Plutina gave no sign that she had discovered the lurking man's presence. But, after a minute, she retraced her steps a little way along the trail, until she came to a point where there was a clear space on either side, which was out of hearing from the fence line. She had scarcely reached the place, when Hodges appeared, his bare feet trudging swiftly. His head, too, was bare. In the hollow of his left arm lay the long rifle. He was approaching from the east, and halted at the gate, without having observed the girl beyond it. He whistled a soft note as a signal if she should be anywhere about.

Plutina called out softly in answer.

"Hyar, Dan!" As he looked toward her, she beckoned him to approach.

Hodges shook his head in dissent, and, by a gesture, bade her come to him. But, when she showed no sign of obeying, he moved forward, scowling, ferociously. The girl seemed undaunted. She spoke curtly in rebuke:

"'Pears to me, Dan Hodges, like ye hain't very prompt, seein' as how I've been a-waiting hyar a quarter-hour fer ye. When a man loves a gal, he gen'rally gits to the place sot ahead o' her. Ye hain't a-startin' right to win me, Dan, an' so I'm a-tellin' ye fair."

"You-all orter have more sense than hang out hyar in the sun. Come back to the gate, under the shade o' the sarvis bushes." He turned away, but paused as the girl made no movement to follow. "What in hell's the matter on ye?" he demanded, angrily. "This place in the rud hain't fitten fer talk, nohow."

"Hit's fitten 'nough fer me," Plutina retorted, quietly. A mellow laugh sounded. "Seems to me this-hyar bright sunshine orter warm yer love up some, Dan. We'll stay hyar, I reckon. I'm afeared o' snakes an' eavesdroppers an' sech critters thar in the shade."

The man was racked by many emotions. He had come swiftly under the hot sun, and the haste and the heat had irritated him. The sight of the girl moved him to fierce passion of desire. He was aflame with eagerness to take her within his arms, there where were the cool shadows. Her indifference to his command exasperated him; her final refusal infuriated him. In the rush of feeling he lost what little judgment he might otherwise have had. He had meant to placate her by a temporary gentleness, to be offset by future brutalities. Now, in his rage, he forgot discretion under the pricking of lawless impulse. He reached out and dropped a huge hand on Plutina's shoulder, and twisted her about with a strength she was powerless to resist. The clutch of his fingers cut cruelly into her flesh, firm though it was, and she winced. He grinned malevolently.

"Git back thar as I done tol' ye," he rasped; "afore ye git wuss."

With a deft twist of the body, Plutina stood free. The face, which had paled, flushed darkly. The eyes blazed. The head was uplifted in scorn. Her aspect awed the man, and he hesitated, gaping at her. Yet her voice was very soft when she spoke. The tone surprised her listener, rendered him strangely uneasy, for some reason he could not understand.

"Thet ten minutes ye was late was more'n I had need fer, Dan Hodges," she said. "I promised ye yer answer hyar, an' I'm a-goin' to give hit to ye right now."

She lifted an arm, and pointed to where the Devil's Cauldron blotched the cliffs of the mountainside ... It was her left arm that she lifted.

"Look, Dan! See thet-thar big hole in the wall. I been a-lookin' at hit, Dan. I 'low you-all don't dast look at hit. Mebby ye're afeared o' seein' the bones o' them hit holds—bones o' dead men—what you-all an' yer gang hev kilt an' slid into the pot, to lie hid till Jedgment. Hit's thar ye're aimin' to put my Zeke. Why, a haar o' his head's wuth more'n the hull caboodle of sech murderers as yew be."

She stepped closer to the outlaw, and spoke with unleashed hate. He flinched at the change.

"I was skeered o' ye back thar on the piazzy yist'-day, an' I lied to ye, kase I was skeered. I wasn't a-likin' the look in them pig eyes o' your'n. An' I was a-feared o' Gran'pap's hearin' how I reported the still. Wall, now I hain't skeered no more. I promised ye yer answer at the gate. We'll move over thar, an' I'll keep my promise."

Before he could guess her purpose, before he could shift the rifle from the hollow of his arm, the fingers of Plutina's right hand had slipped within the open bodice. The Colt's flashed in the sunlight. The level barrel lay motionless, in deadly readiness. For the girl, though not yet quite sure, was almost sure that she would kill Dan Hodges.

The idea had not come to her until this meeting. In all the racking hours of thought, this simple solution of the difficulty had never entered her mind. Now, at its coming, she welcomed it with infinite relief. It offered a means of escape so simple and so sure—escape for herself and for those she loved. It was the touch of the man that had wrought the miracle of revolt. She had felt herself polluted by the contact. On the instant, the hypocrisy of cajoling was no longer possible. But there was more in the effect than that. The savagery of the outlaw aroused the savagery in her. She became, in the twinkling of an eye, the primitive woman. There was little in the sentiment of her people to dam the outburst. Her kin had followed the lex talionis. They had killed their fellows for the sake of their proper pride. The blood-feud was familiar to her, and she knew no shame in it. Why should she not slay this creature who outraged her self-respect, who threatened her every hope? Her finger on the trigger of the revolver tensed ever so slightly.

The man felt the vibration of her impulse and cringed. He was in a daze before this violence of attack, where he had expected only supine yielding. In his creed, the beating of women marked manliness. The drabs he had caressed crept and fawned under his blows, like whipped curs. He could not realize this challenge by the girl with his own method of might. But he saw clearly enough through the haze of fear that the blue barrel was trained exactly upon him, that the slim hand held it rigid, and he knew that, in this instant, he was very, very close to death. The red of his face changed to a mottled purple. He felt himself trembling.

Plutina perceived the abject terror of the man. It mitigated her wrath with scorn, and so saved him for the moment. She cried out to him fiercely, her voice rough with abhorrence.

"To the gate fer yer answer, ye cowardly houn'. Move quick, er I'll drap ye in yer tracks, ye murderin' wolf. Do as I say!"

She moved another step toward him. Her voice rose shrill:

"Drap thet rifle-gun!"

The weapon slipped from Hodges' nerveless fingers, and fell on the turf with a soft thud.

"Put up yer han's!"

Cowed, the man thrust his long arms to their length above his head.

"Now, turn round, an' march to the gate!"

There was no faltering in the obedience.

The hulking bully knew that he was in mortal peril. For his life's sake, he dared neither word nor gesture of resistance to the girl's will. His only hope was that the hidden ally might somehow come to his aid. But the hope was feeble. He knew the other's craven spirit.

Plutina, too, knew it. As she drove her captive to the gate, she peered, and saw the crouching figure still in the shadows behind the bush. The Colt's cracked. Even as Hodges shuddered, imagining the tearing of the bullet through his own flesh, there came a shriek of pain from beyond him. The hidden man leaped forth, his right arm dangling clumsily. He scrambled into the cover of the spruces and vanished. The noises of his flight lessened, died.

"I've scotched a snake," Plutina said, malignantly. "Hit's about time to kill the dawg, I reckon. Turn round." Then, when he had obeyed, she went on speaking. "Now, hyar at the gate, I'll tell ye somethin'. You-all 'lowed ye could git me with money. If ye had all they is in the world, hit wouldn't be enough. An' ye thought I tuk money fer reportin' the still. Wall, I didn't. I reported thet-thar still o' your'n kase I seed ye a-settin' b'ar-traps fer humans, an' hit made me hate ye even wuss 'n I done hated ye afore."

Somehow, the flame of her fury was dying. The girl felt this, and bitterly resented it, yet she was powerless. It seemed to her that with all the strength of her nature she was desirous of killing this enemy. He stood cowering before her in dread. Her finger on the trigger needed only the slightest flexing to speed the death he merited. And, for some occult reason, the will to slay failed her. She was enraged against her own weakness of resolve. Nevertheless, she was helpless. Her mood had reached its climax in the impulsive wounding of the other man. Now, her blood was losing its fever. With the slowing pulse, the softer instincts prevailed to thwart her purpose. Despite an anguished eagerness, she could not kill this trembling wretch. She loathed her frailty, even as she yielded to it. She must let him go unscathed, a foe the more dangerous after this humiliation. Of no use to threaten him, to extort promises. There was no truth in him. He must be left free to work what evil he would. Oh, if only the wrath in her had not died too soon!

"Put yer han's down, an' march up the trail," she commanded, presently. Her voice was lifeless. The man drew new hope from the quality of it. He ventured no resistance to the command, but went padding softly through the dust. Behind him, Plutina followed, her bare feet padding an echo. Her right hand hung at her side, but it retained the revolver, ready for instant use. As she came to Hodges' rifle, she picked it up, and threw it far down into the ravine. At the clattering noise of its fall, the outlaw started, but he did not pause in his stride, or turn. The girl's whole soul was convulsed with longing that he should make some effort of revolt—anything. Then, she would shoot and kill—oh, so gladly!

But the instinct to live guided the man. He trudged meekly. There was no excuse against him. So, they came at last near to the Siddon clearing, where a little path ran through the wood toward the house. Here, Plutina paused, without a word. She was ashamed of herself, grievously ashamed of this softness of fiber that had spared a life. Without a word, she watched him pass along the trail, up the slope, and out of sight beyond. Her face was drawn and white, and the great eyes were brooding with bitterness, when, finally, she stirred, and moved forward in the path. She slipped the revolver into its holster. Then, her fingers went to the bag that held the fairy cross to her breast. She fondled it tenderly. She was longing as never before for the giver of the talisman.



CHAPTER XV

Plutina had no sleep the night following her encounter with Dan Hodges. Throughout the dragging hours, she was tortured by sinister imaginings. She exhausted her brain in futile strivings for some means of escape from the mesh of circumstance. It was not until the gray twilight of dawn shone through the curtains that a possibility of relief stirred in her mind. It was out of desperation that the idea sprang. She felt herself so utterly forlorn and helpless in her loneliness that the despair was overpowering. It was then, at last, that the inspiration came to her: She would confess everything to her grandfather!

Though she quailed before the prospect, she rejoiced as well. The old man was strong and resourceful. He would know how to meet and overcome the outlaw's villainy. Moreover, now that her decision had been made, Plutina was surprised to find her alarm over such confession greatly lessened from what she had supposed possible. She began to realize that some intangible change in her grandfather himself was responsible for this. She became convinced that the new gentleness had had its origin in the unselfish abandonment of his marital hopes. It was as if that renunciation had vitally softened him. Perhaps, in this strange mood, he would be less intolerant of her fault in turning informer. His prejudice could find no excuse for her treachery, she knew, yet the peril in which she had involved herself, and him, might arouse his pity. Assuredly, he would be moved to instant action for both their sakes. For that reason alone, if for no other, she must tell him her story without a moment of unnecessary delay.

