mouth and the glitter of -the dark eyes still were there. - -“I’ll never go back!” he whispered fiercely. “I had three years o’ -misery--for a job I never done--an’ them dicks wunt git me back. -I’ll kill ’em--I’ll git shot--I’ll jump offen the ledges an’ bust my -neck--anythin’--but I ain’t a-goin’ back! An’ I got to git Snake ’fore -anybody gits me. I---- _Shuh!_ What’s that? They comin’?” - -He bounded up on the great mound and peered out. Douglas flashed a -glance around. His eyes halted on the other window--the rear one. It -was open. - -“They’re a-comin’! They’re a-going to look round into here! I got to -git under!” - -Outside sounded Uncle Eb’s loud voice, angrily protesting against -search of his premises. The two man-trailers were stonily silent. - -“No!” decided Douglas. “If they’re suspicious they’ll look in the hay. -You get outside! Through that window--I’ll steady you--swing up over -the eaves and hug the roof. And lie quiet!” - -Steve, with the ruthless Law almost upon him, blindly obeyed. Across to -the rear window they plunged over the hay. The boy wriggled through the -opening, turned his face inward, reached for the eaves above. Douglas -braced himself, grasped the bare ankles, heaved upward. A clawing sound -above--a spasmodic kick--a squirming struggle--the legs broke free and -vanished. Followed a soft bump or two, a short scraping sound--and -silence. - -“I tell ye, ye ain’t got no right into my place without a search -warrant!” stormed Uncle Eb below. “I ain’t got nothin’ to hide, but I -got the same rights any other honest man’s got. Show yer warrant! I -forbid ye into this place!” - -“Ah, call in yer lawyer and we’ll talk to him,” sounded the sneering -answer. “Go sit down and hold yer head. We won’t damage nothin’. Looks -bad, too, you gittin’ so woiked up when you got nothin’ to hide. Hey, -Ward?” - -Douglas reached down and rapidly loosened the lacing of one boot. Then -he went back across the hay and sat down. At once a heavy foot sounded -on the stairs. - -“Hey, up there! You, Hampton?” - -“Right both times--there’s hay up here, and I’m Hampton,” drawled the -man above. - -“Huh! Bill, go up and take a look. I’ll see that nothin’ slides out -down here.” - -The red face of Bill, ex-Brooklynite, rose above the floor, glowering -around. - -“Well, whatcha doin’, Hampton?” he growled. “Thought ya was feedin’ -the horse, but I notice he ain’t fed yet. Slow, ain’t ya?” - -“Oh, I take my time. And right now I’m straightening up my sock. Ever -have a sock wrinkle under your heel? Makes a beautiful blister. Horses -can wait until my foot is fixed to suit me.” - -Red-Face grunted and keenly surveyed the mow. Douglas coolly laced up -the boot, as if completing what he had been doing when interrupted; -stretched his leg, worked his foot up and down, and nodded as if -satisfied. - -“That feels better,” he announced. “Well, Statue of Liberty, what’s -all the heavy thinking about? Or are you only trying to look wise and -pretending to think?” - -The other’s heavy mouth twisted in an ugly grin. He reached for a -pitchfork standing near, yanked it free from the hay, inspected its -long gleaming tines. - -“Funny as a toothache, ain’t ya! One of these days, fella, that mouth -o’ yourn’ll git ya into a box,” he predicted. “Right now I got other -things to poke into. Jest come down off that hay--unless you’re -coverin’ somethin’ up. That’s right. Ya mind like ma’s angel-face, -don’t ya? Now watch what I toin up!” - -With a leap he came up. And with a shrewd jab he drove the fork down -into the hay on which Douglas had been sitting. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -COLD NERVE - - -Again and again the man-hunter stabbed at the hay, moving about with -each new attack, lunging more viciously as his searching prods brought -no result. Douglas felt a little chilly as he visualized what might -have happened if Uncle Eb’s advice had not been disregarded at the -last minute. And the old man down below, hearing the loud rustle of -the dried grass and knowing nothing of the change in Steve’s place of -refuge, lost his grip on himself. - -With a yell he came thundering up the stairs, his walrus mustache -bristling like tusks and his jaw jutting as if about to bite. - -“_Git_ often that hay!” he bellowed. “_Git_ outen here! An’ git quick, -’fore I muckle onto ye. I’ll sling ye head-fust outen the winder! -_Git!_” - -The man above had jumped about and swung the fork menacingly before -him. Infuriated still further by the sight of his own hay-tool turned -against him, the old warrior sprang up the sloping side of the mow, -panting inarticulate threats. But he collided with Douglas, who slid -down at him and clinched. - -“Hold your horses, Uncle Eb!” he exhorted. “He’s not hurting the hay -or smoking in it--only jabbing the fork into it, for some reason or -other. Let him fool around. Whoa! Quiet down!” - -But Eb’s blood was up, and he knew no reason why he should quiet down. -He fought to break free, and the younger man found his hands very -full. Tussling mightily, they reeled about at the foot of the slope, -in imminent danger of slipping over the edge of the open gap in the -floor and crashing down the steep stairs. The man Ward, who had bounded -part-way up to aid his companion if necessary, took one look and -hastily got from under. His mate Bill, still holding the fork poised -for defense, grinned nastily at the grappling pair. - -Douglas got his chin on Eb’s shoulder and ventured a whisper from the -corner of his mouth. - -“It’s all right. He’s not there.” - -It took some seconds for his meaning to penetrate the old fellow’s -raging brain, but Douglas managed to hold him until he understood. -Then all at once he ceased struggling. Too, he quick-wittedly gave a -deceptive excuse for his outbreak. - -“Fellers come into here--actin’ like they was the King o’ Rooshia an’ -I was a dawg,” he panted. “Ain’t got no search warrant--think they can -sass me right into my own house--tromp onto my hay an’ spile it for the -hosses--they got to git out!” - -“That’s right, too,” Douglas nodded. “I know how you feel. But the best -way is to let the smart-Alecks show themselves that they’re wrong--and -then, if they don’t apologize, report them to the right authorities. I -can tell you where to send the report.” - -At that Bill glowered anew. He glowered still more when Douglas turned -to him with sarcastic permission to continue. - -“You, up there, go on amusing yourself if you like. Mr. Wilham here -will take his amusement later--when you’re trying to explain to your -superiors why you took it on yourselves to molest a peaceable citizen. -Maybe he’ll get more fun out of it in the long run than you will. So go -ahead playing hay-maker--it’s a nice game for little boys. When you get -through, bring down a forkful for the horse. It’ll save me the trouble.” - -Bill’s mouth became a thin line. He looked as if about to heave the -fork at his tormentor. But after one long glare he doggedly returned -to his search, speaking not a word. Had any fugitive been under that -hay now, however, he would undoubtedly have died under the vindictive -lunges of the fork. - -Foot by foot he bayoneted the mow, from end to end and from side to -side. Douglas watched with a tantalizing grin, Uncle Eb in silent -perturbation--wondering where Steve was but not daring to ask by word -or look. From above came no sound. Steve was lying quiet as the dead. - -In Hampton’s mind grew a big suspicion. These men were conducting -themselves as if acting on previous information: as if told by some -one that here they would find what they sought. It was preposterous -to suppose that they would go thus through the entire Traps, jabbing -every hay-loft, riding rough-shod over every man’s right to call his -home his castle. They had come in only that morning, gone up toward -the bowlders--and then come to the one place where the refugee was. It -might be blind chance, but--yes, Douglas was suspicious. - -Finally the man Bill, with an oath, threw down the fork. His face was -redder than ever, streaked with sweat, itching from hay-dust. He mopped -a hand over his prickly cheeks, scratched his head violently, bent -a baleful glare on the two below. Then he came wallowing out of the -ragged mass he had stirred up. - -“Say, bring along that horse-feed, will you? We’ve been waiting long -enough,” complained Douglas. As if in emphasis, an impatient whinny -sounded below. - -Another oath exploded from the badgered Bill. He slid clumsily down and -stood looking as if aching to punch the grinning mouth. But he did not -punch. Swallowing something, he pointed downward. - -“Git down-stairs!” he rasped. “You, Hampton, you got in here foist, but -ya’ll stay where I can see ya from now on. G’wan! Move!” - -The blue eyes narrowed at the dictatorial tone and the half-spoken -accusation. But then Douglas smiled again--an exasperating smile. - -“_When_ I’ve fed the horse,” he singsonged. “_Then_, if I feel like it. -But there, Uncle Eb, maybe you’d better do the feeding, now that you’re -here. If I laid this gun down I might lose it. Some folks can’t be -trusted.” - -Uncle Eb cackled harshly. Bill moved his right arm quickly, but stopped -it. Douglas still smiled, but his eyes were cold and his gun gripped in -a ready-looking fist. Ward, whose head had risen again on the stairs, -watched like a cat, one hand under his coat. - -Deliberately Uncle Eb gathered a big armful of hay, crowded past Bill -with it, dropped it on the open chute to the horse’s bin and stuffed -it down with a small two-tined fork standing at hand. Then he returned -to the stairs and clumped down them, Ward giving way but holding his -position. - -“After you, my dear Bill,” bowed Douglas. “Oh, don’t be afraid. -The _Whirl_ may jump on your neck one of these days, but not this -afternoon. G’wan!” - -At the patrolman-like twang of the last word Ward grinned slightly. He -evidently had a sense of humor. Bill looked at him, at Douglas--then -trod to the stairs and down. Douglas followed. - -Below, the pair conducted a rapid but extremely thorough search of -the ground floor. Meal-chests, barrels, stalls, the covert under the -stairs--every nook and corner where a man could possibly be hidden was -looked into. When they still found no sign of what they sought, they -paused and looked hard at each other. - -“Any cellar under here?” demanded Ward. - -“If ye call a hawg-pen a cellar, yas,” snapped Uncle Eb. “Go look -into it--waller round into it--ask the hawgs what they had for -breakfas’--wait awhile an’ mebbe I’ll feed ye some swill along with -’em.” - -“Say, whatcha mean by that?” snarled Bill. - -“I mean ye was brought up into a hawg-pen an’ that’s where ye belong!” -flared Eb. “That plain ’nough for ye?” - -It was. Bill started for the old man. But Douglas stepped between them. -He said nothing; he only looked. Bill liked the look so ill that he -slowed, then stopped. - -“An’ after ye’ve shook hands with yer brothers ye can come an’ go all -over the house, like ye was goin’ to when ye got s’picious an’ follered -Hampton down here,” jeered Eb. “I don’t let pigs into my house as a -gin’ral thing, but----” - -“That’ll be about enough of that!” Ward broke in. “Keep a civil tongue -in your head.” - -“--But this once, I’ll do it, seein’ ye’ve gone so fur now,” Uncle Eb -continued, ignoring him. “I can air out the house when ye’re gone. -Hurry up now. Look under the beds an’ into the oven an’ all--an’ then -git often my land an’ stay off!” - -The two looked keenly at him for a full half-minute. - -“Since you’re so willing, we won’t,” announced Ward. Bill nodded -sulkily, looking again around the barn. Ward rubbed his jowl and spat -on the floor. - -“What d’you make of it, Bill?” he puzzled. - -“Somebody lied!” was the morose answer. - -“Yeah. Looks like it. Well, let’s travel.” - -Douglas, shrewdly watching, loosed a snap shot. - -“Don’t you fellows know any better than to believe Sanders?” - -The slight start, the involuntary flicker of the eyelids, told him that -his shot had scored. - -“Uh--whatcha mean? We ain’t seen Sanders,” blurted Bill. - -“No? I notice that you know his name, though. How much did he shake -you down for? You’d better get it back, quick.” - -The pair scowled at each other. Bill, with a growl, started for the -door. Ward halted him. - -“Hold up, Bill. No hurry,” he said. “What about Sanders, Hampton?” - -“Only this much: Folks around here think I’m a detective. Sanders -thought so too. He offered to get me any man I wanted--for half the -reward. If the man wasn’t here, he offered to sell me some fellow who -hadn’t done anything but who could be railroaded--for the right price. -He bragged that he could sell anybody, and that he’d done that kind of -business before. Does that line of talk sound familiar?” - -The scowls grew deeper. - -“Some of it,” Ward admitted. “Not the railroad part of it, but--some of -it. Well, say, Hampton, I’m sure obliged to you for that. Sell anybody, -eh? That means the fellow he’s dealing with, too. Uh-huh. Bill, let’s -you and me take a walk.” - -Bill, with another growl, started forward again. But Douglas was not -yet through. - -“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asked pointedly, moving his head -toward Uncle Eb. - -“That’s right,” Ward acknowledged. “I’m sorry, Mr.--uh--Williams-- -Wilson----” - -“Wilham!” barked Eb. “I ain’t got nothin’ ag’in you. It’s this here -hawg.” His frosty eyes glinted at the offensive Bill. - -“How about it, Bill?” queried Ward, his tongue in his cheek. - -Bill turned sourly, heavy jaw set. But he attempted amends. - -“Sorry, old fella,” he mumbled. “We got a bad steer. We ain’t hoit ya, -have we? We gotta do our dooty. We--uh----” - -“All right, let it go at that,” Douglas interposed. All four moved out -of the barn. As they emerged, Douglas began speaking a little louder, -so that Steve could hear. And, to keep the pair from glancing back -and perhaps seeing what was on the roof, he walked toward the house, -talking over one shoulder. - -“If you want to find Sanders, you’d better go straight down the road -and hunt his house. He’ll probably be there at meal-time, if not -before. Where does he live, Uncle Eb?” - -“Way over t’other side, not sech a long ways from the Gap,” Eb answered -readily. “He comes an’ goes by cross-cuts, but ye better stick to the -road. Ye turn into the Clove road down past the schoolhouse, keep on -till ye’ve crossed the crick twice--it sorter wanders round an’ ther’s -bridges acrost--an’ then ther’s a kind of a wood-road bearin’ off to -yer right. Go up that an’ ye’ll find Snake’s house. Ye’ll be ’bout the -onliest comp’ny thar. Nobody visits much with Snake.” - -They were turning into the dooryard before the house now, Bill and Ward -morosely eyeing the road and trying to fix in mind the unfamiliar turns -as described by Uncle Eb. Douglas stole a glance beyond them. One side -of the barn roof was in plain sight now. And on that side, a quarter of -the way down, was Steve. - -Hugging the shingles, he was craftily working eavesward from the ridge -to which he had clung. With bare toes and flattened hands holding him -from too sudden a slip down the pitch, he was sliding himself lower -and lower on his stomach. When he should reach the eaves, it would be -only a matter of a short drop to the ground and a quick jump around the -corner, and he would be out of sight. But if his pursuers should happen -to look that way now---- - -“Look here,” Douglas said quickly, stooping and tracing a line with his -gun-butt, “here’s the road. Now you go down this way, and then----” - -Moving the weapon, keeping his eyes glued to his crude map, he talked -on, holding their attention. They followed every move. And behind them -the ragged figure on the barn roof descended until its feet hung out -over the eaves. There it hesitated an instant, balancing itself for the -final slip and drop. - -Douglas dared not look. Playing for time, he appealed to Uncle Eb for -information regarding some fictitious road which might branch off -before the right one should be reached. Eb’s eyes were crinkled with -amusement, for he saw that the younger man was inventing most of his -road-map; but he kept his face straight, disputed a couple of turns, -and put down a gnarled finger to make a new section of the course. - -Bill began to stir impatiently. His eyes wandered. - -“Yeah, we’ll git there,” he broke in. “Come on, Ward.” - -“When you get there, look out for snakes!” warned Douglas, striking -for his wandering attention. He got it. Bill faced him again. - -“Snakes! Whatcha mean?” - -“Sanders has a fondness for snakes--bad ones. He may have a few around -where you can step on them. Keep your eyes peeled.” - -At that moment sounded a soft thump at the side of the barn. Ward -started to turn. - -“Copperheads--rattlers--poisonous!” asserted Douglas loudly. “Watch out -for ’em!” - -Ward’s eyes hung on his a couple of seconds longer, held by the -warning. Then he turned and looked toward the barn. - -“What’s that bump?” he muttered. - -“Horse moving around, or a hog down below. Don’t forget those snakes.” - -Then Douglas looked. Only the old barn met his anxious gaze. Ward, -after a speculative glance around, nodded and started away. - -“All right. See you later, maybe. So long.” - -Followed by Bill, he stepped briskly to the road. Along the lumpy -wheel-ruts in the sand they trudged, their voices floating back -in growling tones that boded ill for somebody. Then the roadside -brush-growth blotted out their receding figures, and the only sound was -the cheerful chorus of the crickets in the grass. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -FIRE AND FROST - - -Douglas took a long breath. Uncle Eb swung to him. - -“Wha’d ye do with him?” he hoarsely asked. - -In guarded tones Douglas outlined the ruse which had saved Steve. As he -finished he strode out to the side of the road and looked down it. The -two man-hunters still were in sight, plodding along without a backward -look. - -“By mighty! Ye’ve got a head onto ye like a tack, son,” congratulated -Eb, who had followed. “Right after I told them fellers to look into the -hawg-pen I nigh got a shock--it come to me ye might of hid the boy into -thar. Thank Gawd ye was here--I dunno what I’d done without ye----” - -“All right. Now listen. You go back and get Steve under cover again -quick. Those fellows may not be so well convinced as they seem to be, -and they might double back after they’re out of sight. I’m going to -follow them up now and see if they keep on going. I’ll be back.” - -As he spoke, Bill and Ward faded from sight around a little curve. He -strode away after them. Uncle Eb hastened to the barn. - -Along the straight open stretch of road--perhaps forty yards from -house to curve--Douglas traveled at a half-lope. As he went, a smile -grew on his mouth, culminating in a chuckle. - -“Hammerless Hampton, you’re an obstructionist, a conspirator against -the majesty of the law, a disreputable character all around,” he -told himself. “And sooner or later--probably sooner--you’re going to -get yourself in bad. When Brooklyn Bill gets back to the river, for -instance, he may query New York and learn that you’re disowned by the -_Whirl_, and so on. And then what?” - -Instead of growing serious at the thought of that possibility, however, -he laughed all the more as he imagined Bill’s lurid language on -learning that he had been duped. He was still laughing when he reached -the bend. But there, in one instant, his face froze. - -A few rods farther on stood the pair of officers. Their backs were -toward him, their shoulders touched, their burly bodies blocked the -narrow way. Beyond their legs showed a skirt. - -The skirt was jerking about, and under it bare ankles moved quickly, -as if the woman or girl were struggling to get away. The shoulders of -one of the men, too, moved as if his hands were gripping an active -prisoner. Then the men swung apart an instant, and in the space between -them gleamed sunlit red hair. - -Douglas bounded forward, his feet making little noise in the soft sand. -Before the intent couple heard him he was upon them. Straight between -them he plunged, shoving them violently asunder. From the girl broke -a cry. She was Marion, and both her wrists were clutched in the heavy -fists of Bill. - -“Hey! Ya big bum, whatcha doin’?” Bill blared furiously. Ward’s face -too was dark with anger over the thump he had received, and one hand -hung menacingly at his hip. - -“I’ll show you mighty sudden what I’m doing! Let her go!” - -Bill released the girl--but not in obedience to the command. He did -it because he wanted to use his hands on Douglas more than on her. -Ugly-jawed, he stepped forward. - -Douglas stepped back, handed his gun to Marion, and fronted Bill with -fists poised for the first parry and counter-punch. Marion sprang -aside, face ablaze with wrath, gun up. Ward, seeing Douglas give up the -weapon to her and stand bare-handed, relaxed from his tense poise and -swiftly grew cool. - -Bill shot a vicious punch at the blond man’s chin--a straight drive -which would have downed his man if it had landed. But Douglas ducked to -the left and snapped a retaliating right for the beefy jaw. It halted -short--his wrist caught and held by Ward. Now Ward yanked him back. - -“Two to one, eh?” raged Douglas. “All right----” - -“No!” clipped Ward. Gripping the blond man’s arms, he swung himself -between the antagonists. “Let up! Same goes for you, Bill! Cut it!” - -With a powerful shove he sent Douglas staggering backward, at the same -time releasing his hold. - -“That’ll be about all!” he snapped. “Drop this where it is.” - -“I’m not dropping it!” panted Douglas. “Man-handling girls may get by -down where you come from, but it doesn’t go with me. Officers? Pah! You -cheap thugs----” - -“That’ll do!” Ward repeated. “You listen to me a minute.” - -His steady gaze, his resolute tone, his quiet authority, had their -effect. Despite himself, Douglas respected the man. He stood still. - -“I ain’t blamin’ you,” Ward continued evenly. “You act like a man. -But the girl brought it on herself--and she ain’t hurt a bit. Bill -oughtn’t have grabbed her, maybe, but that’s his way. I don’t like it -myself--him and me have had words about that kind of stuff before--but -the girl ain’t hurt and she wouldn’t be hurt, whether you butted in -or not. We only asked her somethin’ about the road, and she sassed us -and tried to shove Bill off into the ditch. He grabbed her hands and -told her to learn some manners, and then she tried to fight him, so -naturally he hung onto her. That’s all there is to it. I’d drop it, if -I was you.” - -Douglas looked at her. True enough, she showed no sign of hurt, -except perhaps to her vivid temper. Ward’s straightforward manner was -convincing. So were the memories of his own denunciation by the girl on -the night when he had met her and of her fiery fight that morning to -regain her sketch. And so were the words of Marion herself. - -“You big hog!” she flared, holding the gun pointed at Bill as if aching -to use it. “You better git outen the Traps and stay out! My manners are -good enough for me and my folks, and if you wasn’t brought up to give -other folks half of the road you can’t learn me anything. You keep on -actin’ like you started, and somebody’ll shoot some manners into _you_, -I shouldn’t wonder. I’ve got a good mind to do it my own self!” - -Under the lash of her tongue, the blaze of her eyes, and the menace -of the twin muzzles yawning at his midriff, Bill blinked rapidly and -stepped backward. Ward too looked uneasy--for an angry woman and a gun -make a decidedly dangerous combination; the more so, because the woman -may shoot without actually realizing what she is doing. - -“That gun loaded?” he muttered to Douglas. - -“Sure. But the safety’s on and she doesn’t know the mechanism. Of -course, she might accidentally slip it, and then--your pal wouldn’t -look very good. I’d advise you two to make tracks down the road -and keep on making them. And one word more to you, Ward. You talk -straight, and I’ll let this drop for now; but you’d better pick another -running-mate before you go again among hill people. This man might do -as a Bowery cop or a prison guard, but he’s no good in wildcat country.” - -Ward nodded about a quarter of an inch, as if he agreed, and studied -his mate with a slightly disgusted look. Then he shrewdly appraised the -girl behind the gun. When he spoke again there was a little twinkle of -admiration in his eye. - -“Wildcat country’s right. Don’t blame you for hangin’ around this neck -of the woods, Hampton. Don’t blame you a-tall. Well, so long. Bill!” - -The last word crackled. Bill, still edging away from the gaping -muzzles, obeyed Ward’s thumb-jerk along the road. Passing Douglas, he -paused to glower hatefully into the slitted blue eyes watching him. -Then he shuffled onward. - -Not until they had rounded another turn did Douglas take his unswerving -gaze from their backs. Then, as he relaxed, he realized that Ward had -shown no suspicion over his sudden appearance; recalled, too, the -twinkle and the parting remarks. The man had thought he and Marion had -a tryst. Could he have looked back through the trees, however, and -studied the girl, he would have begun to wonder. - -Douglas, too, wondered as he looked at her. The snap of anger had -vanished from her eyes, the flush from her cheeks, the girlishness from -her figure. The gray orbs watching him now were cold as ice--ice with a -smouldering flame far below its surface. Her face and her poise were as -stony as any upright bowlder standing under Dickie Barre. From one hand -hung his gun, its muzzles now buried in the sand. Straight, forbidding, -she stood looking fixedly at him. And, though he was not expecting any -thanks for what he had done, he stood staring blankly back at her. This -was a girl whom he never had seen before. - -“Well! What’s wrong?” he puzzled. “Seems to be a sudden frost.” - -Unspeaking, she lifted the gun and held it toward him. He took it, -peered at it as if seeking on it the cause of her hauteur, looked up -and found her turning away. She took half a dozen steps toward the -Wilham home, straight as an Indian, proud as a princess, before he -moved. Then he began striding after her. At once she stopped. - -“Thought you was goin’ the other way,” she said pointedly. - -“Did you? Well, I’m going this way now.” - -“I’d ruther you’d go on to where you started for.” - -His mouth tightened a little. - -“I would,” he coolly informed her, “but I told Uncle Eb I’d come back.” - -“Oh. Then I’ll wait. Go ’long.” - -Again he stared. As before, she met him eye to eye, cold and -uncompromising. - -“What’s wrong, Marion?” he repeated. “I don’t understand.” - -“Don’t you? I should think you might, if you’d think back a little -ways. Now I don’t want to walk with you.” - -His chin lifted. “Oh. I see. It’s Steve. All right. But if he’s still -at Uncle Eb’s I’ll tell him you’re coming. I won’t be there long.” - -She started. - -“No--what--how’d you know he’s--what you got to do with Steve?” - -“Ask Steve. He’ll tell you all about it. Good-day.” - -With that he was off. She stood motionless, watching his receding -shoulders, her head lifted at the same proud angle. But, as he -disappeared around the curve from which he had sprung to her rescue, -that haughty head slowly drooped. She set her teeth into one red lip. -The clear gray eyes became blurred with tears. - -Beyond the curve, Douglas stalked rapidly on. Into the Wilham yard he -marched with never a backward glance, and, after a quick look toward -the barn, up into the open doorway of the house. Uncle Eb, cheek -bulging with a chunk of bread-and-cheese, nodded to him from the table -where he was devouring his belated cold lunch. - -“Shet the door,” he suggested. Douglas closed it. “Them fellers gone?” - -“They’re on their way. They’re sore at each other now, as well as at -Sanders. Where’s our friend?” - -“Down cellar. Ther’s a winder he can git out by if he has to. What’s -them fellers mad ’bout now?” - -Douglas briefly told him. Uncle Eb stopped chewing, looked at him -keenly, cackled out all at once, then wondered: “Why didn’t Marry come -’long with ye?” - -“I don’t know. Said she didn’t want to walk with me. So I jest walked -right ’long by my own self.” - -The old man looked quizzically at him, then cackled again. - -“Ye’re a-gittin’ to talk like ye b’longed into the Traps,” he chuckled. -“An’ after what ye done this afternoon, boy, ye do b’long! ’Most -anybody with the right kind of a heart round here would a-helped that -pore misfortunit boy, but ’tain’t every feller from outside, like -you, would a-done it. An’ that Marry gal--she prob’ly thinks ye’re a -detective, like the rest. She’ll soon know diff’rent.” - -“Never mind. But now, Uncle Eb, I don’t like to ask questions that -don’t concern me, but just what did Steve do that sent him to the pen?” - -Uncle Eb hesitated, chewed hard, swallowed, and gulped a noisy drink of -cold coffee. - -“The wust thing into the world, son--he got caught. He never done no -harm, but gittin’ caught for a thing is ’nough, whether ye done it or -not. S’posin’ we let him talk for hisself.” - -He stamped twice on the floor. A couple of minutes later a door -silently opened and Steve stepped up from the cellar stairs. After one -glance he leaped to Douglas’ side and gripped his hand. - -“Hamp!” he gulped. “Ye’re a white man! I ain’t a-goin’ to forgit this. -Jest wait till I git my chance to pay ye some way----” - -“Oh, forget it! Man alive, I don’t want any pay. If you owe anything to -anybody it’s to Uncle Eb, not to me. I just blundered in and had a lot -of fun with those fellows. Uncle Eb’s the one to thank.” - -“I ain’t a-forgittin’ Uncle Eb--he knows it. But the way ye took -holt----” - -“All right, all right, let it slide. But now, if you don’t mind telling -me, what’s it all about? What are those fellows after you for? Don’t -tell me if you don’t want to.” - -“Why, don’t ye know? Wal, if that ain’t---- Ye jest went ahead an’ -helped me anyways, huh? My Gawd! I didn’t s’pose there was sech folks -into the world. - -“It’s this way, Hamp. We pick a lot o’ berries round here into the -summer--not right here into the Traps, but ’way over to Long Pond an’ -miles an’ miles further ’long the mount’ins--an’ sell ’em to dealers. -An’ other fellers come from down b’low to do the same--it’d take a hull -army to pick ’em all, they’re so thick. Some o’ them fellers are pretty -hard. An’ when some of us folks from here was pickin’ round Three-Mile -Post, I fit with the Bump boys--three of ’em, brothers, that lived down -’bout a mile outside o’ the Wall over yender, onto the road to Paltz. - -“Wal, they licked me--three of ’em, all bigger’n me. They licked me -bad. Course, I was crazy mad, an’ I swore to Gawd I’d come down outen -the Traps some day an’ buckshoot ’em, an’ burn their house an’ I dunno -what all. But there was four weeks more o’ pickin’, an’ the Bumps went -somewheres else, an’ I got cooled off, an’ by the time I got back here -to the Traps I’d made up my mind to leave ’em ’lone. An’ I did. - -“Wal, it run ’long awhile, an’ huntin’ season come, an’ then one night -Snake Sanders got me full o’ licker an’ says we’ll go down b’low an’ -git us some coons--he knowed where we could git a passel of ’em. I’d -oughter knowed better’n to go anywheres with him, but I was fool ’nough -to go ’long, an’ he gimme more licker, an’ we tromped an’ tromped, an’ -I had more licker, an’ so on. An’ then, fust thing I knowed, we was -nigh a house an’ barn, an’ our coon-dog warn’t nowheres round, an’ I -was gittin’ awful drunk. An’ Snake says, ‘Lay down awhile an’ ye’ll -feel better.’ An’ I laid down. - -“Then, next I knowed, my gun blew off--_bung bung!