d about enough money for the trip.

"You'll keep an eye on things over there?" said Hale with a backward
motion of his head toward Lonesome Cove, and the Hon. Sam nodded his
head:

"All I can."

"Those big trunks of hers are still here." The Hon. Sam smiled. "She
won't need 'em. I'll keep an eye on 'em and she can come over and get
what she wants--every year or two," he added grimly, and Hale groaned.

"Stop it, Sam."

"All right. You ain't goin' to try to see her before you leave?" And
then at the look on Hale's face he said hurriedly: "All right--all
right," and with a toss of his hands turned away, while Hale sat
thinking where he was.

Rufe Tolliver had been quite right as to the Red Fox. Nobody would risk
his life for him--there was no one to attempt a rescue, and but a few of
the guards were on hand this time to carry out the law. On the last day
he had appeared in his white suit of tablecloth. The little old woman
in black had made even the cap that was to be drawn over his face, and
that, too, she had made of white. Moreover, she would have his body kept
unburied for three days, because the Red Fox said that on the third day
he would arise and go about preaching. So that even in death the Red Fox
was consistently inconsistent, and how he reconciled such a dual life
at one and the same time over and under the stars was, except to his
twisted brain, never known. He walked firmly up the scaffold steps and
stood there blinking in the sunlight. With one hand he tested the rope.
For a moment he looked at the sky and the trees with a face that was
white and absolutely expressionless. Then he sang one hymn of two verses
and quietly dropped into that world in which he believed so firmly and
toward which he had trod so strange a way on earth. As he wished, the
little old woman in black had the body kept unburied for the three
days--but the Red Fox never rose. With his passing, law and order had
become supreme. Neither Tolliver nor Falin came on the Virginia side
for mischief, and the desperadoes of two sister States, whose skirts
are stitched together with pine and pin-oak along the crest of the
Cumberland, confined their deviltries with great care to places long
distant from the Gap. John Hale had done a great work, but the limit of
his activities was that State line and the Falins, ever threatening that
they would not leave a Tolliver alive, could carry out those threats and
Hale not be able to lift a hand. It wa