In the course of the morning, Plutina took advantage of an opportunity, whilst her sister was busy in the garden, and went to her grandfather, who was taking his ease on the porch. She was encouraged by the mild and benignant expression on the old man's face, which had been more often fierce, as she remembered it through the years. She seated herself quietly, and then proceeded immediately to confession. There was no attempt at palliation of her offense, if offense it were. She gave the narrative of events starkly, from the moment when she had first seen Hodges descending Luffman's Branch to the time of her separation from him at the clearing, on the yesterday.

Throughout the account, the listener sat sprawled in the big willow rocker, his slippered feet resting on the porch rail. The huge body was crumpled into an awkward posture, which was never changed, once the history was begun. The curved wooden pipe hung from his lips, black against the iron gray cascade of beard, but he did not draw at it again, after the opening-sentences from his granddaughter's lips. Plutina, looking down, perceived that the folded hands, lying in his lap, were clenched so strongly that the knuckles showed bloodless. Yet, he made no movement, nor offered any word of comment or of question. When the girl had made an end, and sat waiting distressedly for his verdict, he still rested mute, until the silence became more than she could endure, and she cried out in pleading:

"Kain't ye fergive me, Gran'pap?"

Uncle Dick turned, and looked reproachfully at the distraught girl. A great tenderness shone from the black eyes, in which age had not dimmed the brilliance. As she saw the emotion there, a gasp of rapturous relief broke from Plutina's lips. The stern restraints of her training were broken down in that moment. She dropped to her knees by the old man's side, and seized his hands, and kissed them, and pressed them to her bosom. He released one of them presently, and laid it gently on the dusk masses of his grandchild's hair in silent blessing. His voice, when at last he spoke, was softer than she had heard it ever before.

"Why, Tiny, ye mustn't be afeared o' yer ole gran'pap. I thinks a heap o' my kin, an' ye're the clusest. I loves ye gal—more'n anythin' er anybody else in the world, though I wouldn't want Alviry to hear thet. I hain't mindin' what ye done none. I'd stan' by ye, Tiny, if he had the hull cussed Gov'ment at yer back. I hain't got no likin' fer revenuers, but I got a heap less for Dan Hodges."

He paused for a moment and lifted his hand from the girl's head to stroke the gray beard thoughtfully, before he continued:

"I been thinkin' a right-smart lot o' things jest lately. I 'low I'm a-gittin' old, mebby. An' I opine as 'tween the revenuers and Dan Hodges, I hain't so much agin the Gov'ment as I was."

Again, he fell silent, as if in embarrassment over an admission so at variance with the tenets of a lifetime. Then he spoke with sudden briskness:

"But ye'd orter a-killed the critter then an' thar, Tiny!"

"I jest somehow couldn't, Gran'pap. I'm shore sorry." The girl felt poignant shame for the weakness thus rebuked.

"I 'low I hain't likely to have no sech feelin's a-holdin' o' me back," Uncle Dick remarked, drily. "Hit's my foolishness bailin' 'im out got us in the pizen mess. I 'low I'll cancel the bond. But, fust, I'd have to take the skunk to the jail-house, dead er alive. He'll stan' some urgin', I reckon."

"Ye'll be keerful, Gran'pap," Plutina exclaimed anxiously, as she stood up.

"Now, don't ye worrit none," Uncle Dick ordered, tartly. His usual rather dictatorial manner in the household returned to him. "You-all run along. I want to think."

The girl went obediently. The reaction from despair brought joyousness. Of a sudden, she became aware of the blending perfumes of the wild flowers and the lilting of an amorous thrush in the wood. Her lids narrowed to dreamy contemplation of the green-and-gold traceries on the ground, where the sunlight fell dappled through screening foliage. Fear was fled from her. Her thought flew to Zeke, in longing as always, but now in a longing made happy with hopes. There might be a letter awaiting her from New York—perhaps even with a word of promise for his return. She smiled, radiant with fond anticipations. Then, after a word of explanation to Alvira, she set off at a brisk pace over the trail toward Cherry Lane.

The girl went blithely on her way, day-dreaming of the time when Zeke should be come home to her again. She stopped at the Widow Higgins' cabin, to receive felicitations over the escape of Uncle



Dick from Fanny Brown. Plutina was not minded to harass the older woman with the tale of Dan Hodges. The outlaw's threats against Zeke would only fill the mother's heart with fears, against which she could make no defense. Otherwise, however, the tongues of the two ran busily concerning the absent one. And then, soon, Plutina was again hurrying over the trail, which the bordering wild flowers made dainty as a garden walk. Once, her eyes turned southward, to the gloomy grandeur of Stone Mountain, looming vast and portentous. The blur of shadow that marked the Devil's Cauldron touched her to an instant of foreboding, but the elation of mood persisted. She raised her hand, and the fingers caressed the bag in which was the fairy crystal, and she went gaily forward, smiling.

* * * * *

Uncle Dick, meantime, was busy with sterner thoughts, and his task was harmonious to his musings, for he was cleaning and oiling his rifle with punctilious care. He did not hasten over-much at either the thinking or the work. The shades of night were drawing down when, finally, he hung the immaculate weapon on its hooks. He ate in solitary silence, served by Alvira, who ventured no intrusion on this mood of remoteness with which she was familiar from experience. The old man had determined to go forth and seize, and deliver to the custody of the law, the person of Dan Hodges. At the best, he would surprise the outlaw, and the achievement would be simple enough; at the worst, there would be a duel. Uncle Dick had no fear over the outcome. He believed himself quicker and surer with the rifle than this scoundrel of half his years. At grips, of course he would have no chance. But the affair would not come to grips. He would see to that. He went to bed contentedly, and slept the peaceful sleep of wholesome age, undisturbed by any bickerings of conscience.

It was while he was dressing, next morning, that a measure of prudence occurred to Uncle Dick. During the period of his absence, it would be well for Plutina to avoid risk by keeping in the cabin, with her rifle at hand. There was no telling how audacious the moonshiner might become in his rage over the ignominy to which the girl had subjected him.

At the breakfast-table, he spoke sharply to Alvira, as she placed the plate of fried ham and eggs before him.

"Tell Tiny, I'm a-wantin' her."

"Tiny hain't hyar yit," was the answer. "Hit's time she was."

"Whar's she gone!" Uncle Dick demanded, gruffly. He detested any interruption of his plans.

"Tiny stayed over to the Widder Higgins's las' night," Alvira explained. "Hit's time she come back."

Uncle Dick snorted with indignation.

"She didn't say nothin' to me 'bout stayin' over thar," he said crossly.

"Nor to me, nuther," Alvira declared. "She never does beforehand. When the Widder Higgins kind o' hangs on, Tiny jest stays, an' comes back in the mornin'. She orter been 'ere afore now."

Uncle Dick pushed away the plate of food, half-eaten. Dread had fallen on him suddenly. He tried to thrust it off, but the weight was too heavy for his strength of will. Perforce he yielded to alarm for the girl's safety. A great fear was upon him lest it be too late for the warning he had meant to give. He growled a curse on his own folly in not guarding against immediate attack by the outlaw. It was with small hope of finding his apprehensions groundless that he set forth at once, rifle in hand, for the cabin of the Widow Higgins. There, his fears were confirmed. The old woman had seen nothing of Plutina, since the short pause on the way to the post-office. Uncle Dick groaned aloud over the fate that might have come on the girl. He told enough to give the Widow Higgins some understanding of the situation, and bade her go to his own house, there to remain and to comfort Alvira. For himself, he would first search over the Cherry Lane trail for any trace of his vanished granddaughter, and thereafter raise the hue-and-cry to a general hunt through the mountains for the capture or killing of the villain, and the recovery of the girl, dead or alive. Not for an instant did the old man doubt that Hodges had done the deed.

Uncle Dick had no more than passed Luffman's Branch on his way over the Cherry Lane Trail, when a joyous hail caused him to lift his eyes from their close scrutiny of the beaten earth. Descending the trail, a little way in front of him, appeared the slender, erect form of the one-armed veteran. The bridegroom moved with a jaunty step, and his wrinkled features radiated gladness. But, as he came near, his face sobered at sight of the other's expression. His voice was solicitous.

"I 'low somethin' air wrong," he ventured.

Uncle Dick in his distress welcomed the note of sympathy. Somehow, he felt curiously drawn to this successful rival, and he was sure that his feeling was returned. Between the two men there was a curious mutual respect, as if each relied on the entire good sense of one who had loved Fanny Brown. The older man craved a confidant; he was avid for counsel and every possible assistance in this emergency. He told the facts as concisely as possible, while Seth Jones, wedded raptures forgot, listened in growing sorrow and dismay. At the end, he spoke simply:

"I'll take a look 'long with ye, Mister Siddon. I done a heap o' trackin' in my time, out West. Perhaps, I kin he'p ye some."

Uncle Dick put out his hand, and the two palms met in a warm clasp, witness of friendship's pact. Forthwith, they gave themselves to minute examination of the trail for any sign of the missing girl.

For a time, their patient search went unrewarded. But, about a half-mile beyond Luffman's Branch, they came on an area still affected by one of the small showers so frequent in the mountains. Here, the veteran's alert eyes distinguished a footprint outlined in the damp dust.

"Yer gal was barefut, I reckon," he said. He pointed to the imprint just before where he was standing.

"Yep," Uncle Dick answered. There was a little mist over his eyes, as he glanced down. "Yep; hit's her'n."

The veteran went forward confidently now.

"She was a-steppin' plumb brisk," he declared; "feelin' pretty peart, I 'low; feet kind o' springy-like."

Uncle Dick shivered at the words. He had a ghastly vision of Plutina moving at this moment with painfully dragging steps somewhere afar in the fastnesses of the mountains. But he said nothing of the worst fears to his companion. He only followed on, watching closely lest something escape the other's survey. Almost, he found himself hoping they might come on the girl's dead body. Death is not the worst of evils.

After a mile, or a little less, the area of the shower was passed. Uncle Dick could hardly distinguish any sign of the footprints in the heavy dust of the trail, but he accepted without question the veteran's assertion that they were easily perceptible to the trained sight. Suddenly, Seth Jones halted, and peered intently, stooping low. Uncle Dick, too, bent to look, but the faint markings in the dirt were without significance to him. The veteran moved to the roadside and searched on hands and knees over the yard of grass between the trail and a thicket. When he stood erect again, he regarded his companion inquiringly.