_--an’ men was -runnin’ an’ hosses screechin’ an’ the barn was all afire, a-blarin’ out -all round so ’twas light as day. An’ Snake was gone, an’ all to once I -see ’twas the Bump place that was afire, an’ somethin’ told me to git. -So I run as fast as ever I could, never takin’ my gun or nothin’. But -bimeby I was way up the road, an’ it was all dark, an’ I got tired an’ -set down to rest. An’ then the licker got a-holt o’ me an’ I went off -to sleep. - -“Wal, that was the end o’ me. They found me a-layin’ into the road an’ -they pounded me ’most to death an’ drug me out an’ tried me for arson -an’ ’tempted murder an’ I dunno what all. I didn’t have no more chance -than a baby chipmunk into a hawk’s nest. I couldn’t prove nothin’, and -they wouldn’t b’lieve nothin’, an’ they got proof o’ what I’d swore to -do to them Bumps, an’--they gimme the limit. - -“An’ these three years I been doin’ time an’ gittin’ knocked round -an’--oh Gawd! An’ Snake, he’s been a-settin’ up here laffin’ at me an’ -the Bumps--he was ag’in ’em, I dunno what for, an’ he used me to git -all the blame for burnin’ up their place an’ their hosses an’ pigs -an’ shootin’ Charlie Bump--Charlie he got buckshot into him an’ the -hull place was burnt--an’ I got the limit--but I’ll git him--I’ll git -him----” - -He was growing incoherent, his eyes glazing with concentrated hate and -fury. Douglas thumped him repeatedly on the shoulder and broke in on -his talk. - -“All right, Steve, all right! Buck up, now! Your turn’s coming--take a -grip on yourself! Keep your head until those bulls leave, and lie low.” - -The youth gritted his teeth and swallowed hard. - -“I’m a-layin’ low,” he asserted hoarsely. “I’m a-keepin’ my head an’ my -grip. I ain’t a-goin’ back to no pen. But when oncet I git to a gun----” - -He swallowed again and pawed with one lean hand at his throat. Douglas -nodded, his own face sombre. Uncle Eb cleared his throat like a gunshot. - -“I don’t hold with shootin’ yer enemies,” he erupted. “I never yit -shot at a man, an’ I don’t b’lieve into it. Still an’ all, I dunno -as I blame ye much. But ye got to lay lower than ever now, an’ lay -somewheres else. Snake sent them fellers here--they as good as said -so--an’ they’ll be back, I bet. Come dark, I’ll take ye over into the -rocks. I got some old clo’es an’ a hoss-blankit ye can wrop up into, -an’ I’ll send ye food right ’long reg’lar if Marry’ll take it--she’s -spryer than I be.” - -“And I’ll be going now,” Douglas added. “I’m keeping her waiting. She’s -down the road, Steve--wouldn’t walk with me. Take care of yourself--and -of her. So long.” - -Before Steve or Uncle Eb could reply he was out of the house. Across -the road he went, pausing a moment to beckon to the stubborn little -red-haired figure which now, walking very slowly, was approaching from -the curve. She made no answering signal, gave no sign that she saw him. -Climbing over the stone wall beyond, he marched away across-lots, face -set stiffly toward the frowning wall of Dickie Barre and the invisible -Clove Road. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -THE MOVING FINGER WRITES - - -One by one the October days and nights stole in from the nebulous realm -of To-morrow and, like pearls magically taking form on an enchanted -thread of gold, added themselves to the memory-gems of Yesterday. Each -morning found a new jewel vaguely appearing out of the wan dawn-light; -every passing hour imperceptibly shaped the growing form; each rising -moon looked down on the completely rounded treasure, nestling beside -its mates which had come before. No two were quite alike, for each was -tinted with its own delicate hues--the flush of a rosy sunrise, the -blue of the sky and the gray of the clouds, the leaden tinge of rain, -the sombre shadows of dusk, the brilliant gleams of the stars. Yet no -one of them was all-sufficient; it was the blending, the intermingling, -of all of them that produced, or would produce, the perfect circle. - -And as the unseen hand of their Maker placed on each its own peculiar -tints, so the gentle fingers of Mother Nature also worked unceasingly -on the mantle she had worn since the springtime, weaving into its -monotone new and ever-changing touches of color. This was her play-day, -this season between the summer and the snow; and with scarlet and -crimson, with yellow and cream, with the palest of green and the -rustiest brown, she transformed her emerald cloak into a gay robe on -which the dusky evergreens, hitherto merged into the sweeping expanse -of verdure, now stood out bold and clear. Too, by night she painted -dingy house-roofs and rickety wagons and all the other ugly man-made -things--painted them gray-white with frost, which the new sun quickly -blackened and sent creeping down the shingles to drip gently from the -eaves of a morning. And as that sun mounted the Wall and rolled its -warmth over into the Traps below, she coyly loosed white clouds of -mist to go drifting along over the new colors she had made in the dark -hours, presently to draw them aside and reveal to human eyes the glory -of her handiwork. - -Yet it was love’s labor lost, this wondrous wizardry of hers--or -almost lost. Of all the eyes which daily opened in the Traps, few gave -more than a casual glance to all the enchantment wrought around them. -Most of those eyes turned inward upon the stomachs of their owners, -seeing only the “pannicakes” and gravy, the “buttermilk pop” and other -components of breakfast; or they looked at pigs and hens and cows. Few -indeed were those who lifted up their thoughts to the gorgeous hills -surrounding them, and fewer still those who, glimpsing what lay before -them, were moved to admire for even a passing minute. In the flaming -woods they visioned only animals and birds to be killed, millstones to -be rifted, hardwood to be “mined” into charcoal, hoops to be shaved, -and secret coverts where nameless industry might be carried on in -stealth. - -But there were two in the Traps who saw. At their doorways in the -morning they looked long at the limited sections of the panorama which -were visible from their respective abodes, noting the added touches of -color laid on during the silent hours of sleep. Through the day, as -they traversed the byways on self-imposed missions, they paused often -to gaze at some striking bit of natural beauty near at hand or to dwell -upon the vistas opening out around them at some higher point. In the -twilight they sat somewhere in silent solitude, watching the deepening -of the dusk and the shy appearance of the first night stars in the -darkening blue. These two were a blond-haired man and a red-haired -girl, who lived in little houses on the road leading to the Clove. - -Yet, though they looked on the same things, though their souls were -lifted up in the same way, though they dwelt not far apart and their -minds turned toward each other many a time as the tinted days glided -away, they saw nothing of each other. The little bare feet and the -sturdy booted feet never turned into the same path. They came and went, -they paused and passed on, they traveled open road and faint trail--but -never together. Between them stood a wall: a cold, stony, stubborn wall -which had suddenly thrust itself up out of the ground as if conjured by -the wand of an old-time magician. And on that side of the wall facing -the man were graven words spoken by the girl: - -“I don’t want to walk with you.” - -On the other side--the side which the girl saw--the wall bore other -words: malicious words, evil words, which yet had the ring of truth: -words spoken not by the man, but about the man, by others. And beside -those words burned a picture which made her writhe and set her teeth -into a red lip--a picture of herself held unresisting in that man’s -arms, beside the plashing Coxing Kill. And atop that wall, leering down -at both of them alike, squatted the ugly little demon who has wrecked -many a life and will wreck many more: Pride. - -But for the presence of that malevolent imp, with his taunting grin and -his hissing repetition of the rankling words, either of these two could -have walked straight through that wall. But there he perched by day and -by night, his claw-like fingers pointing ever downward at the unfading -words and picture, his sneering grimace repelling them from taking the -first step toward each other. So, instead of moving toward the barrier, -each turned from it and traveled along it or away from it--the girl -traversing her own chosen paths toward Dickie Barre, the home of Uncle -Eb, the upper reaches of Coxing Kill; the man roving along the slopes -of Mohonk, sitting for hours on the brink of the Wall, or circling -westward around the Clove end of Dickie Barre and onward into the gorge -of cascading Peters Kill. - -Still, though the little demon drove them to avoid the spots where -they were likely to meet, he could not follow them and regulate their -varying thoughts and acts. His place was on that barrier, and on it -he stayed. And thus he could not prevent the man from mentally living -over at intervals a certain golden hour beside a deep green pool up -above, nor keep from that man’s eyes a gentle, far-away look when that -memory arose to keep him company. Neither could he block the girl from -returning repeatedly to that pool with pencil and paper and crude -sketching-board, nor close her ears to the farewell words of the man: - -“Keep right on doing that--it’s worth while--you’re doing fine.” - -So the pair traveled their separate ways. And, traveling, Douglas noted -that the new clothing of the hardwood forests was not the only change -taking place round about him. Here and there in the woods he met men. -And, as subtly as the chill of frosty morning gave way to the warmth of -a sunny day, so the first coolness of these men of the Traps now was -thawing into an intangible spirit of friendliness. Where previously -they had given him a cold stare and curt replies or stony silence when -addressed, now their faces relaxed at sight of him, and of their own -volition they called: “H’are ye, Hammerless!” - -Moreover, when he paused awhile to watch them rounding millstones into -shape or cutting cordwood for charcoal, they betrayed no desire to have -him move on. On the contrary, they went ahead with their toil as if he -were one of their own neighbors, welcome to stay as long as he liked. -Sometimes, too, they took a rest and smoked a pipe with him, saying -little of their own accord, but answering without hesitation whenever -he spoke. And when he moved along and left them, their “g’by” was as -unobtrusively cordial as their greeting. - -As the days drifted by and his wandering feet bore him into repeated -contact with some of those men, the conversations became still more -easy and natural--though never intimate. They talked of their work, -and he learned interesting things: that millstone cutters, despite -their hardy appearance and muscular development, usually died fairly -young because the stone-dust entering the lungs caused tuberculosis; -that charcoal-burning meant much exposure to inclement weather and -constant vigilance, day and night, lest the vents of the smoking -mound become plugged and the whole “mine” explode; that hoop-shaving, -the main industry of the region, was steadily falling off because -barrel-makers were adopting the “patent” hoops manufactured by mills; -that honey-hunting, though productive of a passable revenue to the -few whose instincts led them to follow it up, was arduous, uncertain, -and often dangerous work because of the roughness of the country, its -unexpected pitfalls, and its deadly snakes. And hunting and trapping, -though fairly remunerative if one happened to have a lucky season, -could hardly be considered a dependable source of income. - -These and other things of the same sort he learned in the course of -those recurring smoke-talks. He heard, too, the same phrase repeated -by different men regarding their different industries--“a dog’s life.” -But he observed also that the men labored faithfully on in that dog’s -life, and more than once there recurred to him Uncle Eb’s defense of -his neighbors: “Folks is mostly honest round here. Good, hard-workin’ -fellers.” - -The old man had spoken truth, it appeared. Though a few worthless -drones might exist here and there, though more than one man might carry -on surreptitious business “up into the rawcks,” the Traps seemed to -be inhabited mainly by steady toilers, wringing a primitive living -from field and tree and stone and berry-bush. Still, Douglas did not -lose sight of the fact that these workers did not compose the entire -population. Nor did he fail to observe that the conversation of even -those who seemed most friendly was tinged by reticence. - -Of their work, of hunting and trapping, of snakes and catamounts and -other life, of weather and crops--of these things they would talk -freely; but of one another they would say no word. Let a name be -mentioned--even that of well-beloved Uncle Eb--and a silence would -follow. True, there were two names which brought to their faces -expressions as eloquent as words: Snake Sanders and Nat Oaks. At the -first their eyes would narrow; at the second, their lips would turn -down in contempt. But no comment, good or bad, was spoken of any one. -It was borne in on the wanderer that, though civilly received, he still -was not considered one of them; and that against all outsiders these -hillmen, whatever their private opinions of one another, were a united -clan. - -In other little ways, too, this was shown. No man ever asked him for -tobacco or match. No man ever quizzed him as to his past, present, or -future. No man betrayed friendly anxiety regarding his movements. None -offered to sell him milk or eggs, or invited him to visit. Nor, though -every one of them looked wistfully now and then at his up-to-date gun, -did any one ask to be allowed to examine it--much less to handle it. -Between him and them, as between him and Marion, stood an impalpable -wall--though not the same wall. This was the barrier of clannish -reserve. - -It was in this same clannishness, however, that he found the key to -their more friendly attitude. Though not much given to analyzing the -motives of others, he naturally meditated on the change in their -manner; and the solution came in a name which he never mentioned to -them and which never was spoken in his hearing--Steve. - -Though nothing ever was said about the refugee, he felt that the whole -Traps clan knew Steve was here. And, since the thaw in the previous -frigidity of the Trapsmen had come about since the afternoon when he -had hoisted the desperate youth to the roof and badgered his pursuers -into leaving the Wilham place empty-handed, it was not hard to deduce -that the hill-dwellers also knew of what he had done that day. If so, -they must know that he was neither detective nor criminal; for in the -one case he would have worked with the officers, while in the other he -would hardly have dared face them down. Therefore they now must regard -him as what he actually was: a transient dweller here who had shown -himself disposed to stand with them in protecting their own, but who -presently would go back to his own world--and who, consequently, need -not be trusted with information concerning any of them. - -Very well: he could be as taciturn as any of them. And he was. He gave -no information regarding himself, sought none about others--with one -exception. And to that one exception the reply also was an exception, -for it came readily, with a little grin of understanding. - -“Heard anything of a couple of strangers?” was his occasional question. -To which came the prompt response: “Hearn they was still round here.” - -No man ever admitted that he had seen those strangers, or vouchsafed -any additional details of what he had “hearn.” But with that answer -Douglas was content, for it showed that Ward and Bill had not run down -their prey. Of Uncle Eb he saw nothing, for he spent little time at his -own house and did not visit that of the old man. He felt, however, that -the refugee was safely hidden somewhere among the ledges and faithfully -fed, that Eb could take care of Eb very well, and that the less he -himself knew about either of them at present the better all around. - -Of others who had entered his life recently he also saw nothing in his -daily rambles. Whatever Snake Sanders and Nigger Nat Oaks might be -doing, they seemed to be avoiding his vicinity for the present. Each -evening on returning to his haunted house he narrowly inspected both it -and its clearing before entering, and afterward he looked into every -room before preparing his night meal. Invariably he found all as he -had left it. And when, healthily tired by his miles of tramping, he -sought early slumber, even the ghostly Dalton’s Death failed to disturb -him. - -Not that the “ha’nt” was laid. It still walked about overhead, still -stole down-stairs on its heels, still rustled the mattress of dead -Jake Dalton and moved his bedstead. Perhaps, in the silent watches -of the night, it did other things as well. If so, its restlessness -meant nothing to the new tenant, who slept the sleep of a tired body -and a clear conscience, awaking only at long intervals to hear some -unaccountable sound and then, with a drowsy smile, drifting away again -into dreamland. - -Much of his easy rest, however, may have been due to the fact that he -had changed beds. After the “line storm” cleared up he had acted on -his decision to move out of reach of that too-convenient front window -and door. He had cleaned out the little room where wood was piled, -and on its floor he had built up a quieter, more fragrant couch of -his own: a foot-thick layer of hemlock and spruce tips gleaned from -the trees behind the house. On this real camper’s bed he now slept, -leaving Dalton’s bedstead and noisy mattress just as he had first found -them. Each morning before leaving the house, though, he carried his -blankets to that front bedroom and tossed them on the corn-husks. Thus, -if any one came spying in his absence, the curtainless bedroom window -would tell that spy that he habitually slept where he was supposed to -sleep. A childishly simple ruse, perhaps, this was. Yet life or death -sometimes hangs on the simplest things. - -And so, as has been said, the days brought their lights and shadows, -the nights their stars and dreams; and within the ken of Hammerless -Hampton nothing at all happened. Yet, unseen, the fingers of Destiny -were steadily writing upon the pages of her future-book certain records -which no mere mortal now could glimpse or guess. - -Then, one lazy afternoon when he happened to be at his bare little -home, there recurred to him the tale of Lou Brackett concerning the -lost mine of the legendary Ninety-Nine. - -“Where the sun first strikes the wall in the morning, there is -Ninety-Nine’s Mine,” ran the saying which the simple-minded woman -had confided so mysteriously to him. The “wall,” of course, was the -cliff-line within the Traps, not the great outer wall. Whimsically he -decided to sleep that night upon the eastern heights and see just where -the rising sun would strike first. Sunrise on the Traps, viewed from -that lofty edge of things, would be a scene well worth a chilly night -outdoors. - -With a pack of blankets and spare clothing and a little food he started -to go. But, with a boyish laugh, he returned to the house. From some -old burlap bags and a few sticks of wood he made on Jake Dalton’s bed -a huddle which, in dim light, would resemble a blanketed form. Then he -departed, whistling merrily. - -Dusk found him high up on the Wall. At the same hour a form slipped out -from the trees backing the house of Dalton. It peered nervously in at -a gloomy window, stole along the side, slipped rapidly to the front -stoop, and, with a quick jab, slid a piece of paper under the door. -Then it jumped away and ran. - -On the paper was written in scrawling characters: - -“For gord Sakes dont Sleep hear to Nite.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -A STAB IN THE NIGHT - - -Rain drizzled monotonously down on the Traps; cold, raw rain swept -slantwise by wind. Along Mohonk and the Great Wall crawled clammy fog, -blinding all vision and chilling all flesh within its folds. Through -rain and fog feebly penetrated the sickly light of a dismal dawn. - -In the dankness and the dimness moved a bedraggled figure laden with -a sodden blanket-pack and a dripping shotgun; a man whose blue lips -and hollow eyes betokened a gnawing chill and scant sleep. Downward -through dripping bushes he meandered uncertainly, avoiding steep slants -of smooth rock on which his slippery boot-soles would inevitably -precipitate him into disaster, and peering continuously about in search -for a thin spot in the creeping cloud-bank. Only the unmistakable slant -of the mountainside told him which way he was heading--back into the -Traps gulf which he had left on the previous day. - -“A gorgeous sunrise--I guess so!” he grumbled. “Mister Jupiter Pluvius, -this is a dirty, low-down trick. And Mister Ninety-Nine, you can keep -your mine till the crack of doom, for all I care. Go to thunder, both -of you! I’m cured.” - -If the two old-timers whom he addressed were listening, they must -have chortled in malicious mirth--especially the former. Catching -this mortal asleep beside a dying fire, the rain-god had called up -his soggy servitors in the night and let them wreak their will on the -lone man--drowning his fire in the first drenching assault and then -battering him right merrily. Without shelter, without light, he had -been compelled to huddle up and endure it until dawn; and even now, -though he was in motion once more, he had to shut his teeth to keep -them from chattering. - -From side to side he wormed along his erratic way, swinging from one -ghostly bush-clump to another, ever following the rambling line of -safe footholds, gradually descending toward the lower edge of the -enshrouding mist. After a time the bare rock ended and he came into -dense forest where the footing was secure. Down through this he passed -with swinging strides. The rain ceased, and the wind died to a breath. -Faster and faster he pressed on, warmer now, but eager to reach his -house and dry out. Then suddenly he slowed. - -Dead ahead opened a cleared space, and beyond, vague in the gray-white -blur, were the faint outlines of a rough shack. Scanning the place -as he moved on, he became sure that it was one which he had not seen -in his previous wanderings. The exterior of the house was decidedly -uninviting, but from its lopsided chimney smoke was drifting thinly -away into the fog. His stride lengthened again. Since the inhabitants -of this house were up, he would stop there and ask for some hot coffee. - -But the quick decision was as quickly reversed. As he neared the door -it stealthily opened. Out stole Lou Brackett. - -“Morning,” he sang out, speeding up again. “Lovely day.” - -She started, turned her head, looked behind, advanced with hand -uplifted for silence. He paused. - -“Don’t talk so loud,” she implored as she reached him. “Snake, he’s -a-sleepin’, but ye might waken him up. What ye want round here?” - -“Nothing. Just going home. Been up above and got wet.” Smiling a -little, he added: “I wanted to see where the sun hit the wall first in -the morning, but it isn’t hitting to-day.” - -Into the black eyes came a sudden light. She laid a plump, not -over-clean hand on his wet shoulder. - -“Ye’re a-huntin’ the mine! I bet ye’ll find it, too, if ye jest -keep a-lookin’ long ’nough. Ye ain’t got nawthin’ else to do--keep -a-huntin’! An’ when ye git to it ’member ye promised me some o’ the -silver. Will ye? An’ don’t tell nobody. Jest me an’ you--we can git -outen here together then.” - -The broad hint brought a tart retort to his tongue, but he swallowed -it. Instead he asked: “So you still want to leave? Why don’t you go, -then?” - -She stared as if he had lost his senses. - -“Go wher’? Go how? I ain’t got no folks, mister--I ain’t got no place -to go--I ain’t got no money--I ain’t got nawthin’. I ain’t never -been nowheres--wha’d I do outside o’ the Traps? An’ Snake, he’d kill -me sure’s shootin’, he would. ’Course, if I had some silver or -somethin’--but I ain’t got none. ’Less’n ye want to take me out with -ye----” - -“No, I don’t,” he broke in bluntly. “But you can get work in plenty of -places outside where he never would bother you.” - -“I can’t!” she disputed, drawing back. “Them that’s borned into the -Traps lives into the Traps an’ dies into the Traps. Ther’ ain’t no -place for us outside.” - -“All right. That doesn’t match very well with what you said about -leaving, but never mind. How did you and Snake make out that day -about--er--the bridge?” - -A slow smile spread across her face, revealing anew the gap in her -teeth. - -“Oh, we got ’long all right--I done what ye told me. He’d hearn ’bout -it, but when he come at me I cracked him good with the sadiron an’ -jumped onto him ’bout them Oakses. It kinder took the tuck outen him. -But”--her smile faded and her face turned hard--“that red-head o’ Nat’s -better leave my man ’lone! Fust thing she knows I’ll--wal, she better -look out, tha’s all!” - -“What’s that? Why, you’re crazy! She hates the sight of him. Don’t you -start any trouble with her, or you’ll be mighty sorry. And what’s more, -you can tell your man that unless he lets her alone he’ll run into -something hard--the same thing that hit him on Dickie Barre awhile ago. -She belongs to----” - -The next word on his tongue was “Steve,” with more words to follow. But -his habitual avoidance of that name suddenly stopped his speech. She -grinned sneeringly, interpreting his abrupt silence according to her -lights. - -“She does, hey? Then ye better take her into yer own house an’ watch -her. Me an’ Snake don’t git ’long none too well, but no red-headed -catamount like her is a-goin’ to git him. He was down ther’ last -night late, I know he was--he never tells me nawthin’, but I ain’t -simple, an’ I know. He come back ’way ’long late, an’ he hadn’t been -a-drinkin’, an’ if he ain’t drinkin’ to Oaks’s what’s he a-doin’ ther’? -He’s----” - -All at once she turned hurriedly, as if sensing something in the house -behind her. When she faced back she looked perturbed. - -“I got to git in. He might waken up any time. G’by.” - -“All right. But you mind what I told you!” - -Without reply, she padded hastily doorward. Frowning, he pushed away -down-hill. The door opened and softly closed, and the woman was gone. -The mist sifted around the man, and he too was gone. And neither of -them knew that Sanders, sleeping with one ear open, had started up at -the sound of the intruder’s first careless greeting and since then had -watched snakily from the interior gloom. - -He had heard nothing of what was said, for he was in his bedroom, -behind a shut door and a closed window; and he had preferred to -remain there, using his eyes rather than his ears, making no move. -Furthermore, something about the appearance of that man in the ghostly -fog had seemed to paralyze him for a moment when he first looked out. -Then, recovering himself, he had watched the colloquy with the eyes of -evil, interpreting it with the brain of evil. And now, though again in -bed and to all appearances asleep when the woman Lou stealthily peeped -in at him, he was mentally gliding along a black, black path--like a -copperhead slithering through a sunless morass wherein moved nameless -things. - -Onward down the slope marched Douglas, scowling ahead at a well-marked -path which his feet now were following but which his mind hardly -noticed. The half-spoken threat of the woman behind against Marion Oaks -bothered him. Primitive, ignorant, unmoral, willing to abandon her -“man” for a better one but jealous of any other woman who might attract -him--there was no knowing what she might do in some vindictive rage. -Douglas was not one of those men who look on all women as children and -scoff at their dangerous moods; his newspaper experience had repeatedly -brought him into contact with stark tragedies resulting from feminine -jealousy; and he recalled the Indian cheek-bones of Lou. Marion, he -felt, should be warned. - -But he shrank from the thought of delivering that warning himself. Not -only was the rôle of tale-bearer utterly repugnant to him, but that -wall of Pride loomed high and hard, as before. Moreover, the girl had -repeatedly shown that she wished her acquaintance with him to remain -unknown, had commanded him to remain away from Nigger Nat’s house. -What, then, should he do? - -The problem solved itself. The mist thinned, then lifted a little, and -he found himself nearing the road, only a short distance above the Oaks -place. And when, striding along the road itself, he approached the -house of Nigger Nat, he saw both Marion and her “mom” outside the door, -apparently looking around for some one. To his astonishment, Eliza Oaks -hailed him. - -“Say! See anythin’ o’ my man anywheres?” - -“Why, no. Lost him?” He turned into the yard. - -“I dunno. Ye didn’t see him up the road nowheres?” - -“Nope. But I haven’t been up the road very far. Just came down -across-lots.” - -Her gaze went over him, taking in his thorough wetness and the soggy -blanket-pack. His eyes turned to the girl, who had drawn back a little -and was steadfastly watching him. Over her thin dress she was wearing -a ragged old coat, evidently the property of her father; and down -the shoulders of the threadbare garment, unconfined by the few pins -which generally held it up on her head, her hair cascaded in rippling -glory. Meeting his eyes, her own contracted a little; but they held, -unwavering. As swiftly as he had decided what to do for Steve that day -at Uncle Eb’s, he determined what to do for her. - -“Am I correct in assuming that this is Miss Marion Oaks?” he asked -formally, with the tiniest droop of the off eyelid. - -“You are,” she answered with a cold dignity matching his own. “What of -it?” - -A subdued gurgle from the older woman drew his gaze to her. On her -shrewish lips he found a sour smile. - -“Ye needn’t to be so awful perlite,” she drawled. “Marry told me ’bout -what ye done to that ’ere catamount, an’ how ye made them fellers leave -her ’lone onto the road, an’ ’bout--wal, we’re ’bliged to ye.” - -“Good! Glad you know we’ve met before, I mean--there’s no obligation. -Er--how does Nat feel about it?” - -A scowl wiped off the thin smile. After a moment of silence she -answered guardedly: “He dunno nawthin’ ’bout it.” - -“I see. You don’t tell him all you know. Good idea, maybe. He’s still -sore at me, then. All right. Just keep him away from me and we won’t -have any trouble. I’m sorry I had to shoot up those dogs of yours, -but----” - -“Oh, ’t’s all right. I was mad then, but we’re better off ’thout -’em--they et more’n they was wuth. An’ mebbe ye done right to crack Nat -when he come for ye. He don’t mean no harm, Nat don’t, but he--he’s -kind o’ funny--he gits spells when he ain’t his own self, like.” She -looked worriedly around again. “I wisht I knowed what’s ’come o’ him. -He ain’t been to home all night.” - -Douglas eyed her, remembering what Lou had said--that Snake had been -here until late last night. But then, feeling that the jealous woman -might have been utterly mistaken in her statement, he kept his thought -to himself. As for Nat, he probably was drunk somewhere. He turned to -Marion. - -“Miss Marion, I’ve heard something which I think you ought to know,” -he plunged. “Er--well, a certain woman up yonder thinks you and Snake -Sanders are too friendly to suit her. It’s absurd, of course, but -still--folks get queer ideas, and sometimes they do queer things, -and--maybe you’d better--er--keep your eyes open----” - -He floundered to a stop, reddening under the steady gray gaze, in which -he read mounting scorn. Humiliated already by his position, he squirmed -at her drawling answer. - -“So that’s where you’ve been to. Ain’t Snake to home yet? You’re takin’ -big chances, seems like. But that ain’t anything to me. You needn’t -worry for me, Mister Hampton--I can take pretty good care of my own -self. But you can tell your friend, when you see her the next time, if -she’ll jest bust Snake’s head so he won’t never come to, I’ll be much -’bliged.” - -Before he could retort, her mother’s voice broke in. - -“That ’ere Lou’s a bigger fool ’n Snake, ’n’ he’s crazy ’nough. I ast -him only yestiddy, says I, ‘Ye mizzable idjit, how d’ye think ye’d ever -git Marry when ye got Lou already? I’ve told ye time an’ time to keep -outen here----’” - -She checked herself suddenly, as if regretting her outburst. The blond -man’s eyes were on hers again, boring like gimlets. - -“So Snake was here last night,” he said. “And where was Nat?” - -“Nat--he was here--it warn’t last night--’twas in the aft’noon. Then -they went away, an’ Nat ain’t back. I wisht I knowed----” - -Once more she looked up and down the road. - -“Snake’s at home,” he told her. “At least I was told he was, when I -came by his place just now. Maybe Nat’s there with him. I don’t know. -Well, good-day.” - -Without another look at the girl he swung about. At his first step, -however, Marion stopped him. - -“Wait a minute,” she said. As he glanced at her he found another change -in her attitude. She still stood with unconscious dignity, but the -smouldering scorn had died from her eyes, and her face had softened. - -“I want to say thank you for what you done that day onto the -road--makin’ that detective feller let go of me; and, more’n that, for -helpin’ out--you know who--up to Uncle Eb’s. And you meant all right by -tellin’ me jest now to look out, I shouldn’t wonder. So I say thank you -for that too. G’by.” - -With that she was gone into the house. He opened his mouth, shut it, -glanced at Eliza Oaks, saw a faint smile in her face, and laughed -shortly. With a wave of his free hand he started off again, and kept -going. - -“What a wayward, fiery little thoroughbred!” he thought. “Quick as a -cat--now you see her mind and now you don’t. She made one awful fool of -you, Hamp. Serves you right, too, confound you, with your tattling! But -she thanked you, at that, like the real little lady she is. If she only -had a chance to be somebody--if it weren’t for the black blood--and -Steve---- Lordy, what a woman she’d make!” - -The thought kept revolving in his mind until he entered the fallow -little field beside his bleak abode. Then it fled. - -His front door was open. - -Instinctively he slowed. His searching scrutiny revealed no other -change in the house. Only that door, which he had made to fit tightly -by tacking on strips, stood as if shoved back by a hurried entrance--or -departure. - -“Wind?” he debated. “Wind blew last night, but not hard. H’m! How come?” - -Approaching guardedly, he peered within. Nobody was there. Nothing -seemed altered. The place not only looked empty--it felt empty. - -But before stepping over the threshold he shoved the door hard with one -foot. It swung back and struck the wall, proving that nothing waited -behind it. Entering, he shot a glance into the bedroom where lay the -forgotten dummy of burlap. For a second he stood rigid. Then he leaped -into the room. - -The dummy still lay there. But it had been visited in the night. The -visitor had left a memento of his call. Its handle jutted horizontally -from the huddled sacks. - -Douglas grasped that handle and drew upward. From the burlap and the -corn-husk mattress beneath slid a long blade. Grimly he inspected it. -When he turned toward the outer room his face was flint. - -He had seen that murderous tool before. It was the corn-hook of Nigger -Nat Oaks. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -HUNTERS OF MEN - - -Moving rapidly about, Douglas inspected his real bedroom and the -spidery attic, finding his bough-tip couch undisturbed and the upper -room empty. Back in the main room, he glowered anew at the bayonet-like -blade which had been driven with such venomous force into what seemed -to be a sleeping man. - -“This cooks your goose, Nat Oaks!” he growled. “You’ve let yourself in -for the worst mauling you ever got in your low-down life. Just as soon -as you and I meet up again--and we’ll meet just as quick as I can find -you!” - -He strode to the door. But there he slowed, stayed by the reflection -that Nigger Nat was not likely to be at home now and that he did not -know where else to look. “Better build a fire, eat, and dry out,” -whispered Common Sense. So he slammed the door shut and returned to the -cold stove. - -With the kindlings in position, he reached to the little shelf above -him for a dry match--and knocked the match-box to the floor. Stooping -to pick up the little igniters, he saw under the stove a scrap of -paper. Mechanically he lifted it, glanced at it, saw only a blank -space; folded it once, touched a match to it, and held it under the -grate to start the fire. It blazed out bravely, the light of its own -flame shining through it. - -Suddenly he snatched it back and killed its blaze under a wet sole. -The light had revealed writing inside the little sheet. - -Straightening out the charred, muddy remnant, he read: - -“--akes dont Sleep hear to Nite.” - -Minutes passed while he squatted there, his whole mind concentrated on -that belated message. Then he turned, inspected the floor, looked back -at the stove, and nodded. - -“Somebody slid this under the door yesterday after I left,” he deduced. -“When the door opened later on, the wind blew it here, wrong side up. -Now who left it? Not Lou Brackett--not Marry or her mother--they don’t -know a thing about this. Uncle Eb? Steve? Not likely that they’d know -what was to happen. And it surely wasn’t either of those man-hunters. -H’m! Some one of these silent Trapsmen who likes me, maybe. Well, my -unknown friend, I’m obliged to you. Call again some time.” - -Again he studied the writing, the spelling, the paper--cheap wrapping, -wrinkled and soiled. - -“You haven’t much education and you write like a coal-heaver, but -your heart’s true blue,” he added, folding the blackened tatter and -pocketing it. “I’d surely like to know who you are. But if you’re as -close-mouthed as everybody else around here you’d never admit that you -wrote this, anyway. Well, let’s start this fire.” - -Soon a hot fire was roaring up-chimney, coffee was coming to a boil, -and he was arraying himself in the few dry articles of clothing he -could find, while the wet garments and boots encircled the stove. -After a rough-and-ready breakfast he hugged the stove himself, smoking -and thinking. - -Nat Oaks was a clumsy murderer indeed to leave his weapon behind. -Perhaps the ha’nt had scared him--the open door indicated a sudden bolt -from the place. For that matter, it was strange that he had ever dared -to enter this house of fear at night. He must have been full of “Dutch -courage” at the time. - -But there was Snake Sanders, too. Snake had been with Nat when he left -home yesterday afternoon. He had returned to his own den late at night. -And he was a creature who always worked stealthily, snakily, using -others as his tools. In avenging his real or fancied grudge against -the Bumps he had used Steve as his scapegoat. In trying to rid the -neighborhood of the “detective” and gain possession of the stranger’s -belongings he had employed a deadly reptile. Now he and Nigger Nat had -been much together of late--and he had “some kind of a hold” on Nat. -So Marion had said. It was fair to suspect, then, that he had been the -instigator of this murderous attempt last night. Yes, very fair. Almost -a foregone conclusion. - -Yet there was no actual proof of Snake’s hand in this. For that matter, -the proof against Nat himself was purely circumstantial. Another hand -might have wielded this corn-hook. It was even possible that the -corn-hook itself was not Nat’s, though it looked the same. Corn-hooks -probably were much alike. True, this one had a whitish gouge on the -handle near the blade, and the same sort of mark had been noticeable -at the same spot when Nat had poised it for attack that day in his -yard. But still---- - -“First thing I’ll do, Nigger Nat, will be to find out whether this hook -is yours,” declared the man by the stove. “If it is, the next thing is -to get hold of you. Then I’ll hammer the truth out of you.” - -In pursuance of this program, he stoked up the fire and hastened the -drying of the necessary articles of outdoor gear. When at length his -personal outfit was again serviceable he went forth into the raw day. - -But he did not start away at once. Memory persisted in reminding him -of Uncle Eb’s account of the open door and of what he had found in the -woods behind the house. He rubbed his chin, then turned and stalked -toward those woods. - -In under the funereal trees he passed, scrutinizing the vague dark -things here and there among the trunks, finding them to be only rotting -fragments of old logs, half-buried juts of stone, or lumps of forest -mould. No sound came to him but the tiny impacts of falling leaves -and the watery squash of his own boots on the soaked soil. Dreary and -dismal stood the forest, telling him nothing of what had taken place -last night. His only reward for his wandering there was a renewal of -his wetness. - -Swinging back, he worked by the driest route toward the road, thinking -only of settling the matter of the ownership of the corn-hook. And now -that he sought nothing, he found something: a grim reminder of what had -come about within these shades on another night. - -Under a hemlock was a sinister low mound. At one end stood a short pine -board. On the board he deciphered scrawling letters shallowly cut with -a jack-knife. - - JAKE - DALTON - -Though he had repeatedly visited these woods before, seeking fuel, he -never had stumbled on this spot. Now he stood gazing thoughtfully down, -hearing again Uncle Eb’s words: - -“What he was runnin’ away from--what had got holt of him before he -run--nobody knows. Nobody but Jake, an’ he can’t tell.” - -And last night another man had bolted from the same house, from the -same room--whither?--why? Douglas felt a slight chill. With a sharp -shake of the shoulders he lifted his head and right-faced. Out to the -silent clearing he tramped, and straight up the road. - -On his way to the Oaks place he met nobody. The only tracks not blurred -by rain on the sand were his own, made that morning. Entering the yard -of Nigger Nat, he slowed down, sharply scanning the windows. No face -showed there. - -“Hey! Hullo!” he called. - -After a pause the door opened. Marion’s head came out. - -“Hullo yourself! What you want? Seen pop anywheres?” - -“No. He hasn’t come home yet?” - -“If he had I wouldn’t be askin’, would I?” - -“Probably not. Well, I wonder if I can borrow his corn-hook awhile.” - -“Corn-hook? Why--yes, I guess so. He wouldn’t like it much, but---- -Mom, Mister Hampton wants pop’s corn-hook awhile. All right? Wait a -minute and I’ll git it.” - -She withdrew, leaving the door partly open. Presently her voice floated -to him from somewhere at the rear. - -“’Tain’t here! Mom, you been usin’ it? Well, ’tain’t here. What’s ’come -of it, I wonder?” - -Hammerless Hampton’s face tightened. To the door he passed, drawing -from under his coat the tool which, despite its clumsiness, he had -managed to conceal. - -“Maybe this is it,” he called. Feet padded inside, and both the girl -and her mother appeared. - -“Sakes alive! That’s it, now!” ejaculated the woman. “It’s hisn--got -the two nicks into the edge that he never ground outen it, an’ there’s -the place where one o’ the dawgs bit onto it.” She pointed to dull -dents on the handle. “How come ye by it?” she added suspiciously. “What -ye askin’ for it for, when ye got it already?” - -“Just wanted to make sure it was his. I found it down the road a -piece--in some corn-husks.” He watched her keenly. Her visage showed -only blank wonderment. The girl, too, looked mystified, but she was -probing his grim face with sharp eyes. - -“An’--ye didn’t see nawthin’ o’ Nat?” - -“Not a thing. But you can tell him, when he gets home, that I want to -see him, and the best thing he can do is to wait for me.” - -Without another word or look he swung away, leaving them staring after -him in misgiving. On up the road he journeyed, turning off at the path -leading to the lair of Snake Sanders. - -The crawling mists had long since left the slopes, and when he emerged -again into the Sanders field the shack was visible in all its raw -nakedness. Smoke still curled from its shiftless chimney, but the only -sign of life outside was a lonesome speckled hen pecking disconsolately -at the bare dirt. Watching the windows, he marched up to the door and -gave it a resounding kick. Then he jumped to one side. - -A chair fell over within, followed by hurried steps. - -“Who’s ther’?” shrilled a sharp voice. - -“Open up!” he snapped, warily sweeping the front of the place, from -corner to corner. “I want Snake!” - -More steps. The door swung slowly back. Lou Brackett’s face appeared, -drawn into a squinting knot. - -“Send Snake out here!” he commanded. - -She eyed him, unspeaking, for a long minute. Gradually her face -relaxed. She came forward and stood on the door-stone. Her right hand -was gripping a heavy flatiron. - -“Snake, he ain’t here.” - -“Where is he? I want him.” - -“I dunno wher’ he’s at. He went out ’while ago--never said one word -to me after he got up, ’cept tellin’ me to git more cawffee. What’s -pesterin’ ye? Wha’ for d’ye come a-kickin’ into the door----” - -“Nat Oaks here?” - -“Nat! No, mister, that yeller dawg ain’t! Him nor none o’ his -tribe--now or no other time! What ye----” - -“All right. Good-bye.” - -Leaving her open-mouthed, he circuited the house, looking in at every -window, finding that she spoke truthfully: neither Sanders nor Oaks was -there. She still stood on the steps, gaping after him, when he went -back across the opening and disappeared down-hill among the trees. - -At the edge of the sandy road below, he paused, undecided what to do -next. Had he been in almost any other place and seeking a man, he -would have visited other men and asked questions. But here in the -tight-mouthed Traps, what was the use? Still, he felt a strong distaste -for returning and idling out the dismal day in his dreary abode. Half -consciously he turned toward Uncle Eb’s home. - -“I’ll go up and smoke a pipe with the old man, anyhow,” he decided -aloud. - -“Smoke it here if you want,” a voice answered. - -The voice came from beside a tree not ten feet away. Startled, he -looked into the face of Ward, man-hunter. - -“Caught you flat-footed, huh?” Ward went on. “Bill’s behind you, if -that’s what you’re lookin’ for.” - -True enough, a few feet back from the other side of the path, the -morose face of Bill showed beside another tree. - -“Well! You fellows are getting good!” Douglas congratulated them. -“Regular Indian stuff. You’d have had me cold if you’d wanted me.” - -“Sure.” Ward nodded carelessly. “But we don’t want you--not yet.” - -“Not yet? Meaning what?” - -“Oh, we ain’t got anything on you--yet. When we do we’ll nail you. -Right now we got other work.” - -“Thanks! Mighty nice of you to tell me. How are you making out?” - -“Bum luck, so far,” was the frank admission. “But we’ll git what we’re -after. You could help us if you would, but it’s no good askin’ you.” - -Douglas grinned jauntily. Then he grew sober. There was something about -the patient, straightforward, quiet-spoken Ward that appealed strongly -to him, just as there was a coarseness about “Brooklyn Bill” that -aroused his reckless antagonism. Too, he himself was now a man-hunter -on his own account. With Bill silent behind him and Ward’s steady eyes -before him, he felt a sudden swerve from the Traps current in which he -had been drifting. Weighing his words, he spoke out. - -“See here, Ward. You haven’t told me who your man is, and I’m not -asking. Maybe I know something about the case, maybe I don’t. But let’s -suppose a case. - -“Suppose you’re looking for a fellow--only a young lad--who got sent -up for arson and a few other things like that. Suppose I have reason -to believe that the young fellow never did what he was sent up for; -that he has served years for a crime he never committed; that he was -‘framed.’ Would you blame me for not wanting to help send him back to a -good many more years of the same?” - -Ward’s eyes widened a trifle. - -“No, I wouldn’t. I’d feel sorry for him myself. But ‘framed’? How?” - -“Used as a goat by an older man. Filled up with liquor and left to take -the blame for burning a house and shooting people, while the man who -really did it sneaked back up here and laughed at you fellows. That -could easily be done.” - -A pause, while Ward watched him steadily. - -“Sure, it could be done. But to git the kid clear it would have to be -proved. Who’s the man?” - -Douglas glanced behind him--up Snake Sanders’ road. The movement was -involuntary, prompted by an instinct to make sure that nobody else was -lurking and listening. But Ward’s shrewd eyes narrowed, and he nodded -as if in complete understanding. - -“I’m not saying,” Douglas replied, facing him again. “We’re just -supposing, of course. But in that case, you couldn’t expect much -help from me, even if I knew where the youngster was. As a matter of -fact--if you are looking for such a fellow--I don’t know where he is. -But, speaking of goats, here’s something that’s not ‘supposing’ at all: -While I was away last night somebody entered my house and rammed a -foot and a half of cold steel into a dummy I’d left in my bed. And I’m -pretty sure that the mind back of that stab--though maybe not the hand -that did the stabbing--was the same one that framed up that ‘supposed’ -boy we’re talking about.” - -Another pause. - -“Uh-huh. And you’ve been up here to see about it, and your man wasn’t -home. Well, we’re waitin’ for that same gentleman; been wantin’ to see -him for quite awhile, but he’s a slippery cuss. When we do git hold of -him--we’ve got a few questions to ask him. Glad you spoke that little -piece of yours, Hampton. We’ll keep it in mind.” - -“All right. If I see him before you do he may get mussed up -considerably, so you’d better grab him soon. So long.” - -“Wait a minute. Got any idea who swung that steel on the dummy--if it -wasn’t the same gent?” - -“Oh, yes. But that’s my business. So long.” - -“So long. Watch yourself.” - -Douglas tramped away. Ward and Bill looked at each other, slid back -behind their trees, and resumed their silent waiting. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -THE SUN BREAKS THROUGH - - -Three days of raw chill, leaden cloud, and numbing wind rolled past. -No more rain fell, but, except by fitful gleams, no sun shone. Through -each gray day the dying leaves fluttered limply down, carpeting the -damp ground thicker and thicker with yellow and crimson and brown. -Through each black night a few hardy survivors of the former myriad of -katydids quacked despairingly, and here and there a cricket sounded a -mournful call to comrades which no longer answered him. Bleak November -was drawing near. - -In those gray days Hammerless Hampton ranged the roads, the fields, and -the forest, implacably hunting the man or men who had struck in the -dark at the lay figure representing himself. Time and again he visited -the Oaks house and the Sanders shack. But never did he find his quarry -there. Time and again he was asked, with suspicion verging on anger, -why he kept “a-pesterin’ round.” But he never told. - -The manner of both Nigger Nat’s woman and Snake Sanders’ woman became -sullenly hostile. Yet, though their attitude toward him was basically -the same, there was a difference. In the shrewish face and the snappish -answers of the former was revealed worriment for the missing man. -In the lowering countenance and the dogged replies of the latter was -clumsy untruth. The man who studied them both knew that Snake, though -always absent when he came, was present at certain other times; while -Nat had never come home. - -Of Marion he saw little. When he did see her it was at her own door, -and few words passed between them. He knew, though, that her active -brain was surmising more or less accurately why he was hunting her -father, and in her sober face he saw grave concern. But the rankling -irritation of the other two women was never visible in her voice or -manner. Whether her sympathies were with him or with her own kin he did -not know. - -He did not confine his questioning, however, to these three. Though -he felt it to be useless--and, indeed, found it so--to ask any of the -clansmen for information regarding the two whom he sought, he quizzed -every man he met. The only result was to cause keen interest in his -movements and to spread throughout the mountain bowl the word that he -was “a-huntin’ Nat an’ Snake with blood into his eye.” - -Even Uncle Eb gave him no aid. But this time it was not clannishness -nor habitual taciturnity regarding his neighbors that made fruitless -the younger man’s call on him. He really knew nothing of either of the -rascally pair. - -“Nor I don’t want to,” he added bluntly. “If ther’s anybody into the -world I don’t want to know nawthin’ ’bout, it’s them fellers. No, I -take that back, now I think onto it. Ther’s one thing I’d like awful -well to know ’bout ’em--that they was both dead. But that’s too good to -come true.” - -The old man was standing in his doorway at the time, and his manner -was even more jerky than usual. Douglas, outside, was conscious of the -frank scrutiny of two women at a near-by window--Uncle Eb’s wife and -spinster daughter, both intelligent-looking but decidedly plain of -feature. Uncle Eb, too, seemed aware of listening ears, for he left his -stoop and walked to the road, out of hearing. He asked no question, -but his move was an obvious invitation to tell why Nat and Snake were -wanted. And, briefly, Douglas did. - -“The varmints!” Eb muttered fiercely. “The murderin’ snakes! They’d -oughter be shot! Only for ye bein’ away they’d got ye. They’re a-layin’ -low now ’cause they know ye’re a-trackin’ ’em. By mighty, boy, ye must -have a good angel a-watchin’ out for ye, sendin’ ye out that day an’ -all! Ye’d oughter change yer bed now--mebbe change yer house too. I -ain’t soop’stitious, but ther’ ain’t no good luck into that house o’ -Jake’s.” - -Douglas wavered, half minded to tell him of his previous change in -sleeping quarters and of the mysterious missive of warning. But he held -his tongue. Such disclosures would do no good. Instead, he shifted the -subject. - -“Maybe so, but I’m not moving out yet. By the way, I saw those two -detectives the other day. They say they’ll get what they’re after.” - -Uncle Eb scowled. After a glance around he whispered: - -“Son, I’m right worried. This is turrible weather for that boy to lay -up into the rocks. He ain’t tough now--he was into the pen three year, -ye know, an’ that weakens a feller--specially us hill fellers that’s -used to lots o’ air. I dasn’t bring him back down here--I dasn’t go -nigh him--for fear them detectives’ll git to him; they been round here -two-three times, a-watchin’ an’ a-layin’ low. But I wisht he could git -under cover some’rs. I hear he’s got a misery onto his chest already.” - -The younger man frowned in concern. Comfortably clad though he was, -he felt the raw bite of the air; his ungloved fingers, in fact, were -partly numbed. And Steve, cowering among those clammy bowlders, unable -to risk a fire--why, the boy was barefoot! - -“D’ye s’pose, now, ye could toll them fellers out o’ the Traps for -good?” Eb suggested hopefully. “Ye fooled ’em deef, dumb an’ blind that -time they was right onto his back. Mebbe ye could----” - -He paused. Douglas reluctantly shook his head. - -“Afraid not. They know now that I’m on Steve’s side. It wouldn’t work. -But--I’ll see if I can think of something.” - -Dubious as the answer was, Eb’s face showed some relief. - -“Do that, son! Think o’ sumpthin’--anythin’--an’ then go do it. I been -a-thinkin’ till I’m all jumpy like, an’ it don’t git me nowheres. Mebbe -I’d oughter let him shift for himself, seein’ he ain’t no relation o’ -mine, but I can’t keep my mind offen the boy. He was borned unlucky, ye -might say, an’ he never had much of a chance, an’--I’m right sorry for -him.” - -“Born unlucky? How do you mean?” - -Uncle Eb glanced sidewise at him; pulled at one end of his walrus -mustache; spat loudly, looked at his windows, and spoke--but did not -answer. - -“I got to be gittin’ in. I’m a-gittin’ cold. Uh--do what ye can for the -pore feller. G’by.” - -Hastily he lumbered houseward. Douglas stared, laughed shortly at the -awkward rebuff, and sauntered away, unoffended. He knew the old man’s -tongue had been clutched by the hand of habit--the habit of telling no -tales about others; and, in a way, he honored the old fellow for it. -What mattered Steve’s birth, anyway? The real crux was the problem of -his immediate future. - -All the way back to his abiding-place that problem bothered him. Night -was not far off now, and the cold was increasing. Looking up at the -chill gray cliffs of Dickie Barre as he passed along the road, he -shivered. What a cheerless refuge for a half-clad boy! Skulking there -alone in a black hole night after night, numbly waiting day after day, -subsisting on cold food smuggled to him by stealth, dreading every -sound, with a growing “misery onto his chest”--he was in a worse prison -than the one from which he had escaped. Beside him, its grisly fingers -perhaps already touching his lungs, lurked the dread spectre of the -hills--Pneumonia. And he, Hampton, though he lived in a haunted house, -had shelter and stove and warmth--and more room than he needed. All at -once he nodded sharply. He knew what he would do. - -Before night set in he worked a little while at his back door, which -opened hard and creaked loudly. With his camp-ax he trimmed its edges, -and with gun-oil he lubricated the rusty hinges, until it could swing -easily and silently. After barring it he turned to the window of his -sleeping-room, which hitherto had been wedged so that it would admit -fresh air but nothing else. On this also he labored for a time. When it -would rise with smooth speed he locked it with a short stake and turned -his attention to preparing supper. - -“Maybe to-morrow night we’ll have company,” he informed the emptiness. -“Maybe.” - -An hour later he was asleep on his aromatic couch, and the whole house -was given up to darkness and silence. - -As the black hours wore on, the boards above his head dully gave notice -that the ha’nt was prowling back and forth on its softly thumping -bare heels. Perhaps his subconscious self knew of the movement, but -it did not arouse his sleeping senses--it was only the usual nightly -occurrence. Out in the main room beyond his closed door, too, something -moved about: a silent, hideous, unhuman thing which paused awhile -beside the wooden barrier, then glided elsewhere; a thing which opened -no doors or windows, which neither entered the house nor left it, but -which presently was gone. Of this, too, he knew nothing. The weird -sough of the sepulchral pines behind the house, the proximity of the -mound holding all that was left of the man who had been done to death -here, the steel-slashed rent in the corn-husk mattress beyond the -wall--none of these things troubled him. Tranquilly he slept until -morning light smote softly on his lids and woke him to a new day. - -Sun and warmth flooded the Traps when, after breakfast, he emerged into -the open. After the grayness and the numbness of the past few days, -the change was magical. But for the thinly clad branches above and -the sodden wind-blown leaves below, it would have seemed mid-August -instead of late October. In the hot air flies buzzed, bees hummed, -and a resounding chorus throbbed from crickets and katydids defiantly -informing the world that they were not yet dead. And from all sides -drifted the damp fragrance of forest mould and of grass-ground drying -in the heat. - -But, as a wandering breeze floated from the region of a bush-bound -little brook beyond the road, it bore into the pleasant aroma of plant -life a vague taint. - -Douglas, inhaling the freshness of the morning, half sensed that slight -odor and glanced around. But then the breeze died and he forgot it. -Drawing another great lungful of air, he struck off up the road toward -the Oaks place. - -Before he reached it the sound of chopping came to him. As he entered -the yard he found a figure slugging away at a chopping-block with an ax -which seemed dull. It wore a man’s hat, but it also wore a dress. The -hat fell off as he approached, and the sun glowed red in the tumbled -hair suddenly revealed. At the sound of his step the girl wheeled -sharply and, panting and flushed, looked at him. - -“No, he ain’t home,” she said before he could speak. “You can run right -’long up to Lou’s.” - -She turned from him, picked up another stick of fire-wood, swung the ax -dexterously, and split the fagot clean. Something about her words and -manner gave him a sudden glimpse of her side of that pride-wall which -had stood between them: the side which he had supposed to bear the -face of Steve, but which now seemed to hold something else. He stepped -forward and closed one hand over the ax-helve. - -“Look here, Marion,” he said quietly, “I don’t like that.” - -“’Tain’t much to me what you like,” she retorted, though with little -heat. “Jest travel ’long.” - -“When I’m ready.” He kept his grip on the handle. “But let’s settle -this now. You’ve been acting offish for quite awhile--ever since the -day we talked about art and--and so on, up the brook. I’ve been too -bull-headed to ask you why. But I’m asking you now, straight and -square; and asking you, too, why you keep intimating that Lou is a -particular friend of mine. Now speak up, man to man.” - -With steady directness she looked up at him. Wide gray eye and clear -blue eye searched each other to the depths. And then, man to man, -straight from the shoulder, she spoke out. - -“I heard ’bout you huggin’ her under the bridge. ’Tain’t any of my -business, only----” - -“What’s that? _Hugging?_” - -“Yes, sir, huggin’. And pretty hard, too. And that wasn’t much more’n -an hour after--after”--she flushed crimson--“after you--made me--fight -to git my picture. The only difference it makes to me is this: you -couldn’t have much respect for yourself to do it, or for me either. -’Course, I’m only Nigger Nat’s girl, and folks ain’t got much respect -for him or anybody of his, but--but that’s different.” - -“I should think so!” he agreed crisply. “Those dirty little gossips who -spied us made a fine tale of it, didn’t they! Well, now, here’s the -exact truth.” - -And the exact truth of that incident he gave her. He omitted only to -tell of the woman’s clumsy attempt to lure him and of her appeal for -silver from the lost mine; and these parts he left out only because of -innate chivalry toward even such drab womanhood as Lou’s. - -“So that’s all there is to it,” he concluded. “I tried to help her out -but only got her into a worse mess, thanks to lying tongues. Now you -can believe me or those kids, just as you like.” - -A little longer the gray eyes held his. Then they fell, and on her lips -dawned the first smile he had seen there in many a long day. - -“I’m--I’m glad you come visitin’ this mornin’, even if you are mad at -my pop,” she said softly. “But have we both got to keep holdin’ this -ax?” - -“No,” he smiled. “I can hold it alone. Let go.” She obeyed. - -“Now I didn’t come hunting your pop to-day,” he went on, “although I’m -on the lookout for him all the time, and---- Tell me, do you care much -about your pop?” - -“Well, he’s the onliest pop I’ve got,” she naively reminded him. “But I -don’t care much about him. He’s awful ornery.” - -“Quite right. He’s all of that. But we’ll forget him for now. I came -over to-day to ask you to take me to--a friend of ours.” She looked up -quickly. “Uncle Eb tells me he’s sick, and I want to see him. Will you -guide me?” - -Dubiously she looked all about. Her whispered reply was hardly audible. - -“We’ve got to go careful. The detective fellers, they’re a-watchin’ all -round--mebbe they’re up into some of these trees right now. But--can -you help him some way?” - -“I’m going to try.” - -“All right, we’ll go. Cut me a little more wood while I take this into -the house. Mom, she’s abed yet; she don’t feel good this mornin’. But -she ain’t real sick. We’ll go pretty quick.” - -With another smile at him she gathered up wood and hastened in. And -Hammerless Hampton set his gun against the wall and looked around, -marveling at the brightness of the sun and the sweetness of the air -and the cheeriness of the birds. Even the harsh cries of the bluejays -in the woods sounded musical. In all the Traps at that moment he could -perceive not one discordant note of sound or color. Indeed, something -disagreeable seemed magically to have vanished from the world, and it -was good to be alive. - -And something had vanished: something nebulous, intangible, yet real -and rock-hard: the two-sided wall of Pride. And Douglas, feeling that -all was well with the universe, began lustily swinging the ax in the -service of the girl who was glad he had come visiting. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -LIBERTY OR DEATH - - -Along a dim, winding trail, through baffling undergrowth and around -half-buried blocks of stone and over prostrate tree-trunks, a man and -a maid passed in silence. Under foot the damp leaves, not yet dried by -sun or wind, gave out no betraying crackle. The pair spoke no word, -made hardly a rustle as they touched bare stems or twigs. They seemed -bound on an all-day hunting trip, for the man carried a shotgun, and -the girl a little apron knotted into a bag, containing food. Yet it was -the girl who led the way. - -Upward, ever upward they climbed on a slope whose pitch grew more and -more steep. At length they paused at the edge of a gigantic mass of -bowlders, above which towered stark crags split by a yard-wide fissure. - -“We go up into that crack, then ’long the top of the ledge to the left, -then down again,” Marion breathed. - -“Why?” he remonstrated. “Why not work along here without going up and -down?” - -“You ain’t much of a detective if you can’t guess that,” she laughed. -“Up on top we can watch back and see if we’re follered. Down here we -can’t.” - -“Quite right,” he conceded. “You’re a better dodger than I am. A better -climber, too, probably. These boots don’t grip bare rock very well.” - -“Go ’long, and go slow. Don’t bump and scrape. We’ve got all day.” - -After surveying the jumble above, he began working up into it, moving -with caution but with creditable speed. For a time he was so engrossed -with the toil of quietly moving himself, his damp-soled boots, and his -gun, that he gave no attention to her. When at length he paused at the -foot of the fissure he looked back--and found her close at his heels. - -“You’re awful slow and stiff,” she taunted, as if she had not just -warned him to proceed cautiously. “I’ll go ’long up and wait. G’by.” - -And up she went with a flash of tanned ankles and a swirl of swaying -skirt, her toes gripping with unerring surety at the soil slanting down -within the crevice, her lithe young body swinging with easy grace, -her hair flaming like an upshooting meteor. At the top she swung and -laughed once more with the exhilaration of strenuous activity. Then she -moved from sight. - -“Whew!” breathed Douglas, contemplating the slope. “Our catamount can -climb! Imagine a corseted, high-heeled city girl doing that. Imagine me -doing that! If I don’t come flopping back down here end-over-end I’ll -be lucky. Well, here goes.” - -Digging in his toes, he started. For a few feet all went well. Then -his soles began to slip, and only a clutch with his free hand stopped -his slide. By the time he was half-way up he was clambering crabwise, -forcing in his heels. And when he neared the top he was using every -support he had--feet, hands, and gun-butt. However, he made the ascent -without a fall; and, thanks to his recent days of roving, without much -loss of wind. - -Marion had disappeared, but the little bundle of food lay beside the -cleft. Presently she came creeping back on hands and knees from the -outer brink and stood erect. - -“Well, Mister Slowpoke, you got here before noon after all,” she gibed. -“I ’most went to sleep waitin’, the sun’s so hot out yender. There -ain’t any detectives into sight, so when you git rested we can travel -’long.” - -“Rested? I’m not so feeble as you think,” he smiled. “And just remember -that I have to lift about seventy or eighty more pounds of bone and -meat at every step than you do. You’re only a flyweight. Bet I can lift -you with one arm.” - -“Bet you can’t!” she flashed. - -Forthwith he laid down his gun and swept her off her feet. Steadying -her with the right hand lightly laid against her shoulders, he raised -her on his rigid left forearm. She wriggled, slipped, and instinctively -seized him around the neck. Both his arms suddenly tightened around -her. Her face came close to his. - -The next instant a firm little hand set itself against his chin. Though -his grip still held her, her face now was more than a foot away. The -slender arm between them was like a steel bar. - -“Let go!” she commanded. - -“What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll kiss you?” His eyes were dancing -recklessly. “Or are you afraid I won’t?” - -“Afraid--you--won’t? That’s ’bout ’nough! You ain’t under a bridge now!” - -The twit stung. His face darkened. He set her down abruptly, picked up -his gun, moved away toward the left. - -“I--I didn’t mean that,” she quickly added. “I dunno why I said it--it -jest come, like. But--remember, we come up here to see somebody.” - -He nodded sombrely and strode on. Confound it! Why did these hill -girls take things so seriously? He hadn’t meant to kiss her anyhow. Or -had he? He didn’t know; maybe, in that momentary devil-may-care mood, -he would have done it. And what if he had? There was nothing fatal -about a careless kiss or so, all in fun. But then, there was Steve, of -course. Yes, that was it. That fierce, vengeful, desperate boy--she was -cleaving to him, one of her own people, and the kiss of any other man -was not to be lightly taken. So be it. She was right enough, of course. - -Yet, in his unintrospective way, he felt a vague irritation over the -eternal presence of Steve. If only the youth did not exist---- He let -the thought go no farther. He did not consider what might be if Steve -were removed. Neither did he recall that this girl’s blood was tainted -by her parentage. He let the whole matter die, and instead put his mind -on the lonely, sick boy himself, victim of Snake Sanders’ machinations -and fugitive from the insensate monster which killed men’s souls--the -Law. Sympathy for him again warmed his heart. He pressed on in his -errand of aid. - -“D’you shave every day?” sounded a small voice at his heels. - -“Uh? Shave?” He groped, bewildered by the sudden change of thought. -“Why--yes. Every morning after breakfast. Why?” - -“Your chin’s so smooth. It ain’t all full of splinters like pop’s. And -your face always looks so clean. I never see any other man that kept -his face clean every day. I--I kind of like it.” - -The ingenuous statement made him laugh. - -“Glad there’s something about me that you like,” he mocked. “But to me -it’s not so much a matter of appearance as of comfort. I can’t stand -a mess of bristles on my face and throat. It’s prickly. So I slice it -off.” - -They trudged on, following a faintly defined path well back from the -brink, invisible to any eye which might look up from below. After -awhile she said softly, as if talking to herself: “Steve’s gittin’ -awful whiskers onto his face.” - -Remembering the bristly black beard he had noticed on the fugitive’s -unshaven face at their last meeting, he nodded carelessly. - -“Of course. How can he shave?” he reminded her. “But maybe he can clean -it off soon. We’ll see.” - -“What you figgerin’ to do?” - -“Ask him to come down and hide in my house, where he’ll be dry and -warm.” - -She gave a little gasp. - -“Why--why, he can’t! With them detectives pesterin’ round--if they -should come he’d be caught into a reg’lar trap. And you’d git ’rested -too.” - -“Maybe. But it’s getting too cold for him to lie up here. To-day’s hot, -but to-morrow---- He’s got to move somewhere soon.” - -Soberly she studied him. - -“That’s so, but he won’t come, I don’t b’lieve. I tried to git him -to come down and stay to our house, but he wouldn’t. He dasn’t trust -pop. And them detectives, they watch everywheres. They come there -one time and asked pop a lot of questions. I dunno what they asked -him--I wasn’t round; but pop’s apt to say ’most anything or do ’most -anything--depends on how drunk he is.” - -“Steve’s wise not to go there, then. But it’s different at my place.” - -No more was said. Marion looked often at him as they journeyed on, and -her face was troubled. He kept his forward-ranging gaze on the vague -path. - -After a time he found himself emerging at the brink. Here she resumed -the lead. Down over a jagged confusion of leaning bowlders she picked -a tortuous way, followed by the more slowly moving man. Presently they -were under the cliff, amid thick brush, on steep but firm-soiled ground -whence protruded a few deep-sunk blocks. She moved a rod or two to the -left and paused. - -“See anything?” she questioned. - -He studied the surroundings and shook his head. In the blank face of -the precipice showed no opening--not even a crack. The cliff, the -ground, the brush, the half dozen juts of gray stone--there was no -sign of a hiding-place. True, there were two fair-sized bowlder-tops -close together, with a small black hole between; but the hole must be -only a cranny in the earth, like hundreds of others along the wall--a -good place to break a leg, but not to hide in. He did not give it a -second glance. - -Yet it was at this despised hole that she knelt. Into it her head -vanished, and from it sounded her signal--a soft “Hoo-hoo” almost -inaudible above ground. From somewhere down in the bowels of the -tightly packed earth floated a faint sound in reply. Her head -reappeared. - -“I’ll go down first to tell him it’s all right,” she murmured. -“You wait ’bout two minutes or so, then come ’long. It’ll be tight -squeezin’--you’re so wide acrost the shoulders--but you can git -through.” - -She pushed the apron-package into the hole. Then she turned once more -to him. - -“This here is my little secret, that I’ve come to for years,” she -told him. “There ain’t anybody ever been into it but me--and Steve. -The place Uncle Eb took Steve to wasn’t so good--it was too easy to -find--so I brought him here.” - -With that she was gone into the gloomy opening. - -For a minute or two he waited, looking at the hole and picturing to -himself a lonely, heart-sick little girl coming here year after year -to forget the drunken coarseness of her father and the profane nagging -of her mother. A disappointing place, this prosaic cavity; not at all -the picturesque grotto his fancy had painted when, in idle moments, -his mind had reverted to her confession of a “playhouse” where she -took refuge by her “own self.” Yet somewhere within it must be a real -cavern among the sunken rocks, where, forgetful of the raw crudity of -her life, she had lain many a time gazing star-eyed at the figments of -her dreams. Did she ever, he wondered, dream of a Prince Charming who -should bear her over the hills and far away into a world of lights and -laughter, music and perfume? - -Perhaps her untutored imagination could not even vision such a world. -Perhaps her soul, like her body, was hemmed in by the eternal rim of -the rock bowl--that soul which yet groped vaguely upward with its -unconscious artistry, its vision of dead men who shook the hills with -their tramping, its effort to place on paper the beauty of the green -pool in Coxing Kill. Perhaps Lou Brackett’s dictum was inexorably true: -_Them that’s borned into the Traps lives into the Traps and dies into -the Traps_. - -Recalling himself, he dropped to his knees, dubiously sized up the -passage, sank prone, and began worming his way inward. - -Once inside, he found that it was not so black as it had looked. -Somewhere ahead, light came faintly up from a lower level. The tunnel -slanted at an easy grade and curved a little to the right. For the -first few feet he found her surmise correct--it was a tight passage for -him. But, after inching along in growing distaste for the squeezing -discomfort of the hole, he found the rock walls veering aside and -lifting above him. A few feet more, and he had room to rise to all -fours. The dim light grew a shade stronger. He found his face hanging -over a drop, below which was a steep, curving chute. - -Swinging his feet foremost, he went over and down, sliding a little but -holding himself by hand-grips along the wall. He stopped on the level -lip of another drop. - -Before him widened an oblong cavern, fairly well lighted by rifts in -the stony walls and by another entrance at its farther end--a sizable -hole at the floor-level, evidently leading downward. It looked quite -dry, except for a tiny trickle of water down one side; its floor -was well carpeted with leaves, obviously brought in from above; and -in the walls were irregular natural shelves, most of which held -small treasures of childhood--a cracked cup or two, worn-out cooking -utensils--such things as a little girl might have brought there to -make it a real “playhouse.” And some six feet away was the little girl -herself--Marion--with her wild Steve. - -“H’are ye, Hamp,” the youth hoarsely greeted him--and clutched at his -chest. For a second or two he set his teeth; then, throwing one sleeve -across his mouth to muffle the sound, coughed repeatedly. When he -lowered the arm his lips were drawn. Dumbly he rubbed his chest. - -“Howdy, partner,” Douglas returned, surveying him keenly and noting his -haggard face and hollow eyes. “Sore inside?” - -“Got cold,” nodded Steve. “Can’t stop this ’ere cough a-rackin’. Can’t -sleep good. An’ ther’s a misery onto my left lung. Lot o’ pains like -red-hot needles. Got to breathe short. Cough nigh rips the lung outen -me. Makes too much noise too. If them dicks hearn it----” - -He spoke in short whispers, his hand rubbing mechanically, as if it -had done the same thing at frequent intervals for many hours. The -man above regarded him gravely. Though strong of lung himself, he -knew what pleurisy was; knew, too, that there was such a thing as -pleuropneumonia. The lad below looked to be rapidly heading into -something of the kind. He certainly was not the healthy young fellow he -had been that day in Uncle Eb’s barn. - -“Head ache? Feel hot?” Douglas quizzed. - -“Yuh. Head’s like to split. I’m hot all over, like.” - -Another strangled cough, with its after-grimace of pain. Douglas looked -below, found a couple of shelves forming natural steps, and descended. -He laid a hand on Steve’s forehead. The hot skin seemed to burn him. - -“H’m! I was afraid so,” he muttered. “Fever, headache, pleural pains, -cough. H’m! Well, Steve, now listen. You’re sick. If you stay here -you’ll be sicker. Now my place is sort of lonesome, and nobody calls on -me; and the woods are right handy to the back door, so you could make a -quick getaway if you had to; and it’s dry and----” - -A determined shake of the head cut short his preamble. - -“Marry told me,” the lad refused. “I ain’t a-goin’. Mebbe I’m sick. -Mebbe I’ll die. But it’s all right. I’ll die by inches ’fore I’ll go -wher’ I’ll git caught.” - -“Don’t be a fool! What’s the good of----” - -“Don’t say no more. I ain’t a-goin’. Ther’s things wuss’n me dyin’. -Goin’ back to the pen’s one. Gittin’ my friends into trouble’s ’nother. -I ain’t got but three friends into the world. Marry an’ you an’ Uncle -Eb. I come awful nigh gittin’ two o’ ye into a mess t’other day. Them -dicks’d make ye sweat blood if they knowed ye was a-helpin’ me. An’ I -don’t danger ye no more.” - -He writhed with another cough. Amazed by the unexpected chivalry of the -hill boy, Douglas stood dumb. Presently Steve went on with the same -pain-clipped sentences. - -“’Sides, I can’t live into a house. Marry’ll tell ye that. I warn’t -borned into a house. I was dropped into the woods like--like a -wolf-pup. I can die like that same wolf: into the rocks or the trees. I -ain’t a-dyin’ yet, anyways. An’ till I do die---- - -“I went to school a little. Not much. Couldn’t stand it ’less’n the -winders was open. But I learnt readin’. I see a piece ’bout a feller -that said ‘Gimme liberty or gimme death.’ That’s me. I live free--if -it’s into a hole. Mebbe I die into the same hole. But I die free--not -like a rat into a house-wall. Gimme liberty or----” - -A tearing spasm of muffled coughing ended his talk. When it had passed -he slumped down against the side of the cavern, his brow knotted in -agony, his hand rubbing feebly, but his gaunt jaw set like the rock -against which he leaned. And Douglas, after a moment more of grave -study, gave him up. He was not to have company in his haunted house -after all. His toil last night on the rear door and the bedroom window -had come to naught. - -Yet the time was to come when, despite the flat refusal of the fugitive -to leave his den, that smooth-sliding back window in Hampton’s home was -to serve Steve well. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -THE HAND OF THE GHOST - - -Douglas pushed off his hat and ran a hand through his hair, puzzling -over what to do now. Despite Marion’s prediction, he had not seriously -considered the possibility of an inflexible rejection of his offer, and -now he was somewhat at a loss. - -Squatting beside Steve, he absently dug up his empty pipe and puffed at -it, thinking. Steve looked wistful, but said nothing. Marion, sitting -on a little leaf-cushioned projection of stone, watched both of them -unobserved. - -The contrast between the two male faces was striking. Douglas, blond, -strong, clean of skin and clear-cut of feature, thoughtfully serious, -working out the problem of helping another: Steve, swarthy, wan, -black-bristled, unkempt, grim-jawed, determined to follow his own -course despite reason and sense; truly, they seemed as opposite as -light and darkness, as blithe hope and sombre desperation. Yet the dark -face, perhaps, would strike more forcefully on vibrant heart-strings; -for mingled with its resolution was an unconscious pathos. To a -sympathetic eye, too, the ragged, shapeless clothing of the younger man -would have appealed more strongly than the well-fitting garb of the -other. But Marion was not looking at the dress of the pair. Silently, -steadfastly, here in her dream-cavern she was studying faces--and men. - -“Well,” Douglas said slowly, removing his pipe--and stopped. He saw the -hollow eyes, eloquent with tobacco-hunger, follow the motion of the -blackened briar. Wiping its stem on a sleeve, he passed it over. Steve -grabbed it and began eagerly sucking in the strong incense of bygone -smokes. The little touch of comradeship was not lost on the girl, nor -was the next movement of the blond man. He produced a tobacco-tin, -picked out a third of its contents, and handed the rest to Steve. - -“Better not smoke it,” he suggested. “The smoke will float outside. -Chew it. I’ll have Uncle Eb get more for both of us. Now I won’t argue -with you about moving. You say you won’t, and that ends it. But you’ve -got to doctor up. You’ve got to bake that pain out of your lung, kill -that cough, knock out the headache and fever, keep warm and dry. Take -care of yourself. Remember you’re not so hardy as you were three years -ago.” - -Steve nodded, grinding the pipe-stem between his teeth. - -“Them three years would of kilt me, but I had to live to git Snake.” - -“Uh-huh. Now I’ll go home and send up the best medicine I have. It -isn’t much: mostly quinine. But you take it. To-night, when there isn’t -much chance that anybody’ll be prowling up here, you make a fire, boil -some water, bake your chest with hot cloths. Marion can fix you up a -mustard plaster, too, and fetch it back with the medicine; you wrap it -around that lung, and it ought to draw out the misery. I’ll send you up -some good wool socks, too. And you wear ’em! Now will you follow Old -Doc Hampton’s orders?” - -“I’ll foller ’em, Hamp.” - -“Good enough. Now I’ll go get that medicine.” He arose and clapped on -his hat. “I won’t be back here myself unless I’m needed--the fewer that -come here the better. But take care of yourself.” - -Steve gripped the extended hand, his face softening. - -“Much ’bliged, Hamp. An’ take care o’ yer own self. Snake’s a-fixin’ to -git ye some way, I bet ye. Cuss him, will I ever git to him?” - -In the cavernous eyes, in the prediction of trouble from Snake, were -a significance which Douglas was to remember later on, but which he -hardly noticed now. He only answered the rebellious question. - -“Not until you’re able to handle him. Right now you can’t even handle -yourself.” - -Steve’s mouth tightened in angry admission that he realized it. With a -last long draw at the pipe he handed it back. - -“I’ll handle him right rough ’fore long,” he gritted. “G’by.” - -With a nod and a smile Douglas followed Marion, who, still wordless, -now was half out of sight in the lower entrance. Down they went, -passing through a series of smaller caverns, twisting and crouching and -dropping, until they came out into sunlight. Before them, hardly a rod -away, rose the face of the cliff. Around were bowlders half as big as -houses. Among these the girl led an irregular way--and they were under -an overhanging crag, looking out across the Traps. - -Looking back, he decided that any one would have an extremely difficult -time in finding Steve’s covert unless guided to it. Once away from -here, he doubted whether he himself could retrace his course. Marion’s -dream-cave was as complete a hiding-place as could well be imagined: -double entrances and exits, both almost impossible of discovery, the -upper one forming a natural flue for a night fire; well-watered, with -wood at hand for the taking, plenty of air and sufficient light; yes, -it was almost ideal--until the snows should come. - -“Go careful down here,” the girl’s voice broke in on his reflections. -“It’s pretty rough. Here’s where I took a fall the night the catamount -’most got me.” - -Down again they went, over a steep talus; among more bowlders, and -out at last on grassy, bushy soil; through undergrowth to a faint -foot-track running north. Along this they trod for some time in silence. - -“If it’s a fair question, what did Steve mean by saying he was born -like a wolf-pup?” he asked at length. - -“It’s so,” she said, half reluctantly. “His--his folks wasn’t married, -and his pop went off and left his mom ’fore Steve was borned, and he -never come back. His mom, she went kind of queer into the head about -it. She was into the woods all the time, a-travelin’ and a-whisperin’, -folks say. Steve was borned outdoors, like he says. She died pretty -soon, and so he hasn’t got any folks.” - -Another long silence. Now he knew what Uncle Eb meant by saying the boy -had been born unlucky and never had had a chance. Poor, pitiful little -tragedy of the hills! The girl deserted by her man just when she most -needed his companionship and protection; the staring, whispering young -mother-to-be wandering in the leafy solitudes; the new little life -coming into the world as primitively as that of the first-born son of -mankind; the kindly old Mother Earth taking back into her great bosom -one more of her daughters who had loved and lost--a tragedy ever new, -yet old as the trust of women and the callousness of men. Poor little -mother! Poor Steve! - -He might have asked more about the boy--how he had lived and grown--but -a glance at the girl told him she would say no more. In all his -wanderings among the people of the Traps, this was the first time any -one had told him anything about the past of another; and even now -it probably was told only because Steve himself had virtually given -permission. He asked nothing further. It was she who now asked a -question or two of her own. - -“When you asked him to come down to your house had you forgot the ha’nt -might git him?” - -“By George, I did! Clean forgot that ha’nt of mine. Is that why he -wouldn’t come?” - -“No-o, I guess not. Not so much. But mebbe ’twas one of the things he -was thinkin’ about; he figgers a lot of things into his head that don’t -come outen his mouth. But tell me, jest what does that ha’nt do? The -same kind of things all the time? Nobody else ever stayed there long -’nough to find out if the ha’nt worked reg’lar. You know him pretty -well by now, I shouldn’t wonder.” - -“Well, I don’t pay much attention to him. He--or it--scared me green -in the face the first night, but he’s never done me any real harm, and -I’ve never seen anything in a white sheet gibbering at me--nor anything -else. But this is what I know about him.” And he described the muffled -footfalls in attic and stairway, the rustling and movement of the -mattress, and the uncanny suggestion that _something_ else was there. - -“Ooh!” She shuddered and looked nervously around. Then, banishing the -visions conjured up by his words, she became practical. “Did you ever -think that mebbe the thing walkin’ round was a rat?” - -“A rat? If he is, Mister Rat has feet as big as pillows. I thought of -it, yes. But it’s queer--I’ve never heard a rat or a mouse scamper or -gnaw in that house. You’d think there would be plenty of them, but I’ve -never seen nor heard a sign. And I’m positive it was no rat that got -into bed with me.” - -“M-h’m. Well, I wonder, now--do you want a cat? We’ve got four of ’em, -always pesterin’ round for somethin’ to eat. They’re Spit and Spat and -Fit and Fat--I named ’em all my own self. Spit and Spat are ugly and -they make noises like their names. Fit has fits and Fat’s fat. I’ll -give you Spit if you want him. He’s quick as lightnin’ and an awful -good ratter, and he’ll be company for you, too. Leave that attic door -open and see what he’ll do. Want to?” - -“All right,” he chuckled. “But if that heavy-footed ha’nt steps on -Spit’s tail and Spit raises the roof with a gosh-awful yowl when I’m -asleep--there won’t be any house left. I’ll go head-first through the -wall and knock down the whole layout.” - -She burst into a merry laugh, in which he joined. Quickly she -suppressed it, however, looking around once more--not for a -night-walking phantom this time, but for something which prowled as -stealthily by day, ranging the whole countryside: the sinister pair -whose presence kept Steve in a hole in the ground. - -“You hadn’t ought to make me laugh so sudden-like,” she reproved. But -as they went onward she giggled several times, and he chuckled in -sympathy. Nothing more was said, however, until they emerged into a -small field. Before them, dingy and bare, stood the Oaks house. - -“Lost?” she smiled then, seeing his surprised look. “Didn’t think it -was so nigh, did you? We come back by the short way--it don’t take half -as long as goin’. Tell me”--she drew closer to him--“what you a-huntin’ -pop for?” - -He hesitated. Then, as bluntly as she had revealed her knowledge of Lou -and the bridge, he told her. She did not seem much surprised, though -she was plainly disturbed. - -“I was ’fraid so,” she murmured. “I figgered ’twas somethin’ like that, -after you brought that corn-hook home. But if pop done that, ’twas -Snake that put him up to it! Consarn him!” She stamped a foot in swift -wrath. “Snake! He _is_ a snake--a nasty p’isonous copperhead that bites -without a warnin’! And he gits clear while other folks pay!” - -“Snake’s the man I want,” he acquiesced. “I’ve been after him, too. But -I want to get the truth out of your pop. And I’ll get it----” - -“I’m ’fraid you won’t,” she interrupted soberly. “I’m ’fraid he’s -gone for good. Seems like we’d have heard somethin’ ’fore if he was -a-livin’. Mebbe--mebbe Snake done somethin’ to him that night. Snake, -he’s a-layin’ awful low since then; nobody’s seen him.” - -“Well, he’ll come to light sometime. He’ll have to. And now we have to -look out for somebody else. I’ll get down to the house and bring up -that medicine. By-by.” - -“G’by.” - -They parted, to his mingled regret and relief--for, be a girl’s father -ever so base, it is inevitably distasteful to discuss with her that -father’s ignominy. Down the road he walked fast toward his own abode -and the waiting medicine. - -With the sun-baked sand under his feet he realized anew how -unseasonably hot was the day. The air was breathless, and heat-waves -curved and twined visibly along the highway. Soon he shed his coat and -shoved back his hat. As he neared his haunted house, too, he became -more and more aware that the atmosphere was tainted by the same odor -which had been breeze-borne to his nostrils earlier in the day. - -Then, rounding the little curve beyond which stood the Dalton house, he -checked his stride. - -Beside the road, in his own yard, were a weather-beaten wagon and a -white horse. They were Uncle Eb’s. The old man himself was not in sight. - -Douglas jumped forward with increased speed. Uncle Eb might be waiting -for him in the house, but that was hardly likely; the old man did not -like that house. Had something happened to him? - -The explosive voice of Eb himself came to him. It broke from the brushy -land on the other side of the road, mingled with sounds of progress -through thick going. - -“--Jest like Jake Dalton,” it was saying, “jest like I’m a-tellin’ ye. -Hampton never had no hand into this, though I wouldn’t blame him none -s’posin’ he had---- Wal! thar he is now!” - -From the brush emerged Eb and two others: the man-hunters, Ward and -Bill. All were chewing tobacco furiously. All looked pale. - -“What’s wrong?” Douglas sharply demanded. - -“Wrong! Good gosh, son, is yer nose stopped? It’s Nat!” - -Dumb, the blond man gaped at the three. Ward and Bill were eyeing him -keenly. Uncle Eb pulled off his hat, mopped his brow on a sleeve, -squirted a mouthful of brown juice, and went on barking. - -“Jest like Jake Dalton! He’s up into the bresh--’side the brook--face -down an’ deader’n--wal, ’most as dead as Jake. He’s been ther’ -three-four days, these fellers think--ever sence he run outen yer -house that night he left his cawn-hook. An’ this hot weather -to-day--wugh! I ain’t a-goin’ to High Falls to-day after all. I’m -a-goin’ right back home soon’s we---- Have ye got a shovel? Nat needs a -shovel powerful bad.” - -“What happened to him?” Somehow Douglas knew the answer already, but he -had to ask. - -“What happened to Jake Dalton? I dunno. But he’s jest like -Jake--swelled up awful, an’ not a mark onto him--no gunshot, no knife, -no nawthin’--jest dead! Ther’s sumpthin’ into that house o’ yourn, -son--that ha’nt or sumpthin’, I dunno--that kilt him jest the same’s -it kilt Jake. He run into the bresh an’ fell down an’ died same’s Jake -done. Have ye got that shovel?” - -“No.” - -“Wal, I’ll go borry one. Glad to git away a few minutes. Hoss, c’m’ere! -Whoa! G’yapalong!” - -With an apprehensive backward look at the house the agitated old fellow -was off. The man-hunters spat in unison, never taking their eyes off -Douglas, who still stared at the brush. Mechanically he got out his -pipe, loaded it, lit it, and puffed. - -“Well, fellows,” he said presently, “this is news to me. I’ve been -hunting this Nat Oaks--he was the one I suspected of knifing my -dummy--but I didn’t finish him. Looks bad for me, perhaps, but----” - -“You’re in the clear,” cut in Ward. “We might make out a case if we -tried hard enough, but we ain’t tryin’. If the stiff had wounds on -him you might have some explainin’ to do; and we’re goin’ to do some -lookin’ round, anyhow. But unless somethin’ new turns up we’ll leave -the thing lay as it is.” - -Douglas nodded and reluctantly stepped toward the hidden brook. The -other two remained where they were. - -A short distance in from the road he found Nigger Nat. He was stark -naked, his clothing having been cut from him by the pocket-knives of -the officers in their search for wounds. Feet, hands, and face were -mired by the mud in which he had expired; and the gross face now was a -bloated mask of bestiality. Nowhere on the torso was any mark. - -Douglas took one rapid, comprehensive look. Then he retired hastily -to the road, where he reloaded his hot pipe and awaited the return of -Uncle Eb. Wordless, two chewing and one smoking, the trio of city men -stood regarding the haunted house. - -The ha’nt, which of late Douglas had carelessly regarded as a sort of -joke, was a joke no longer. With his own eyes he had just looked on the -horrid handiwork of the grisly thing which stalked within those walls -by night. What was it? Why had it not closed its fearful grip on his -own throat? How long before it would do so? - -Perhaps Jake Dalton and Nat Oaks knew the answer to the ghastly riddle. -But their lips were sealed for all time. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -IN THE SHADOWS - - -In the house where Nigger Nat, assassin, had himself been struck by the -hand of Death in the night, Douglas Hampton, alias Hammerless, alias -Hamp, sat alone. - -Nigger Nat lay in his grave, if grave it could be called; a hastily dug -hole into which he had been rolled like a dead skunk. No pretense of -ceremony, and certainly none of mourning, had graced his departure from -the sight of men. Nor was any headboard set above his mound. As soon as -he had been disposed of, his burial party had departed with all speed. - -For the sake of the living, however, the spot where he lay would be not -only marked, but improved. Even now his headboard was being carved--and -by the man whom he had attempted to murder. On a piece of planking, -found among the odds and ends of Jake Dalton’s shed and dressed clean -with the hatchet, Douglas was cutting in deep, bold letters: - - NAT OAKS - -He intended, too, to clear away the brush around the mound and cut to -it a straight trail from the road, so that the women whom Nat left -behind him could--if they wished--visit his grave. But that work could -wait for another day. Now, while Hampton’s hands were drawing his -knife-point along the neat lines and hollowing out the spaces between -them, his mind was reviewing the events since the interment. - -For a time the four men, united in a common task of humanity, had -shelved their mutual distrust in fruitless search for the cause of -Nat’s death. With Douglas’ tacit permission, the pair of officers -had inspected the house from roof to foundations, Uncle Eb meanwhile -narrating in full the tale of Jake Dalton’s death. Douglas in turn had -told of his first meeting with Oaks, the fight with the dogs and Nat -himself, his whim to view the sunrise, his finding of the corn-hook -driven into the dummy. He did not, however, deem it necessary to -mention the warning note which he had partly burned. - -“The feller ye want to git,” Uncle Eb barked, rounding on Ward and -Bill, “is Snake Sanders! Git him an’ ye’ve got the man that’s back of -all the devil-work into the Traps. If ye make him talk, ye’ll git an -awful lot o’ knowledge all to oncet.” - -The pair, taking in everything and saying almost nothing, had nodded -slightly at this. And at length, non-committal as to what they might -plan to do, they had gone. Before departure, however, Ward had scoffed -at the ha’nt. - -“I don’t take any stock in this ghost stuff,” he said. “Oaks was an old -souse. Heart prob’ly was rotten with booze. He came in here with a bun -on, took a swipe at the dummy, got cold feet sudden--heard somethin’, -perhaps, a rat or somethin’--and beat it. Heart quit on him and he -croaked. - -“This Dalton, you say he was a souse too. Funny that two guys should -croak the same way in the same place, yeah. But if the booze you guys -make around here is as bad as the wildcat whiskey I’ve struck in some -other places, I ain’t much surprised. It’d kill anybody that lapped it -up for a steady diet. So long. Come on, Bill.” - -When they were out of the way, Douglas had talked awhile with Uncle Eb. -To him he had told something of Steve’s condition, and from him he had -learned that Marion already knew of the finding of her father’s body. -In his straightforward way Uncle Eb had gone to the nearest place--the -Oaks house--for the shovel, and had given her the news. She had said -little--“acted ’most like she was expectin’ sumpthin’ like that,” Eb -said--and gone at once to her mother. - -“An’ now ’bout you, son,--ye better not stay into this place no -longer,” the old man had concluded. “Come up an’ live ’long o’ me, -don’t ye want to?” - -But the anxious invitation was declined with thanks. Douglas had -determined to do now something which more than once previously he had -thought of doing--to remain awake all night and catch the ha’nt, if it -could be caught. The presence of the thing in his house was a challenge -to him; and if the phantom walked to-night, he vowed, he would smash -it or himself be smashed. This intention, however, he kept to himself, -merely saying that he had been unharmed thus far and knew no reason -why he should not remain so. - -So, bearing with him the quinine and other medicines which Douglas -thought might be useful to Steve, the old man had gone back to the -Oaks house and then home. Under the circumstances, Douglas himself did -not feel like intruding just then on the girl and her mother; and the -errand could be done just as well by Uncle Eb. And now, back to the -wall and eyes lifting now and then to survey all around him, Hampton -was toiling on the headboard. And the hot day was nearing its end. - -Lucky, thrice lucky had been Steve’s refusal to accompany him home, -he thought: lucky for Steve, for Marion, for himself. Alone, he had -come back openly and opportunely. With Steve he would have come more -slowly and furtively, and by that time the man-hunters might have been -scouting around in the woods on an investigation tour--and promptly -sprung on their prey. There would certainly have been a fight, and -before it ended Hampton and even Marion might have outlawed themselves. -Yes, it was lucky all around. - -Leaning back, he inspected his handiwork, yawned, and clicked his knife -shut. Nigger Nat’s monument was completed. Glancing through the open -doorway at the lengthening shadows, he lifted his brows and pulled out -his watch. - -“Where’s the time gone?” he asked himself. “It’s almost sundown. Better -rustle some grub and clear the decks for action against Mister Ha’nt. -Hope this isn’t his night off. Do ha’nts work union hours, I wonder? -Midnight to daybreak, maybe? Might get some sleep if I only knew. It’s -going to be a long, long night.” - -He yawned again, drowsy from the heavy heat of the day. When his supper -was eaten and his pipe was going he yawned still more widely. Twilight -now filled the great bowl outside--the oddly transparent twilight of -early evening in the Traps, which lay in shadow while the sun still -shone beyond the western heights. Next would come the grayish blur of -true twilight, deepening gradually into night. And when dense darkness -should enwrap all things and the evil man-killer of this house should -begin to stir about--then what? - -He arose, stretching and shaking himself to cast off his sleepiness. -After a turn up and down the room he lifted his gun, ejected the -shells, tested the firing-pins with a snap or two, looked carefully at -the ammunition, and reloaded. - -“Little old gun, you’ve been a real pal,” he soliloquized. “I bought -you just because you looked good and because I thought I might get a -bit of hunting somewhere up in this country before going back to town. -Little did I think you’d save a girl and blow cats and dogs all to -thunder and shoot at ha’nts----” - -“Yoo-hoo!” - -The musical call from outside cut short his monologue. In three strides -he was at the door. At the edge of the road stood Marion. On the sand -at her feet rested a sack in which something was tumbling about. - -“Don’t you never put down that gun, even when you’re into the house?” -she asked as he crossed the grass-ground. He looked foolishly down -at the forgotten weapon, still gripped loosely in one hand. Without -awaiting an answer, she went on: “But you need it, I shouldn’t wonder. -Are you a-goin’ to stay here now, after--after what come to pop?” - -“Yep. Going to sit up to-night and see what will happen.” - -She contemplated him soberly, then looked down at the bag. - -“I figgered that’s what you’d do. I--I wish you wouldn’t. But I brought -down some company, like I promised. This here is Spit.” - -As if answering to its name, the moving thing in the sack vented a -catty spitting sound. - -“You’ll want to shut the door and the winders, if there’s any open, -’fore you untie his bag,” she cautioned. “He’s wild, and he’ll go like -a shot if there’s any way outen the house.” - -“I’ll take care of him. Why do you wish I wouldn’t stay here?” - -She flushed a little, looked at him, dropped her eyes again and stirred -the sand with a foot. - -“Why, you--you’re a neighbor, kind of. And you--you’ve been good to -Steve.” The name came in a whisper. - -“Oh. I see. Did you take the medicine to him?” - -“Yes. He’s a-takin’ care of himself. But he’s wilder’n ever at Snake -Sanders, now he knows about pop. He didn’t like pop much, but it makes -him hate Snake all the more. Where--where is pop?” - -“Over yonder,” he told her gently. “In a day or so you can go in. I’m -going to cut a path. You’re not blaming me for this thing, are you, -Marion?” - -“No, I ain’t. Mom, she’s wild jest now--says if you never come here -this wouldn’t happened, and so on--but that’s foolish, and I told -her so. She’ll git over it. But”--the firm little jaw set--“if Snake -Sanders comes a-pesterin’ round once more now he won’t never walk outen -our yard! I’ll fix him my own self!” - -“How?” - -“With pop’s gun. ’Tain’t much good, but it’ll shoot. I got it ready -this afternoon, and if I see his sneakin’ face jest once I won’t ask -questions. I never wanted to see him ’fore, but I’m lookin’ for him -now!” - -It was no sudden flare of temper that brought forth the threat. It -was the cold wrath of the hills that sounded in her quiet voice, the -deathless hate of the avenger that glimmered under her curving brows. -Once more Douglas studied a new Marion: a girl resolute, reckless, -ominously hard. - -“I wouldn’t do that,” he counseled. “Put the gun on him, but don’t -shoot. March him down here and let me have him. Maybe I can make him -clear Steve.” - -“Mebbe,” she half agreed. “I’m a-goin’ now. It’s gittin’ dark. G’by.” - -She was gone, running lightly along the shadowy road. Until she -disappeared he stood watching her. Then he lifted the bag and returned -to the house. - -Mindful of her caution, he shut the outer door and closed the window -of his sleeping-room before removing the cord from the mouth of the -sack. It was well that he did. When the rangy, rumpled Spit was dumped -on the bare floor he gave one baleful glare at the man towering over -him, one swift survey of his surroundings, one spitting comment on the -place--then he was not where he had been. He was tearing about like -tawny lightning let loose. - -Douglas made no effort to pursue him. To do so would have been as -futile as chasing a comet. He only stood marveling at the animal’s -speed and wondering whether he had not better let him out before he -shot bodily through a window-pane. What good would Spit do here, -anyway? He would be only a complication in the still-hunt of the ha’nt. -But--Marion had taken the trouble to bring him, and---- Oh, well, let -him stay. - -The lank, homely brute threw himself at every window, every door, -seeming hardly to have hit one before he was at another. The man gave -up even trying to watch him. Moving to his supply-shelf, he cut a chunk -of raw bacon and held it until the baffled Spit finally paused, looking -for a new point of attack. Then he threw the meat. - -Spit jumped into the air, came down glaring, circled the meat, spat at -it, sniffed at it, tasted it, considered it with tail yanking from side -to side--and accepted it. With famished speed he gnawed it down. When -it was gone he lapped his jaws and looked at the man with a shade of -friendliness. It was poor cat-food, that smoked fat; but it was food, -and the half-wild creature would eat almost anything. In fact, he was -ready to devour more of the same. - -But he got no more. The man placed on the floor a cupful of water, then -shoved his backless chair against the rear wall and settled himself for -the vigil. The gloaming now was rapidly thickening into darkness, and -there was nothing to do but await events. - -For some time he sat quiet, hearing only the solemn chant of -deep-voiced crickets, the muffled conversation of katydids, the almost -inaudible padding of the cat’s feet on the boards. Now and then he -vaguely made out the lean form of the animal pausing near him. Then it -moved and vanished into the gloom, uneasily inspecting every inch of -the strange quarters. Nothing else passed within his range of vision; -nothing stepped around up-stairs; nothing rustled in the bedroom. - -An hour droned past, and another crept on its way. The silent man’s -lids began to droop. His recently formed habit of going to bed early -was asserting itself. So were the drowsiness and languor induced -by the bygone heat. The steady chirp of the crickets, too, and the -dull darkness--they were floating him gradually away on an ebb of -consciousness. He shook himself awake, shifted his position, leaned -forward, away from the wall. With renewed alertness he probed the -gloom. Nothing was there. - -Little by little another hour snailed along. Little by little the -watcher slumped farther forward. His gun remained steady across his -knees, his eyes stayed open; but his elbows were resting now on his -thighs, and his gaze was a somnolent squint, centered on nothing. -His body was half asleep, his mind more than half asleep; for it was -dreaming, seeing things gone by and places far away, and other things -much nearer--but not in this house: some things, indeed, which had not -yet come about and might never come. And still nothing occurred to -disturb his reverie. - -Physical discomfort, not ghostly alarms, roused him again. The chair -was hard, his position was growing cramped, his muscles demanded better -comfort. Scanning the room again, he noted with surprise that he could -see much more plainly. The windows, too, were light, and through them -he could make out the darksome bulk of the trees. The Traps gulf was -wanly illumined by a late-rising moon. - -Stiffly he arose to stretch himself. Something turned gleaming eyes at -him. It was Spit, very quiet now, crouched comfortably on the floor, -watching two doors--the open one into the bedroom and the closed one at -the foot of the stairs. Man and cat eyed each other a moment. Then the -man in turn looked toward a door--the entrance to his own room, beyond -which waited his blankets and easy couch of bough-tips. - -After all, why not? He could sit against the wall there, rest his legs -and back, and still keep awake. Better take the cat in there, too; then -he wouldn’t start clawing up toward the bacon-shelf or making other -disturbance. Might as well be comfortable. As soon as he heard the -ha’nt begin to tramp around he could slip out and see whatever might -be seen. All right, he would do it. - -By patient persistence, he inveigled the suspicious but curious Spit -into the rear room. Entering it himself, he had an afterthought: he -reached to the attic door, turned its knob, swung it open, leaving free -access for the stair-bumping spook. Then he went into his room and -almost closed the door, leaving it only a little ajar to obviate the -fumbling and noise of knob-turning when the time to leap out should -come. Making sure that Spit still was there, he relaxed against the -wall, gun ready beside him. And---- - -In less than twenty minutes all good intentions and cats and ha’nts -were obliterated from his mind by the velvety hand of Sleep. - -What time it was when he awoke he never knew. But awake he did, to find -himself lurching upward, every nerve tense, his gun clutched in his -right hand. - -The door was open wider now--open nearly a foot. In the room beyond lay -slanting moonlight. - -Out there, something was struggling. - -Something was making a low, ghastly, inhuman noise. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -THE DEMON OF THE DARK - - -Douglas felt his hair lift and his skin prickle, ice-cold. But he -knocked the door wide and plunged out. In the moonshine stood no -horrible figure. The noise was coming from the floor: a growling sound, -a slithering scrape, irregular paddings, and the scratch of claws on -wood. - -There, in the semi-darkness between two windows, a small huddle writhed -in hideous combat. Rooted to the floor, Douglas stood watching its -contortions. Gradually the writhing movements diminished. But the low -growl continued, and from the spot glared the fiery eyes of a cat which -had made its kill. - -The man started from his paralysis. Scratching a match along the wall, -he held the little flare above his head and stared until his fingers -twitched back, burned. - -“Well--I’ll--be----” he muttered, his voice trailing into nothing. - -He had looked on the ha’nt. He had seen Dalton’s Death, murderer of -men,--expiring in the jaws of a tom-cat. - -Snatching the gas-lamp from its nail, he got it to burning and turned -its ray on the uncanny little bunch below. In the white radiance -the thing stood out in horrid clarity. Though merged together, it -comprised three separate parts. They were cat--rat--rattlesnake. - -The cat’s teeth were clamped in the neck of the reptile. The venomous -fangs of the reptile were hooked into the head of the rat. The head -of the rat was nearly hidden within the distended jaws of the sinuous -slayer. - -This much of the story was plain at a glance: the snake had killed the -rat, begun to swallow its prey, and in its turn been pounced upon by -the lightning-leaping Spit. But how had rodent and reptile come here? -Why had he never seen them before? Why had Spit allowed the snake to -get the rat first? Why did that snake’s tail, still moving, give out no -warning burr? - -Douglas wasted no more time in puzzlement. Instead he began a close -inspection--as close as seemed safe, in view of the fact that the -savage cat struck viciously at him with hooked claws when he came too -near. It was by no means impossible that some snake-venom might be on -those claws, and the investigator was wary of them. Moving around with -the light, he studied snake and rodent. - -The rat was long, lank, and old. Its hoary hair, its big feet, the -tip of one whitish whisker still visible at the edge of the serpent’s -gaping mouth, all proved its age. It was so old that it would move -clumsily. In a silent house its feet would thump on the floor. If it -descended stairs it would bump. - -Nothing very queer about the rat. But about the snake was something -very queer indeed. Though it was well grown--more than a yard long, in -fact--and thus should have been well equipped with the warning buttons -of its species, it had none. It was a rattler without a rattle. - -True, its tail bore a small rounded excrescence which might be an -incipient button; but not a real, well-developed one. Somehow the tail -looked blunt; as if a rattle once had been there but had been cut off, -accidentally or otherwise. It kept moving, so that it was rather vague -in outline. There was no doubt, however, about the absence of the horny -joints which should have been there. - -Narrow-eyed, Douglas stood regarding that unnatural tail. For no -apparent reason, he suddenly wheeled and looked at the windows. Against -the panes was pressed no leering face. Outside in the moonlight stood -no sinister form. Slowly he turned back. Into his mind had flashed -the picture of Snake Sanders loosing from a box on Dickie Barre a -copperhead. Was the appearance of the snake in this house another -attempt of the same sort? - -“No,” Reason told him. This thing had not been brought here to-night. -It must have been in the place a long time. Two men had been killed -by it. One, whose freshly carved headboard even now stood against the -wall, had died several nights ago. The other had been struck down last -spring. Beyond a doubt, this was what had ended the lives of Jake and -Nat--striking at their bare feet, driving them in blind horror from the -house, leaving on their skins only two tiny wounds which, days later, -would be overlooked by the men finding their frightful corpses in the -woods or the brush. This creature must have been here for months. - -His deductions were interrupted by Spit. Tiring at last of worrying its -broken enemy, or perhaps eager to begin eating the rat, the cat loosed -its hold and, ceaselessly growling, stepped around and smelt at the -gray-haired victim of the snake. - -“Hey! Quit that!” Douglas snapped. “You fool cat, that rat’s poisoned! -If you have the slightest scratch on your lips or in your mouth you’ll -die! Let it alone!” - -At the impact of his voice Spit leaped aside, spat at him, stood -flame-eyed, lips writhing and claws unsheathed. So menacing was the -appearance of the creature, so evident its readiness to battle for -possession of that rat, that the man took a backward step. Claws and -teeth both might be envenomed; even if they were not, he knew that an -ordinary cat-bite sometimes results fatally. But he did not intend -to let the cat commit suicide. True, the poison might not injure the -animal’s stomach, but if it entered the blood---- - -He shoved the bare flame of his lamp straight at the snarling visage. -It was the best move he could have made. Had he attempted to grasp the -animal, or even to push it away with a foot, the maddened creature -might have sprung at him. At that moment a mere man meant little to -that wild brute. But before the fire-demon imprisoned in that lamp, -before the searing blue-white tongue licking out at his face, even -Spit’s savage heart quailed. Spitting furiously, he sprang back. - -Inexorably the flame followed him. It pressed him back into the -bedroom. Then the outer door was drawn open. The light retreated. Spit -sneaked back into the main room--but the white-hot tongue was waiting -for him. It slid forward once more. Suddenly it made a twisting swoop -toward his mouth. That was too much. With a snarly squall of panic a -tawny streak shot through the doorway into the night. Spit was gone. - -The door bumped shut. The man straightened up, relaxed, chuckled -shortly. Then he turned the light again on the feebly squirming reptile -and the lifeless rat; studied them a moment more; looked at the clean -pine monument of Nat Oaks glimmering yellowish in the background; -pivoted on his heels and frowningly contemplated the bedroom where -both Jake and Nat had met their doom. For some minutes he stood there, -playing the light over every visible inch of the room, particularly -along the floor. Suddenly he started as if a dazzling ray had darted -through his mental fog. - -“By thunder!” he muttered. “I’ll bet----” - -In another three seconds he was flat on the bedroom floor, shooting the -light along the under side of the bed. He saw a series of squares of -rope, upholding the thick corn-husk mattress. Within each square the -mattress bellied downward. And in one of those rounded curves of cloth, -near the outer edge of the bed, opened a hole. - -Douglas lay there, staring up at that hole, until his position grew -cramped. It was round and smooth-edged; the edges looked worn, as if -something had often passed in and out--something scaly, perhaps, whose -passage would wear away loose threads. The sagging cloth hung not more -than a foot above the floor. And, now that his nose was near it, he -became conscious of a repellent odor--a smell suggesting snakiness. - -“Ugh!” He scrambled to his feet and took a breath of clean air. His -gaze fell on the rent left in the middle of the bed by Nigger Nat’s -steel. Swift aversion to the whole room seized him. He spun about and -stepped out of it. And as he left it he did something he never had done -before--he pulled its creaky door shut behind him. He was through with -that loathsome death-chamber for all time. - -The dead snake now was almost motionless: only the blunt tail still -quivered in reptilian tremors. Giving it only a passing glance, Douglas -stopped before the open staircase and swung the light slowly from side -to side, examining every step. When the all-revealing radiance was -centered on the top he stood as if puzzled. Down to the bottom and up -to the top he played it again. - -“H’m! How come?” he queried. - -The darkness gave no answer. Only the solemn crickets dirged on outside. - -Up the echoing stairs he clumped, and on the groaning boards above he -deliberately moved about, searching the dusty, dusky recesses of the -eaves. Presently the moving light stopped, shining steadily into one -of the front corners. Through the dingy cobwebs festooning the nook he -saw something which brought a satisfied nod. - -“One,” he said. With that he turned away and began descending the -stairs. - -Almost at the bottom, he halted short. The downward-pointing ray had -revealed a thing hitherto invisible despite his careful scrutiny of the -stairs; something which an up-ranging eye never would see, and which -was discernible from above only because the swaying light had happened -to strike on it. - -“Two!” he exulted. “That’s it! I’ve got the combination now. Farewell, -Mister Ha’nt! Your little mystery is busted flat.” - -Yet the thing at which he was looking would hardly seem to be the key -to an enigma. It was only a hole, very inconspicuous in the dirty wall, -at the junction of the lowest step with the door-casing. And the thing -which he had found up-stairs in the corner was merely another hole. - -Resuming his downward way, he trod across the main room, leaned his gun -against the wall, set his lamp on the stove, filled his pipe, sat down -on his chair, puffed smoke, and chuckled. - -“Yes, sir, Mister Rat, you’re caught with the goods at last,” he -informed the lank old rodent on the floor. “You’re the noisy half of -the ha’nt. You’re old and stiff, and your feet used to bump down like -a ghost’s heels. You lived around here somewhere--out in the shed, -maybe, or up under the attic floor--and you used to come out of that -hole in the corner and ramble around, looking for anything to eat. Poor -old Bumpety-Bump, I’ll bet you’re so ancient that you’ve lost all your -teeth; you certainly look nearly starved. Anyhow, you’d find nothing -up there, so you’d bump yourself down-stairs. Probably you smelt my -cheese; I had some when I first came here, and Uncle Eb brought me up a -huge slab of it later on. - -“But when you hit the bottom you were stuck. That door was always shut. -So you’d have to give it up. And with that other hole right handy, why -go back up-stairs? You’d just ooze into that hole and let it go at -that. So would any other sensible man. - -“And that first night, when I came at you with a cannon, you heard me -before I could open the door. So you just dived into the handy hole, -and when I yanked the door almost off its hinges you were tee-totally -gone. And while I was standing there growing goose-flesh you were -probably sitting up in the wall and thumbing your old nose at me.” - -He laughed again in quiet self-derision. - -“It must have been tough, though, to come down here every night, just -drooling for that cheese, and find yourself always blocked. All the -same, that’s all that saved your life. This other gent here, Mister -Side-Winder, must have been rat-hunting every night; that’s why I’ve -never heard rats around here; he got ’em all. And to-night when I left -that door open and you came out--well, you know as much about that as I -do. - -“Mister Spit, our little guest of the evening, must have followed my -noble example and gone to sleep in there. Or maybe he had a hard time -pulling the door open; it does stick when it’s almost shut. Anyhow, by -the time he catapulted himself into the plot of this piece you were -on your way down Mister Rattler’s gullet--which was just as well for -friend Spit, maybe. He could maul Mister Side-Winder then without a -come-back. Glad of it, too. Spit’s manners have been neglected, but -he’s a regular fellow, and I’m glad he didn’t have to go out by the -same route as Jake and Nat.” - -He puffed again, and his smile died. When he spoke again his voice was -cold. - -“And you, Yard-of-Poison--how did you get here? You’ve been here since -spring. Maybe you came out too early, got caught in a cold snap, found -Jake’s door open, came in to get warm. Maybe. Anyway, you’ve been here -since then. You found a hole in the under side of the mattress and -crawled in among the husks for warmth and concealment. At night you -got the warmth of Jake’s body, too. And you paid for your lodging as a -snake would. Some night when Jake got up in the dark for something you -struck his foot. And while he died alone in the black woods behind here -you crawled back into your hole, well satisfied with yourself. - -“Some other fellows came, and you missed them. They didn’t happen to -come near you in the night, or you had caught a rat and were sleeping -it off in your hole. And then I came. And you’re the thing that -rustled the mattress beside me that night, and made the rickety old -bed tremble--you’re the thing I _felt_ in the air, there in the room -beside me. When I looked under the bed you weren’t in sight: you had -stopped when you felt me move. But you came out later, all right, and -you’d have killed me if I’d stepped near you without my boots. And -every night since then you’ve been sneaking around ready to get me. -Lucky I changed beds, and never came out here barefoot for a drink in -the night, and kept my door shut. Maybe Uncle Eb’s right, and there’s a -good angel watching over me. Looks like it. - -“And then Nigger Nat came, and you got him. I owe you one for that, -perhaps. But he was only a tool. If you’d nailed Snake Sanders, now, -I’d be right obliged to you. But you’d never touch him, of course, even -if he stepped on you. He’s your brother.” - -For awhile he smoked in thoughtful silence. The buttonless tail now lay -inert. Within the house the only movement was that of his own puffing, -the only sound the stutter of his wet-stemmed pipe. - -“I wonder,” he resumed at length, “I wonder whether your brother Snake -knows anything about how you lost your rattle. I wonder if he had a -grudge against Jake Dalton. If I ever get him in a corner I’ll ask him -about that. Yes, sir, I will.” - -His pipe stuttered more loudly and went out. A long yawn stretched his -face. Reaching to the lamp, he shut off the gas-flow and stood up. - -“Yes, sir,” he repeated, “I’ll give Snake a third-degree on that -point sometime. And until then I’ll just keep my mouth shut about -your demise. I’ll throw you two folks back into the woods to-morrow, -and I’ll let folks think the ha’nt is still ha’nting. And now, with -your kind permission, I’m going back to bed. Good-night, Mister -Ha’nt--good-night forever.