"They seem to be the tracks o' some mighty-big, hefty cuss, what come out o' these-hyar bushes, an' tuk along arter her. Kin ye make a guess who hit mout be, Mister Siddon?"

Uncle Dick's face grew black with a rage that was the more frightful because it had no object on which to vent itself.

"Hit's him!" he mumbled thickly, choking over the effort for self-control. Abruptly, he abandoned the attempt. His big voice boomed forth in a torrent of blasphemous imprecations. When, finally, he rumbled into silence, and stood panting for breath, the veteran, who had appeared to listen with great interest and perhaps some pleasure, spoke soothingly:

"You-all was shore some eloquent, an' I 'low the ornery critter deserves every mite on hit. An', anyhow, I reckon ye done saved yerse'f a stroke. Ye was a-lookin' like ye'd bust, but ye let off the steam a-cussin' 'im out. Now, let's see." He went back to the trail, and advanced very slowly, for the markings were faint even to his skilled eyes. Uncle Dick, trembling a little from the violence of his outburst, followed faithfully, but he could no longer detect traces of the passing of either man or girl.

Thus, in slow progress, they came at last to the fork of the trail. This is at the extreme easterly slope of Bull Head Mountain, which rises from the north side of the valley as if in sullen rivalry of Stone Mountain below. In the division of the trail here, one branch ascends toward Glade Creek, across the mountain, while the other keeps on straight to Cherry Lane. Within the fork of the trails lies a fallen giant of the coves, a huge yellow poplar, almost hidden along its length by the embowering thickets. Toward this, in an advance tediously slow, the veteran made his way. When, finally, he was come up to the great bole, he stood quietly for minutes, gazing everywhere round about. Uncle Dick, emulating his companion, peered earnestly, and soon he, too, perceived the evidences that something out of the ordinary had occurred just here. Over a considerable space next the trunk there were signs of a struggle. Broken branches showed on some of the bushes; leaves from the poplar shoots were lying on the grass; the turf was freshly torn here and there. The veteran bent over, and picked up an object from the ground, which he held out. Uncle Dick gave one glance, and uttered a cry of despair. He recognized it as a button from the dress Plutina had been wearing the day before.

The further search of the veteran achieved little. He was able only to make sure that the footprints led off through the forest toward the south. But, now, the impressions were no longer of one following the other. Instead, it was revealed that the two walked side by side. Uncle Dick groaned as his companion told him of this. Plutina had been attacked; she had fought; she had been overcome—and she was still alive!



CHAPTER XVI

With the news of the event, a flame of wrath swept through the coves. Everywhere, the men gathered in parties, to hunt, rifle in hand, for some trace of the outlaw. There was none to give him favor, save the outcasts numbered among his dependants. The usual sympathy for the illicit distiller ceased utterly, destroyed by hatred for the criminal's final offense. For the first time in the history of the mountains, there was no voice raised to protest—nor any rifle pointed in the laurel—against the Federal officers, who wandered at will in the wild places. In execration of Dan Hodges for his sin against the peace and dignity of the community, the people forgot for the nonce their ancient enmity against the Government. With one accord, the folk of the mountains joined in abhorrence of Hodges, sullenly anxious to bring about his punishment, to avenge his victim at least, if too late to save her.

Seth Jones turned from the joys of the belated honeymoon to give every aid in his power. His counsel and the comfort of his presence were boons to Uncle Dick. The veteran had learned from his bride concerning the disfavor in which Zeke was held, and the reason for it. It seemed to him the part of wisdom, in this crisis, to feign ignorance, and he blandly suggested, on the return of the two from the fallen poplar, that they should ride to Joines' store in the evening, there, over the telephone, to dispatch a telegram to Zeke in New York. It was the psychological moment for success. There was not even a flicker of resentment aroused. Uncle Dick remembered that the Quaker school-teacher spy had been saved by Zeke from Dan Hodges. In his new mood, that fact was enough to overcome all rancor against the lad. Moreover, he realized the tragedy of Plutina's fate to her lover, and he was moved to compassion. He accepted the veteran's suggestion without a word of remonstrance.

It was Seth Jones, too, who broke down the old man's last prejudice by persuading him to summon Marshal Stone. Uncle Dick yielded with an odd mingling of emotions—shame and relief: shame over such trafficking with the "revenuers," whom he had consistently fought and despised through three generations; relief that he had gained the strong arm of the law to his side. He had been greatly heartened when Stone answered over the wire that he would set out with a posse at midnight for the Siddon cabin, so that, after a conference there, the active work of searching could be begun promptly at dawn.

Thus, it came about that, for the first time in history, Uncle Dick Siddon welcomed the sound of hoofbeats pounding up the trail through the darkness. Where, aforetime, he would have leaped to wind a blast of warning to the moonshiners above against the coming of the "revenuers," the old man now hastened to the cabin door, and flung it wide, and went forth on the porch to give grateful greeting.

When a council had been held, three parties set forth. Seth Jones was the guide for one, which went to the northeast, through the Bull Head Mountain region, whither, in all likelihood, the outlaw would make his way, if he meant to escape out of the country. The marshal, with one companion, skirted Stone Mountain. Uncle Dick led two of the posse to the yellow poplar where the struggle had occurred, after which they would follow the general direction of the tracks. The marshal expected to make a circuit of the mountain rapidly enough to effect a junction with Uncle Dick's party by noon, at the Woodruff Gate. The veteran and his two men, who would have by far the roughest going, were not to report until sundown at the Siddon cabin.

From the poplar, Uncle Dick and the deputies were able, with great difficulty, to follow the tracks of the outlaw and his prisoner toward the south for a full mile. But at this point, an expanse of outcropping rock baffled them completely. Search as they would, there was no least sign of footsteps anywhere. After an hour of futile questing, they gave up in despair, and hurried to the rendezvous at the Woodruff Gate.

The marshal and his men had already reached the gate, and Stone had wherewith to give the distraught grandfather new hope.

"I came on their tracks a mile below where you lost them," he explained. "They still keep to the south. We followed as far as the sand bar below Sandy Creek Falls."

"Come on!" Uncle Dick cried, fiercely. "Let's arter 'im this-yer minute."

The marshal shook his head at the old man's enthusiasm.

"We're not much better off yet," he declared. "We found the place where he camped last night. 'Twasn't far. I reckon the girl made his going as slow as she could. She naturally would." Uncle Dick nodded somberly. "But the trouble is, the trail ends at the sand bar—ends absolutely."

"We'll find hit ag'in," Uncle Dick exclaimed, stoutly. "We jest got to find hit. Come on!"

The marshal urged the other to rest in preparation for the hard climb—down the ridge, and then up the sharp slopes and ledges of the mountainside. But the old man would have none of it. So, straightway, the two moved off, leaving the others, less hardy, to repose, and in due time they came to the bar below Sandy Creek Falls.

High among the embattled cliffs of Stone Mountain's eastern end, Sandy Creek races in tumultuous course. The limpid stream cascades in vertical sheen of silver from ledge to ledge. It writhes with ceaseless noisy complainings through the twisting ways of bowlder-strewn gorges. Here and there, in some placid pool, it seems to pause, languid, resting from its revels of flight. Such a pool lay at the foot of the longest fall. A barrier of sand circled from the cliff as the brim for this bowl of the waters. To this point, Marshal Stone and Uncle Dick were now come. The tracks were plainly discernible in the sand, along the edge of the pool. There were the huge misshapen outlines of the outlaw's bare feet, deep-sunken from the heavy weight of the man. Beside them showed the slender prints made by the captive, lightly pressed. These tracks followed the curving bar, along the water's edge. They reached to the foot of the cliff, close to where was the outer edge of the cataract. There they ceased.

The marshal, already familiar with the mystery, and baffled by it, searched again perfunctorily. Uncle Dick hunted hither and yon with feverish activity, at first confidently, then doubtfully, finally in despair. He, in his turn, could find no further clue. He gave over his efforts eventually, and stood silent beside the marshal, staring bewilderedly. About the amphitheatre formed by the pool, pines grew in a half-circle, save where the narrow channel of the stream descended. But between the barricade of the trees and the basin of water lay the smooth stretch of sand, slightly moist from out-flung spray of the falls. Upon that level surface, the tracks showed forth—undeniable, inexplicable. They marched without deviation straight to the base of the great cliff. There, within a little space, they grew confused, as from much trampling. But they did not return; they did not go elsewhere. There was a clear distance of a rod over the sand to the rocky ground where the trees grew. On the other side lay the deeps of the pool. Before them reared the impassible wall of the precipice. And there the tracks ended.

Uncle Dick knew the place well, and on that account the mystery was the greater. He could find no possible explanation, however wildly improbable, of that disappearance. The broad sheet of the falls fell close to the cliff's face. The rock was unworn by the torrent, without recess or cavern. And that precipice, twice the pool's width, mounted sheer a hundred feet, the height of the cascade. The front was unbroken save by tiny rifts and narrow ledges, where dwarfed ground pines clung precariously. With a muttered curse, the old man turned from his vain contemplation of the cliff, and let his troubled eyes rest on the pool. Suddenly, he started. He remained motionless for a moment, then, with nervous haste threw off his shirt, and trousers. Marshal Stone, chancing to look that way, was astonished to see his companion naked, poised at the water's edge. He had time to note with admiration the splendid figure, still supple and strongly muscled despite the four-score years. Then Uncle Dick leaped, and dived. It was long seconds before he reappeared, only to dive again. He paid no attention to the marshal's remonstrances. Only when he was convinced of the uselessness of further search in the pool's depths, did he give over the task, and cast himself down on the sand to rest, panting and trembling a little from fatigue.

"They hain't thar," he said, with grim conviction. Then he voiced the question that hammered in his brain: "Whar be they?"

But the marshal had no answer.

As they made their way drearily back toward the Woodruff Gate, the officer broke a long silence:

"Only a blood-hound can trail them!"

The gloom of Uncle Dick's expression did not lighten.

"They hain't nary one in the mountings," he answered, heavily.

"None nearer than Suffolk, Virginia," the marshal said. "Cyclone Brant has a couple of good ones. But it would cost a lot."

The old man flared.

"Fer God's sake, git thet-thar feller an' his dawgs. I hain't axin' what hit 'll cost. Hit was my money got thet-thar damned cuss out o' the jail-house. I hain't likely to begrudge anythin' hit 'll cost to git him kotched. An' Plutiny!—why, money don't matter none, if I can save Plutiny!"

"I'll send for Brant to-night," the marshal promised, with new cheerfulness. "Let's hope he's not off somewhere. They send for him all over the country. If the dogs start day after to-morrow, they'll still find the scent."

Uncle Dick groaned.

"An' her a-lyin' out with thet-thar wolf all thet while," he mumbled, in despair. "Mebby, this very minute, she's a-screamin'—callin' to her ole gran'pap to save her. My Plutiny!" He walked with lagging steps; the tall form, usually so erect, was bowed under the burden of tormenting fears. The marshal, understanding, ventured no word of comfort.

It was late afternoon when the dispirited searchers reached the Siddon clearing on their return from the fruitless day's work. There, they were astonished to see the Widow Higgins come down the path toward them, at a pace ordinarily forbidden by her rheumatic joints. She waved a paper in her hand.

"Hit's a telegraph," she called shrilly. Her voice held something of the awe with which remoter regions still regard that method of communication. But there was a stronger emotion still that thus sent the old woman dancing in forgetfulness of her chronic pains. It was explained in her next sentence, cried out with a mother's exultation in the homecoming of her beloved. Almost, in joy over seeing her son again, she forgot the misery that was bringing him.

"Hit's from Zekie! Zekie's comin' home!"

Uncle Dick could not share the mother's delight. The lover's coming could hardly avail anything toward saving the girl. Nevertheless, he took the sheet of paper, which carried the message sent on by telephone from North Wilkesboro' to Joines' store. He read it aloud, that the marshal might hear:

Suffolk, Va.

Richard Siddon, Joines' Mill, N. C., Via Telephone from North Wilkesboro'. Arrive to-night with bloodhound.

Ezekiel.

Uncle Dick's voice faltered a little in the reading. The black eyes were glowing with new hope beneath the beetling white brows, as he lifted his gaze to the mountain peaks. For the first time, he felt a thrill of jubilation over the young man whom he had rejected, whom now he accepted—jubilation for the fresh, virile, strength of the lad, for the resourcefulness that this message so plainly declared. The old man's lips moved in vague, mute phrases, which were the clumsy expressions of emotions, of gratitude to Providence for the blessing of another's energy, on which to lean in this time of trial. There had been desperate need of haste in getting the hounds on the trail. Now, they were coming—to-night. Zeke was bringing them. Perhaps, after all, an old man's declining years would know the fond tenderness of a daughter's care—and a son's. Thank God that Zeke was coming!



CHAPTER XVII

Zeke, in his new life, found little leisure for loneliness, though nightly he fell asleep with an ache of nostalgia in his heart, longing for the mountains of home and the girl who dwelt among them. But his days were filled with various activities that held his whole attention. With a mind keen and apt to receive impressions, and hungry for knowledge, he gave himself joyously to learning the details of Sutton's tree-nail manufacture. The processes were, in fact, simple, and he mastered them with ease. Then, he was instructed more broadly in business methods, with the purpose of making him competent when he should become a manager of the projected factory in the Blue Ridge region. His time was thus so fully occupied that he had neither opportunity nor inclination for social pleasures.

He spent a week-end in his employer's Long Island home, and surprised that gentleman mightily by the propriety of his manners, which he had acquired on the yacht. On this occasion, Sutton spoke definitely of his plans. The railroad branch north from the main line was now a certainty, and the construction would soon start. At that time, Zeke would return to North Carolina, and set about securing options on the best available timber. A mill would be built, and the manufacture of tree-nails carried on. Zeke, in addition to an adequate salary, would receive a certain share of the profits. The prospect was one to delight any ambitious young man, and Zeke appreciated it to the full. But most of all he rejoiced that his success should come to him in the place he loved, where the girl waited.

Zeke had a companion, who shared with him the tiny hall-room, and kept at his side in long evening rambles through the city streets. It came about in this wise:

It was one afternoon when he had been in New York for a week, that a visitor entered, unannounced, the office where he was listening intently to Sutton's crisp explanations of business routine. Zeke looked up at the sound of the opening door. Then, his jaw dropped, his eyes widened. Next moment, he sprang to his feet, his face radiant with welcome. His phrases, in the excitement of this meeting, were the mountaineer's idioms, which new associations were beginning to modify in his ordinary speech.

"Why, hit's shorely Miss Josephine!" he cried, as he advanced upon her, with outstretched hand. He saw the dog, straining toward him on the leash. "An' thet-thar man-faced dawg!"

There was a little interval of confusion, while greetings were exchanged amid the demonstrative antics of the bull-terrier. Sutton was called away presently, and then the girl explained the object of her visit.

"You never noticed it," she said somewhat pettishly; "but one time on the yacht, I came up on deck with Chubbie. You were over by the rail. You snapped your fingers to him. I ordered him to stay with me. He wouldn't mind. He went to you. Well, I decided right then what I'd do."

"Why, shucks, Miss Josephine!" Zeke exclaimed, in much distress. "He jest nacherly didn't mean nothin' by thet."

"He showed something by it, though," was the retort. "He showed that he belonged to you, and not to me. So, here he is." She held out the leash to Zeke, who took it doubtfully, only half-comprehending. As he was about to speak, a gesture checked him.

"I'm not really a bit generous in giving him to you. My dog must like me better than anyone else in the world. That's why I really don't want Chubbie any longer. You're first in his heart, and I'm second. And, though I'm quite selfish about it, I know I'm doing him the greatest favor in the world—that is, if you're willing to take him."

"I'd shore be tickled to death to have him," Zeke admitted. "But it don't seem right."

"Providence seems to have arranged it that way, anyhow," Josephine declared, airily. "Perhaps, if a surgeon operated on him for the dent you put in his skull, he might cease loving you. But nothing else seems likely to stop him."

The dog, thrusting its cold muzzle against Zeke's palm, whined assent. Josephine regarded her disloyal pet a little regretfully.

"He's a good dog," she said, softly. "He deserves to be happy."

"Plutiny'll be plumb tickled to see the critter I've wrote sech a heap about," Zeke remarked. His eyes were suddenly grown dreamy.

"You and your Plutina!" she railed. But her voice was very kindly. When she had learned of the young man's prospects and the nearness of his return home, she uttered a remark that puzzled Zeke.

"You don't need to envy anyone." There was a light almost of jealousy in the blue eyes.

"Why, I never thought o' sech a thing!" he answered indignantly. "Why should I?"

"Why, indeed?" Josephine repeated, and she sighed. She sighed again on taking leave, when she observed that the bull-terrier made no movement to accompany her, but stood steadfastly by Zeke's side.

* * * * *

Into the happy, busy routine of Zeke's life in New York, Uncle Dick's telegram came with the crash of catastrophe. It was merely with innocent wondering that he opened the yellow envelope, which a messenger delivered in Sutton's office on a pleasant summer afternoon. It was the first missive of the sort in Zeke's experience, yet he felt no slightest chill of apprehension. His mood was too firmly joyous to be easily shaken. He merely wondered, and felt no fear whatever, as he pulled out the sheet of flimsy paper, and unfolded it, while his employer sat looking on curiously, himself already suspicious of trouble. Zeke read the typewritten words through stupidly, under the first shock uncomprehending. Then, he repeated the message aloud, as if challenging its meaning.

"Plutina been stolen," ran the summons. "Dan Hodges done it. Need help."

The name of Richard Siddon as the sender in itself told how desperate must be the situation, else Uncle Dick would not have summoned the suitor he had rejected. Zeke stared pitifully at Sutton. His eyes had the pathos of a stricken animal's. For a little, he seemed dazed by the unexpectedness of this evil. Then, very soon, rage mounted blackly. Sutton, listening, could not repress a shudder before the deadly hate in Zeke's voice.

"I'll kill Dan Hodges!" was the promise. The voice was low and even, but it roared in the ears of the listener. There was something terrifying in the stark savagery that showed in the mountaineer's tones and in the drawn, pallid face.

But, after the one outburst, Zeke maintained an appearance of hypocritical calm. Only in the tremulousness of his voice when he thanked Sutton did he betray the depth of his feeling.

In truth, he had new reason for gratitude in this emergency to the man who already had so befriended him.

"You'll want to start at once, of course," Sutton said.

Zeke nodded assent.

"Well, I think I'll go with you. Perhaps, I might help. It'll be better for you with somebody along."

Zeke offered a protest, but it was disregarded.

"I know Plutina," Sutton said, earnestly, "and I know you, Zeke. I want to help. Now, I wonder—"

He fell silent for a space, thinking deeply. When he spoke again it was with curt decisiveness:

"It's hurrying things a bit, but not too much. I'll have you stay down there, Zeke, and get after the timber as soon as you have Plutina back."

Then, as the young man regarded him in bewilderment, he explained fully:

"I've just heard a rumor that Grearson and Company are going to send a man down there. I'll beat them to it. I meant to start you off in a month or so. But you've learned all you need to here, and it's better to hurry, so as not to run any risk of my competitors getting in ahead. We'll get away on the train to-night."

So it came about that the two reached Norfolk late in the afternoon of the following day, after what had seemed to the tortured lover an eternity of listless crawling toward the mountains. Now Zeke felt no longer dismay over the rapid flight of the train, as in his first journeying, but only a fierce longing to cover the miles more swiftly. For he appreciated how great was the crisis. Plutina had written him of her part in the raid on Hodges' still, and she had expressed in some degree the apprehensions she felt. Zeke was sure that, somehow, Plutina's betrayal of the still had become known to the outlaw, and on this account the man had sought vengeance. The lover sickened at the thought of the form that brutal vengeance might take. Often, Sutton, covertly watchful, averted his glance that he might not see the despair on the mountaineer's face.

The two travelers were on their way to the ferry in Norfolk, when inspiration came to Zeke: He bethought him of Cyclone Brant, and the stag-hound, Jack. A few words sufficed for explanation of the matter to Sutton, who welcomed the idea of securing such assistance for the search.

"I kin git 'im, if he's home," Zeke declared, eagerly. "He lives in Suffolk, 'bout twenty miles toward Wilkes. I'll try an' git 'im on the 'phone."

In this, he was successful, and he was greatly cheered by the anxiety displayed by Brant to be of assistance. But the detective was distressed over the delay of twelve hours that must ensue before they could get a train to North Wilkesboro'. Sutton removed this difficulty by ordering a special, which should be made up at once, and should stop at Suffolk to take on Brant and his dog. So, within the hour, the three men and the hound were rushing at rocking speed along the tortuous river course that led into the mountains. Instructions had been sent ahead, by Brant's suggestion, to have an automobile and driver in readiness for the arrival of the party at the North Wilkesboro' station.