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -CROSS TRAILS - - -November marshaled her gray hosts and marched them across the -Shawangunks. - -Out of the west they came, a slow, silent, grim array of clouds, -drifting steadily above the puny barrier of the mountains, covering the -sky from rim to rim--a vast army which alternately smeared out the sun -and allowed it to break through the gaps between their brigades. At -times they closed into mass formation and drizzled cold scorn down on -the impotent hills and the insignificant dwellers therein. Then they -drew apart and resumed their indifferent, disorderly route-step across -the heavens, perhaps to spit again on the New England mountains farther -east and then swing northward to merge into the fogs and snows of bleak -Labrador. Even when they passed in straggling groups instead of a long -battle-line, they gave the sun scant opportunity to light up the whole -countryside at once, as he recently had done. Ever their chill shadows -were creeping along the ground, darkening long belts of hill and dale -while other strips were agleam with light. Only at night, it seemed, -did they draw off into bivouac, leaving the sky clean and clear. Then -across the land sped their night-flying ally, Jack Frost. - -And with the recurrence of that biting chill the silence of approaching -winter fell on the depths of the Traps. At last the katydids were -still. So, too, were the crickets. By night, when the music of hammer -and drill was hushed and the cheery voices of roosters and hens were -silenced by slumber, the stillness would have been painful but for the -gentle murmur of Coxing Kill, singing softly to itself as it crept -past the humble homes of the hillmen and on into the north. Only a few -weeks more, and even the friendly little stream would lose its voice -under the merciless grip of winter ice. Then indeed stark silence would -hold the great bowl at night--desolate, bitter silence broken only by -the sough of wind-beaten evergreens and the groans of cold-tortured -hardwoods. - -That time was not quite come. But even now the face of the Traps was -gaunt and harsh. Gone was the velvety mask of green which had partly -hidden the austerity of the land; gone, too, the flaunting colors which -had replaced the emerald tone. Through the thinned forest everywhere -showed thickly strewn bowlders and the grim barrenness of crag-face -and naked rock slope. The vistas through the brush lengthened in all -directions. And with this opening of the woods a new, sullen, ominous -noise began to shock the quiet air from time to time--the sulphurous -explosion of gunpowder. - -Thus far, the guns of the Traps had been noticeably silent. Only at -long intervals had one spoken. So dense was the undergrowth that -the Trapsmen, knowing they had little chance of sighting game, had -almost entirely refrained from hunting. But now the deep roar of -muzzle-loading shotguns smashed the stillness early and late, varied -occasionally by the blunt bang of some black-powder rifle. Mother -Nature, hitherto the protectress of her feathered and furred children, -now was betraying them into the hands of men. All hunted things moved -with increasing peril. - -Yes, all hunted things--human as well as animal. Hunted men, and the -friends of those men traversing the brush in furtive missions, were -concealed but thinly now by the leafless branches. And while most of -the hunters prowling the wilds were seeking only meat and sport, there -were also those who stalked more dangerous game. - -Three of them, there were. But they did not work together. In fact, one -of the three avoided the others, who worked always as a pair. Yet their -separate trails crossed at times, and at such times there was a verbal -fencing, a give-and-take of half-humorous banter with an undertone -of menace. Hammerless Hampton, free ranger, hunter of Snake Sanders -and silent partner of Steve, outfaced or outmanœuvred Ward and Bill, -who also sought Snake but whose more important quarry was that same -Steve--and who, consequently, scrutinized Hampton’s movements at every -opportunity. - -“When we git somethin’ on you, Hampton, we’ll gather you right -in,” Ward reiterated in sardonic humor. To which Douglas, with -devil-may-care smile, would reply: “All right. But it’ll take both of -you to do it. How’s business?” - -“Oh, pickin’ up all the time,” with a carelessness that might or might -not be assumed. “We know about where one of our guys is hangin’ out, -but we’ll let him lay until we git to talk to the other one a little. -We’re gittin’ a good vacation, and we ain’t in any rush.” - -How much of this ambiguous answer was true Douglas could not tell. -And, suspecting that it was purposely phrased to evoke questions from -him, he made no queries as to which of the “guys” was being spared -while the other was sought. Nor did he ever allow his eyes to stray in -the direction of Steve’s subterranean cavern; he knew Ward was subtly -tempting him to give some involuntary indication of his knowledge of -the fugitive’s retreat, and he gave none. He observed with misgiving, -however, that the pair now seemed always to be somewhere near Dickie -Barre. - -Ward’s half-jest about the “vacation,” though, seemed to hold much of -truth. He looked like the instinctive outdoorsman, who really would -derive much pleasure from working in rough country. Certainly both he -and Bill showed the good effects of open-air life: the city sleekness -of flesh and redness of face were gone, and they were more lean of -frame, more lithe of movement, brown of skin and clear of eye. Bill -still wore the sour look which seemed habitual, and toward Hampton -he always maintained a grouchy silence--perhaps because he knew he -would get the worst of any verbal encounter. But, from the physical -standpoint, there could be little doubt of his ability to hold his own -with almost any one. He and his mate now were a formidable combination. - -“If it’s not a sassy question, how do you fellows manage to live in -here?” Douglas wondered at one of their unexpected meetings. “Shouldn’t -think you’d find it easy to get food and shelter.” - -“Oh, that’s easy. We’ve got a little shelter of our own, where -nobody’ll bat us over the dome when we’re sleepin’. And for grub, we -have a wagon that comes up every so often from down below; meets us -outside, and we pack in the fodder. Anything else you want to know?” - -“Sure. How much longer are you staying?” - -“Till we git our man, of course. Do I have to keep tellin’ you? It’s -takin’ a little longer than we thought, but we’ll be here as long as he -is.” - -The quiet determination of the tone stirred Hampton’s admiration -despite himself. - -“You ought to be on the Royal Northwest Mounted,” he laughed. “You have -the same stick-to-the-trail doggedness.” - -“I was with ’em,” was the unexpected reply. “Five years ago. Up in -Alberta. Too much snow. Too much horse. Too lonesome. But I know what -stickin’ on the trail means, yeah. This here stuff is nothin’ but play, -lined up alongside of some things I seen.” - -The simple statement was a revelation to Douglas. Bill of Brooklyn, -if left to himself, would have quit in disgust before now. But Ward, -former R. N. W. M. P., would never abandon his quest until officially -called in--or unofficially shot. He would imperturbably stick until -the coming of the snows should make it impossible for any one to carry -food to Steve without leaving a trail. And with the laying of that -trail he would run his man to earth in no time. The sky suddenly looked -very black for Steve. - -But the blond man strove to keep his thoughts out of his face, and -after a few more words he passed on, cudgeling his brain for some means -of helping the fugitive to evade the remorseless power creeping closer -and closer to his covert. A number of ways had previously occurred to -him, but none of them was feasible in view of Steve’s own refusal to -leave his native environment, his determination to die first “like a -wolf--into the rocks or the trees.” Against that immovable decision -what could he do? Nothing. - -Nothing except the thing he now was trying to do--corner Snake Sanders. -If cornered, Sanders might possibly be forced to clear Steve. The hope -was slim, but still there was a chance--_if_ he could corner Sanders! -The thought revolved on itself and maddened him with its futility. The -man Sanders was still eluding him, and, despite Ward’s nonchalance, -undoubtedly was evading the officers also. And the telltale snow which -must reveal Steve’s refuge might come at any time now. - -Through Marion, he knew that the earth-bound boy had fought off his -lung-pains and was somewhat stronger, though by no means well. For the -present, therefore, he was not worrying over the youth’s condition. -In fact, he had asked himself a couple of times why he should take so -deep an interest in the fellow anyway; then he had left the question -unanswered, merely telling himself that “the poor kid’s in hard luck, -and he’d do as much for me--maybe.” He had not faced squarely the fact -that the basic motive for his sympathy was his desire to aid the girl. - -He had seen her several times since the death of the ha’nt, but -only for short periods. Her mother, he learned, still was bitter -against him, and--as perhaps might have been expected from one of her -type--persisted in putting on him some of the blame for the death of -her “man.” Marion herself, though frankly asserting that she had no -patience with such an attitude, was pensive and rather reserved in -manner. Therefore he refrained from unnecessary calls. - -She had asked him, of course, about his success in hunting the ha’nt; -indeed, she had shown unmistakable relief when he rambled into her yard -the next day to ask whether “Spit got home all right.” In pursuance -of his decision to keep hidden for the present the annihilation of -Dalton’s Death, he had answered evasively, telling her truth but not -all of the truth: that Spit had torn madly about in an effort to -escape, that the door had swung open later on and the cat had run -out, that he himself had tired of watching and fallen asleep on his -blankets. “And you can see for yourself,” he concluded, “that nothing -gobbled me.” - -And since then he had been steadily seeking Sanders. He had changed -his hunting-ground now from the vicinity of Snake’s shack to a section -nearer his own house--the long wall of Dickie Barre. Thither he had -been led by an idea of his own, and there he worked day after day with -a grim persistence equalling that of Ward and Bill, coupled with a -methodical thoroughness which they might well have emulated. - -The germ of his idea was the recollection of his first meeting with -Steve and of Marion’s production of the jug which, she said, belonged -to Snake. She had not gone far that morning to get that jug. So, -starting from the well-remembered crack among the bowlders where his -camp had been, he now delved into every crevice and cavern within a -radius of a few minutes’ traveling time from that focal point. - -He found snakes, but none with legs. In one gloomy passageway leading -inward he was halted by a rustle among leaves just ahead. His ears -telling him that the sound was too slight to be made by stealthily -moving feet, he hazarded the light of a match--and found himself in a -den of copperheads. The deadly reptiles had abandoned the well-watered -lower lands and sought higher ground to bed themselves down for the -coming winter, and now they lay in a sluggish knot, nearly buried among -the leaves. Their lifted heads and unwinking stare, however, showed -that they were by no means too numb to attack; and Douglas, though well -booted to the knee, had no desire to tread among them. Moreover, the -presence of the reptiles and the untrodden appearance of the leaves -virtually proved that no man was beyond. Wherefore he withdrew. - -In other recesses farther north he found, at times, evidence of the -occasional visits of men, clandestine or otherwise; the mute testimony -of charred fagots and smutted stone, of scrapes on rock and of -indentations showing that weighty things had stood for some time in -certain spots. These traces, however, all indicated bygone activities, -not recent occupancy. Whatever had been carried on in those crevices -and culs-de-sac, both the equipment and the products now had vanished. -Whether the evanishment was due to the fact that the Law still prowled -about was a question which did not concern the silent hunter. He was -looking for a man, one man; and, not finding that man or his lair, he -moved on without delay. - -Then came an unexpected impetus to his search. One afternoon, as he was -threading his way around a bulk of detritus which obviously contained -no opening, a drab figure detached itself from a massive tree-trunk -near at hand. He looked into the foxy face of the little cooper, David -McCafferty. - -“Jest a-layin’ for a couple o’ squir’ls,” Davy explained his presence. -“Havin’ any luck?” - -“Not yet. I’m hunting--snakes.” - -A shrewd nod and a glance around followed. In a hoarse whisper the -barrel-maker informed him: “I hearn ther’s a bad one--wust one round -here--been seen down ’long here a piece. Mebbe ’bout haff a mile or so -down. I dunno nothin’ ’bout it. But ther’ might be somethin’ into it.” - -With another quick look around, he retreated to his tree. Douglas, -without trying to render unwanted thanks, waved a hand and went on. A -little later he heard behind him two roaring gunshots, and hoped Davy -had bagged both his squirrels. - -He did not, however, swing away through the woods for an estimated -half-mile and there resume his conning of the crags. Davy’s directions -had been too indefinite, and he was determined not to leave an -unexplored gap in his steadily lengthening line. His system was to -cover as much ground as he could in each short day, leaving some sort -of marker at the point where twilight compelled him to cease, then -return to that marker the next morning and do another section. Thus, -though his progress through the welter of stone was necessarily slow, -he was making it absolutely sure. And now he held himself to the -deliberate course he had set. - -When the dusk descended he had laboriously made certain that Sanders’ -hide-hole, if he had one along here, was somewhere to the north of a -buttress-jut beside which he had stopped. After fixing that outcrop -firmly in memory and lightly blazing a couple of beech saplings with -his pocket-knife for reassurance the next morning, he swung down -through the brush to the road and home to his cheerless house. - -“Ho-hum!” he yawned over his after-supper pipe. “I’m beginning to -sympathize with Ward. Hunting down a man in this old Indian stronghold -is real work. If it weren’t for Davy’s tip to-day I’d begin to think -Snake was dead somewhere, like Nigger Nat. But there’s no such luck. -Well, Snake, maybe to-morrow night I’ll know more about you.” - -The vague hope was to become terrible truth. To-morrow night he would -know much more about Snake Sanders--including something which would -stagger the entire Traps. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -NINETY-NINE’S MINE - - -Hammerless Hampton stood very still. - -Once more he was among the rocks. But these grotesque bulks around him -were new; he never had penetrated into this group before. In fact, but -for his careful observation of every opening he would not be here now. -He had spied a hole in what seemed to be the solid precipice, beyond -which showed light instead of the usual gloom. Crawling through, he -had found himself in a big space whose existence was concealed by the -false face of the cliff. It was one of the freaks of the long-vanished -glaciers, perhaps, moving outward a long line of solid stone and -leaving beyond it a big gouge in the real butte. At any rate, it was -queer. - -But this was not what held Douglas so quiet; he had long since ceased -to marvel at the fantastic formations along his line of exploration. -Now, after passing among a number of small bowlders--that is, no larger -than a three-room house--he stood beside a hole opening downward. And -beside that hole lay several charred matches. - -In his mind those tiny stubs loomed larger than the long wall itself. -Some man had been here quite recently: at some time since the latest -rain, which would have pelted those cylindrical sticks down along the -sloping stones on which they lay. And that man was no hunter, for no -hunter would ever bother to enter this barren box. Indeed, no hunter -would even find it, for he would be scanning ground and branches, not -the naked rock-face. - -Warily the discoverer glanced at the corners of the surrounding stones. -No spying eye met his; no half-hidden head moved. He looked down again -at the opening. - -It was a hole made by the uptilting of a once horizontal slab. It -was near the true face of the butte. At some time, perhaps not long -distant, a mass of overhanging stone had crashed down from above, a -jutting segment striking this slab at one end and angling the other end -upward and aside by the force of impact. Before then, the horizontal -block had been a sort of trap-door, concealing the cavity beneath. Now, -plain to any eye which should reach this place, the opening revealed a -few flat stones leading downward, markedly resembling crude stairs. - -Across Hampton’s face shot a sudden startled look--the astounded -incredulity of a skeptic beholding in solid actuality a thing which he -had believed to be mere legend. For minutes he stood as if hypnotized -by the gloom below. Then, recovering himself, he stepped very quietly -into a position where he could obtain a more direct view of the descent. - -He saw little more. The steps vanished into the blackness of a vault. -What lay beyond could be determined only by exploration. Exploration -meant light; and, barring the few matches he always carried, he had -no means of illumination. Moreover, he felt issuing from the depths a -draught which probably would kill the feeble match-flames before they -could reveal anything worth seeing. He must return to the house and -bring up his gas-lamp. - -But then, moving again, he caught a glint from down the steps--a glint -of metal. Logic told him that the other man who came here must have -used those matches in lighting a lantern. If that faintly shining thing -down there was it, then the man must be away at present. He stole -closer, straining his eyes--then stepped boldly forward. There was -little doubt now that he saw the circular top of a cheap oil lantern, -and he believed he could also make out the dull-colored wire bail. - -With some difficulty he folded himself up enough to crouch under the -tilted lid and begin descent. After a couple of steps he could move -more easily, and by the time he reached the lantern he was erect again. -Lifting the lantern, he shook it and frowned. The light swash at the -bottom told him that the oil was almost exhausted. - -If a large cave lay beyond, he would have to be careful not to go too -far from the entrance. Left lightless, he might find himself in a -desperate plight. Even as the thought passed through his mind there -came to his ears a faint gurgle of subterranean waters. Yes, he must -watch his step, and his flame too. But he would see what he could. - -Two matches were extinguished by the damp draught as he sought to light -the blackened wick. The third, however, communicated its flame to the -oily weave, and the snapping down of the sooty chimney preserved the -dim shine within. Unlike the owner of the lantern, Douglas did not -leave his match-stubs where they fell. He gathered them up and dropped -them into a pocket. - -Gun ready, he stole on downward. There were perhaps a dozen more of -the steps, not one of which was truly horizontal; all sloped in one -direction or another, and no two were of the same height. Some were so -poorly balanced that they rocked under him, and all evidently had been -piled in by unskilled human hands, long ago. But Douglas, cat-footed -from his daily experience among the bowlders, passed down them as -easily as if they had been a marble staircase constructed by expert -workmen. They terminated on a downgrade of damp, hard earth. - -The passage led on, narrow but fairly straight, for quite a distance. -All at once it broadened out. At the same time the blackness became -noticeably less dense. Faintly, here and there, showed grim rock -walls--mere patches of stone, vague in the farther gloom, revealed -by wan daylight filtering through some crevices high up and opening -eastward. Simultaneously the hollow gurgle of the running water -increased in volume. It sounded somewhere beyond. - -A moment Douglas stood there, straining his eyes, seeing little. The -dim lantern-light seemed to hinder rather than to help, preventing his -pupils from dilating to the full width which might have brought more of -the place into view. He felt an impulse to extinguish it. But it would -go out of its own accord all too soon; perhaps if he did blow out the -flame the wick would refuse to take a new light. He let it burn, and -began moving about. - -Before he moved far, however, he retraced his steps and spread on the -uneven floor his handkerchief. Three corners of the cloth he folded in -to the center, leaving the fourth protruding in a white angle toward -the entrance. With this marker in place he advanced again, watching the -dirt for any yawning crack, pausing to look around, then resuming his -way. After a little while he reached the farther wall, having found -nothing. There he halted. - -The light-crevices were plain enough now--mere cracks in the stone, -back whence he had come, from twenty to thirty feet up. Off to his left -sounded the rumbling of the water: an eerie, gruesome noise unlike -the gentle murmur of Coxing Kill; a gargling and choking, as if some -inhuman monster were gulping at an unseen Styx. Before he could decide -whether to go and look at it, something to the right caught and held -his gaze--a shadowy, shapeless thing which gave the impression of -solidity but not of stone. He worked toward it. - -As he approached, it took on form and outline--a confusion of ancient -timbers and rock-chunks which seemed to be a tumble-down furnace, -or something of the kind. Just what it might have been he could not -determine at once: but it certainly was a work-place, and very old. - -His toes stubbed on something. The lantern proved the obstruction to -be the remains of a heavy hammer, half eaten away by rust. As he moved -again, his lantern-light glinted dully on metal not far from the ruined -forge--if forge it was. His interest quickened. Metal not dimmed by -rust--what was it? - -Stepping toward it, he stumbled again. A heavy, dull-colored obstacle -on the dirt had blocked his feet. It was not especially large, but it -certainly was solid, as his tingling toes testified. It seemed to be a -rudely shaped bar of metal. And it was not rusty. - -“Great guns!” he breathed. “Is it true? Silver? Tarnished silver?” - -As he stared at it, it began to grow dim. Was it about to vanish into -the ground like a legendary treasure? No, it was not sinking; it was -still there; but---- - -The light was going out. - -The little flame had shrunk. It still was shrinking. Angrily he shook -the lantern. A thin--very thin--slosh of oil answered him. There was -still a little fuel--enough to last several minutes, at least. But the -wick must be short. - -The shaking gave a brief respite. The flame revived a trifle, feeding -on the oil-dregs thrown on the wick. Swiftly he stepped toward the -glimmering thing he had first seen. It was on the floor, and beside it -rose a number of those solid bars, piled like wood. It was a tin can, -recently emptied. - -After one glance at it he pushed rapidly on toward the outer wall, -determined to see as much as possible by the last light in the lantern. -He found still more of those bars, and, beyond them, something made -much more recently: a thick, comfortable bed of leaves, on which lay -open a coarse, dirty quilt. Beside this, at what seemed to be the head -of the primitive couch, and within easy reach of a man resting there, -stood a big jug. Somehow it looked familiar. Its nozzle was plugged -with a stout corn-cob, and--yes, on one side was an old smear of green -paint! - -“Thought so,” nodded Douglas. - -Memory was depicting a bygone morning among the rocks to the south; a -red-haired girl, a gaunt-faced youth, a jug which the girl declared to -be the property of Snake Sanders--a jug bearing the same green splotch. -Its presence here was conclusive evidence. - -All was growing dusky again. The light was going for the last time. -It was no longer a flame, but a mere sunken line, turning blue; and -from the spent wick rose a warning reek. With a shake that made the -foul globe chatter angrily within its wires, he turned and gripped one -of the cold metal bars. For its size, it was astoundingly heavy. He -had meant to carry it under one arm, but its sullen weight and clammy -slipperiness forced him to hug it in both. With bar and gun both -cradled across his body and lantern dangling crazily from one finger, -he moved for the exit. - -It seemed to be nearer than he had thought. The last flickers of the -expiring light revealed a black gouge in the wall. Into it he turned, -muttering to the lantern: “All right, quit! I don’t need you any more.” - -The overworked wick did quit, leaving him in utter blackness. Half a -dozen more steps he took, watching for the first vague dayshine from -beyond. Then he halted as if petrified. He remembered his handkerchief. -And he remembered that he had not seen it on turning in here. - -Carefully he lowered his burden. With hands free, he struck a match. - -“Wow! You can back-track, Mister Man!” he muttered. - -Less than a yard ahead opened a wide rift in the floor. One more step -in the dark would have trapped him in a pit where death, swift or -slow, would inevitably have obliterated him; death from the fall, from -starvation, or from Snake Sanders’ merciless hands. - -“Yes, you can back-track,” he repeated. “Wouldn’t Snake have a lovely -afternoon with you if he found you in there, all busted up? He’d drop -in a few of his squirmy chums to keep you company, most likely, and -have the time of his life watching the show. And if he didn’t find you, -nobody else ever would. Now use your brains, Hamp, if you have any, and -find the right way out.” - -Conning the situation, he realized that the most important feature was -saving matches, of which he had very few. Therefore he groped until he -had located bar, gun, and lantern; gathered them up, turned carefully, -and felt his way back by keeping an elbow against the rough wall of -the false passage. When the stone ended he halted again, laid down -everything, lit another fire-stick, and, carefully shielding the flame -from draught, advanced to the left. As he walked he counted his steps. - -Three matches in turn burned out. The third, however, brought him -within sight of a white splotch several feet to his left. The fourth -proved it to be his pointer. - -He now had only two matches left. But he knew the number of steps, -including the turn he had made toward his handkerchief: he had the -vague crevice-lights to aid his calculations for the return, and he had -approximately the right direction in mind. Deducting from his total -count the few steps taken on the last angle, and concentrating every -sense into the task of traveling straight, he marched back through -the darkness. So true was his course that with the last step his foot -struck the invisible lantern. - -Once more loaded, he sought the exit, saving both matches. But his -steps were a trifle shorter now that he was burdened, and he also -strayed a little from his line. It took both matches to set him right -at the end; the second was almost out before he could even see the -white, and before he could reach the marked spot the light was gone. -However, he found the opening in the wall; and when he went groping -along the passage he had retrieved his handkerchief. The only traces of -his visit now were the last two match-butts, which he had had to drop. - -The wan light of day had seldom been so welcome as when, after a -scraping, stumbling journey, he emerged at length at the crude -staircase. With a long breath of relief, he clambered up to the -step whereon he had found the lantern. There he replaced the grimy -light-giver on the exact spot where he had discovered it. On upward he -continued, and out from under the tilted lid he crept. - -No new sign of human presence was visible outside. He strode around the -nearest bowlder. Behind its sheltering bulk he laid down his bar of -loot and began close inspection of it. - -With his clasp-knife he scraped away an accumulation of dark sediment, -baring a narrow strip of the true metal. From the clean space shone a -dull silvery gleam. - -“By thunder!” he breathed. “Sure as shooting, it’s---- But wait, now. -Let’s see.” - -He dug the point of the strong blade into the metal. Turning it, he -easily cut out a conical chunk. After scanning it an instant, he -pressed his thumb-nail down on one circular edge. The nail bit out a -clean gouge. For a couple of seconds more he stared at the little plug -of metal, at his knife-blade, at his nail and the end of his thumb. -Then he lifted his head and laughed--silently, but so heartily that -tears came to his eyes. - -He knew now what it was that the long-dead Ninety-Nine had dug from the -bowels of that shadowy cavern; what it was that the Indian who sought -the aid of old Elias Fox had borne away from the mine; what the old -man’s sly glimpse had depicted as virgin silver, and what his son and -grandsons since had sought until crushing doom annihilated one of them. -His laughter ended as he eyed the great block whose fall from above -had pried up the stone trap-door. That might be the very mass which -had hurtled down on Will Fox. Under it even now might be lying his -splintered bones. - -Dubiously he eyed the cliff above, half dreading another such fall. But -there was no overhang of stone now, no danger of another drop. He let -his thoughts run back again. - -Long ago he had perceived the flaw in the tradition that “where the -sun first strikes the wall, there is the mine.” The sun, moving north -or south with the changing seasons, would cast its first beams on -different points of the wall at varying times of year. Even when he had -climbed the Mohonk slope to see the sun rise he had been aware of this; -and since then he had relegated the whole story to the realm of myths. -Yet the mine was real enough, and he had found it at last; and, through -his good-humored promise to Lou Brackett, part of it belonged to her. - -But Snake, Lou’s own man, had found it before him. This was why he had -been so elusive of late; this was where he had been most of the time, -evading all eyes and perhaps working to get more mineral from the vein. -Was it likely that he would share his secret with Lou? Hardly. Perhaps -he intended soon to drive her from him, and hoped--the thinker’s face -hardened--hoped with his new-found wealth to gain possession of Marion. - -The thought brought him to his feet. Where was Snake now? What was he -doing? Was all well down below? But then, as if in answer, arose the -vision of glacial gray eyes and the echo of ominously quiet words: -“Pop’s gun--I got it ready--if Snake comes a-pesterin’ round he won’t -never walk outen our yard!” - -The self-reliant girl was well able to defend herself. He need not -worry. But he began moving away, leaving behind him the soft silvery -bar. One last glance he threw at it, and a hard smile twitched his lips. - -“It was a treasure in Indian days,” he thought, “and I haven’t a doubt -that you, Snake, you ignorant reptile, think you’re a coming silver -king. But you’ll never make much money out of those few bars of lead!” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -SNAKE STRIKES - - -“Snake Sanders has kilt his woman!” - -Aghast, Douglas stood in his dark doorway, staring down into the -upturned face of Marion. Around them the dusk was thickening into -night, and in the shadow of his porch it was dim indeed; but through -the gloom the eloquent gray eyes and the hushed voice spoke the same -shocked horror, pity, and wrath that stirred in his own soul. - -“Killed her? Killed Lou Brackett?” he repeated slowly. - -“Yes. She ain’t dead yet, but she can’t live long. Poor woman, it’d -been a lot better for her if she’d missed that tree--she wouldn’t be -sufferin’ now. But then, there wouldn’t be a proof against him if she -had. Where you been all day? You must be the only one into the Traps -that ain’t heard. I was down here twice--I wanted to tell you so’s -you’d look out. They ain’t caught Snake yet, and he might--well, you -better watch out.” - -She turned, sweeping the darkling road with her eyes. Nothing moved -there. No sound came, except the doleful sigh of a cold night breeze. - -“Come in.” He moved back. “I want to know all about this. The fire’s -going--I was just getting supper. Come in and keep warm.” - -For an instant she hesitated, instinctively dreading entrance into the -sinister house where her father and Jake Dalton had met nameless doom. -But then, realizing that Douglas had lived here for weeks without harm, -she followed him in. Her moving feet made an unwonted noise on the -boards--the patter of leather-heeled shoes, which the gnawing chill had -at last compelled her to don. The sombre echo of the sound in the bare -room halted her again. - -“Ain’t you got a light?” she requested. “I--I don’t like this place, so -dark and holler.” - -“I’ll light up. Take this chair.” The one chair in the place came -rumbling toward her, and she sank on it as he worked on the lamp. When -the white flame was lighting up the room he set the illuminator on the -table and turned to her, neglecting to draw the burlap window-curtains -which he had made some time ago. - -“I was up in the rocks all day,” he explained. “Found something, too, -that may help to catch Snake. But now tell me all about it.” - -“Well, this is what I hear, and it’s what Lou said her own self after -she got so’s she could talk. Snake took her up on top the Big Wall last -night and throwed her off----” - -“Good God! Threw her off the Wall?” - -“That’s right. Snake ain’t been to home much lately--you know that--but -he’s come in a few times, and then he was so ugly to her she dasn’t go -lookin’ round to find out where he was when he was away. He told her -if she stepped a foot away from the house he’d know about it, and he’d -fix her so’s she wouldn’t be able to walk or talk any more, and if -anybody come a-huntin’ him she’d got to say she didn’t know where he -was, and so on. But last night he come in ’long toward dark, and he was -laughin’ fit to kill. And he said he’d got an awful good joke onto the -detectives. - -“She asked him what ’twas, of course, and he wouldn’t tell her. But he -said he’d show her if she’d hurry up to the top of the Wall. He said -the detectives had got into the rocks down under the Wall, and when she -could see what they were up to she’d ’most die laughin’. But she’d have -to come and see it her own self. - -“Well, Lou, she--she ain’t very bright, you know. And she was so -glad to see him good-natured and so curious about this joke onto the -detectives, she went right ’long up there with him. And he went right -to the edge and looked round a little, and then he says: ‘There! See -’em, right up under here? It’s a-gittin’ dark down there, but look -close and you’ll make ’em out. Ain’t that funny, now?’ - -“Lou, she couldn’t see anything but rocks. But he kept a-tellin’ -her she was too far back, so she edged up closer and closer, still -a-lookin’. Then all of a sudden she heard Snake laugh again, and he had -sneaked behind her, and that laugh scairt her. She looked round quick, -and he was grinnin’ like death. And before she could move he shoved her -off. The murderin’ copperhead! He’d brought her up there jest to kill -her.” - -Her fingers, twining and intertwining over one knee while she talked, -gripped hard. Unable longer to sit still, she sprang up. - -“D’you know where he is? If you do, git him quick! Lou wasn’t a friend -to me--she hated me--but he’s got to be kilt for what he done! He----” - -“Go on,” he broke in. “Tell me all of it. Then I’ll see what we can do.” - -“Yes--yes, that’s right. Well, Lou would have been kilt right quick, -only for one thing. There was a tree part-way down, growin’ right off -the face of the wall, the way they do sometimes--a hemlock, stickin’ -out on a slant. And Lou struck right into it. She was fallin’ awful -fast, and she hit it so hard it--it hurt her terrible; and the tree -tore off from the little ledge, and it went ’long down with her. She -landed into the rocks, of course. But that tree had stopped her enough -so that the rocks didn’t kill her. - -“She laid there a long time, and when she got her senses back it was -all dark. But then a light showed right close by, and what d’you s’pose -she saw? Snake! Snake, with an ax into one hand and a lantern into the -other, a-lookin’ for her! - -“He must have seen that tree stop her, and he’d come down through the -Gap and worked ’long through the rocks to be sure she was dead. He -was a-callin’ to her, and sayin’ he’d help her, and so on. But she -kept dead still. She was into a shadow beside one of the rocks, and he -went right by her. She never moved till he quit lookin’ and come back, -swearin’ at her and the dark and everything. And then when she was sure -he was gone, she started crawlin’.” - -She stopped again, her hands clenched. Douglas, visioning that awful -scene at the base of the night-bound crags, stood with jaw set. -Presently she resumed the tragic narrative. - -“I dunno how she could do it, but she did--she crawled down through the -rocks and over pretty near to the road. It took her more’n half the -night to do it--it was ’most two o’clock into the mornin’ when they -found her. She couldn’t git any further, and she laid there a-cryin’ -and a-screamin’---- Oh, why does God let a devil like Snake live? Seems -like He ain’t much good to let sech things be! - -“But anyway, there was two fellers out coon-huntin’, and the dogs had -run a coon up that way, and they found Lou. It was Tom Malley and Joe -Weeks--they live ’way ’long on the Paltz road, and they’d drove up this -way to hunt. They went and got their wagon and put Lou in and took her -down to the Malley place, and while Tom’s folks did what they could -he put for the doctor, ’way over to Paltz. The doctor, he says she -might live a few days, but that’s all. She’s awful tough, like all the -Bracketts--they die hard. But she can’t live; she’s hurt too bad.” - -“And she was able to tell about it?” - -“Yes, a little to a time. And Missus Malley, Tom’s wife, she was sharp -enough to have it all wrote down. There’s quite a family of ’em, the -Malleys, and the oldest boy is quick at writin’, folks say; and she -made him set there by the bed and write down every word Lou said. The -doctor said that was a right smart thing to do, and the detectives -said so too. They didn’t have to ask her----” - -“The detectives? Did they go down there?” - -“One of ’em did. T’other stayed here. They’re both here now. Tom Malley -was so mad he drove up here this mornin’ and told everybody he come -across about it, and he met the detectives, and one of ’em went back -with him--the quiet one that don’t look so much like a bulldog.” - -“Ward. He’s the brains of the combination. And I suppose nobody else -around here is doing anything but talk about it.” - -“Ain’t they? You’re the only one, Mister Hammerless Hampton, that -ain’t! Our fellers are kind of rough, mebbe, some of ’em, but they -don’t set still after a thing like this! Every gun into the Traps is -out after Snake, ’ceptin’ yours and mine. And mine’s been waitin’ for -him ever since pop got kilt.” - -“So has mine,” he reminded her. “What are the boys doing?” - -“They’re a-watchin’ every way out of the Traps. They know he ain’t -gone--they ’most caught him this afternoon, up to his house. He didn’t -know about Lou bein’ alive and found, I s’pose, and he was gittin’ his -stuff together as if he was goin’ somewheres--gun and food and oil and -so on---- What would he want oil for, I wonder? Anyway, he skinned out -of a back winder when they jumped in at the door. Job Clark shot at -him, but he missed, and Snake got into the woods and they lost him. But -the house is bein’ watched now, and so’s every road and trail. He’s -got his gun, though, and if you’re a-goin’ to stay in to-night you’d -better lock up tight. He might come and git you. And now I’d better go -home.” - -“Wait. I’ll go along with you. But let me figure on this thing first.” - -For a silent minute or two he fixedly regarded the blank wall. As -steadily, she watched him. Soon he nodded. - -“That’s the best way,” he said, half to himself. “I’d like to get him -single-handed, but if he should get me instead--nobody else would know -where he was hanging out. Yep, I’ll take some of the boys with me.” -Turning his gaze to her, he announced decisively: “By to-morrow noon -Snake will be dead or in a trap he can’t squirm out of. I found his -hole to-day, and as soon as daylight comes I’ll get some of the fellows -together and we’ll bottle him up. No use trying it to-night--I couldn’t -find the place myself in the dark. But if all the trails are watched he -can’t go anywhere else, and getting him will be easy. All we have to do -is to sit around like a bunch of terriers watching a rat-hole, and when -he comes out--nothing to it!” - -“Where? Where is it?” she demanded. “Are you sure it’s his place? -Mebbe--mebbe some of the boys----” - -“No, it’s none of the boys,” he smiled. “The boys have cleaned up -all their places lately--hid everything somewhere, so the detectives -wouldn’t see too much if they went poking around. And I know this -is Snake’s place because his jug is there--green paint on one -side--remember? I’ll tell you all about it some other time. But -now--say, here’s an idea! I’ll try to get those detectives both up -there, and while we know where they are you go to Steve and try to make -him leave that cold hole of his and find a better place. If he wants to -make a run for it and leave the Traps awhile, nobody’ll stop him----” - -A shake of the head negatived his budding plan. - -“He won’t run, and he won’t change, and he won’t listen to sense,” she -declared. “He’s more set and wild than ever now. He’s got to git Snake, -he says, ’fore somebody else does. I hadn’t ought to told him, mebbe. -But I did tell him--I went to him jest now and told him ’bout Lou and -all. I jest got back from there--I ain’t even been home yet. I wish I’d -kept still. He’s crazy as a coot. He swore he’d come out and git Snake -his own self, detectives or no detectives, and he’d take pop’s gun to -do it with. I had an awful time quietin’ him down. He’s sick again, -too--his lung’s bad some more.” - -“Good Lord! Sick again?” - -“Yes, sick again. He looks awful bad. I dunno if he---- But I’d better -git ’long home. He’s so wild about Snake he might come and git that -gun, sick or no sick.” - -“But you said you quieted him down.” - -“Mebbe I did. I hope so. I told him he couldn’t have that gun ’cause I -had to have it my own self, and that made him shut up. But he wouldn’t -promise to stay where he was--he wouldn’t say yes or no or nothin’. And -he’s so bull-headed when he gits his mind set, he might---- Well, I’m -a-goin’. G’by.” - -As she turned doorward, he stopped her with a swiftly formed decision. - -“Just a minute more, Marion. I’m going with you, as I said before; and -I’m going to stay. My job to-night is going to be standing guard at -your house. Then you and your mother can get a good sound sleep. It -isn’t Steve I’m thinking about--it’s Snake. If he intends to call on -anybody to-night it’s more likely to be on you than on me. So if you -don’t mind my sitting on your steps----” - -The sentence never was finished. Nor was the plan ever carried out. - -As Douglas turned to step toward his hat, coat, and gun, the front door -jumped inward. - -Snake Sanders, shotgun leveled at his hip, evil face aflame, stood in -the room. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -TRAPPED - - -Swift and sudden as was the appearance of that murderous figure, it was -little quicker than the movements of Douglas and Marion. - -For one fleeting second the pair stood as if petrified. For the same -time Snake halted as if blinded. Coming from the outer dark, he had -sprung straight into the brightest beam of the gas-lamp, which happened -to be centered on the doorway. The shock to his optic nerves was too -great to be overcome at once even by the instinctive narrowing of his -lids. He wavered aside, trying to dodge the sight-searing ray without -taking his gaze from the man he hated and the girl he coveted. - -Simultaneously the trapped pair leaped. - -Douglas lunged toward his own gun--and tripped over the forgotten low -chair. Marion sprang between him and the menacing muzzles which jerked -to cover him anew. - -“Don’t you!” she screamed. “Don’t you dast shoot!” - -The clatter of the overturned chair and the thump of a solid blow -terminated her words. Douglas, unable to regain his balance, had -pitched headlong against the stove. The impact dazed him. He fumbled, -strove to rise on legs that seemed useless. - -Snake’s venomous face split in a lethal grin. With a hissing laugh he -sidestepped, jumped forward, snapped the gun-stock to his shoulder. - -CRASH! - -Buckshot cannoned toward the groggy man reeling up from the floor. - -But the frightful charge of leaden death missed. With the muzzle less -than six feet from its victim--it missed. It smashed through a window. -The bellowing shock of the discharge roared out into the silent night, -reverberating far along the crag-girt Traps. - -Marion had leaped again. With the lightning speed of a maddened -catamount she had struck at the gun, knocking it aside just as the -hammer fell. Now she was gripping the twin barrels in both her strong -young hands, wrenching and yanking in a furious effort to wrest the -weapon from its owner. - -“Leggo!” snarled Snake. “Leggo, ye red cat!” - -“I won’t--I got you now--Douglas!--Git him!” - -She strained in frenzy, jerking, twisting--but ever keeping the muzzles -pointed upward. - -Stunned anew by the concussion so near his head, Douglas did not hear -her panted command. Nor did his numbed brain turn him of his own accord -toward his shotgun. Though he had carried that weapon habitually of -late, he was not a born gun-fighter; and now, in his foggy condition, -he acted only by primitive instinct. But he was acting. He had regained -his feet, seizing the upturned chair as he rose; and now he was -lurching forward, poising the chair for a crushing down-blow. - -With a louder snarl Snake heaved himself backward, dodging away from -the oncoming menace and swinging up his gun with all his power, -striving to break the girl’s hold. But she hung on. Lifted clear of -the floor, still she hung on. And Douglas, his senses quickening every -instant, pressed in faster and harder. - -“Got you!” Marion gasped. “Right into the house--where you--kilt my -pop----” - -_Smash!_ - -Glass shattered. Through the side window licked a length of dull steel. -Douglas almost collided with it. He halted. It was another gun-barrel. -And it covered Snake and Marion. - -“Marry!” crackled a harsh voice. “Git ’way! He’s mine!” - -Behind the cocked hammers of the gun glimmered a white face: a drawn, -haggard face dominated by hollow eyes in which gleamed cold ferocity. - -“Git ’way! Git back! Leggo that ’ere gun! I’m a-shootin’!” came the -ice-edged voice again. But the commands ended in a cough, followed by a -choked moan of pain. The muzzles wavered. Then they steadied again. - -That voice, that face, that gun, seemed to freeze Snake. Fear shot -athwart his contorted visage. His arms turned limp. Marion, feet again -on the floor, hands still desperately clutching the steel, flashed -a glance at the window, another at Snake--and tore the gun from his -relaxing fingers. An instant too late he snatched for it. It was gone -from him, and its muzzles--one impotent, but the other deadly--were -four feet away, yawning at his face. - -“Good gal!” A freezing chuckle sounded at the shattered frame. “Don’t -ye kill him less’n he jumps--he’s mine! I got to talk to him a minute -’r so, an’ then---- Hamp, shove up the winder! I’m a-comin’ in.” - -“Can’t, Steve,” Douglas replied mechanically. “Never could get this -sash up. It’s warped solid. Come around.” - -The fierce face hung in the dimness a moment longer before it moved. -Then, reluctantly: “Awright, if I gotta I gotta. But ye watch him -close! He’s a snake--if he moves bust him!” - -As the barrel withdrew Snake darted desperate glances at the pair. -He saw a tense, ready girl, flame-haired, flame-eyed, holding him at -bay like an angel of vengeance; a grim-jawed man who once before had -knocked him senseless, who had been relentlessly trailing him for many -days, who now stood alert and all too eager to avenge three attempts on -his life. But if he could only dodge that one barrel and dive through -the window---- - -“Don’t try it!” the hard voice of Hammerless Hampton warned. “If she -should miss you I wouldn’t! I’m only holding off because you’re Steve’s -meat. Make one little move and----” - -The threat of the hovering chair was all too plain. - -Snake licked his thin lips, shot a look doorward--then shrank back -as if trying to merge himself with the unyielding wall. A moment ago -he had plumbed the hot eyes of Wrath. Now he looked into the stony -countenance of Revenge. - -Steve was in the room. Steve, born like a wolf, wild as a wolf, now -was merciless as a wolf. Through his matted black hair his cavernous -eyes glared in concentrated hate; across his bristle-bearded mouth -stretched a fang-toothed grin; in his creeping step was the stiffness -of a timber-wolf about to leap and rend. At his hip hung the battered -double gun of dead Nigger Nat, hammers back like the heads of striking -serpents, triggers tense under wasted fingers, muzzles slipping with -nerve-shattering slowness toward the vitals of the cornered betrayer -and murderer. So appalling was the utter ferocity of that shambling -figure that Marion’s face paled and her weapon sank, while even Douglas -felt ice crawl down his spine. - -“Three year!” the avenger rasped through his teeth. “Three year I done -for ye! I’d ’a’ died, only I swored I’d git ye, Snake--I’d git ye -’spite o’ bars an’ walls an’ guards an’ all hell! An’ now’s yer time to -pay! Ye’re gone!” - -Snake’s face writhed again. Desperately he strove to avert his doom. - -“Steve, ye’re wrong! I tried to git ye clear----” - -“Shet up! Ye dirty liar! Ye----” - -“But wait, for Gawd’s sakes! Gimme a chance to tell ye! Ye was drunk -that night--ye was wild--crazy--I couldn’t handle ye. Ye got ’way from -me. Fust I knowed, the place was a-burnin’ an’ ye a-shootin’--I resked -my own life a-tryin’ to git ye ’way--don’t ye mind me a-haulin’ ye down -the road an’ the Bumps a-shootin’ after us an’ how ye tumbled sudden? -I thought they’d hit ye, kilt ye, an’ I had to look out for myself -then. Mebbe ye don’t ’member--ye was so drunk----” - -“Ye lie! I was drunk--ye got me drunk a-purpose--but I can ’member -better’n ye think I can. Drinkin’ never makes me crazy: it makes me -sleepy: but a thing that happens when I’m drunk stays clear into my -head when I’m sober ag’in. Ye can’t wiggle out, ye p’ison varmint! I’m -a-shootin’ right quick. But fust ye got to tell me how ye kilt Nat. -Wha’d ye do to him? Speak up, blast ye!” - -“I never!” Snake’s voice rose to a scream. “I never! Last I see o’ Nat -that night he was a-trompin’ round the road crazy drunk. I was Nat’s -friend--I been your friend--I’m here now ’cause I’m friends with all -the Oakses! Lookit that feller Hampton! He’s yer wust enemy! He set the -’tectives onto ye--he tolled Marry into this ’ere house to-night--he’s -a-gittin’ her ’way from ye--he’s doin’ ye dirt to every turn!” - -The desperate play to distract Steve’s attention almost succeeded. It -was a diabolical stroke at the hard-bitten youth’s innate distrust of -outsiders and at his jealousy. So unexpected was it that for an instant -Douglas and Marion stood staring blankly; and Steve, brain aflame, -nearly turned to confront them. Had he done so, Snake could have -jumped, shoved him toward Marion, and sprung out of the door before -either of the guns--or the chair, which Douglas had lowered--could stop -him. - -But he did not quite succeed. Steve’s eyes turned, but the deadly -muzzles did not swing more than an inch. Then, just as a sinuous quiver -of forthcoming action ran through Snake, eyes and muzzles darted back -at him. Simultaneously Douglas stepped forward with fists clenched and -Marion with gun lifted. - -“Hold up a minute, Steve,” Douglas requested ominously. “I owe him one -for that. You, Snake! Step out and put up your hands!” - -“Don’t you!” the girl rebuked him. “He’s a-tryin’ a trick! Steve, it’s -all lies! I’ve got a good mind to kill him my own self. But I ain’t -a-goin’ to, and don’t you shoot him neither. What good will it do -to----” - -“I been waitin’ three year! What ye think--I’ll let him loose now?” A -harsh cackle followed--ending in another of those involuntary moans. -Steve lurched slightly. His face drew even tighter. “Keep off, the both -o’ ye!” he gasped. - -“Make him tell the truth!” Douglas shot back. “Give him to the -officers--they’ll get the truth out of him--the truth that will clear -you! Don’t you see? You won’t have to hide any more then. You’ll never -have to go back to the pen. And he’ll get what’s coming to him for -murdering Lou. If you shoot him he never can clear you--the law will be -after you all your life! Are you going to kill your own chances? Don’t -be a fool!” - -His rapid counsel stayed Steve’s fingers even as they tightened on the -triggers. So set on personal and deadly vengeance had the youth been -that the thought of making his betrayer rehabilitate him with the Law -had never occurred to him. Even now the idea made but slow headway -against his fixed mania for revenge. But he held his fire, letting the -dazzling possibility grow in his mind. - -“That’s what I was tryin’ to tell you, Steve,” seconded Marion. “He -can’t talk if you kill him! Now you git away--we’ll give him to the -detectives--you git back to the cave and stay there till we tell you to -come out----” - -Snake broke in. He had been squinting wildly at Douglas. - -“Lou? Ye say I kilt Lou? I never! She--she fell often the Wall--I -didn’t have nothin’ to do with it--she got dizzy----” - -All at once his eyes widened, looking beyond them. Douglas half turned, -then forced his gaze back, suspecting a trick. But it was no ruse. -Quiet footsteps sounded at the rear of the room. Then spoke a cool, -authoritative voice. - -“Stand still, everybody. Don’t try anything sudden. We’ll take charge -of this thing now.” - -Three heads jerked around. Snake still stared. From the obscurity of -Douglas’ sleeping-room had issued two men who now advanced watchfully, -right hands under their coats. They were Ward and Bill. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - -AN ACCOUNT IS CLOSED - - -From the surprise of seeing those dreaded detectives two men recovered -quickest--Douglas, who had no fear of them; and Snake, who had every -fear of them. - -Marion and Steve seemed frozen. Their guns had swerved from Snake’s -body. The door still stood open, and between officers and criminal -stood three people. Snake broke for freedom. - -But Douglas had thought of that. Hardly had he glimpsed the officers -when he swung back. At Snake’s first move he sprang. - -Snake reached the doorway. But he went no farther. With the -all-concealing darkness before his eyes--something struck him. An arm -swooped under his jaw, yanking fiercely back on his throat. A knee -smote the small of his back, numbing his legs. A savage fist crashed -under his right ear. He collapsed. - -Still holding his throat-lock, Douglas dragged him back to the middle -of the room and flung him down with a thud that jarred the whole house. - -“Here he is,” he said curtly. “Now grill him.” - -“Good eye, Hampton,” Ward approved, smiling grimly. “We couldn’t -git to him with these kids in the way. Guess you got a whole lot of -satisfaction out of that wallop, huh?” - -“A whole lot!” Douglas nodded, opening and shutting his right fist. -“Now you---- Steve! Quit that!” - -The refugee, his wolfish teeth bared, was slowly backing doorward, his -gun now covering the hated trailers. - -“Yeah!” snarled Bill, reaching backward again. “Put that gun down and -freeze right where y’are! We wantcha, my fine boid!” - -“Ye ain’t got me,” came the hoarse answer. “An’ ye don’t git me! Ye -pull that gun o’ yourn an’ ye won’t never shoot! I got ye cold!” - -It was deadly truth, and Bill knew it. One twitch of the fingers, -and he would be a riddled corpse. But he was brave enough. With his -long-sought quarry at last before him, he did not shrink from the cold -muzzles as he once had from the hammerless gun in Marion’s hands, up -the road. - -“Ya got one chanst,” he growled. “Put that gun down and wait while we -sweat this guy. If he comes acrost ya’ll be free. If ya shoot I’ll git -ya before I hit the floor.” - -“And so will I,” Ward coolly added. “Show some sense! We’re givin’ -you a square deal. Now if you’re guilty as charged, try makin’ your -getaway. If you ain’t, stick around. This guy here is goin’ to talk.” - -Marion also, who had been tensely watching the pair, turned on the -gaunt fugitive. - -“Steve, you heard what he said,” she challenged, looking him straight -in the eyes. “If you shoot or run it’ll show you _did_ burn out the -Bumps! I want to know my own self whether you did or not. You better -stay here.” - -Through a silent pause Steve stood slit-eyed, studying his foes: the -men who had hounded him so long, and the one who had caused that -hounding. Snake was reviving. He was staring blankly upward. On him the -hunted youth’s gaze fixed. Slowly he let his weapon sink. - -“Ye keep often me,” he warned. “I ain’t a-runnin’. But I’m a-keepin’ my -gun. I’m a-stayin’ right where I be. Don’t ye come nigh me!” - -“That’s good enough,” consented Ward, after a shrewd look. “You stay -right there. Now everybody shut up. I want to talk to this guy Sanders.” - -In an undertone, however, he said to Douglas: “Kid looks sick and off -his nut. Is he?” - -“Sick, yes. Lungs. May be pneumonia,” was the muttered reply. Ward -frowned. Then he snapped at Snake. - -“You, Sanders! Git up and talk turkey! We’ve got you dead to rights. No -lies, now!” - -Snake, sitting up, dizzily eyed each hard face. - -“Wha--wha’d ye want?” he muttered thickly. - -“Stand up! Back against that wall! Come on, move! And don’t pull any -gay stuff. You got some explainin’ to do, and the less wigglin’ and -dodgin’ you try the better off you’ll be. Understand?” - -Snake got up, looking confused. The other three also glanced in a -puzzled way at the officers. Here was a murderer, condemned by the -revelations of the woman whom he had hurled to her doom; why did -they not drag him out forthwith? They acted as if they only meant to -question him, and then, perhaps, let him go. - -But Douglas, studying Ward, felt that the man-hunter knew what he was -about, and said nothing. Marion and Steve, too, kept silence. Sanders -slouched against the blank inner wall designated by Ward. - -“Now git this in your head, first off,” Ward said crisply. “We’ve been -in here quite awhile. We’ve been learnin’ a lot--about _you_. It’ll do -you no good to try any lyin’. You come clean, and you may save a lot of -trouble all around. Know what I mean?” - -Snake nodded dubiously, but with hope beginning to glimmer in his -shifting eyes. Douglas saw light. This assumption of omniscience -and of infallibility in detecting falsehood, this intimation that -full confession would benefit the prisoner--these were part of the -stock-in-trade of policedom, as the ex-newspaperman well knew. They -formed both a wordless threat and an unexpressed promise: absolutely -non-committal, yet subtly potent. - -“Well, then, what about this lad? Did he do that burnin’ and shootin’, -or did you? Remember he’s right here, listenin’ to what you say. Bill, -move over a little. Sanders, you look the kid right in the eye. Now -then! What about it?” - -As Bill, hovering ready at Sanders’ left, drew back, Snake turned -unwillingly and looked at Steve. The youth made no movement, spoke no -word; but his glittering eyes bored into Snake’s inmost being. Under -that baleful glare, under the chill scrutiny of four other pairs -of eyes, the yellow soul of Sanders shriveled. He quailed visibly. -Shifting his gaze, he encountered again the piercing orbs of Ward. - -“I--done--it,” he whispered. - -“You did,” Ward repeated clearly. “All right. That’s the stuff, -Sanders, tell it straight. Now just tell the whole thing--why you did -it and how you did it and all the rest of it. You’ll feel better then, -maybe. Come on, spill it all.” - -Snake boggled over the start; but with a little more brisk urging by -Ward, whose manner was as matter-of-fact as if the crime were nothing -more serious than fishing out of season, he began a hang-dog recital. -Ward, reaching into an inner pocket, quietly stepped behind Douglas. -The latter felt a note-book being pressed against his back, followed -by the quiver of a rapidly moving pencil. Unseen by Snake, whose eyes -rested on the floor, the whole story was being recorded. - -Shorn of twists and turns and blundering attempts to show justification -for the attack on the Bumps, the confession corroborated the tale told -by Steve that afternoon in Uncle Eb’s kitchen. Snake asserted that the -Bump crowd had cheated him in a berry-picking deal, stolen some of his -“pick” outright, assaulted him when he demanded his due; all of which -perhaps was true. He denied having plied Steve with liquor in order -to make him a scapegoat, but admitted having deserted him after the -commission of the crime. And, so far as the crime itself was concerned, -he cleared Steve absolutely. - -When his stumbling narrative was concluded, Ward gave him no rest. -Whether or not confession be good for the soul, man-hunters know that -it is good for the ends of justice to keep a criminal talking when once -he has started. Wherefore he briskly asserted: “That’s good, Sanders, -that’s fine. Now tell us what happened to Nat Oaks. You were with him. -Come on, open up.” - -“I--I--I dunno. I warn’t into this house with him. Honest to Gawd!” - -“Not in the house? Outside, though. Sure. Out in the yard, now? You saw -him come out, anyway. What did he do?” - -Snake wriggled; glanced around; licked his lips again; looked -cornerwise into Ward’s eyes. - -“Wal--uh--I tell ye. Nat, he was crazy drunk. He come down here to--to -git Hampton. He was p’ison mad ’bout them dawgs that Hampton kilt. I -come with him--I was tryin’ to git him to go home--I didn’t want no----” - -“Never mind that stuff. What did he do?” - -“He--uh--he snuck in by hisself. I was out into the road. He was into -the house--all to oncet he give a yell an’ he come a-runnin’. He never -said nawthin’--he was a-fussin’, like, into his throat, a-groanin’ an’ -a-grumblin’--an awful kind of a noise! He come a-tearin’ right by me -an’ went _kersmash_ into the bresh, an’ I hearn him a-thrashin’ round -into the dark, an’ then I didn’t hear him no more. An’ I was scairt--I -run right up the road an’ put for home. That’s Gawd’s truth, fellers. I -dunno what got him--’less’n ’twas Jake’s ha’nt.” - -His head was up now, and he looked into the faces of the others as if -telling the truth--or part of the truth. Ward regarded him silently, -perhaps deciding to let the Oaks matter rest. Then Douglas shot a -sudden question. - -“What did you have against Jake?” - -Snake’s jaw dropped. He stared as if a ghost had risen from the floor. -Bill and Ward looked mystified, but watched him keenly. From Steve -sounded a low grunt, as if he partly understood and wholly approved the -question. Marion, a rapt witness of the proceedings, stood awaiting the -answer though not comprehending the purport of the demand. - -“I--uh--me an’ Jake--we didn’t have no trouble,” stuttered Snake. “What -ye mean? We was good friends----” - -“Ye lie!” broke in Steve. “Ye said Jake stole yer licker, an’ if he -done it ag’in ye’d git him! I hearn ye an’ Jake a-rowin’ ’bout it one -time up into the rocks--before I got sent away. Ye told him if he stole -’nother jug o’ yourn he’d find snakes into it!” - -“Aha!” Douglas pounced on the revelation. “And he did steal another, -eh? Did he? Quick, now!” - -The vicious face reddened with quick anger. - -“Yas, he did! He done it more’n oncet--the fat hawg-bellied fool!--he’d -steal every time he got a chance. He was too lousy lazy to make his -own----” - -“And so you chopped off a rattler’s rattle and put the snake in here! -Didn’t you? Hurry up!” - -“Yas, I did, ye smart Aleck! What of it? Puttin’ a snake into a house -ain’t killin’ nobody. I only done it to scare him.” - -“So? A fine way to scare a man--cutting off those rattles! You’ll be -saying next that you only meant to scare me awhile ago when you shot -at me on the floor. You only intended to scare me when you let that -copperhead out of the box on Dickie Barre, maybe--without letting me -know it was there. Of course! You know mighty well what killed Jake, -and Nat, too, and you’ve been expecting the same thing to get me -here--that rattler. Now you all listen a minute while I tell you what -Dalton’s Death was.” - -And for the first time Douglas revealed the truth about the ha’nt. - -“That’s the only reason why you let me live here in peace,” he accused. -“You thought your snake would finish me as it finished Jake. When it -didn’t you put Nat up to stabbing me, while you stayed outside----” - -“Ye can’t prove nothin’!” flared Snake, eyeing him in hot hatred. “I -wisht a dozen snakes had bit ye, ye meddlin’ sneaker! But ye can’t -prove what ye said--ther’ ain’t a witness nowheres! An’ how would I -know the snake had gone to livin’ into the bed? How’d I know it didn’t -go outen the house? I didn’t make it bite Jake--I didn’t know ’twas -here when Nat come--ye can’t prove I put Nat up to comin’--an’ that -shootin’ jest now was a accident--my thumb slipped----” - -“Lies, lies, lies!” Douglas growled. “Accident? The same kind of -accident that threw Lou over the edge of the Wall! But your accidents -are finished now, thanks to the accident that she hit that tree and -wasn’t killed. All right, Ward. I’ll shut up. Take him away.” - -Ward was scowling, as if Douglas had upset his program. But he nodded -shortly and reached under his coat. His hand came away with a pair of -handcuffs. - -“No need of any more grillin’, I guess,” he said. “We’ve got all the -proof we need about the Brackett matter, and this guy can tell his side -to the judge. Stick out your hands, Sanders!” - -Snake seemed paralyzed. His eyes were bulging, and he stared at Douglas -as if disbelieving his ears. His mouth worked twice before words came. - -“She warn’t kilt?” he blurted. “She ain’t dead?” - -“Not yet, but soon,” Ward snapped. “She’s dyin’, but we’ve got her -whole story wrote down and witnessed. Didn’t know that, did you? -Thought the fellows around here were shootin’ at you just on suspicion, -hey? Nothin’ to it, Sanders--you’re up against it cold. You give us the -double-cross once awhile ago, but we’re collectin’ on that little deal -now. Shove out those hands before I bust you one!” - -Utter desperation blanched Snake’s face. His hands began to lift as if -weights were dragging them down. His hunted eyes flickered all about. -Suddenly he stiffened. His left hand flashed up, pointing. - -“It’s a lie!” he screeched. “Ther’ she is--ther’ by the winder! Lou! -Lou! Come in an’ tell ’em it’s a lie!” - -So real was his sudden appeal that involuntarily every man wheeled to -see that imaginary figure beyond. Instantly Snake struck. - -His right fist shot against Ward’s neck, knocking him headlong. His -left smashed into the face of Bill, who was turning back to him. Bill, -too, toppled and fell--but reached for his revolver even as he dropped. -Hampton, jumping at his enemy, collided with the empty wall. Snake was -not there. - -He was flashing across the room. At the window he stopped an instant. -His hand licked out, seized Hampton’s gun leaning against the wall. -He spun about, half leveled it at Hampton, jerked both triggers--got -no answering explosion. The safety was on, locking the weapon against -discharge. With an oath he whirled to throw himself through the window. - -A sharp report cracked from the floor where Bill lay. It was drowned by -a stunning crash beyond the prone officer. The house heaved with the -terrific concussion. Blue smoke blurred the whole room. - -Deafened, Douglas teetered on his heels, peering through the haze at a -mangled huddle under the window. - -Faintly to his numbed ears came a piercing yell of sated vengeance. - -“I got him!” screamed Steve. “Both barrils! _Yeeeeow!