The three men talked but little during the trip. The tenseness of suspense held them in thrall, and, for the most part, they sat in grim silence, staring out of the windows at the swiftly flitting panorama of moonlit landscape, wherein the fertile level areas changed to narrowing valleys, and these, in turn, to wild gorges, where the river ran in bellowing riot beneath lofty ramparts of stone. Sutton's thoughts veered from pity for his young friend to keen calculation of profits to come from the locust timber of the slopes. Cyclone Brant mused on his past adventurings in these wilds. From time to time, he pulled at the ears of the stag-hound, which sat on its haunches in the aisle, balancing its big bulk elastically against the erratic joltings of the car, and regarding its master with patient adoration in the reddened eyes.

Zeke, too, had the single comfort of a dog's faithful fondness. The bull-terrier crouched on the seat beside its master. The squat-featured face was thrust forward, with the heavy jaw resting on Zeke's lap. Often, the dog whined, with a soft, whimpering note. It was as if the creature knew its master's grief, and wished to tell its sympathy. There was a curious help to the young man's courage in the eager, caressing thrusts of the cold nose against his palm. And he had need of every help, even the least, for, in this period of inactivity, the spirit within him was near to fainting. Because he knew fully the depraved nature of Hodges, he could not blind himself to the frightful peril of Plutina in the outlaw's power. The girl's plight was one to inspire horror in any decent breast; to the lover, worshiping her as something ineffably holy, the possibility of her pollution by the brute who had stolen her away was a thing too monstrous for belief, yet not to be denied. He strove to drive the hideous thought from his mind, but, ever, it crept again into his consciousness. The sickness of his soul found its only relief in bursts of fury against the cause of this wickedness. His manhood asserted itself in a primitive lust to torture and to destroy.

There were intervals of softer emotion, when he lived again the sweet raptures of hours alone with Plutina in the mountain solitude. But the moods of retrospection were short, perforce. They weakened him too greatly. The very heart seemed to flow from him like water, as memories crowded. The contrast of the present was too hideous for endurance. Again, the ghastly despair—the black rage, the whining of the dog, and the thrust of the cold muzzle to distract for a moment. Then, once more, the agonizing round.

The grinding of brakes, as the train drew to a standstill at North Wilkesboro', came as a poignant relief to the three travelers. Even the dogs seemed to relax from strain, and a covert hostility, which had marked their first meeting, vanished while they sniffed at each other in inquisitive, friendly fashion.

The automobile was in waiting. Zeke jumped in beside the driver. The bull-terrier was held firmly between his legs. Sutton, Brant and the hound established themselves in the tonneau. Within a minute after the stopping of the train, the car was rolling rapidly over the highway toward Joines' mill. The chauffeur made the best speed possible under Zeke's urging, and the run was short.

Beyond the mill, the trail branching off the main road was rough and narrow, traversed only by horsemen and the clumsy vehicles of the mountaineers. No automobile had ever passed over it, and the party had planned to secure mounts at the mill, and to continue the journey on horseback. Zeke, however, realized the advantage in continuing by machine, were this possible, and he suggested it to the driver. The man was doubtful, but, too, he was an enthusiast in his work, and the opportunity of thus climbing the mountains, where no other car had been, appealed strongly to his ambition. In the end, he consented, with a prudent stipulation concerning possible damages. So, without pause, the automobile shot forward past mill and store, and went clambering along the trail toward the northern coves. The driver ran cautiously enough, despite Zeke's impatience, but, at the best, the trip was a strain on the men and on the mechanism that bore them, for the car lurched and bounced over the uneven surface, and more than once was near to being overturned. Their ultimate safety was due, in great measure, to Zeke himself. Familiar with every foot of the way, he was able to advise the chauffeur of the more dangerous points. Neither Sutton nor Brant had uttered a word of protest against undertaking the perils of this final stage, but both breathed a sigh of relief, when, at last, the car stopped in the clearing before the Siddon cabin, and the journey was safely done.

The wooden wheels of the poplar clock in the cabin were whirring for the striking of midnight, when their noise was overborne by the grotesque, unfamiliar honkings of an automobile horn. With the second of the three blasts, the cabin's door swung open, and in the light of it was silhouetted the tall form of Uncle Dick.

"Zeke!" he called; and his voice was a little broken.

Then, with instinctive delicacy of feeling, he stepped aside, as the young man sprang up the steps, and he stood silent, while mother and son were folded in each other's arms, murmuring endearments. But, when Zeke at last turned to face the old man, Uncle Dick's hand went out to a powerful clasp that told how profoundly he was moved.

"I'm glad ye've come, boy," he said, simply. And Zeke knew that the old distrust and suspicion were gone forever, and in their stead were come affection and faith.



CHAPTER XVIII

Zeke was astounded when he looked around the living-room and recognized Marshal Stone, together with the members of the posse. He suddenly became aware that the change in Uncle Dick was even greater than he had supposed. There had been a radical readjustment of the old man's' attitude toward life, which disposed him not only to acceptance of Zeke with affection and confidence, but also to toleration of, and alliance with, the "revenuers," whom he had so consistently hated through a long lifetime. Zeke refrained however, from any open expression of his amazement, and at once joined the other men in devising a plan of operations to be begun at dawn.

It was decided that Uncle Dick should accompany the marshal and Brant, with the stag-hound, to the tracks of Hodges and Plutina on the north face of Stone Mountain, near Sandy Creek, where the dog could take up the scent, in the hope of solving the mystery that had baffled the human searchers.

Then Uncle Dick interposed a suggestion that suited Zeke well.

"If so be," he exclaimed abruptly, "as how Dan Hodges is atop thet-thar mounting, an' he gits the dawg nigh the precipice, he might throw the critter over. He's powerful strong, Dan is, an' desprit."

"Yes, the fellow's capable of it," Stone agreed.

"I'm a-thinkin' as hit mout be well fer Zeke to git atop the mounting fust off," Uncle Dick continued, "an' watch out fer Hodges. Hit's pretty open up thar, and easy to waylay a body."

"I'll go," Zeke declared, with eagerness.

The marshal directed the men of the posse to scatter to various points on the railway lines.

"Hodges'll probably try to get out of the country, the minute he hears the hound after him," Stone explained. "All of my men have seen him, and they'll be able to stop him, if he manages somehow to cover his scent from the dog, and get off."

Sutton, much against his will, was forced to remain inactive at the cabin as he was not physically fitted for the hard tramping over the mountains.

Zeke was the prey of emotions too deep to permit much interest in a stranger, but he had a friendly, if wan, smile for the veteran, whom he remembered from their single meeting. He attempted a display of attention on hearing of the marriage so recently achieved, but the effort failed pitifully. Seth Jones, however, took no offence, since he understood how great must be the young man's misery. On the contrary, his sympathies were deeply stirred, and he essayed a few words meant to comfort.

"An' I reckon I'll go 'long with you-all, Zeke, in the mornin'," he concluded.

But Zeke shook his head at the offer.

"I got to cross over home fer my rifle-gun," he explained, vaguely.

"I clean fergot to tell ye," Uncle Dick cried. "Yer rifle-gun's hyar, Zeke. I done fotched it over fer ye."

"Thank ye, Uncle Dick," was the grave response. But the young man did not rescind his refusal of the veteran's company.

Uncle Dick offered a share of his bed to Brant and the marshal, but it was refused by both. There were blankets spread for the men on the floor of the porch, where the smoke gushed from a smudge kettle to keep off the mosquitoes. There, presently, the company stretched themselves for the brief dreamless sleep won by the day's fatigues.

Even Zeke fell into a sound slumber, with the bull-terrier nestled at his breast. He had not thought to sleep, only to lie quiet for a little rest, and then, long before the dawn, to issue forth alone. Nevertheless, his repose was profound for two hours, or more. Perhaps, the stirring of the dog awoke him; perhaps, his own determination, subconsciously exerted. Anyhow, he straightened up suddenly, and stared about him stupidly, reluctant to believe that he had actually slept thus, while Plutina cried out for succor. He was relieved when he perceived that there was not yet even a trace of dawn in the east. He realized that it was as well, for though he had lost little time, he felt vitally refreshed, with new vigors to battle in behalf of the girl he loved. It was but the work of a minute noiselessly to possess himself of his rifle, and to descend the steps. The bull-terrier kept close at his heels. With the dog still following, Zeke, pressed forward through the darkness toward Stone Mountain.

The other sleepers were aroused by Uncle Dick as the first gray light was flushing to the rose of dawn over the eastern mountains. There was some astonishment at finding Zeke already gone, but it subsided quickly, for all understood how great must be his anxiety. The men of the posse duly took their departure for the railway points designated by the marshal. Seth Jones set out in pursuit of Zeke. Stone, with Uncle Dick and Brant, made ready for the actual hunting of the outlaw.

"I've seen Jack more than once pick up a cold trail three days old," the hound's master declared, with a manifest pride in the creature's prowess; "and run down his man. Can we get hold of something to give him the scent—an old shoe, or cap—anything?"

"Got jest the thing fer ye," Uncle Dick replied, leading the way from the cabin toward one of the out-buildings. "Hit's an ole coat. Dan left hit one hot day when he stopped in at my forge, to tinker the rivets to the cap o' the still. Hit was dum hot thet day, an' he left 'is coat. 'Twa'n't wuth comin' back fer. I 'low the smell's about all thet's left to hit."

Brant showed the tattered garment to the stag-hound, and bade the animal smell it. The dog sniffed obediently a few times, sneezed as if in disgust of the odor, regarded its master understandingly, and then walked away.

"That's all that's necessary," Cyclone Brant declared. "The dog and I are ready."

Forthwith, the three men, with the hound, set forth toward the southeast, to cut the track of the outlaw near Sandy creek. They followed the trail to a point some distance beyond the Woodruff Gate, and then left it to ascend the precipitous slopes near the eastern end of Stone Mountain. They were not far from Sandy Creek Falls, when the marshal halted, and pointed out the remains of a camp-fire.

"This is where Hodges stopped to cook his supper the first night," he explained. "I followed the tracks on to the creek, and up it to the falls, where I lost them. Now, it's up to the dog."

A growl from the hound caused the three to look up, startled. There was an exclamation from Uncle Dick, and the rifle leaped to his shoulder.

"No, no—don't shoot!" Stone ordered. He, too, had seen and recognized Garry Hawks, as the fellow, evidently disconcerted by their presence there, slipped stealthily into the laurel. "He'll be more useful to us alive presently," he explained to Uncle Dick, who had obeyed protestingly.

"Thet's so, likely," the old man conceded grudgingly. Then he chuckled harshly, for the first time since Plutina's disappearance. "Got his right wing slung up! Did ye see hit? Tiny done hit—pore gal! Purty peart at shootin', Tiny is. Thet-thar—"

"There's a fresh track here made by Hodges," the marshal exclaimed, interrupting. He pointed to a plain imprint on the dirt covering of a flat rock.

Brant brought his dog to the spot, pointed to the footprint, and slipped the leash. The hound lowered its head, snuffed at the ground, and gave tongue. In the same second, it was off at speed, running with muzzle low, with the continuous whining yelps that told of a warm scent. It did not vanish into the coverts as all had expected, but followed through the open place that led to the northward, skirting the wood. As the men hurried after, they caught a final glimpse of the dog two hundred yards beyond, just disappearing over a ridge. They followed the sound of its baying with what haste they might, yet slowly, by reason of the difficult going. The dog's cries guided them, much to the surprise of Uncle Dick and the marshal, straight toward Sandy Creek Falls, whither the first tracks of the outlaw and the girl had led, and where they had been so mysteriously lost. As the three scrambled up a steep ascent, scarcely a hundred yards from the sand-bar, there came to their ears from the hound a high, melancholy howl.

"It means that Jack is at fault, somehow," Brant explained in answer to a grunt of inquiry from Uncle Dick. "Something puzzling him for a minute."

The two listeners looked at each other with grave faces. Was it possible, they wondered, that the hound would be baffled, even as they had been, there at the pool? But their expression lightened the next moment, for two sharp, harsh barks came from the dog, which was evidently still in the neighborhood of the falls, and its master interpreted:

"Jack's treed his game, sure's you're born!"

The three topped the ridge, and broke into a run down the slope, their rifles at the ready. Within the minute, they leaped from the thicket into the open place below the falls. Then, with one accord, they stopped short and stood staring bewilderedly.

The hound continued its deep-chested baying. It stood erect on its hind legs, almost to a man's height. It was supported by its fore-paws extended as far up as they would reach against the wall of the precipice, a little to the left of the waterfall. As it barked, the dog held its muzzle pointed straight upward. There could be no doubt, if the sensitiveness of the brute were to be relied on, that its quarry had, in some incomprehensible fashion, contrived to mount the sheer surface of the cliff. That the hound was sure, was made plain by the rigidity of its posture, by the fierce, challenging ululations, which pealed forth incessantly.

The three men went forward presently, their gaze wandering aloft from the dog, over the inaccessible expanse of vertical cliffs. They came down to the sand-bar, and followed it around the pool, still in silence, and still with their puzzled eyes roving hither and yon for some clue to understanding of this thing. But, of a sudden, Uncle Dick shouted:

"I see how 'tis! I shorely kotch on. Looky thar!"

The marshal and Brant followed the direction of his pointing arm, but they saw nothing to make the matter clear—only a tiny ledge, fifty feet above them, along which grew a few bushes and clumps of ground pine. It offered no hiding-place for a child even, hardly footing for the outlaw's heavy bulk. But Uncle Dick shook his head to rebuke their lack of comprehension, then explained:

"Dan's a keen un, all right," he said, with grudging admiration. "But this-hyar time he's done left 'is mark fer my ole eyes to see. Now, you-all jest throw yer eyes o' vision up the side o' the cliff ag'in. If ye looks cluss, ye kin see a streak o' dampness on the rock. Hit's jet as if a mounting rattler mout 'a' dove down the rock right thar. But 'twa'n't thet. Thet-thar streak is the mark of a wet rope—er mebby a grape-vine. Thet's the way them devils git up an' down. I'll bet every stick o' my mounting timber them cusses got a cave up thar, offen the ledge. P'rhaps Garry Hawks jest got up, since we-uns seen 'im. An' the rock hain't had time to dry from the rope, er vine, a-gittin' wet in the falls. Dan Hodges thought he had a mighty cute place to lay out in. But he's kotched jest the same—damn 'im!... Good dawg!" The change in Uncle Dick's voice as he spoke the last two words was startling.

The two listeners accepted the old man's solution, but they did not share his enthusiasm. On the contrary, they were very grave, for the task before them appeared formidable, if not impossible, of achievement. As they continued silent, gazing upward with frowning faces, Uncle Dick regarded them at first in perplexity, then in rapidly-mounting apprehension.

"What's a-bitin' on ye?" he demanded, at last.

The marshal replied.

"There's no way of getting them out of there. They're armed and not particular about murder. They can hold that fort till kingdom-come. Dan could alone. There's nothing for it but to starve 'em out—if they're there."

"And the trouble about that is," Brant added, "that they've got the girl for hostage. It seems to me that this Dan Hodges has the whip-hand."

For a little, Uncle Dick, who had paled under the tan, stood silent, looking helplessly from one to the other of his companions. Then he groaned aloud. But in the next instant, he straightened to his full height. His face grew convulsed with rage, as he faced the cliff, and his great voice volumed above the clamor of the cataract:

"God A'mighty damn ye, Dan Hodges! Damn ye—damn ye!"

And then again:

"Damn ye, Dan Hodges, ferever an' ferever!"



CHAPTER XIX

Plutina's treatment of Hodges had had a curious effect on that lawless character. The humiliation to which he had been subjected had indeed filled him with vicious rage, but, too, it had inflamed his passion for the girl. Her scorn and her fierce mastery of him had made her more than ever desirable. He was fascinated by the strength and courage she had displayed. Brutal and evil as he was, Hodges was strong physically, and, in his own wicked way, strong of will. Because he was stronger than his fellows, he ruled them. Strength was, in fact, the one thing that he could admire. The revelation of it in Plutina at once set her apart from all other women, and gave to his craving for her a clumsy sort of veneration. But that veneration was strangely modified by resolve to be avenged for the insult she had put upon him. Thus, it had come about that he planned to satisfy his varied feelings toward the girl by the abduction. He swore to master her, to change her insolence to fawning submission, to abject fondness.

Hodges wasted no time. His sluggish brain began its scheming the moment a turn in the trail hid him from view, after the ignominious march from the Holloman Gate. At sunrise, next morning, he was lurking on the borders of the Siddon clearing, spying on the movements of the family. He even witnessed Plutina's confession to her grandfather, of which he guessed the purport, and at which he cursed vilely beneath his breath. When Plutina set forth for the Cherry Lane post-office, he followed, slinking through the forest at a safe distance from the trail. He was not quite certain as to where or when he should attack the girl, but he meant to seize the first favorable opportunity, whether it came sooner or later. It came, as a matter of fact, very soon, and it was given by Plutina herself.

There at the fallen poplar, the girl found a comfortable nook on the big trunk, where her back was supported by a limb. The serenity of the scene soothed her over-wrought nerves. The sense of relief that had come from confession to her grandfather was less vivid now. In its stead was a blessed peacefulness. She watched lazily the visible details of forest life around about her. Her attention centered finally on a yellow-hammer, which was industriously boring the trunk of a dead chestnut. From the nest near-by, the callow young thrust naked heads, with bills gaping hungrily. Then, in a twinkling, birds and forest vanished, and she was standing on the mist-strewn steeps of Stone Mountain, and Zeke's arm was about her, and her hand was clasped in his. So, she slept, and smiled a little in her dreams, for the touch of the breeze on her cheek seemed the caress of her lover's lips. From his lair in the laurel, Dan Hodges, watching, knew that his opportunity was come. The outlaw laid down his rifle, and drew from a pocket a stout leash of cowhide, a yard long. Glancing from time to time at his intended victim, to see that she still slept, he hastily fashioned a slip-noose at either end of the thong. This done, he began moving forward with the utmost caution, taking advantage of the cover, that he might remain invisible should the girl awake. He held the leash in his two hands ready for instant action. A slight detour brought him around the stump of the poplar, just behind Plutina. Advancing with even increased carefulness now, he approached until the girl was easily within his reach. As she reclined on the tree-trunk, her left hand hung at length on the side next to him. The right arm was bent along the supporting branch, and the hand pillowed her cheek. After a moment of doubt, Hodges decided that he would attempt to secure the free wrist in a noose of the leash without awakening her. It would be easy then to catch and bind the other wrist. In the confusion of sudden rousing from sleep, she would make no effective resistance. The capture would be very simple.

It was, in truth, tragically simple, yet not so simple as the outlaw had anticipated. From dreams of tenderness, Plutina was suddenly started to hateful realization by the scarcely perceptible touch of this being so repugnant to her every instinct. She was confused, indeed, but not too confused for frantic resistance. It needed no more than recognition of the man's brutal face so close to hers to inspire her. She fought him with every ounce of her strength. The left hand was useless, held down by his on the thong, with the noose drawn taut about the wrist. But the outlaw, though he contrived to get the other noose over her right hand, failed somehow to tighten it at once. She was able to strike at him again and again. Her blows fell on his face, and they were sturdy blows. Hodges made no effort to avoid them, nor struck back—only busied himself with the effort to tighten the noose. It was evident that he disdained her attack. A certain virile pride forbade defense against this onslaught of a girl. Finally, he brought his left hand to aid in adjusting the second noose. In the few seconds of liberty, Plutina abandoned blows, and resorted to savage clawing at the evil face. Her ten nails streaked the coarse features with blood. But still he seemed absolutely indifferent to such wounds as she could inflict. Then, the noose slipped to tightness. The girl's hands were brought close together behind her back, where she stood beside him. He knotted the slack of the leash, and holding the loop, grinned triumphantly at his captive. His bloody face was a mask of malice.

"Ye damned little wildcat," he growled, yet with an unmistakable note of admiration in his voice, "if I sarved ye 'cordin' to yer earnin's, I'd shorely tap ye over thet-thar purty haid o' your'n, an' pitch ye over into the Devil's Kittle, to wait fer yer runt lover to come arter ye." He twisted her about viciously. Despite her strength, unusual in a woman, Plutina was powerless in his grip. Holding her close, face to face, he contemplated the girl's pitiable distress with gloating eyes in which there was no faintest suggestion of pity. The prisoner met the malignant gaze for an instant. Then, her eyes fell, and she stood trembling. She was panting, partly from terror, partly from the violence with which she had struggled. Hodges chuckled, well content over the impression he had made. He would show her how a woman should be tamed! But the thing must be done in full accord with a plan he had made. Now that the captive had duly learned her first lesson in submissiveness, he might relax a little from his severity for a time. Besides, too much fright might leave her helpless on his hands, which would be highly inconvenient, since there was a rough journey on foot before them. When he next spoke, he tried, without much success, to make his voice conciliatory.