_” - -Then, grinning like a mad wolf, the pain-racked boy slowly crumpled to -the floor and lay still. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - -OUT OF THE PAST - - -Three men straightened up and turned slowly away from a shot-riddled -thing which also had been a man. Their gaze centered on another -motionless form a few feet away, its thin hands still clutched around -a battered old muzzle-loader. Beside that silent figure knelt an -anxious-eyed girl, down whose shoulders hung disordered red hair. - -“Well,” said Ward in business-like tones, “this is what I call a good -clean-up. The quicker a snake gits killed the better. This one’s as -dead as they make ’em, and the State won’t have to spend a nickel on -givin’ him a trial and bumpin’ him off. Nor it won’t have to give this -kid any more board and lodgin’ down the river. All we’ve got to do now -is have you folks witness that confession, and then we’ll drift out -and report. Sanders was shot resistin’ arrest, and Bill here done the -shootin’. Ain’t that right, Bill?” - -He winked at his burly partner. Bill grinned heavily and returned the -wink. - -“Yeah. That’s right. Killed by Officer William Moiphy in p’formance o’ -dooty. I dunno if I hit him, but I shot and he croaked, and that’s good -enough for the records. But what about the kid? Hadn’t we oughter take -him out till they fix up the red tape down below?” - -“Nope,” decisively. “We can fix that. Kid can’t travel anyway. Might -kill him. We’ll leave him lay here and git better if he can. More’n -that, I’m goin’ to send that Brackett woman’s doctor up here to tend -to him. Charge the bill up to expenses. The State owes him that much, -anyway. Now, sister, let’s have a look at him.” - -As Ward stooped over the unconscious youth the girl drew back in -instinctive distrust, one hand slipping toward the gun she had captured -from Snake. The man gave her a look half-amused, half-warning. Douglas -spoke soothingly. - -“It’s all right, Marion. Maybe you didn’t notice what was said just -now. Steve’s cleared, and Ward here is going to send in a doctor. These -fellows are leaving--and so am I. Steve will be well soon, and then you -two can get married, and--and--everything’s all right.” - -Despite himself, his last words sounded hollow. He turned his gaze to -the wan face of the wolf-boy, sombrely contemplating the sunken cheeks, -the deep-rimmed eyes, all the painfully apparent ravages of privation -and sickness. He did not observe the sudden amazement in the three -other faces, which turned quickly to his; nor the ensuing tiny tremble -of the girl’s lips. - -“Huh? These two git---- Gee, I thought---- Huh!” muttered Bill, blankly -looking from boy to girl and then back at Hampton. Ward, too, stared; -then, tongue in cheek, looked down again at Steve. - -“Git married? Me and Steve?” breathed Marion. “And you--you’re -goin’----” - -A moan from the floor, a shudder of the ragged body and a trembling of -the hands around the gun, cut her short and drew the attention of all. -The pale lips twitched; the eyes opened, steadied on Ward’s face. The -jaw clicked shut. Steve struggled to rise. - -“All right, lad,” Ward said kindly. “We don’t want you. Take it easy. -You’re in the clear, and Sanders is croaked, and we’re goin’ out and -leave you. Now you’d better git to bed. Hampton, want to put your -blankets around him? And shut that back window of yours. We left it -open----” - -“That’s how you got in?” - -“Sure. We spotted that easy-slidin’ window days ago--made a little -call here and looked things over again, just for luck. I don’t aim to -overlook anything when I’m on a job. So to-night when we heard that -cannon go off we took it on the run, looked in here and saw you had -got Sanders cornered, and eased ourselves in by that window to git an -earful of what you were raggin’ about. It helps a lot sometimes to hear -things without lettin’ folks know---- Huh? What’s that, kid?” - -Steve was trying to break in. Now he gasped: - -“Leave me lay. Go look out for mom. Snake, he mauled her. He went -there--’fore he come here. I found her all----” - -Marion sprang up with a cry. - -“Mom? Snake hurt her?” - -“Yuh--he mauled her awful. She told me--take the gun and--see if ye was -here. I put her on the bed--and I come a-runnin’. She’s hurt bad. Git -to her.” - -Douglas and Bill tensed. Ward straightened with a snap. - -“More dirty work!” growled Ward, with a hard look at the dead man -beyond. “We’d all better git up there. Say, Miss Oaks! How about -bringin’ this Steve to your house? This ain’t a good place for him.” - -“Oh, bring him, bring him! Poor mom! I’m a-goin’!” - -She sped into the night. Ward moved swiftly after her. - -“Bill, you and Hampton fetch him along,” he commanded. And he, too, was -lost in the darkness. - -Hastily Douglas gathered his blankets and threw them around Steve, -who doggedly strove to stand on his own legs but could not. Deprived -now of the vengeful force which had sustained him so long, he was -utterly without strength. But his wasted frame was no burden at all -to the muscles of the two strong men aiding him. And a moment later, -bundled in warm woven wool, he was being borne rapidly along the -road, his tortured chest enwrapped in the bulging arms of the man who -had remorselessly hunted him, his legs upheld by the tall “furriner” -who had stood by him ever since his return from prison walls. Before -the three, the white beam of the gas-lamp lit up the road. Behind, -stiffening in the blackness of the eerie house where at last he had -entrapped himself, lay the creature whose venom would never more menace -the dwellers in the Traps. - -At the door of the Oaks house Ward met them. His face was grave. - -“Put him on this here cot,” he quietly directed. “I’ve got the fire -goin’ and some water on.” Lowering his voice and nodding toward an -inner room where an oil lamp shone feebly, he added: “She’s in there. -Can’t do anything for her. She’s all busted up inside. Hemorrhages. She -won’t last till daybreak.” - -“Talkin’ any?” hoarsely whispered Bill. - -“Nope. Just holdin’ the girl’s hand. She might say somethin’ later on. -We’ll stick around.” - -They lowered Steve to a rickety sofa, opened the blanket-roll encasing -him, and bared his ridge-ribbed chest. Ward tiptoed about and found -mustard and cloths. Bill, clumsily anxious to do something but ignorant -of how to go about it, fidgeted a moment and then appointed himself -guardian of the fire. Steve, lips pressed together, lay still, moving -only his eyes, which went back and forth between Douglas and the -doorway of the inner room. The blond man nodded and stole to the portal. - -Within, he saw two faces: one thin, dark, pillowed in a worn old bed--a -face gray-white beneath its swarthiness; the other fair, rounded, but -white and set, leaning close. Across the mouth of the sufferer lay a -towel blotched with red stains, and from the headboard another hung -ready. The black-browed eyes were closed, and across the forehead above -them softly stroked gentle tapering fingers. On the shabby counterpane -a work-worn old hand and a shapely young one were joined. Somewhere a -cheap clock ticked as if hurrying along the last hours of the injured -woman’s life. That, and difficult breathing, were the only sounds. - -Marion’s head turned, and for a moment her grief-stricken eyes dwelt -on the blue ones at the doorway. Then they returned to the face on -the pillow. Douglas withdrew. In that straight look he had found -confirmation of what his own gaze and Ward’s laconic words had told him. - -He shook his head soberly at Steve and at the other two, watching him. -The boy’s mouth set harder; but he said nothing. Ward went on making -a hot poultice. Bill shifted his feet and awkwardly fed another stick -into the stove. - -“I don’t quite git it,” Ward mused in an undertone, as the three -gathered around Steve. “What would Sanders beat her up for?” - -“For the same reason that he would kill Lou Brackett and shoot at me,” -Douglas explained. “It all fits in together. The reason is--Marion.” - -“Wanted her, you mean?” - -“Exactly. He couldn’t have her and Lou too, so he got rid of Lou. -He threw her off the Wall because that would look like an accident. -A snake-bite wouldn’t do, because folks would be too suspicious, -especially since snakes are denning up now. Any other form of murder, -too, would look bad. A fall off the Wall would be the most natural -thing. - -“Mrs. Oaks, here, hated Sanders, and he knew it. From what Steve -tells us--that she told him to leave her and see if Marion was at my -house--Sanders must have come here determined to drag the girl away to -a hole in the rocks where he’s been hiding lately. She probably cussed -him out--maybe threatened him with the gun--and he thought Marion was -here. So he jumped on her, pounded her like the murderous brute he was, -searched the house, and then came to my place; saw us in there, and -jumped in to finish me and grab her before she could get to my gun.” - -“Sounds reasonable,” Ward nodded, drawing Steve’s shirt together over -the deftly arranged plaster. “He sure was a hard guy. Well, there’s no -more to do now but wait. You git to sleep, lad, if you can. I’m goin’ -out for a little smoke.” - -He passed to the bedroom doorway, looked in, then quietly opened and -closed the outer door. A minute later, outside a window, showed the -flare of a match and the glow of a pipe. - -Time dragged past. Steve lay silent. Bill and Douglas sat wordless. -Ward returned, found some cold biscuit and butter, made a big pot of -coffee, passed them around. From time to time one or another of them -stepped to the door and looked in on the girl keeping her grim vigil; -then tiptoed back and resumed his seat. - -Hour after hour crawled along, measured only by the unfeeling tick of -that cheap clock, which had no hour-bell. Steve slept. Bill dozed, -sprawling in his chair. Ward and Hampton nursed empty pipes. From the -room beyond came occasional choking noises, but no voice. - -Then, low but penetrating, sounded a call for aid. - -“Douglas! Come help me!” - -In six strides Douglas was beside Marion, who was supporting the older -woman’s bony shoulders in her arms. The dark eyes were open now, and -the red-dyed mouth was gasping for breath. - -“She wants to be lifted,” added the girl. “I can do it, but I might -shake her. Jest raise her easy.” - -With a smooth lift he set Eliza against the pillows which Marion -erected at her back. One glance into the ashy face and the glassy eyes -told him that the end was close at hand. - -For a minute or two the dying woman looked fixedly at him. She seemed -gathering her strength. Her gaze went to Marion. Then it centered again -on Hampton’s strong, clean face. - -“I’m a-goin’,” she breathed. “Snake done it. Did ye--git him?” - -“Steve got him,” he answered. “Got him with Nat’s gun. Both barrels. -He owned up first, though, that Steve didn’t burn out the Bumps. Steve -goes free. Everything’s all right. Don’t talk.” - -A wild light filled the fixed eyes. A haggard smile crooked the thin -lips. - -“Steve done it! Nat’s gun! That’s good! Awful good!” - -A sudden cough and a fresh red flow stopped her. Then, instead of -drooping back, she seemed to straighten and strengthen. Her breath -came short, but more easily. - -“I got to talk. Don’t hender me. I ain’t got much time. I got to tell -ye--’fore I go. Marry--ain’t ourn.” - -Douglas started. - -“Not yours? Not your daughter?” - -“No. I never had no--young ’uns of my own. We got Marryin--three year -old. Her pop was--a painter feller. From Noo York. Name was Dyke. - -“He come into here--fourteen year ago--paint pictures. Wife had got -drownded--sailboat sunk into ocean--nigh Noo York, he--told us. He -was awful grievious ’bout it. Come up here to paint an’--git over -it. Brought his little gal--Marryin--all he had left--little rosy -gal--purty as a angel. - -“We was more ’spectable then. Nat he worked--didn’t drink much--hunted -an’ trapped--made a good livin’. Dyke wanted board with us. We let him. -He went paintin’--up ’long the crick--up onto Minnewasky--diff’rent -places. Little Marryin stayed here mostly--’count o’ snakes--daddy was -scairt she’d git--bit if she went ’long o’ him. - -“Dyke was good feller but--quick-tempered--git fightin’ mad like -a shot. Him an’ Nat--they had two-three spats. One time they went -huntin’. Nat come home ’lone. Said Dyke fell offen Dickabar. Kilt. - -“We got him outen--the rocks. Buried him out back. Nat got -drinkin’--talkin’ into his sleep--let out that him an’ Dyke fit ’bout -suthin’. Nat busted his neck. When he see what he--done, he throwed -him--offen Dickabar to look like--he fell by--hisself. - -“’Course I never told. Nat he was my man. Snake Sanders, he--knowed or -’spicioned--I dunno how--but he kep’ Nat scairt. Made Nat do--dirty -work. But he never--told on him. Nor I wouldn’t--tell ye now but--Nat -he’s gone--can’t nobody hurt him now. I’m a-goin’ too--Marry she’ll be -’lone--’ceptin’ for Steve an’--you. One o’ ye’s got to--look out for -her.” - -She gasped, struggled up straighter, fought off the tightening clasp -of Death. Her dimming eyes traveled about the blur of hovering faces. -Except Steve, asleep outside, all in the house now were clustered -around the bed. - -“Ye--Hampton--I been mad at ye--but--ye come from outside--like Marry’s -pop. Marry she--b’longs outside too. Her folks was quality--she warn’t -borned into--Traps. She’d oughter go out. - -“Steve an’ her, they--growed up like brother an’--sister. They knowed -they warn’t--but they been the same. Steve got livin’ with us--I -dunno jest when--he was little feller--he jest come an’ stayed. They -growed--like I said. He’s good boy but--he ain’t fitten to--take care -o’ Marry. Too wild--too young--he ain’t got a stiddy head--ye know what -I--mean. I’d go easier to know she was--took care of by--strong man -that knowed things.” - -She strove to make out the expression on the face of the blond blur -which was Hampton. She could not. But to her failing ears came a -deep-toned, solemn promise. - -“I will take care of her. As if she were my own sister.” - -Another faint smile fluttered and faded. The black head sank back -wearily. Once more the stiffening lips moved. - -“Marry gal--I might of--done better--by ye. I cussed ye--knocked ye -round--but I kep’ ye--safe. Snake nor no other--varmint never--got ye. -I done the--best I--knowed how. I--I’m--a-goin’----” - -A quiver ran from breast to lips. The arms went limp. The body relaxed. - -Nigger Nat’s woman--primitive product of harsh hills, hard-bitten, -hard-spoken, unmannered and unlovely, yet loyal to the last to her man -and the waifs whom she had taken to her craggy heart--had laid down the -burden of life and passed on. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - -THE CALL OF THE SOUTH - - -Brilliant morning sunlight flooded the dingy kitchen-dining-living-room -of the Oaks house. Late though the season was, the southward-rising sun -now lit up the interior more clearly than it ever had in mid-summer; -for its slanting rays, instead of sinking into green ground and -foliage, now ricocheted upward from a thin earth-blanket of snow. - -That snow was two days old, and the latest of three light falls which -had come since the night when Snake Sanders and his last victim passed -out. The other two had speedily melted, and even this one had shrunk -noticeably in an ensuing thaw. But to-day the air was keen and the -white coverlet hard. - -Snow and cold, however, meant little to the eight gathered in that -room. In the cheery warmth radiating from the mud-colored old stove -four of them crouched or lay in the sleepy contentment of full -stomachs, while the other four sat pensively on chairs or sofa. The -floor-hugging contingent comprised the Oaks felines--Spit and Spat and -Fit and Fat. The folks above them were Marion, Steve, Douglas, and -Uncle Eb. - -Beside the outer door stood two guns--one, an old, rust-pitted -muzzle-loader; the other a clean, graceful hammerless--and a -blanket-pack, to which a smaller bundle had been lightly corded. To a -contemplative eye those insensate things would have told a story of -double trust: that, as the guns stood side by side, so would their -owners stand shoulder to shoulder; and that the man who presently would -carry that pack would bear also the light burden of a woman who had -faith in him--for that small package was unmistakably a thin dress, -within which probably were wrapped a few other articles of clothing. - -“Wal,” barked Uncle Eb, shattering a thoughtful silence, “ye might say -this was the endin’ an’ the beginnin’. Nat an’ ’Lizy an’ Snake an’ -Lou are all into their graves, an’ them detective fellers are so long -gone I ’most forgot they ever was into here, an’ Steve’s back onto -his legs, an’ Marry an’ Hammerless are a-goin’ out. An’ that’s the -endin’. But then ag’in, Steve’s a-comin’ to live ’long o’ me, an’ if -old Ninety-Nine’s Mine ain’t lost ag’in by next spring we’ll see what -we can make outen it; an’ Marry’s a-startin’ into that thar art-school -ye told about, Hamp; an’ ye say ye’re a-goin’ to quit driftin’ round -an’ git into a reg’lar business down to the city--sellin’ bonds, did ye -say? An’ so that’s the beginnin’. Now all I’m bothered ’bout is how I’m -a-goin’ to keep these cats to my house. They’ll run right back here, I -bet ye.” - -“When they see ther’ ain’t nothin’ to eat here they’ll come a-scootin’ -up the hill ag’in, don’t worry,” predicted Steve, a saturnine smile -crooking his pale mouth. “Ther’ won’t be nobody livin’ into here, -’less’n Marry gits homesick an’ wants to come back. Anybody else that -tries movin’ in will move out ag’in quick’s I can git to him. Marry, -don’t ye kind o’ hate to go?” - -“I--dunno,” she slowly answered. “It’s the onliest home I ever knowed, -but--but it ain’t the same now. No! I--I _couldn’t_ live here! Now that -I know who my real daddy was, and--and I’ve got a chance to draw real -pictures and--and _be_ somebody ’sides ‘Nigger Nat’s girl’ and ‘that -red-headed catamount’ and all----” - -She paused, her eyes shining as the misty portal of Dreams swung back -and gave her a vision of what lay beyond. The three men nodded; Douglas -understandingly, Uncle Eb decisively, Steve sombrely. - -“That’s right,” Douglas agreed. “You’ve been underground long enough, -and now you must blossom out into the sun. It’s your daddy’s blood that -has driven you to draw and dream, and he’d tell you now to go out and -develop your talent. That’s his heritage to you--that urge to draw--and -you owe it to him to make something of it. It means work, but it’s -worth while.” - -“Oh, I can work--won’t I work, though! And--and some day I’m comin’ -back up here and draw that hole in the crick that’s bothered me so -long--and paint it, too--and make it right!” - -Her slender fingers closed and her cheeks flushed in joyous enthusiasm. -Steve eyed her soberly, then nodded again. - -“Yas, tha’s right, I reckon,” he sighed. “It’s a-goin’ to be awful -lonesome ’thout ye, Marry gal, but mebbe ye won’t forgit us. I--I----” -He stopped abruptly and gulped. - -“Why--why, Stevie!” She sprang up and stroked his hair. “I won’t never -forgit you, never! You’ve always been good to me--stood up for me like -a real brother many’s the time--it ’most broke my heart when they sent -you away. And when the noo-mony got you jest lately I----” - -“Don’t say no more,” he broke in huskily. “Ye’ve stood up for me too, -an’ ye pulled me through that noo-mony, an’ I couldn’t ask no more. But -I got to tell ye, Marry--I ain’t ’shamed to say it right out front of -everybody--I got thinkin’ mebbe sometime we might--might git married, -all reg’lar, with a ring an’ everythin’, I hadn’t no right to, but I -couldn’t help it. But then I see it warn’t no use. I done a lot o’ -thinkin’, up thar into my hole into the ground, an’ I could see plain -ye was ’way over my head.” - -His teeth set, and the hard lines around his mouth deepened. But he -drove himself on. - -“An’ I see the kind of a feller ye’d oughter have was like Hamp, here. -An’ that’s mostly why I resked it to put that note under yer door, -Hamp, the night Nat come----” - -“What! Was it you who did that?” exclaimed Douglas. - -“Me. Snake an’ Nat was right close by my hole, never knowin’ I was into -it, an’ Snake was edgin’ Nat on to go down an’ do for ye. When they was -gone I wrote that warnin’ an’ snuck down ’long Dickabar an’ left it -for ye. I owed ye a good turn anyways, but I done it for Marry more’n -for you.” - -A moment Douglas sat, realizing what the fugitive had risked in thus -issuing from his covert and threading a mile of detective-haunted -forest. Then he reached out and grasped the bony hand of the -convalescent. - -“You’re a man!” he declared. - -“I aim to be,” said Steve, with another gulp. - -A short, awkward silence followed. Marion, sober-faced, tenderly -stroked the shaggy black hair until Steve dodged, as if the caress were -becoming torment. Uncle Eb glared fixedly at one of the cats. Douglas -looked at all three; then arose as if reaching a determination. - -“This isn’t the way I’d thought of it, but it’s as good as any,” he -said quietly. “I had intended first, Marion, to take you to an elderly -friend of mine in town--Mrs. Wright, who takes a keen interest in young -artists and who undoubtedly would remember your father. She’s a dear -old soul, and I know she’d be only too glad to make everything easy for -you; she’s a patroness of that school I spoke of, and besides that she -could coach you on all those little things a lady of her type knows so -well--speech and manners and clothes and the other points you’ll have -to learn in order to ‘be somebody,’ as you say. And I’d rustle a job -down in the financial district and keep my promise to your mother--to -look out for you as if you were my sister. And when you’d had time -to see how you liked the change, and to find out what the city boys -looked like, and so on--then I’d ask you a question. - -“I wanted to give you a fair chance--not to jump this question at you -before you fairly got your eyes open to this new world of yours. But -circumstances alter cases. I’ll take you to Mrs. Wright just the same, -but I’m going to ask the question now instead of later. Like Steve, -I’m not afraid to say it right out in front of everybody. What’s more, -Steve has the right to know what’s what. And----” - -He paused. The wide gray eyes dwelt unwaveringly on his. So did the old -steel-blue eyes and the young brown ones. - -“The first time we met,” he went on, with a little smile, “you said you -were ‘Marry for short.’ I’m asking you if you’ll make it ‘marry for -good.’ If so, we’ll hunt up a parson when we tramp into New Paltz, and -go down the river as Mr. and Mrs. Hampton.” - -Steadfastly she regarded him a moment longer. Steve and Uncle Eb sat -breathless. - -“Let me ask you somethin’,” she returned. “If Steve had got sent back -down-river you’d never have asked me this, would you?” - -“Why--if I still thought you and he were sweethearts--probably not. It -wouldn’t be fair to either of you.” - -“Was that what you meant when you spoke ’bout Steve--that day up the -crick?” - -“Certainly. What did you think?” - -“I thought all ’long you--didn’t want to git too thick with a girl -that was a--a half sister to a feller that had been into the pen! That -you couldn’t have enough respect for a girl like that to--to--you know. -And it--kind of hurt.” - -“Good Lord! I never even knew you two were brought up under the same -roof, until the night your mother--that is, ’Liza Oaks--died. If I had, -maybe I’d have asked sooner!” - -The cool gray eyes grew warm. The red lips curved in a dimpling smile. -But his question remained unanswered. Her gaze went to the waiting -packs and guns. Outside, a horse stamped impatiently. - -“Ain’t it about time to be goin’?” she asked demurely. “That hoss of -Uncle Eb’s is gittin’ restless. Uncle Eb, you’d better git the cats -into the bags.” - -“But ye ain’t told Hamp----” Steve protested. - -“I know it, foolish! And I ain’t goin’ to tell him till I git ready. -It might be five minutes, or mebbe five years, he’ll have to wait; and -till he knows you won’t know either. And that’s all of that!” - -Uncle Eb chuckled. Douglas spread his hands in resignation. Steve -glowered, then half grinned. - -“Might a-knowed it,” he muttered. “Sassy as a red squir’l, ain’t ye? Ye -won’t never git no better.” - -And with that the question was dropped. Ensued a scramble, ending in -the confinement in burlap sacks of four spitting, spatting felines; a -donning of hats and coats, a closing up of stove-draughts, and a wobbly -progress by Steve to Uncle Eb’s waiting wagon. There he was enwrapped -in a huge quilt. Uncle Eb clambered in and encased his legs in the -horse-blanket. The horse started at once. And up the road slowly -traveled the old man and his new foster-son, with dead Nigger Nat’s -muzzle-loader leaning stark and grim between them. - -Behind them, swinging easily along the frozen road, walked the man and -the maid, their faces reddening under the sharp kiss of the wintry air. -Once, and once only, they paused to glance back at the abandoned house. -Then they trudged on, silent. - -At length the wagon stopped. The Clove road had ended, and the horse -now stood in the true Traps road, heading westward. Up that way waited -Uncle Eb’s home. Eastward opened the Gap, and beyond lay the great -Outside. This was the parting of the ways. - -And here Steve spoke out, man to man. - -“Hamp, I’m a-trustin’ ye. But a feller never knows. If ever Marry -should come a-crawlin’ back into here, sorry an’ shamed, then look out! -I’ll be a-comin’ after ye wuss’n I ever went after Snake, an’ I’ll come -a-shootin’. Tha’s all. Good luck to the both o’ ye.” - -“You won’t be coming after me, lad,” Douglas answered steadily. “We’ll -both be coming back to see you in the spring, whether Marion’s name -then is Dyke or Hampton. And I’m leaving with you, as a pledge and a -present--this.” - -Into the space between the two riders he swung his shotgun. Then he -gripped Steve’s hand and stepped back. The youth stared at his new -gun as if the heavens had opened before him. Even when Marion climbed -up and kissed him farewell he seemed dazed by the wonder of actually -possessing such a weapon. Uncle Eb grinned dryly and gave Douglas an -approving nod. - -The old man’s farewell was characteristically short. He gave each a -straight look, a lift of the walrus mustache, a paralyzing handshake. -Then---- - -“Luck to ye! G’yapalong!” - -The wagon rolled away. - -With a sigh and a smile, Douglas and Marion turned their faces -eastward. Steadily they swung along the hummocky track, climbing -upward, ever upward, by easy grade or steep slant, toward the Gap a -mile away. From time to time they glanced at each other, but they spoke -no word. The only sounds were the flapping of frozen leaves still -adhering to cold boughs, the crunch of snow under heel, the occasional -bay of a far-off hound. - -So they came to the Jaws of the Traps, where the road sneaked between -towering ledges and then pitched down in swift-dropping zigzags to the -low hills of the Beyond. Out before them stretched a snowy panorama -through which, black and slow, meandered the serpentine Wallkill. Away -to the east, hidden behind intervening hills, flowed the wide Hudson. -Far to the south, that river rolled past the vast city of New York, -to be swallowed by the waiting ocean. But much nearer--only six miles -off--stood out clearly a little town where lived clergymen, and where a -wedding ring could be bought; the first town on their outward way: New -Paltz. - -There between the crags they halted, poising on the brink between the -Traps and the World, the hard old life and the nebulous new. Still they -said nothing. His gaze dwelt on her, and hers on that town. Something -counseled him to keep silence. - -Then into the stillness came a sound from the north: a sound new to -the man: a yapping confusion of noise suggesting the breathless chorus -of a pack of hard-running dogs. It grew in volume until it became like -the strident creak and groan of many rickety, unoiled wagons, full of -discordant undertones and overnotes. Yet it was not on the ground, but -in the air, somewhere beyond the northern cliff which blocked the view. - -“Geese!” cried Marion. “I wondered why we hadn’t heard some. They’re -late. But they’re goin’ fast now. The lakes up north are froze, and -winter’s comin’ close. There they are!” - -High up, a long wedge slid across the sky. Its lines wavered, bent, but -never broke. Along them winked an unceasing quiver of strong-beating -wings; from them fell the clamorous medley of voices old and young, -deep and shrill. Straight as their wild instinct could guide them, -straight as the man and the maiden below would speed down the river -when they should reach the railroad, the birds were flying south. - -“Goin’ south--and so are we,” the girl softly echoed his own thought. -And they turned their eyes again to the roofs six miles away. - -“Marion--dear--what is it to be?” he asked. “Let’s decide.” - -A deeper color flowed into her cheeks, a roguish twinkle into her eyes. -Half shyly, she looked up at him. - -“Ain’t you scairt to marry a red-headed catamount?” she demanded. -“They’re awful critters to git along with.” - -“I never married one yet, but I’m not scared,” he smiled. “I’ve held my -own with every one I’ve met so far.” - -Under the curving brows flamed a daring, tantalizing light. - -“Seems to me you--you ain’t holdin’ your own right now,” she teased. - -He blinked. Then light shot over his face. One stride, and his arms -were around her. - -“Who says I’m not?” he challenged. - -“That’s--that’s better!” - -Her arms clasped tight around his neck. Her lips rose, tremulous, -questing, waiting. His head dropped, and his embrace tightened. And -then between the crusted crags there stood no longer a girl of the -hills and a man from outside. Lip to lip, heart to heart, soul to -soul--the twain had become one. - -After a time his head lifted. Passive, clinging, trembling, she lay -back in his arms. - -“Are you--sure we can find a--a parson down to Paltz?” she whispered. - -He laughed, and drew her up to him again. Yielding lips stopped his -breath, and the laugh died. But faintly from the south sounded an echo -of his tender mirth--a bubbling, gabbling sound which in turn died out -and was gone: the honking hilarity of the sharp-eyed wild geese. - - -THE END - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - - Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - - Archaic or variant spelling has been retained. - - The original book did not contain pages labelled 11 or 12. Original - pagination has been retained. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAT O' MOUNTAIN *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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