"Thar hain't no call fer ye to be so dum skeery—leastways, not yit. I hain't a-hurtin' ye none—not yit—only jest a-tyin' yer han's to keep 'em out o' mischief. But I reckon as how ye'll hev to eat them words ye spoke to me at the gate yistiddy. I 'low ye done forgot the warnin' I gin ye 'bout playin' Dan Hodges fer a fool. Ye're lookin' mighty sorry ye ever tried hit." He chuckled again, as he meditated a humorous effort: "Ye know thet pore feller what ye winged yistiddy?" He shook his head reprovingly. "You-all shore hadn't orter never 'ave done no sech thing. Garry wa'n't a-bitin' on ye none. He's hurt bad, Garry is, an' he needs a nuss the worst way, Garry does. An' so I come an' got ye." He guffawed over his wit. "If ye'll behave I'll let loose o' ye a mite, an' we'll stroll along a matter of a few mile to whar Garry's waitin' awful impatient."

Suddenly, unreasoning fear surged up in Plutina, brimmed over in a torrent of pleading words. She knew the uselessness of appeal to this callous wretch. But the instinct of terror in her horrible situation mastered the girl, so that she forgot pride, and besought his mercy. She was ghastly pale, and the dilated eyes were almost black, with a stricken look in their clouded depths. Her voice was shaking.

"Lemme go Dan—lemme go. Ye've done got even with me now fer yistiddy. Lemme go—I ax it of ye, Dan. I done ye dirt yistiddy, 'cause I was scared o' ye. An' I'm scared o' ye now, Dan. Lemme go home, an' I won't never tell nobody how ye kotched me."

She had raised her eyes beseechingly. Now, as she saw the smug mockery on her captor's face, she fell silent. The futility of any pleading was too plain. Her eyes shifted to the ground again. But the first wild fear was past, and she began to think with some clearness. At once, it occurred to her that she must guard her strength jealously. She had already wasted too much in vain physical struggling and in vainer emotional outbursts. She must save her energies henceforth both of body and of mind, that she might have wherewith to contrive, escape and wherewith to accomplish it, or wherewith to fight against a lustful brute to the very death.

Hodges spoke approval.

"Ye're gittin' sense. Better save yer breath to cool yer porrich, stid o' wastin' hit a-whinin' to me. But I shore admire fer to hear ye squawk. Ye hain't quite so damned uppitty as ye was yistiddy."

"I 'low I must do what ye says," Plutina agreed, listlessly. She felt very weary, now that the reaction was upon her. At whatever cost, she must have an interval in which to recover from this weakness.

"Thet's the ticket!" Hodges exclaimed, with a jovialty meant to be winning. He went behind her, and loosened the knot he had last tied, so that her wrists, although still fast bound, had a little play. The length of the loop allowed him to move by her side with it over his arm. "You-all jest mosey acrost to thet-thar birch clump," he directed, pointing. "I got a rifle-gun yender, what I kain't noways do without."

Plutina walked obediently at his side in the direction indicated, and stood passively while he picked up the weapon. Then, in response to his command, she set off with him through the tortuous forest paths to the southward.

For the time being, Plutina's dominant emotion was a vast depression. It bore down on her like a physical burden, under which she had hardly the power to go forward with slouching steps. It was as if the end of the world were come, with the loss of everything good and clean and happy. The only reality was this foul creature to whom she was bound, from whom there was no escape, who had but to speak and she must obey, who had the authority to compel obedience. She was sick with horror of the man's nearness. She felt defilement from the avid eyes, which moved over her in wanton lingering from head to foot, and back again. But she had no resource against him. She could only endure for the present, awaiting the return of strength. She could see no glimmer of hope anywhere. Yet, she strove numbly against this enveloping despair. She told herself again and again that, somehow, relief would come before the dreaded crisis. The words were spiritless; they brought no conviction. Nevertheless, she kept repeating them mutely to herself, as she trudged drearily beside Hodges toward Stone Mountain.

"I'll git clar o' him somehow—I will, I will! Gran'pap'll kill 'im! Zeke'll come! He will!"

It was incredible that her lover could come, that he could even know of the evil, until too late to save her. Yet, the thought of his coming subtly cheered her. It persisted in defiance of all reason. And the affrighted girl clung to it with desperate tenacity, as a drowning man to the life line. She kept repeating to herself, "Zeke'll come! He will, he will!" as if the phrases were a spell for the soothing of terror. She wished that her hands were free to touch the fairy crystal in her bosom.

The outlaw, after uncouth efforts at conversation, which met with no response, relapsed into sullen silence, and he mended the pace until the girl was hard put to it to keep up with his stride. On the first slopes of Stone Mountain, he halted, evidently at a spot where he had camped on other occasions, for presently he produced a skillet and coffee-pot and materials for a rude meal from their concealment in the bushes. But his first care was to place the prisoner on a log, where a sapling at her back served for attaching the loop of the leash. He then busied himself with making a fire and preparing the food, from time to time jeering at the helpless girl, who watched him with smouldering hate in her eyes.

"Hit's you-all orter be a-doin' these-hyar chores," he declared, with a grin. "An' they's a good time a-comin' when ye'll be plumb tickled to death to wait on yer Danny boy. A good time comin', cuss ye!"

He devoured his food ravenously, washing it down with the coffee. Finally, he brought slices of bread and bacon to Plutina, and laid them in her lap. He loosened her right hand and so permitted her to feed herself. It was her impulse to refuse the offering, but she resisted the folly, knowing the necessity of food, if she would have energy for the ordeal before her. So, she gulped down the bread and meat, and drank from the dipper full of coffee. Then, her bonds were tightened again, and the two renewed their march.

The going was harder here, up and down the rock-strewn slopes. Fatigue lay very heavy on Plutina, after the strains of the two days. Only her hate of the man at her side bolstered up pride, so that she compelled herself to keep moving by sheer force of will. It was already dusk, when, at last, they issued from the wood and went forward over the shore of the pool at Sandy Creek Falls.

"Wall, hyar we be!" Hodges cried loudly. There was satisfaction in his voice.

That satisfaction aroused Plutina from the apathy into which she had fallen, during the last half-mile of difficult scrambling, made more toilsome by the constraint of her bound wrists. Now, puzzlement provoked interest in her surroundings. She had expected that the outlaw would bear her away to the most convenient or the most inaccessible of the various secret retreats with which rumor credited him. But here was neither cave nor shack—only the level space of sand, the mist-wreathed pool, the rushing volume of the falls, the bleak wall of the cliff which towered above them where they had halted at its base. She knew this place. There could be no cavern at hand. Her eyes searched the space of the inclosure wonderingly. Then, they went to the man, whom she found regarding her bewilderment with a smirk of gratification.

"Hyar we be, right on the door-step, so to say," he bellowed. "If ye kain't see the door-step yit, ye will mighty quick, unless thet pore feller ye shot has gone an' died a-waitin' fer you-all to come an' nuss 'im.... Yep, he was a-watchin', all right," he added briskly. "Hyar hit comes!"

Plutina's eyes followed her captor's and, far above, she made out something that dangled from the slight break in the cliff. It descended slowly and jerkily, with haphazard gyrations. As its end drew closer, she perceived that it was a rudely constructed rope-ladder, with wooden rungs. She watched it fascinated, shivering with new fears.

When the flimsy means of ascent hung at its full length, Hodges bade the girl climb. Unnerved as she already was, the ordeal of such a progress to the mysterious height above seemed too terrible. She refused mutely, shaking her head, and cowering away from the outlaw as far as the thong permitted. But the man had no pity for her timorousness.

"You-all kin jest nacherly crawl up thet-thar ladder," he announced, "or we'll sling ye on the end of a rope, an' h'ist ye. Thet'll tumble ye round an' bump ye agin the rocks quite some. But ye're the doctor. If ye'll climb up, I'll leave yer han's loose, an' foller cluss behind ye, so ye kain't fall. Hit's shore wobbly, but hit's safe. Dan Hodges hain't aimin' to git his neck broke—ner to let the law break it fer him!" he added, in a lower tone to himself.

But Plutina caught the words. She made nothing of them at the time; afterward, she realized their significance, and thanked God for them.

In the end, the prisoner yielded to necessity and ventured to mount with reluctant slowness. She found, to her intense relief, that the strength was returning to her body. She no longer felt the pervasive lassitude. The physical improvement reacted on her mind to restore confidence in her powers. She realized that probably the only danger lay in her own faltering, and she resolved to overcome her natural dread, to bend all her energies to a safe performance of the task. Despite her hatred of the man, she found unspeakable comfort in the sight of his great hairy hands clutching the ropes on either side of her at the height of her waist. But, as she mounted, the space beneath grew fearsome to her, and she raised her eyes and held them steadily on the distance above, as she had learned to do in clambering with her lover.

Somehow, now, the thought of Zeke heartened Plutina. Swinging dizzily in the abyss, with the arms of her jailer about her, there flowed into her soul a new courage. It was without reason, an absurdity, a folly, but, oh, what a solace to her spirit! Under the stimulus of it, she ascended more rapidly. The pinched, ugly face of Garry Hawks, glowering down at her from the ledge, did not dismay her, even though the thought flashed on her brain that now this man whom she had wounded could hurl her to destruction by a touch. She had no fear of him; only pressed upward steadily. In another moment, her head passed above the level of the ledge. She took the hand Garry Hawks held out and climbed upon the narrow support, where she shrank back against the cliff, after one glance into the gulf yawning at her feet. The level space was a scant yard in width here, and lessened on the side away from the falls, until it ceased entirely. In the other direction, it ran, broadening a very little, to where a tiny cleft showed in the precipice. Plutina guessed that this marked the entrance to a cavern. Despite the bravery of her changed mood, the eerie retreat daunted her by its desolate isolation. Then, Hodges climbed upon the ledge, and she heard his shout, coming faintly to her ears above the roar of the cascade which fell just beyond the cavern's mouth.

"Welcome, home, Honey!" he bawled, with his detested jocularity. "They hain't nobody a-goin' to butt in on our love-makin' up hyar."

Tittering and leering, he seized the girl by the arm, and led her, unresisting, to the cranny that was the door of the cave. A glance over her shoulder showed Garry Hawks on his knee, hauling up the ladder. She knew that with its disappearance there would remain nought by which the searchers could guess whither she had vanished, or how. Once again, courage went out of her. In its place was despair.



CHAPTER XX

The cave into which Plutina now entered was a small, uneven chamber, some three yards in width at its highest point. It extended back for a little way, but the roof sloped downward so sharply that only in the central space could the girl stand upright, and even there Hodges had to stoop. On the far side was a hole in the rocky wall. It was hardly a yard in height, but the faint glow that marked it was proof that it reached to the daylight outside. At the best, it could serve as a passage-way only to one creeping on hands and knees. So much Plutina perceived in the first curious survey of her prison. The inspection was rendered possible by the murky light of a tallow candle, fixed in its own grease to a fragment of stone near the center of the cavern.

As the outlaw released his hold on her arm, the girl sank down listlessly on a part of the wall that projected like a bench near the entrance. She leaned back against the cold stone, and her eyes closed. She felt a terrifying weakness, against which she battled with what strength she could summon. She dared not swoon, and so leave herself wholly helpless within the power of this man. She was white and trembling, but by force of will she held herself from falling, though her muscles seemed fluid as milk, and blackness whirled before her eyes.

Nevertheless, Hodges was not minded to have a fainting woman on his hands. His prisoner's appearance alarmed him, and he hurried to a corner of the cave, whence he quickly returned with a cup half-full of whiskey. This he held to Plutina's lips. She accepted the service, for she could not lift a hand, so great was her weakness. She swallowed a part of the draught, and the strong liquor warmed and strengthened her. She was so far restored soon as to understand Hodges' closing sentence, for he had been mumbling at her.

"Ye hain't so damned skittish as ye was yistiddy," he jeered.

Plutina had no spirit to reply. She could only sit in abject lassitude, content to feel the glow of the stimulant creeping through her veins. For a time, her thoughts were stilled by the bodily torpor. She welcomed the respite, glad to rest from the horror of her plight. She heard the raucous voice of the outlaw booming in her ears, but she paid no heed. She saw Garry Hawks come into the cavern, waddling under the burden of the rope-ladder, which he carried clumsily by reason of the wound in his arm. She observed that the outlaw said something to his minion, putting his lips close to the fellow's ear, lest he be overheard. But she felt no curiosity as to the purport of this secret utterance, nor did she take interest when, immediately afterward, she beheld the wounded man get down on all fours and crawl out of sight through the hole in the opposite side of the cave.

Little by little, the prisoner's forces came back to her. Of a sudden, she aroused with a start, as though she had been asleep, albeit without any consciousness of having slept. She felt a new alertness now through all her members, and her brain was clear. Along with this well-being came again appreciation of the dreadfulness of her case. She grew rigid under the shock of dire realization, tensing her muscles, without volition, as if to repel attack. Her eyes went fearfully to Hodges, who sprawled at ease on a heap of spruce boughs across the cavern from her. The man was puffing lazily at a corncob pipe. The rank, acrid smell of the tobacco-smoke came to her nostrils, strangely home-like in this weird prison cell, aloft within the crags. She perceived, with infinite relief, that for the moment he appeared absorbed in his thoughts, disregardful of her presence. At least, she would have opportunity to fortify her spirit against the fear that beset her. She must ape bravery, even though she sickened with terror. Thus only could she hope to daunt the creature that threatened her. She had only moral strength with which to resist him. Physically, she would be as a child in his grasp, notwithstanding her quick, firm muscles. In a bodily contest, there could be but the single issue, her vanquishment. It would be hardly more than sport to him, the utmost of her frenzied strugglings. She saw the bloody marks of her fingers on his face, and remembered his stolid seeming of indifference to her fury. He had scorned her strength then. So, he would continue to scorn it—with reason, since it could by no means avail against him. No, she must have recourse to strength of will rather, to awe and intimidate him. She knew the folly of such means against the brutal desire of the man. But she clung to it as a meed of hope, because she had naught else to which to cling. Without a hope, even the falsest, she must have gone mad.

One thing seemed favoring for the time. The man was evidently sober. Plutina wondered at that, for Hodges was not often sober, and excess of liquor was an accustomed part in all his pleasures. His abstinence now puzzled her, but it relieved her, too, since it promised some postponement of his worst advances. Thus encouraged, she set herself to review the situation in detail, in forlorn attempt to come on a way of escape. But a half-hour of effort left her distraught. She could devise nothing to suit her need. Only one thought remained for tragical comfort in her wretchedness: In her last extremity, she might cast herself from the cliff. Better a thousand times clean death than defilement.... Plutina remembered her grandfather's regret over her having spared the outlaw. Now, with her finger on the trigger, there would have been no faltering, only joy and thanksgiving.

The defenseless girl watched furtively. When, at last, Hodges stirred from his indolent sprawl, knocked the dottle from his pipe, and looked up at her, she shrank visibly. The blood rushed back to her heart in a flood, leaving her pallid, and she was trembling. Even in the feeble light from the guttering candle, Hodges could perceive her disturbance. It gratified him, and he laughed, in sinister glee over her emotion.

"I 'low ye're gittin' some tame since yistiddy," he exclaimed. He got to his feet slowly, whereat Plutina looked toward the entrance cleft, ready if the need came, to fly from him to the more merciful abyss. But Hodges moved toward the back of the cave where he brought out a stone jug from its niche, and returned to the bed of boughs. Seated again, he filled the tin cup full of spirits, and drank it down. With the pipe recharged and burning, he continued to sit in silence, regarding the girl with an unswerving intentness that tortured her. At short intervals, he replenished the cup and quaffed it thirstily. He was rapidly compensating for his earlier abstinence. Plutina, studying him covertly, noted the beginnings of drunkenness and its various stages. There was gruesome fascination in her scrutiny; for she knew that her honor rested on the hazard of a sot's whim.

Suddenly, the girl knew that the peril was very close upon her. Hodges was staring at her from his reddened eyes with a rampant lustfulness that was unmistakable. Again, she measured the distances, to make sure that the last desperate means of escape from his embraces lay open still. She meant, in the final crisis, to spring to the crevice, before he could approach within reach of her. There, with the verge of the cliff only a step away, she would make her plea, with death in the gulf as the alternative of failure, the ultimate safeguard of honor.

There could be no doubt concerning the imminence of the danger. The usually red face of the outlaw was mottled purple, congested by the stimuli of liquor and passion. The thick under-lip hung slackly, quivering from time to time in the convulsive tremors of desire that ran over him. A high light fell on the man's neck, where the open shirt left it bare. Plutina's gaze was caught by the slight rise and fall of the flesh above the artery. The movement was made distinguishable across the cavern by the effects of light and shade. The girl found herself mechanically counting the throbs. The rapidity of them amazed her. They witnessed the fever raging in his blood—the fever that clamored for assuagement from her. The galloping pulse enthralled her with horror. It made visible the vile fires raging in him. So swift the rhythm grew that a hideous hope sprang up in the watcher—hope that an apoplexy might stretch the man dead at her feet.

Hodges reached for the jug, and poured from it into the cup, and drank. The girl perceived that, in the few seconds, his mood had changed utterly. The purple of his face was dingy with gray. He was trembling now. His eyes moved restlessly, as if fearful of something to issue from the darkness. Not once did they rest on her. She remembered the racing pulse in his throat, and looked for it. To her astonishment, it was no longer to be seen, though the light fell on the place as before. She knew then that the fever had died, and she marveled mightily. But she recognized more, for she was unharmed still. The changed mood of her enemy promised immunity, for a time at least.

Yet once again, the outlaw drank. Then, without a word to the prisoner, or so much as a look in her direction, he got down on his hands and knees, and crawled out of sight through the hole in the wall.

For what seemed to her ages, Plutina waited for his return, dreading a new, obscene mood. But the time dragged on, and there was no sign of his coming. The candle flared and smoked, went out. The girl huddled in the dark, listening now, for her eyes could not pierce the blackness. The roar of the waterfall filled her ears. The noise dismayed her, for it must inevitably cover all lesser sounds, even those close at hand. Any evil might leap on her without warning, out of the darkness. She felt her helplessness multiplied, intolerable, thus blinded and deafened. She longed to shriek, pitting shrill clamor against the bass thunders of the cascade. She began to fear lest madness seize her if she remained longer thus supinely crouching amid the terrors of this place. Obeying a sudden impulse, she got up, and gropingly, with shuffling, cautious steps, moved across the cavern. When she reached the opposite wall, she got down on hands and knees, and crawled until her searching fingers found the emptiness of the hole through which the men had passed. Then, she drew back a little, and sat with alert ears, sure that none could issue into the cavern now without her knowledge.

The relief afforded by the action soon waned. Terrors crowded on her again in the second period of waiting. In desperation, she determined to explore the hole itself. She tried to examine the project carefully and found nothing to stay her purpose. Joy leaped in her at the thought that a way of escape even might be ready to her hand. She believed it more likely, however, that the passage led merely to another chamber in the cliff. If such should be the case, and either or both of the men were sleeping there, she could probably ascertain the fact readily without being herself discovered, since here the sound of the falls was muffled. Forthwith, she crept slowly within the opening.

The progress was snail-like. The rough rock of the floor cut into her knees cruelly, but she disregarded the pain, and went forward. She tested each inch of the way by feeling over the stones with her hands, on either side and along the floor. The narrowness of the passage, which was hardly more than its height, rendered thorough examination easy. She found no lateral openings, nor did the space grow perceptibly larger. It suddenly occurred to her, after having advanced steadily, though very slowly, for five minutes, that she could not turn around. To return, she must back out. The idea appalled her, and she meditated retreat. Then, while she was yet undecided, the hand groping in front of her touched on stone above the floor level. A short investigation proved that here the passage was barred. She could feel space between the edges of the tunnel and the mass of stone that closed it. Since there was no other point of egress, both men must have passed through. Afterward, the opening had been closed by rolling a heavy rock before it. She put her strength in pressure against the stone, without avail. It was too heavy for her muscles. She realized that by this simple means she was shut within her prison. It was almost with relief that she began to creep backward—to be astounded by the shortness of the way. It was scarcely a minute before she was in the chamber again. To guard against surprise in the darkness, she pushed the couch of boughs a little way along the wall, so that it projected across the mouth of the tunnel. This done, she seated herself on the branches, assured that no one could enter the cavern without giving her warning. Even should she sleep, the thrusting away of the boughs from the orifice must surely awaken her.